Feeling eyes on her from every corner, Taylor left the makeshift shrine in the yard and went back inside. Her morning’s peace shattered, she abandoned the cup of tea on the counter, dressed quickly and headed into the office.
*
There were news vans lining the streets in front of the CJC, receiver satellites pointed toward the heavens. Taylor decided to park in the adjacent lot so she wouldn’t have to run the media gauntlet. She walked the cement ramp, spiraling down toward the street, her boot heels echoing with each step. The repetition calmed her, the pattern resonating through her mind.
She managed to slip in the side door unnoticed. The building itself was humming, noisy, aware. She stopped for a Diet Coke, feeding her dollar into the machine, the can dropping with a clatter. Normally the noise thundered through the halls; today it was barely heard. She entered the Homicide office, saw Lincoln Ross sitting with one butt cheek on the edge of his desk, holding court. It looked like half of headquarters had jammed into Homicide.
A few people acknowledged Taylor, polite “Loot’s” and “Morning, LT.” She nodded back, caught Lincoln’s eye.
His face lit up when he saw Taylor. He jumped off the desk and greeted her with a hug. She hugged him back, hard, thrilled that he was out and obviously okay. She stepped back and took him in. More than okay. Lincoln had a gap-toothed smile that spread from ear to ear. His new look made him seem vaguely like a pirate—bald head, curly beard, eyes flashing with charm and intelligence. Toss him a cutlass and he’d be ready to rapier his way through downtown Nashville.
“Girl, you look great. Whatcha been doing while I’ve been away? You and the fed have a good trip?”
“It’s damn good to see you, Linc. First things first. What’s happening?”
He smirked and waggled his eyebrows. “I got Terrence Norton for you, all tied up with a pretty little bow.”
They bumped knuckles, her generation’s version of a high five. “Really? That’s great news, Lincoln. But why is every newsie in town camped on our doorstep?”
“Got his boss, too.” He said it with such nonchalance that Taylor instinctively knew it was someone visible that no one would ever expect.
“Okay, you’ve got me. Who’s been running this train?”
“Our very own Sidney Edgar.”
She drew back in surprise. “Kong?”
“Yup.”
“Sidney Edgar, wide receiver for the Tennessee Titans. You are shitting me.”
Sidney “King-Kong” Edgar had been a first round draft pick, a rainmaker for the Titans, a young man out of Atlanta who had more brawn than brains. He was six foot four inches of lean, hard muscle, devastatingly dangerous when his hands got within five feet of the pigskin, and a gangster thug to boot. Since he joined the team, Kong had rushed for over one thousand yards and been arrested no less than eight times, always skirting the edge of felony territory. He ran with a bad crowd, a posse of ruffians who traveled between Nashville and Atlanta, lawless men who were regularly picked up for weapons and drug-related charges.
Though as far as Taylor knew, they’d never been connected to Terrence Norton’s gang. She said that, and Lincoln nodded.
“We didn’t know that either until last night. I have to say, I can act. After Sunday night…” He gave her a meaningful look she understood immediately. He’d smoked crack with them, so they’d accepted him.
“Anyway, my CI told me the big dog was coming in. He very kindly left his cell phone on so I could hear the deal being made, and I called in the cavalry. It was too sweet. Caught Kong and Terrence Norton with their hands full of crack baggies.”
Lincoln was obviously still riding the adrenal train. Taylor thought he was probably putting a good face on the situation; she knew it must have been dicey, moment-to-moment danger.
In that inevitable way with men who’d had street violence bred into them before they were weaned, Edgar had always seemed a little too close to the edge. It was a sad thing. So many of those boys pulled themselves up by the bootstraps, got straight, made something positive happen. And some were just a little too weak, too easily seduced by the illusion of power.
Lincoln was wrapping up his tale. “We brought him in, got him processed. King Kong and Terrence, plus fifteen others, will be arraigned this morning. That’s what the news is here to see.”
Taylor squeezed his arm. “Have you been debriefed?” When he nodded, she said, “You take the rest of the day off. Go get some rest. You must be completely exhausted.”
