Field of Graves

by J. T. Ellison

  “All right. I’ll ask. I may go over and help him run some samples, speed things up.”

  “That would be incredible, Sam. Thank you. I’m heading back downtown. We need to get a game plan together, find this girl’s family and give them the news before we release any information. You’ll get to me the second you hear from Simon?”

  “I will. Hey, I heard about the grand jury. Are you okay? Do you need anything? I know revisiting all of it won’t be easy.”

  Sam was possibly the only person on earth Taylor had been completely honest with about that night. Oh, she’d told the truth, she’d just left out the parts that made her look weak and stupid for falling for Martin’s rap. She’d never forgive herself for hesitating. If she’d only gone straight to Price the moment she found out, none of this would have happened.

  She hugged her best friend, long and hard. “Thank you for caring. I’m fine, I promise. It’s only a recitation of the facts, and I want to see his partners go down.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Taylor. Not one ounce of it. Don’t you ever forget it.”

  Taylor smiled sadly. “If you tell me that often enough, one day, I might start to believe you. I gotta run.”

  “Do me a favor? Stop by the drugstore and grab some Advil Cold & Sinus. We can’t have you getting sick on us.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she said, waving good-bye.

  15

  He stood in the shadows, watching, felt the breeze kick up, smelled the fire coming from the sky. It was time. He said the words quietly, hands raised.

  “‘And after these things, I saw four Angels standing on the four corners of the earth, holding the four winds of the earth, that the wind should not blow on the earth, nor on the sea, nor on any tree.’”

  His voice rose, the ecstasy of the moment driving him. “But I am the fifth angel. And I call upon my brothers to unleash the winds of wrath upon us. Blow away the sins of our people, take those undeserving of my love. Ruin the nonbelievers, allow my vision to caress those worthy of my divinity.”

  In answer, the wind blew harder, and he knew he was blessed.

  16

  The rain was coming down hard by the time Taylor rolled into headquarters. She was fervently hoping the captain had a plan.

  The squad room was unnaturally quiet, so Taylor wandered out into the hall, looking for her people. Lincoln was walking toward her with a pot of coffee, gesturing to the conference room. She followed him in to find Price, Fitz, and Dan Franklin sitting around the table. Marcus had pulled out a whiteboard; a thick black line drawn down the middle separated it into two columns. She’d have to hold off telling them about the possible herbs Sam had collected from Jordan Blake’s body. She didn’t want Dan Franklin to have that information until they were ready to use it.

  One of her quick-thinking detectives had scrounged up a picture of Jordan Blake. She hung on the left side, and a picture of Shelby Kincaid was taped to the right. It was the first real look she’d gotten at Jordan. There was absolutely no comparison to the ruined body they’d found in the river.

  While Shelby was pretty in an unassuming way, more cute than beautiful, Jordan Blake was stunning. Take-your-breath-away, movie-star, attention-getting gorgeous. How in the world a girl like that could have disappeared unnoticed was a real mystery.

  “You guys have been busy,” Taylor said.

  Fitz shot her a smile and Price nodded a hello.

  “Hi, Taylor. Grab a chair. We’re going through our next steps and putting together all the info we’ve got so far. We’re short on Jordan, obviously. You and Marcus are going to Vandy when we finish, and dig up everything you can find on her.” Price was smooth and in control, just the opposite of how Taylor was feeling inside. “In the meantime, Lincoln is looking for the girl’s family. There was none listed on her print card, so he’s called over to Vandy to get her personal information.”

  “If they give you crap, let me know,” Taylor said. “They can get prickly about releasing student information without a court order.”

  “I went the back route.” Lincoln grinned at her, and almost on cue, the phone on the table rang. Lincoln checked the caller ID, then picked it up. “Lincoln Ross.”

  He hadn’t answered with the standard “Homicide.” That must be the people from Vandy. Taylor was glad to see things were being handled so delicately. He jotted down a few notes and thanked the person on the other end of the line warmly. Taylor raised a brow at him. Wondered who he had called in the favor from.

  Lincoln had the decency to blush. “Old friend,” he muttered.

  “So what’s the deal?” Price obviously wasn’t in the mood to play “tease the detective” at the moment.

  “Jordan is from Houston. I’m going to go call the chaplain, see if he can start working his magic to get her parents notified.” Lincoln rose and headed back into the warren to make the call.

  Price watched him go, then turned back to Taylor. “What did Sam have to say?”

