Lieutenant Taylor Jackson Collection, Volume 1

by J. T. Ellison

  “This is a massage parlor?”

  “Apparently so. They can’t get away with a business front anymore, so they’ve moved into the private homes down here.”

  The area was largely dominated by Spanish-speaking residents, with a few Kurds and indigent blacks thrown in for good measure. There were plenty of crack houses in the nearby streets, and a couple of Section 8 government housing projects a few blocks away. Homicide was busy enough in this area, and had to employ trained civilian translators to help solve the crimes. Many of the residents were illegals, and didn’t trust the police to do anything that could be construed as positive for the neighborhood.

  They unloaded from the vehicle, checked in at the command post, signed the call sheet and got their party clothes—booties, gloves, all the protective accoutrements for a get-together with death.

  An officer met them on the front lawn. Bob Parks was one of Taylor’s favorites, a happy yet serious man who doubled for the SWAT team. He had a luxuriant black mustache that looked like it had been oiled and groomed recently.

  “Welcome, welcome,” Parks bellowed. “Nice of you to come and join us this afternoon. We have a lovely time planned for you—blood, gore and a few other unmentionables you’ll be thrilled to see.”

  “Hey, Bob.” Taylor greeted him with a thump on the back. “How’s the kids?”

  “Like Dilbert says, ’bout as happy as a bunch of barefoot squirrels in a tire store.”

  Taylor snorted back a laugh.

  “I’m telling you, LT, having teenagers will be the death of me. Hi, Dr. Baldwin.”

  “Hey, Parks. Sorry to see you under these circumstances.”

  Fitz bellied up to the younger man. “What am I, chopped liver?”

  “Naw, Fitz, you’re just a pain in my ass. How come you haven’t retired yet? You’re too old to be messing with this shit.”

  “Parks, you’re not that far behind me. Shut the hell up already. What do you have here?”

  Parks turned back to the little house, shaking his head. “It’s not a pretty scene, I’ll warn you. Double homicide, two girls. Both look Spanish, which is fitting for this part of town, but they’re facedown, the M.E. hasn’t gotten here yet. We were waiting for her to declare before we moved them. Took the pics, and video is rolling.”

  “Spanish. Let’s go take a look.” Taylor led them across the lawn to the front steps.

  On the small porch the four geared up, covering their shoes with the booties, gloving their hands. Taylor wound her ponytail into a bun to make sure there weren’t any loose strands that could fall off and compromise the scene. Fully geared, they made their way into the house, following the thinly taped guide route one of the officers had laid on the floor.

  The inside of the house was dressed in a nearly sterile white. To the left of the entry foyer, white leather furniture with glass tables and lamps dominated a small living room, with white walls and white drapes. To the right, a kitchen with white marble floors and a white countertop completed the monochromatic decor. White Berber carpet led down a short hallway to three doors—Taylor could see a pristine bathroom at the end of the hall and assumed the two other doors led to bedrooms. She was right.

  “Door number one,” Parks said, gesturing to the right. “And door number two.” He pointed left. “Take your pick, they’re nearly identical.”

  Taylor chose the right side first. She stood in the doorway and looked into the room, running her Maglite over the dimness. She didn’t need the overhead to see the blood. Copious amounts of red, startling against the contiguous white theme, was very defining. From her vantage point at the doorway, she could see blood everywhere, cast off on the unmade bed and headboard, washed across the wall, soaking the carpet. In the middle of the bed, a dark-haired woman lay on her stomach, facedown on the sheets, which were nearly black. Exsanguination, her mind told her. The woman’s legs were akimbo, the left twisted under the right as if she’d fallen at an angle onto the mattress. Taylor couldn’t see her arms.

  She switched places with Baldwin and Fitz, looking into the left-side room. The scene was virtually identical. A knot formed in her stomach. A double homicide, with both scenes indistinguishable at first glance. Fuck.

  She heard talking, turned to see Sam striding toward her.

  “Heard you had a bad day,” she said when she reached Taylor.

