Lieutenant Taylor Jackson Collection, Volume 1

by J. T. Ellison

  Taylor blanched, but Ricard continued, not warmly, but with a certain sense of shared camaraderie.

  “Don’t worry. It’s blatantly obvious that someone is upset with you and trying to ruin your reputation. I’ve been through that kind of crap myself. Intimidation, coercion. Don’t let them get you down. But in all honesty, none of that matters here. I see that you’re true in your desire to find Corinne’s real killer. The fire in your eyes is unmistakable.” She smiled, the first kind look that had crossed her face since Taylor entered her sanctum.

  “This will have to be off the record, though. Surely you understand. If I’m going to divulge secrets of a patient to an unfrocked police officer, I can only speak hypothetically.”

  Taylor searched Ricard’s face for signs of mocking, and found none. What did she have to lose? It wasn’t like she could march into headquarters and announce she’d solved the case anyway. No, better to take the doctor at her word, listen to what she said, glean as much information as possible.

  “I understand. That’s fine. I’m just curious why someone as controlled and secure as Corinne Wolff would fall apart like she did. For her to be taking prescription anti-anxiety medication during a pregnancy seems wholly out of character, and if it’s a clue that will help me discover if it’s her husband, or someone else, who killed her…”

  Ricard was nodding, so Taylor stopped and let the woman gather her thoughts.

  “You know a lot about her already. A thorough victimology, I presume?”

  “I’m trying to build an accurate victimology. Corinne seemed to be a woman with two distinct personalities. On one side, the suburban housewife and mother, the former tennis wunderkind, the short-lived businesswoman. The other side was apparently out of control, desperately searching for happiness and pleasure. I’d like to find out why this woman had two sides that were so extreme.”

  “We all have two sides, Lieutenant. The persona we adopt for our fellow man, and the self that we keep hidden, the real part of us that allows the core to make judgments and derive pleasure from our actions. You can’t tell me you’re the same person at home, in private, that you are in public. Simply being a woman in a man’s position would preclude you from showing any normal weakness or vulnerability on the job.”

  “I’m hardly a woman in a man’s position, Doctor. And yes, I am the same woman at work as I am at home. What you see is what you get.”

  Ricard smiled, her lips thinning. The woman didn’t like being challenged.

  “Really? How many female lieutenants are there in the police force these days?”

  “Plenty.”

  “And do they have field jobs or administrative posts?”

  “In Metro? Administrative. I’m the only lieutenant in the field.”

  “And I bet you have the respect of your team. That you never show them how deep down you wish you could relinquish control and allow them to care for you.”

  “Oh, you’re wrong there. We are a team. We work together, and I surrender to them all the time. If I didn’t they’d never trust me.”

  “And you have a man at home?”

  “Yes.”

  “What does he do?”

  “He’s with the FBI. He’s…”

  “Yes?”

  “He’s in the middle of an investigation and keeping certain aspects of the case from me. He wants to protect me, and I don’t need protecting.” Shut up already, Taylor. This chick was good.

  Taylor continued. “But that’s neither here nor there, Doctor. It has nothing to do with Corinne Wolff.”

  “Oh, but that’s where you’re so very wrong. Corinne also operated under the misapprehension that she was in complete control of her life. That the choices she made were her choices. That she engaged in distasteful behavior because she wanted to. But in reality, there’s always a part of a woman that wants to be cherished and protected, not subjected to multiple sex partners. Much less have those most intimate moments sold to the highest bidder.”

  Taylor looked at Ricard. Behind the glasses, the mask of cool reserve, Taylor saw a shrewd woman. Taylor made sure her own face revealed nothing but cool interest in Corinne Wolff.

  “So you’re saying Corinne is a victim?”

  “In a way. Corinne, unhappily, is no longer with us to verify that she felt abused by her husband’s proclivities. You, on the other hand, are early enough in the game that you can steel yourself to the accusations against you, knowing deep in your heart you’ve done nothing wrong. Corinne didn’t have your fortitude, I believe. She was easily led. Instead of fighting, she acquiesced. Allowed herself to be used.”