“You sure, LT? I hear you’ve got some stuff on your plate.”
“I’m sure, Lincoln. Whenever you’re ready, no rush. But yeah, I need you sharp, so you go do what you need to do to get yourself back in the real world. We’ll pick up with you tomorrow. Deal?”
“Deal, Loot. Thanks.”
She left him to his adoring crowd and went into her office. Marcus Wade joined her after a few minutes.
“Morning, Marcus. How’d in-service go?”
“I still have a badge, and a gun. My fifth day is scheduled for June.” He rolled his eyes. In-service, while required, was generally considered one of the most boring weeks out of the year. Cop school, four days of repetition of items they already knew by heart. Inexplicably, the gun qualifications came a few months later, a single day of shooting to requalify.
“Mine is too, I think. We must be on the same testing day. Well, that’s good news. Fitz bring you up to speed on the Corinne Wolff murder?” He nodded. “Good. I want you on that case, but I need you to do something for me first.”
She leaned over, spoke quietly so no one enjoying the Lincoln Parade could accidentally overhear.
“I met someone last night who I think may have something shady going on. I’d like you to do a quick run-through of his background. Anything and everything you can find on the guy, okay?”
“No problem, LT. What’s his name?”
“Tony Gorman. I’d assume the full name is Anthony. I don’t have much more than that, and it’s a generic name, but if you pull the DMV records, I can ID him. Then you can dive in, see what his story is.”
“I assume I’m doing this quietly.”
“You got it, puppy. He’s tied-in somewhere, was at a charity dinner last night, so he’s got some money. I didn’t recognize him, but he knew me. Only he called me Tawny. When I challenged him, he thought I was being coy. And that makes me uncomfortable.”
“Tawny? That sounds like—”
Taylor blushed. “Exactly. And that’s about how he treated me. Look at this.” She shrugged out of her cotton sweater, pulling her right arm out to show the underside of her bicep. There were four distinct round bruises. Marcus’s eyebrows disappeared beneath the shock of bushy brown hair that flopped over his forehead.
“Why didn’t you arrest him?”
“I thought about it, but if he was truly mistaking me for someone else, I had no cause. He was just an overzealous jerk. Not a prison offense, you know? But he won’t forget meeting me anytime soon. I got him in a forearm lock and he tried to get away. Another few seconds and I would’ve snapped his arm in two. I bet he’s got a nice bruise this morning too.” She slipped her arm back into the sleeve of her sweater, pulled it down.
“I’ll find out what his deal is, Taylor. You can count on it.”
“Thanks, Marcus. Let me know when you find something. I’m sure it’s nothing, just a mistake.” Her words were stronger than her mind. Gorman had looked at her like he knew her intimately; she had the distinct feeling that there was more to the sexy moniker than met the eye. Either she had a doppelganger out there plying her wares, or something was up. Combine that with the dead rabbit from this morning….
Marcus was just outside the door. She called after him. “Marcus, one other thing?”
He turned back. “Sure, what?”
“Have Tim Davis take a run out to my house. Someone left me a present in my backyard this morning, a dead rabbit. It had been garroted. I secured the remains. Ask
him to run some forensics on it for me, okay?”
Marcus came back into the office, eyes filled with concern. “Someone killed a rabbit and left it in your backyard? Are you sure it wasn’t caught in a snare and flailed into your yard?”
Taylor saw the desecrated creature in her mind’s eye, gray and red commingled, the wound ends of the silver wire thrusting out of its neck. A shudder ran through her.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
Marcus was eyeing her. She could see the speculation rampant behind his gaze. He shut the door and sat opposite her.
“Is everything okay, boss? You seem a little…”
She pulled the rubber band from her hair impatiently and slung it back up. “I’m fine. Really. It’s just been a long couple of days, and someone is playing a sick joke on me. That’s all. It’s nothing to worry about.” She gave him a winning smile, but he didn’t smile back. He just nodded and rose, looking at her with obvious concern.
“I’ll let you know what we find, okay?”