  “Couldn’t be any worse than yours. You had Remy St. Claire fogging up your office. I’m just on my third and fourth bodies today and Baldwin’s former lover is in town with some kind of agenda.”

  “A stellar day for us both. What do we have here?” Sam was dressed for the scene and obviously champing at the bit to get to work.

  “Two dead, lots of blood, and a mess. I was hoping you could shed some light. They haven’t been turned, I want to see that. This feels a little too familiar, if you know what I mean.”

  “Okay. Let me work. By the way, you know we’re supposed to go to dinner tonight. I might be running a little late.”

  Taylor groaned. Yes, they were supposed to have dinner tonight, a joint bachelor/bachelorette evening. She’d forgotten.

  “Yeah, well, I won’t die if we can’t do it.”

  “Oh, come on, T. The boys are all excited. We’ll do dinner, then let them go to the VIBE. There’s a nice little bar next door, we’ll sit in there and drink. Unless you want to go to the strip club.”

  “Baldwin’s excited to go to a strip club?” She looked over her shoulder; he was back out in the foyer of the house, talking on his cell phone. His brow was crinkled and she wondered who he was talking to.

  “No, I think it’s more Simon is excited. He hasn’t gotten a chance to have a lot of male bonding since the babies came. We’ll let him and Baldwin, Fitz, Marcus and Lincoln watch the girlies dance and you and I will have a relaxing hour before they come back. I plan on getting ravished after that. So don’t spoil my fun, okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever. We’ll probably have to skip the dinner portion of our evening. What’s the name of the bar? I’ll just plan to meet you there later on. Between the shootings at Baptist and this double, I’m going to be up to my ears signing off on a shitload of paperwork tonight.”

  Sam thought hard. “I think it’s called something like…Control, that’s it. Control.”

  “Sounds like a gay bar, one of the ones up on Church Street.”

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t name it. And it’s not. Let’s get to it.” She went into the first room and did a thorough setup, taking her time. It was a good twenty minutes before she declared she was ready to flip the girl. With a little help from one of the crime-scene techs, the woman was rolled onto the sheet that would help them transfer the body into a body bag.

  Taylor was chatting with Parks when she heard Sam’s sharp intake of breath.

  “What, what is it? What’s the matter?” she asked.

  “You better come look at this,” Sam answered.

  Taylor came into the room. It only took a glance at the woman before Taylor realized what was happening. The breath left her body in a whoosh.

  “Oh my God.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  A fire crackled in the hearth. The cozy scene belied the barely contained vicissitude in the room. Snow White paced, in a fury, leaning heavily on his cane.

  “Goddamn you, I told you no. You had no right to move ahead without my permission. That wasn’t a part of our deal, you brainless son of a bitch. These things need to be treated carefully, cautiously. You’ve undone all our work. You’re going to get us both caught.”

  “Shut up, old man. I did what needed to be done. You won’t let me kill that stupid bitch we took the other night. I needed to get it out of my system. They’re just whores.”

  Snow White turned to the third member of the room.

  “Did you sanction this? Did you tell him he could deviate from protocol? I swear to you, if either of you fuck me, I’ll see to it you never forget what it’s like to be on my bad side.”


  The woman turned. “I have no more control over him than you do. You knew that when I brought him to you. He’s a sociopath.”

  The younger man adopted a mocking tone. “Thank you, darling. Coming from you, that’s a high compliment indeed.”

  She frowned at him. “You’re welcome, though I have to say I agree. Going outside the parameters at this stage of the game could derail everything. You want me to be happy, don’t you?”

  Snow White felt a scream building in his blood. “Shut up, both of you. We need to find out what’s happening, see if we need to shut all this down. What have you done to the girl?”

  “I haven’t done anything to her but look. She’s safe. For now.”

  “I didn’t ask that. Where is she? I want to see her.”

  His protégé casually stretched and smiled. “She’s safe. I haven’t touched her. But I will, mark my words.”

