“If he was in Crossville Sunday, where was he Saturday?”
“That’s the question. We don’t know. He wasn’t in Savannah. His receptionist caved pretty quick when she realized we knew he was lying. She said he hadn’t been to the job site in over a week. The maestro here—” he gestured to Lincoln “—has been working his mojo on their computers. Corinne Wolff was a very bad girl.”
“Really?”
Lincoln handed her a sheaf of papers. “She was definitely getting some nookie on the side. Here’s her little love notes, courtesy of her private e-mail. They are all from a separate address, a different provider, and password protected. The whole nine yards. We assume she didn’t share it with Todd, they have another couple of addresses that are obviously for his work, her friends, and another that’s solely smut related. This one was tucked away in a hidden folder.”
She knew it. Taylor glanced through the first few sheets. The usual online lovey-dovey stuff, typical of any relationship. “I don’t see a name. You’re sure this wasn’t between her and Todd?”
“Positive. I traced the IP address. It’s registered to a completely different person. The same person, by the way, that owns the IP address for Selectnet.com.” His smile was nonchalant, but his eyes burned with the knowledge that he’d done something remarkable.
Taylor nearly fell out of her chair. “What? What do you mean? The California company that’s putting up the sex videos? My sex videos? Corinne’s involved in that?”
“They both are, though in completely different ways. Todd Wolff seems to be the purveyor of both fine art and the lowbrow stuff. He’s working for the Selectnet company, providing them with high-quality film. That’s his big sideline money-maker, the porno flicks he’s making in his basement. But we’ve gone through his finances with a fine-toothed comb, and we found some interesting purchases. Specifically, he bought forty of the cameras we found in the vents of your cabin.”
It took Taylor a moment to wrap her head around that little tidbit. “Todd Wolff was responsible for putting the cameras in my house? How in the world is that possible?”
“Not just your cabin. Here’s our theory. We’ve tracked down more of the uploaded videos to the Selectnet site. A huge number come from Nashville. Todd’s the head of Wolff Construction. It’s as easy as pie—when he builds a house, he places the cameras. The owners have no idea they’re there, and he gets to parlay all that unedited film into home movies on the Web site.”
Taylor gave a long, low whistle. “Do you realize how many houses he’s built? There could be cameras in all of them.”
“Well, forty of them that we suspect, at least.”
“But he didn’t build my cabin. How did that happen? How would Wolff have gotten into my house?”
“Here’s the genius part. Before he started Wolff Construction as a home builder, he was a renovator. He did contract jobs for insurance money. Say, for example, a person has a leak in their shower, has to file a claim on their home-owner’s insurance to get it fixed. The insurance company contracts with certain construction firms to do the work. We checked, and Wolff Construction was one of those companies. It’s how he made enough money, on the books at least, to graduate to the home building company. And the camera purchase is recent, only last year. He could have bought many, many more and we just haven’t found the records yet.”
Taylor let the thought gel. When had she had work done on the cabin? She didn’t remember…oh, yes, she did. She’d done a minor kitchen remodel a year after she moved in. But that wasn’t an insurance claim, and she didn’t remember working with Wolff Construction. She racked her brain trying to remember the name of the company she’d used, but it wouldn’t come. She told Lincoln that.
“I already thought of that,” he said. “Even before he started the work with the insurance companies, he worked for his dad. His dad owned several firms, one of which was—”
“Remedy. Remedy Remodelers. Son of a bitch.”
“Exactamundo.”
“Wow. Lincoln, this is fantastic work!”
“Aww, it wasn’t just me. Marcus did some of it.”
“Gracious of you,” Marcus said.
“Think nothing of it,” Lincoln jibed back.
Taylor tuned out their banter. The tendrils of Wolff’s multiple illegalities would have serious ramifications. They needed to talk to the press, to get the word out. Which also meant rolling up the Selectnet shop. Even though the site had been pulled from the Internet, they still needed to bring in the ringleaders. For that, she needed Baldwin’s help.
“We need to have a press conference, among other things. I’m going to call Baldwin. How much information do you have that we can use to indict Selectnet.com? Because we have to take them down.”