“Thanks, Marcus.” She hesitated a moment. “While you’re at it, put a trap on my line. I’ve been getting hang-ups. I’m sure it’s just someone trying to make me uncomfortable.” When he started to speak again, she just shook her head. He stared at her, but kept his mouth shut.
After he’d left, she looked at the phone. She really should call Baldwin, let him know everything that was going on. She toyed with the phone receiver, her hand tracing figure eights on the smooth black surface. The phone lit up, the caller ID indicating the call was from Forensic Medical. There was plenty of time to call Baldwin and play damsel in distress. Later.
“Lieutenant Jackson,” she answered, her voice strong once again.
“Taylor, it’s Sam. I’ve got something you need to hear about Corinne Wolff.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Taylor listened to Sam, writing down the words to make sure she had the record in front of her, then hung up the phone. She toyed with the cord for a moment, wondering. On its face, the news wasn’t anything significant. But considering the victim’s previous delicate condition, it was…interesting.
More questions for Todd. Taylor glanced at her watch. Ten thirty-five.
“Oh, shit.” She scrambled up from the desk, bringing along the yellow notepad with her scribbles. She was already five minutes late to her third interview with him.
*
Taylor met Fitz outside interrogation one. He gestured for her to follow him into the printer room where they had the camera feed from the interrogation rooms. The antiquated television monitor was on, the cameras rolling, capturing the movements of the two men ensconced in the room. Todd Wolff had brought a lawyer this time, not willing to make the same mistake twice. They were sitting side by side at the table, each man sitting with his arms crossed across his chest, not speaking. They looked impatient, slightly annoyed, and worried. Perfect.
Taylor watched for a moment. “Look at Wolff. He looks nervous, don’t you think?”
“He doesn’t look happy, I’ll give you that.”
Taylor pulled her hair down, reworking the ponytail. “I just talked to Sam. We’ve got some interesting items to discuss with Mr. Wolff.”
“Well, the hotel he claimed to have stayed at said he wasn’t there over the weekend. So he’s got one whopper of a lie in the bank already.”
“Really? That’s interesting. Can the cell phone company triangulate where he was when he got the call?”
“There’s a warrant being drawn up as we speak.” Fitz looked at the monitors again. “Think he’s responsible?”
“I don’t know. I want to gauge his reaction to this information Sam just gave me, see what he gives us.”
“Then let’s get this over with, shall we?” Fitz gestured toward the door. Taylor nodded and knocked, rapping her knuckles along the wood for effect, then entered the close room.
The lawyer jumped to his feet, hand out expectantly, a broad smile across his swarthy features. He had thinning salt-and-pepper hair and a thick bridge of a nose that amply supported a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. His eyes were slightly bulbous, irises blue but whites bloodshot, whether from too much alcohol the night before or stupendous allergies, Taylor couldn’t tell. He pumped her hand, asked if she was well, greeted Fitz, all in a capable, no-nonsense way. Then he sneezed, ah…ah…ah-chooing with gusto into a white embroidered handkerchief. That explained the eyes, Taylor thought.
“Miles Rose. Good to meetcha.”
Todd Wolff barely acknowledged their presence. She studied him. Was he grieving, and too distressed to play nice? Or was he upset to be treated like a suspect? Taylor couldn’t tell. Wolff had completely shut down since their last conversation.
They got situated, Fitz and Taylor on one side of the table, Rose getting resettled in his makeshift office on the other side with Todd staring silently at the wall. Taylor watched Rose decant his briefcase onto the table, waited patiently while he chose a particularly fine ballpoint from his collection of pens, placed the pen on a yellow legal pad, then grinned.
“Ready,” he said.
Amused by the display, Taylor asked, “Are you sure?”
“Oh, yeah. Got everything I need right here.” He tapped the pen to the legal pad, then touched it to his temple. She heard Fitz sigh through his nose with the utmost derision.
“Okay then.” She turned to Todd. “Mr. Wolff, I’d like to continue where we left off yesterday. We are concerned about the time frame on the day of your wife’s death. You were notified of her death while you were in Savannah, is that correct?”