  “Lay a hand on her and you’ll be dead before you can blink. You’ve broken the pattern. Defied my rules. I say when you kill. And now you’ve gone and done this? With these…defiled things. We have standards. First you’re dumb enough to choose the daughter of a celebrity. Minor as the mother may be, she’s drawing too much attention to us. Then you guarantee even more media for yourself by taking a newspaper reporter? We had an agreement! You might as well have spit in my eye. If you deviate from the plan again, I will have your head, mark my words. They will be coming for us now, and it’s too soon.”

  “You didn’t realize who little Jane was, either, old man. You were right there in the thick of it with me. Don’t think I’ll forget that.”

  “You are not to touch her. Am I understood?”

  Snow White glared at his apprentice. His threats were empty; he had no strength to take control of the situation physically, and the boy knew it. The impertinent fool had gotten greedy, couldn’t sate his ridiculous hunger for ending life for just a few days. He knew this was a bad idea.

  The door to the room opened.

  “Father?”

  “Oh, look, it’s blind-boy grunt. Come to see what your daddy is up to with the real people? I bet he rues the day you spat forth into this world.”

  Snow White sniggered, but the woman stood angrily. “Hey. That’s my brother you’re talking to. Don’t you dare speak like that to him. Do you understand me?”

  “What are you going to do to me, princess?”

  She ignored him, went to the deformed creature she called brother. “He didn’t mean it, he doesn’t know any better. He’s a brute, Joshua. Let’s get you something to drink, okay?” She marched from the room, and Snow White sighed.

  “She’s loved that boy silly since he came out of that twat she called a mother. I don’t think Charlotte remembers her mother. She died giving birth to Joshua, you know. They laid him on her chest and she just went. Like she couldn’t face what she had created.”

  “It’s a disease, old man. Just like the one you have, but it cripples his face, not his soul.”

  “Well, aren’t you the philosopher today? You were insulting him a moment ago. Changed your mind?”

  “Of course not. I don’t possess compassion, you know that. But I do admire your darling daughter for her loyalty. Enough of this. I’m tired. I’ve had a long day. I’m going to get some rest.”

  “Don’t touch the girl.”

  He left the room, and Snow White slumped in his chair. He shouldn’t have listened. Shouldn’t have allowed it to move so quickly. Not enough planning, a shortsighted monster who could break his leash at any time. As much as he enjoyed hearing about it, loved to participate, to feel the breath leaving their bodies, see the light dimming in their eyes as their souls fled, he knew it was too much. Too fast, too many. The boy would be their undoing.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Frank Richardson pulled off his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes. His brain was numb. He’d been combing the files, rereading all of his stories, making copies of relevant sections. In all, he’d written more than four hundred stories on the Snow White Killer over the years he’d been active.

  He remembered those days. It was a heady feeling, communicating the worst imaginable information to the citizens of Nashville. He’d worked closely with the police, gotten more scoop than any reporter had a right to, legally or otherwise. He was proud of this work, proud of his attention to detail, his meticulous analysis. No prejudice, no accusations against the police for dragging their feet, just solid journalism chronicling the Snow White case.

  He knew Taylor was interested in any of his work that had speculation about suspects. She’d informed him about the missing signet ring, and her reservations about Burt Mars. He’d taken the liberty of trying to track Mars down; the last known address for the man was Manhattan. It had taken work, but what he found was astounding. That lieutenant was right to be suspicious.

  Mars had moved out of Nashville in 1989 on the heels of a financial scandal. He headed north, looking for money and anonymity. He disappeared off the books for several years, only to come back, no longer anonymous. He opened an accounting firm on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. Within six years, he’d developed a reputation and gotten all over the police’s radar. Who sets out to become a notorious check kiter and securities fraud? Mars spent some time in Otisville at the federal penitentiary, had gone down on a racketeering and corrupt organization charge under the RICO Act in 1998.