“That’s what Price is doing. He’s talking to Dan Franklin and they’re designing a media campaign. He’s left it to us to wrap the case. So, here’s the rest of the story.”
“There’s more?”
“Much more. Marcus, you go. I’m getting parched.”
“Okay. We backtraced the IP address for the Selectnet company. The California holdings are a front. The money trail leads right back here to Nashville. Does the name Henry Anderson ring a bell?”
Taylor felt the name go through her like a lightning bolt. The image of the man connected to the name came, vivid and sharp. A name from the past.
“Are you joking?”
They both shook their heads.
“Do you know the story behind Henry Anderson?” she asked.
“We’ve been familiarizing ourselves with it. He was one of your busts, that much we know. You got him into prison on child molestation charges. He charged you with brutality.”
“Ha. I kicked him in the balls when he tried to run during an arrest. He deserved it. Child molestation was the only charge we managed to get to stick. And it wasn’t even a felony count, it wasn’t the same kind of terminology we’d use today. I think he was ultimately charged with child endangerment, actually. We couldn’t do much better than that. A shame too, Henry’s quite the sleazeball. He was making movies back then. He served a few years, and got out.” She paused, snapped her fingers. “The movies. That’s it, isn’t it? Henry is Todd Wolff’s benefactor.”
Lincoln nodded. “That’s what we think. He is definitely the owner of Selectnet, and his reach looks to be deeper than that. We’re still running through all the information, but there’s definitely enough to tie him directly to underage porn. Among about a thousand other violations of the law.”
Taylor went to her little window, looked out across 2nd Avenue. There was dust in the air, probably from the construction site down the road, and the motes danced in the sun. Pretty. Unlike her thoughts right now. Abandoning the dust ballet, she turned back to them.
“I didn’t know he was still in the state. Henry fucking Anderson. He’s a mean son of a bitch. I had a difficult time with him, he came after me with both barrels, tried to have my testimony discredited, filed the charges against me. They got dismissed. I caught him red-handed with his dick in a kid’s face, and he tried to make me look bad.” She broke off again. All the little pieces fell into place.
“Tony Gorman. You said he was a member of Selectnet. He got word to Henry that I’d gotten a sniff of their enterprise. I’ll bet a million dollars that’s where the complaint came from, the one that Delores Norris listened to when she suspended me. I got a little cheeky with Gorman in our interview. Gorman wouldn’t have had the guts to do it himself, but if he were encouraged…Henry is a master manipulator. Unbelievable.”
Lincoln and Marcus were equally excited. “After we talk to Wolff this evening, hit him with all this information, that we know his role, surely we can shake his ass loose on the murder of his wife. He’s facing so many different counts and so many years in jail that it shouldn’t matter to him. Copping a plea to murder should be the least of his worries.”
“Well, we can hope. Let’s fill Page in, tell her what’s hap
pening. Then we need to go get Henry Anderson. I’m assuming you’ve already found him, Lincoln?”
“Yep.” He flashed her a gap-toothed grin. “He’s right there on the sexual offenders’ database, all registered up like a good little boy.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Taylor was getting her ducks in a row.
She spent a few minutes writing up the case notes while she waited for the requisite warrants to be arranged before they took their case-breaking field trip. The evidence implicating Todd Wolff was becoming increasingly cut-and-dried. They just needed one or two more pieces of the puzzle to lock him up for life, and it seemed her team, working closely with Baldwin’s FBI cohorts, was accomplishing that very nicely. The added satisfaction of bringing Henry Anderson to his knees should be quite the capper on her day.
Taylor had talked to Julia Page and they’d decided to seek separate indictments against Todd for the pornography, the cyber Peeping Tom cameras, and the murder of Corinne Wolff. No sense throwing everything into one basket, have a technicality render an acquittal and not be able to retry due to the convoluted double-jeopardy statutes.
Dan Franklin was ready to go to the media with the story as soon as Baldwin’s people gave the okay sign that they’d raided the California Selectnet offices and taken possession of their physical records.