  “I’m not a victim, Dr. Ricard. That’s where Corinne and I differ. I’d appreciate you keeping this discussion strictly about her, please. Was she being used by her husband?”

  Ricard looked amused for a moment, then nodded and continued. “Corinne was being used by many people. Husband, family, siblings, lover. You’ll hit upon the truth soon enough, Lieutenant. Let’s talk for a bit about the anxiety a young mother might feel if she were in a position similar to Corinne Wolff.”

  “Okay.”

  “Think of the difficulties facing an exceptionally talented child. A completely controlled existence, a world structured around said child’s genius. Constant work, attention, adulation and expectation. Until the one day the child wakes up, literally and figuratively, and decides she doesn’t want to be a prodigy. She doesn’t want to work so hard to live her life. She sees the people around her taking the easy road, sleeping in on the weekends, having plenty of time to date and do homework, and suddenly, she decides that is the life she wants. Someone who is so driven might actually pursue that simple life with the dogged determination that made her such a gifted athlete.”

  “Corinne’s mother mentioned that her drive for tennis dissipated when she got into high school,” Taylor said. When Ricard didn’t comment, she asked, “Would small things that normally wouldn’t be a big deal to you or me set this kind of person off?”

  “Certainly. Someone so in control would have great difficulty in letting others take the reins. Unless she was compromised, to a point. Something that wouldn’t be rational. Like being in love.”

  Well, that made sense. Taylor thought back to the first video she’d seen, with Todd and the two girls. Corinne was manning the camera. Perhaps she enjoyed the sex play, perhaps not, but by taking control of what the audience saw and felt, she took control of her situation with her husband. She was directing him, a thoroughly nontraditional role.

  “Was there something in Corinne’s life that presaged this need for control?”

  “Ah, sadly, Lieutenant, since we are only discussing a hypothetical situation, I can’t answer that. But someone with this level of need for stability might have a past that saw some sort of abuse, self-inflicted or external. With many young phenoms, their manifestation comes out in their talent. Once that talent is taken away, even something as simple as a parent telling the child he or she must go to bed now instead of studying their art could send a child of extreme gifts into a tailspin. They use their talent for control, just like an anorexic child uses starvation to whittle away her body. It’s all perception.

  “Take that away, by force or necessity, and you’d have a child who couldn’t, or wouldn’t be able to survive without some sort of mechanism to control the behavior and desire.”

  “Sexual promiscuity?”

  Ricard gave a ghost of a smile. “Very good, Lieutenant. You’re catching on. Monogamous sexual promiscuity, another example of how distasteful anything indiscriminant could be to a child like this.”

  “But that child would grow into an adult. I take it that she wouldn’t grow out of it?”

  “Some do. Some don’t. Some follow their art, some, when separated from the one item that controls their identity, decline rapidly. They shrivel up, and ultimately end up institutionalized or dead. But that is only extreme cases. Most go on to lead productive, if not happy, lives.”

  “Wo
uld there need to be a catalyst? Something that would send a person like this over the edge, make them do things they otherwise wouldn’t?”

  “Yes, I believe you could say that. A life-changing event.” Ricard spoke pointedly, and Taylor began to understand.

  “Was this pregnancy unwanted?” she asked.

  Ricard nodded, but said, “I couldn’t say one way or the other about that. Corinne was a very regimented, controlled person.”

  So, that was the problem. She had gotten pregnant and wasn’t thrilled about it. That was strange, for a young mother who was seemingly happy.

  “Would an unplanned pregnancy be difficult for a woman who has to have control over everything? To the point that it would spark a pathological issue?”

  “Nicely deduced, Lieutenant. In some extreme cases, an individual would have difficulty relinquishing control over their body in order to carry a baby. The individual might feel that the fetus is a foreign being and experience moments of hatred so profound that the only comfortable resolution is termination. Or, the individual may seek counseling to better handle the claustrophobic tendencies they are experiencing. High-level anxiety, overwhelming desire to escape, to effect a separation, yes, those things would need to be dealt with using extensive cognitive therapy, regression, relaxation and biofeedback.”