  He was out of prison now, had a new business consulting on REITs—Real Estate Investment Trusts. REITs could be easily manipulated, but according to all the published accounts, Mars’s company was clean. Yet in the quiet corners, he was widely supposed to still be involved with the Mafia. He’d been connected to several figures well-known to the New York police, though no active investigations were under way linking him directly to organized crime. If he was dirty, Mars was much more careful now. Nothing on the surface of his company appeared illegal, and it wasn’t a crime to be friends with criminals.

  But Richardson had been a reporter for a very long time, and with his years of finely honed instinct for getting to the bottom of a story, he smelled a rat. Mars was up to no good.

  He’d spent the day doing research, on and off the phone and the Internet, calling in a few favors along the way. He connected some very interesting dots. His hunch had paid off, big. This story was huge.

  Richardson felt more alive than he had in weeks, months. Back in the chase. He already had plans to write about this tale, to make a tidy little sum selling the rights to the book. These were the kinds of stories that made millions.

  He printed out all the information he could find, including addresses and phone numbers. He was thorough. He liked Taylor Jackson, admired her spunk. Admired those long legs, too. Her fiancé was a lucky man, that was for sure. Truth be told, she reminded him a bit of his wife when she was younger.

  Feeling chipper, Frank packed up his things. If he hustled, he might catch the lovely lieutenant at her office before she shut down for the day.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Taylor stared at the body before her. Long black hair, ivory skin, a gaping wound in her neck, bright red lips.

  Snow White.

  She went out in the hall, cursing. “Son of a bitch! Roll body two, right now!”

  Sam followed her. “Taylor, I need to make sure—”

  She whirled to face her best friend. “Just do it, Sam. I need to know, okay? Then I’ll leave you to it and see if I can’t find this motherfucker and nail his balls to the wall of my office.”

  “T, I need—”

  “If you won’t do it, I’ll do it myself.”

  She strode into the opposite room. She saw Baldwin out of the corner of her eye. He was heading toward her full speed. Sam came right behind, pushing her out of the way.

  “No, no, no, no. Let me do it, damn it.”

  Taylor stopped, let Sam by. The M.E. came to the bedside slowly, trying to make sure she didn’t drastically disturb the scene. When she reached the body, she gently sl
id a hand under the girl’s left shoulder and pulled her up partway, so Taylor would have a clear view.

  “Goddamn son of a bitch.”

  “The same?” Sam asked. “I can’t see from this angle.”

  “Exactly the same. A fucking double. It’s too soon. Baldwin?”

  “Yeah, I see. Same exact scene as across the hall. The symmetry is beautiful, don’t you think?”

  Taylor gave him a sharp glance. He’d taken on the dreamy expression he got when faced with the most hideous of crimes. Profilers.

  He was murmuring to himself. She strained to hear him. “You notice the mirror presentation? That took some time to get just right. He’s meticulous, our fellow. Wanted this to be perfect. Snow White did a double, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, he did. Danielle Seraphin and Vivienne White. The exchange students. They were mirrored, too.”

  “Hmm. Clever boy.”

  “Sick fuck is what I’d call him.” Fitz had joined them.

  “I agree with Fitz.” Taylor nodded.

  Sam was still holding the dead girl by the shoulder. “Excuse me. If y’all are done psychoanalyzing, would you mind if I got back to work? I have a lot to do here, and I know you want the posts quickly.”

  The posts. There were artifacts to recover.

  “Yes, Sam, sure. Sorry. Go ahead. We’ll get out of your way.”

  “Thank you.” She laid the body down, then bent closer, looked at the girl’s face. “Hey, Taylor?”

  “Yeah?”

  “There’s no visible emulsion on the temples.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Nothing remotely like it. Looks like you’re right about him shifting the pattern. I won’t know for sure until I get them back and do the posts, but I’m not seeing it.”

  “Will you call me when you know for sure?” Taylor asked, but Sam was already lost, back in M.E. land. Taylor started to say something about canceling the party, but Sam was crossing the hall into the other bloody bedroom. Taylor watched her roll the body gently, look closely at the second girl’s face.