Taylor and Marcus were ready to pick up Henry Anderson. Lincoln was set up in a private office, working with one of Baldwin’s forensic accountants, trying to unravel more of the Wolffs’ financial trail. Considering the accountant was petite and blond, Lincoln didn’t seem terribly put out.
Fitz was at the ME’s office. A quick autopsy was being performed on Aiden, courtesy of one of Baldwin’s calls to Quantico. Garrett Woods had sent down a staff forensic pathologist to help Sam with the evidentiary trail.
All these law enforcement folks, acting as one big happy family. They were lucky to have a good working relationship between all the jurisdictions involved. Taylor had to admit, it was nice to work with Baldwin again. His calm, cool demeanor always helped an investigation along, especially in the critical moments before they blew it wide open.
And at the moment, the man in question had his feet propped on the edge of her desk, watching her finagle a warrant for Henry Anderson. His green cat eyes were practically dancing with merriment watching her go through the elaborate machinations with the judge she’d pulled. It was the newly elected female judge, Sophia Bottelli, the former prosecutor who was adamant about i dotting and t crossing.
Promise of a signature finally secured, Taylor hung up the phone and looked at Baldwin’s grinning visage.
“You look like a Halloween jack-o’-lantern. Could you smile any bigger?”
He swung his feet off her desk. “This whole week has been unreal. You’ve been raked over the coals, humiliated, yelled at by your fiancé, yet here you are, unscathed, ready to swoop in and take down the bad guy. I love it when you do that.”
“Funny, I was just thinking the same thing.”
“Think we’ve got it all covered?”
“I’d still like to know why Michelle Harris went on the national news and tried to discredit me. All I’ve tried to do is help her and her family.”
“Grief makes people do strange things.”
“Well, that’s true. When I first met her, I don’t know, there was something off about her. I’m probably just imagining things, it was a horrible moment for that whole family. Her mom was crying in the chaplain’s arms, sobbing her heart out, the dad was in shock, the other sister was blank as a slate. Michelle was the only one who had any semblance of composure about her. When she came into the room, there was this moment where she looked almost feral. She covered it up quickly, I’ve never seen it again, but for that instant…this is going to sound stupid.”
“No, go on.”
“It was like she wanted me. Sexually, I mean.”
“She isn’t married, is she?”
“No. She’s…” She cocked her head to the side. “You know, I don’t know too much about her. I was so busy focusing on Corinne that I didn’t look too far into the rest of the family. Then we have the lovely moments without a badge this week. I’ve glossed over too much. We’ll have to spend the next few weeks filling in all the pieces. Never mind about Michelle. There’s nothing there. Like I said, it was probably my imagination.”
Marcus knocked on her door. “Hey, I was talking to Sam, she wants to talk to you. I’m going to transfer her in, okay?”
“Sure.” Taylor waited for the buzz that indicated a forwarded internal call, then picked up the receiver.
“I refuse to go to any more charity events,” Taylor said.
“Then goodie for you that’s not what I’m calling about. I have something you’re going to love.”
Taylor snickered. “Goodie for me? What are we, five? What’s the big news?”
“DNA’s back on Corinne Wolff.”
“Ooh, you’re right. That is something I want. Give it to me, sister.”
“You’re not going to believe this. The semen deposit was left by Henry Anderson.”
“Henry Anderson, as in my video-crazy pedophile? The one who Todd Wolff was working for?”
“Todd Wolff was working for Henry Anderson?”
“Long story, but yes. In a nutshell, that’s exactly what’s been happening.”
“There’s more.”
“What?”
“Henry Anderson was the father of Corinne Wolff’s son.”
Taylor clicked the speakerphone button, gestured at Baldwin to pay attention. “Say that again.”
“Todd Wolff was not the father. The DNA on the fetus shows that Henry Anderson was the father of Corinne Wolff’s child.”
“Sam, you are the greatest gift a homicide detective could ever have.”
“Well, thank the mayor, because if he hadn’t asked for the proof that we could streamline the system, I never would have put this case’s DNA on the fast track.”