  “Was Corinne having these problems? Claustrophobia about her pregnancy?”

  “Now, Lieutenant, you’re treading too close to our hypothetical line again.”

  “All right. What about medication?”

  “Well, in the case of a pregnancy, the client would certainly be encouraged not to use medicinal means to handle the situation.”

  “But Corinne chose the medicinal route. Why?”

  Ricard glanced at the clock. “Oh my, Lieutenant, I’m afraid we need to wrap things up here.” She stood.

  “One last question.” Taylor got to her feet too. “Would Corinne Wolff have been a danger to herself?”

  Ricard straightened her glasses and pulled her tunic down so it lay tight across her hips. “She may have been. But I think it highly unlikely that she wielded the murder weapon and beat herself to death.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Taylor left the doctor’s office, head spinning, full of ideas and theories. A better picture was emerging of Corinne Wolff. Taylor knew that the best way to solve a murder was to know the victim. Chances were the murderer was someone in the victim’s sphere. The deeply personal nature of the beating, the accessibility to the house, all pointed to a killer bent on revenge and punishment. Ergo, someone Corinne knew. If Taylor could get to know Corinne intimately, she would find the person who killed her. It may have been Todd—the evidence against him was certainly damning—but it could have been someone else.

  Since she didn’t have anything better to do, she decided to go ahead with her illicit day. She wondered if Julianne Harris would accept a phone call from her? Michelle Harris had obviously checkmarked the box that said Taylor wasn’t on their side, but if the mom hadn’t shut her out yet…She pulled out her notepad and flipped back to the first few pages. Yes, there was the number for the Harris house. She dialed it, fingers crossed on her knee. Julianne Harris answered on the second ring.

  “Do you have news about my daughter?” she said without preamble.

  “Mrs. Harris, thank you for taking my call. I appreciate—”

  “I don’t want to talk about what’s been happening to you, Lieutenant. What do you need?”

  Short and snappy. Taylor knew she was only going to have one shot at this. “Mrs. Harris, were you aware that Corinne was taking medication for anxiety?”

  There was silence, then Mrs. Harris sighed deeply. “Yes,” she said.

  “Do you know why she was so…anxious?” Taylor asked.

  There was silence again. “Let me ask that a different way,” Taylor said. Mrs. Harris interrupted.

  “No, Lieutenant, you don’t need to do that. Yes, she was anxious. She was having panic attacks about the baby. She wouldn’t tell me why, but I had my suspicions.”

  “Which were?”

  “I don’t want to defame my daughter, Lieutenant. I think it would be best if we stopped now.”

  “Was Corinne having an affair, Mrs. Harris?”

  Mrs. Harris gave an anguished whimper. “Oh, God. How did you find out?”

  I guessed, Taylor thought. “Who was she involved with?”

  “That I don’t know. I don’t even know for sure that she was having an affair. She was acting so strangely before she died. Erratic. Obsessed. I’ve only seen her like that one other time, over a boy she had a crush on in high school. They dated briefly, very briefly, and when he broke up with her, she collapsed. Sank into a deep depression, began writing letters to the boy, begging him to take her back. It was a phase, we snapped her out of it after a few weeks. Lately, though, she’s had that air about her. A mother always knows when something’s wrong with her daughter, Lieutenant. I don’t know any more than that.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Harris. You’ve been a huge help.”

  They clicked off, and Taylor tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. Todd Wolff changed his story about when he had sex with Corinne the last time. He initially said they hadn’t had sex that week. An affair would explain the semen. The DNA wasn’t back yet, that would confirm or destroy Wolff’s claims. If Corinne was having an affair, who was her lover?

  She made her notes, thought for a few minutes, then decided to keep pushing. Thalia Abbott was next on her list.

  The bright morning sun created a glare off the midtown skyscrapers. Lost in thought, shielding her eyes, Taylor didn’t see the dark-haired man watching her from across the street.