Todd looked at her, as if seeing her for the first time. “Why does that even matter? Do you have any more leads on who killed my wife and son?”
“We’re working the case from every angle, Mr. Wolff. Trust me. Now, back to your drive home. You were in Savannah when you got the call, that’s correct?”
Wolff looked away. “That is correct.”
“And you made the trip home, an eight-hour drive, in just under six hours. That right?”
“Yes.”
“Any reason you didn’t fly? Wouldn’t that have been quicker?”
“You already asked me that.” Wolff crossed his arms.
Rose leaned into the table. “My client called the airlines, but there was nothing that didn’t connect through Atlanta. I don’t know if you’ve ever flown through Atlanta, Lieutenant, but I’m sure you’ll understand that my client didn’t want anything interfering with his return to the Nashville area.”
Taylor gave Rose the briefest of smiles, then turned back to Wolff.
“No chance you got pulled over, is there? Something to give us an actual time and place to go from? Because I’ve made that drive, Mr. Wolff. It takes the full eight hours, even traveling at eighty miles an hour.”
Todd shook his head, glancing at Rose before he spoke. “No, I didn’t get a ticket. I was going faster than eighty, I’ll tell you that. I nearly got myself killed more than once.”
“How about a gas receipt? Big truck like yours, there’s no way you could possibly make it home from Savannah on a single tank of gas.”
“I could give you that, but I don’t save those receipts. I rely on my bank statements to tally up my gas costs.”
When Taylor didn’t respond, Wolff quickly filled the silence. “I’ve got a gas card. That way I can keep those charges on one card to keep it all straight. I can get deductions on my taxes, you know. So yeah, I stopped in a little town…I can’t remember the name of it now. But I’m sure I can find the information once my statement comes.” He smiled for the first time, satisfied with his answer.
“That’s great, Mr. Wolff. We’ve already pulled all of your financials, so we’ll be able to get that answer right now.” She leaned back toward the corner, where a small table sat with a phone. She stabbed at a button, then hit speaker. Marcus’s voice rang through the room.
“What can I get you, LT?”
“I need the bank statements for Mr. Wolff analyzed.
Please look for charges specific to his gas card so we can see the stops at gas stations on the day in question. He says he stopped in a little town, but can’t remember the name. Any chance you could ID the place for me, so we can check that out?”
“Sure thing, LT. I’ll get back to you in a minute.”
She clicked the speaker off and looked at Todd Wolff’s vividly white face.
“Was it something I said?” she asked.
“I just, I didn’t realize, I…” He trailed off.
Rose jumped in. “This is highly irregular, Lieutenant. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen—”
“Stow it, Mr. Rose. This is hardly irregular. Mr. Wolff is lying to us, and I’d like to know why.” Taylor ignored Rose sputtering and hand-wringing, instead focusing on Todd.
“Todd, when was the last time you had sex with your wife?”
Todd’s eyes got round. “What does that have to do with anything?” He stopped, and Taylor could see his mind whirling along the process. He became rigid in his chair.
“Oh, my God. Are you saying she was raped?”
Taylor didn’t react, just sat back in her chair and glanced at Fitz. He gave her a barely perceptible nod. “Mr. Wolff, all I’m asking is when you last had sexual relations with your wife.”
Miles shot up a hand. “I’d like a moment to confer with my client, please.”
“It’s really not that difficult a question. Mr. Wolff, how about it? When did you and Corinne last have sexual relations?”
Todd’s head was on a pivot, swinging rhythmically between his lawyer and Taylor. She could almost hear each distinct turn.
Rose got to his feet. “Don’t answer that. Lieutenant, we need the room, please.”
She gave it a moment, then nodded. She clicked the remote, turning off the audio and video feed. They stood and went into the hall. Rose closed the door quietly behind them.
“The monitors?” Fitz asked.
“Oh, yeah.” They went into the printer room, stood shoulder to shoulder and watched the show. Too bad it was illegal for them to listen in; the sound mike remained off, the tape wasn’t rolling.
Lieutenant Taylor Jackson Collection, Volume 1 Page 102