“I hope this means you’re getting a new lab?”
“I don’t know, T. I gotta run, we’ve got Aiden’s autopsy done and I need to write up some notes. By the way, tell Baldwin the crime scene techs found Aiden’s clothes in a bin behind the McDonald’s on West End. We’ll get that sent to his lab, if he’d like.”
Baldwin said, “Yes, please, Sam. Did you find an ID?”
“There was a wallet and a passport, both with ID in the name of Jasper Lohan. High-end stuff, they look legitimate.”
“Jasper Lohan. I don’t recognize that name for him. No wonder we lost him in St. Louis. Cunning bastard.” He wrote a quick note, then said, “Okay. Thanks.”
They hung up with promises to have dinner over the weekend. The banality of the arrangements made Taylor long for some peace and quiet, reminded her that she wasn’t like everyone else. Making plans was a luxury, a formality. In most cases, either she or Sam, or Baldwin, or Sam’s husband Simon, would be called to work a case. They lived in twenty-four-hour-a-day jobs, their lives cordoned off at the whim of a criminal.
Taylor toyed with a pencil. “Corinne’s mother was right. Corinne was having an affair.”
“Goes a long way toward explaining the claustrophobia that Corinne was suffering from. A psychosomatic response to infidelity. Maybe she and Henry had broken up and she found herself pregnant.”
“If they’d broken up, why did she have sex with him right before she died? And why do these—” she waved the stack of love notes taken off Corinne Wolff’s computer at him “—have recent dates? No, Corinne was still deep into the affair.”
“Well, a better question is, did Henry Anderson kill her?”
Taylor thought about that for a moment. “I think Todd did it. That level of rage—I can see Todd finding out his wife was cheating on him, maybe even learning that the baby wasn’t his child, and snapping. We have the evidence against him, the blood in his truck, on his toolbox. A stranger isn’t going to know about the drawers in her cl
oset, that’s an intimate spot to stash the tennis racquet after you’ve beaten someone to death with it. He’s been lying from the beginning, saying he was in Savannah when he was really in Nashville, or within a tank of gas to Nashville. Why did he lie if he didn’t kill her? It’s a helluva lot easier to prove an alibi that’s real than create a false one. No, my money is still on Todd. Henry Anderson is scum, but he’s a pussy. He’s a manipulator, someone who knows what buttons to push to take advantage of people. Blatant violence seems a bit strong for him.
“But I may be wrong. It’s been ten years since I’ve had this guy on my radar. He may have changed. Obviously being in jail didn’t help him find the error of his ways and clean up. It’s entirely possible that he did kill her.”
She stopped, lost in thought again.
“You know, Baldwin, you were right. When I told you about my interview with Dr. Ricard, Corinne’s therapist, and she hinted that Corinne had a lover. You hit the nail on the head about the baby not being Todd Wolff’s.”
“What did she say exactly?”
Taylor grabbed her notebook, flipped to the pages where she’d written down her interview with Ricard.
“Here it is. ‘Instead of fighting, she acquiesced. Allowed herself to be used.’ I asked about Todd using her. She said, ‘By many people. Husband, family, siblings, lover. You’ll hit upon the truth soon enough, Lieutenant.’ Right there. Lover. She was helping Corinne deal with having an affair. Both Ricard and Katie Walberg, the OB/GYN, said Corinne was a serial monogamist. Maybe sleeping with two men at once was too much for her psyche.”
“Not sleeping with two at once. Caring about two at once. That was the problem.”
“You’re probably right. Maybe she was breaking it off with Henry and he killed her. We need to go see Mr. Anderson. Maybe he can shed some light on this.”
They stood.
“Bring your handcuffs,” Baldwin said.
“Oh, trust me. I intend to.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
They caravanned over to 51st Avenue in northwestern Nashville, a small section of town aptly named the Nations. It was across Interstate 40 from Sylvan Park, the mirror image of the state street routes Taylor and Sam used to trace with their parents on pilgrimages to Bobby’s Dairy Dip.
Lieutenant Taylor Jackson Collection, Volume 1 Page 116