  *

  Back in the truck, Taylor pulled the piece of paper with Thalia Abbott’s name and number on it from her wallet. She dialed the number, was pleased when a soft voice answered on the first ring.

  Taylor introduced herself as a friend of Jasmine’s. She didn’t identify herself as a cop. It would serve two purposes: first, not chasing Thalia off; second, that bitch Delores Norris wouldn’t be able to say she’d been false with a source. Thalia didn’t ask what Taylor wanted, said she’d be happy to meet with her, and Taylor asked if now would be inconvenient. The girl agreed, asked Taylor to meet her at St. Ann’s Catholic Church off Charlotte Pike in forty minutes. Taylor clicked off the phone. Plenty of time.

  She put the 4Runner in gear. Taking advantage of a brief lull in traffic, she pulled a U-turn and headed back toward Vanderbilt. As she passed the stone entrance to the campus, her cell phone rang. Damn, this better not be the kid changing her mind. She glanced at the screen. Baldwin. Composing her voice, she turned down the radio, better to fake the quiet of home.

  Prepared, she answered with a chipper, “Hey, babe.”

  “Taylor, why aren’t you at home?”

  Man, that was quick. How did he find out? She debated. Lie, say she was at home, or cop to it? Knowing Baldwin, he had cause to believe she wasn’t at home—either the guard had blabbed or she had silent, quiet followers. She opted for the latter, she’d laid it on pretty thick with the guard. Might as well stick to the truth.

  “I couldn’t stand to sit there and not do anything. You of all people should respect that.”

  “And you of all people should understand how dangerous this situation is.” But she heard the resignation in his voice. He was only annoyed, not fully angry with her. He did know her, and the realization made her smile.

  “I do. I assume you’ve got someone on my tail?”

  “You weren’t checking?”

  “Like I said, I assumed.”

  “Sloppy, Taylor. It could be Aiden, not a service detail.”

  “If it were, you wouldn’t be calling me, you’d be here brandishing your sword. I don’t need protecting, babe.”

  “You need it more than you realize. But that’s neither here nor there. What exactly are you up to?”

  “Ummm…following a l
ead.”

  “I wish you’d let me handle the tapes. Sherry has gotten more information, we’re ready to go after them.”

  “That’s great news. No, I’m following up on an interview related to the Corinne Wolff case.”

  “Taylor, do I need to remind you—”

  “No, you don’t. I know. I have no badge. I have no authority. I will endanger the investigation if I get involved.” The bitterness in her tone surprised her. The anger at being suspended was closer to the surface than she’d like to admit. Damn the Oompa!

  “Okay, okay. Listen, when we finish, do me a favor. I’m going to text message your detail and let them know you’re aware of them and they don’t have to hang back as much. Your job is to let them stay with you. From what I hear, you drive like a bat out of hell.”

  *

  Taylor drove up Murphy Road, turned north on 46th in front of McCabe golf course. She wended her way through Sylvan Park. Crossing over Colorado Avenue, she began mentally plotting the geographical location of all the states as she went by their street names. It was a game she and Sam had played as little girls riding from Belle Meade through Sylvan Park to get to Bobby’s Dairy Dip on Charlotte Avenue. They tallied points—one for each state capital named, one for each neighboring state identified. Sam’s parents were forced to take different routes each time so the girls could have new challenges. The winner got to choose their ice cream treat first.

  Taylor remembered the intensity with which they played, the fervor, the laughter when they were wrong. The triumph of sometimes beating Sam, who at seven already possessed a weird, encyclopedic knowledge of useless trivia. It would be nice to go back to a time when the most important thing in her life was getting her ice cream first.

  What the hell. She turned left onto Charlotte, past her goal of St. Ann’s to the next block. She pulled into the Dairy Dip, open for business with a line at nine in the morning. There was never a bad time for a good juicy burger and some ice cream.

  Taylor returned to the 4Runner with a chocolate-dipped twist cone, sugar, not cake. She climbed in the truck, locked the doors, then licked and ruminated. Maybe she should have signaled that she was taking a break, offered to buy her detail ice cream. Then again…