  “Her sense is we may have the same killer. On the surface, it looks like two totally different suspects. Jordan had been raped over a period of time and stabbed five times, two that caught her in the heart and killed her pretty quickly. But Sam saw the same liver necrosis as Shelby, the indicator of possible poisoning. She’s sent everything to Simon Loughley with an emergency push. One little snag. Jordan was six weeks pregnant. We could have a set of coincidental deaths here, two different men entirely.”

  “Or we could have one man who’s ridding himself of dead weight.” Price stroked his mustache. “I don’t want any talk outside this room about serial killers, series killers, or mass murderers on the loose with a hard-on for Vandy coeds. Dan, we need a press conference. We’ll need a very succinct and brief statement for the late news. I’m talking bare bones here. And I want Taylor to be there with you to take a few questions.”

  Both Franklin and Taylor opened their mouths to protest. Price held up his hands. “We’ve had quite enough controversy in this shop, and enough media attention to last a lifetime. Putting Taylor on camera will show we’re back to normal. She is in charge of investigating these homicides, and I want a female face on the case. It will make the coeds listen. And it will help after yesterday morning’s little snafu.”

  Taylor closed her mouth and narrowed her eyes at Price. He simply smiled.

  “Now, Taylor, get a subpoena for Jordan Blake’s records, and do it fast. I want you and Marcus to go back to Vandy and check things out. Be a little discreet. This is eventually going to get out, and I don’t want it to look like we’ve stepped on anyone’s toes. Fitz, I’m pulling you back in full-time. You head over to Private Match and sit on Loughley until he comes up with the results.”

  Fitz shrugged. “It’s not going to happen tonight, Cap. It takes time to run all those little tests.”

  “I don’t care how long it takes. Just go over and help him out. Y’all are dismissed. Dan, stay behind—we’ll work on the statement. You can call Taylor later with the time she needs to show up.”

  They stood, and Fitz said, “Taylor, can I have a second?”

  “Sure. I need to check on Lincoln anyway.” They left the room, Price still barking instructions to Dan Franklin in the background.

  Lincoln was hanging up the phone when they walked in. “Here’s something interesting for you. The chaplain called his counterpart in Houston, who knows Jordan’s family. They ran out to the house—apparently the parents don’t live far from their HQ. Jordan’s parents have been in Europe for the past month. They’ve got another month planned, and their maid didn’t know how to reach them. She said the dad calls into his office every once in a while, so we called over there to have him call as soon as he gets a message. The maid gave them the number of a sister who lives in Washington, DC. They’re trying to get in touch with her, see if she can r
each the parents.” He shook his head. “Some family. No one seems to talk to anyone else.”

  “Very sad. Keep after them, Lincoln. If we’re having a press conference tonight, I’d like to be able to use Jordan’s name. Fitz, let’s go in Price’s office.”

  They went in and Fitz closed the door. She saw the look of concern and steeled herself.

  “You okay, sweetheart?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “Hey, little girl, this is me you’re talking to. Marcus told me about your panic attack over at Vandy.”

  She felt her chest tighten. “Great, now he’s tattling on me?”

  “No, no, no, he didn’t know what happened, exactly, only said he thought you were feeling sick. Lucky for you, you do look like you’re coming down with a cold. That’s what I told him. I’m the one who put it together.”

  She laughed. “Why does everyone think I have a cold? I feel fine.”

  “You don’t look like you feel fine. You look stressed and strung out and ill. What’s up? Are you worried about the grand jury?”

  “Fitz, honey, I love you to death, but I’m fine. I just got a little hot and stopped to catch my breath. Maybe I am catching something. So stop worrying about me. We’ve got two very dead girls and a city that’s going to go into panic mode when they hear the connection. More important things, you know? Sam may have gotten some herbs off Jordan Blake’s body. Tell Price and Lincoln for me, okay? I didn’t want to mention it in front of Franklin.”

  Fitz nodded but still looked doubtful. He knew about the dreams. He knew about the panic attacks. He knew she’d been riding the edge. He had tried to talk her into taking some time off after the shooting. She’d bullied her way back and hadn’t stopped. She was finally starting to show some cracks.

  “You got me worried, little girl.”

  “Fitz, I’m fine, I swear. I haven’t been sleeping, that’s all. We solve this case, I get my testimony over with, and I’ll take a few days off. Promise. But right now I have to scoop up the puppy and go over to Vandy. Okay?”

  He leaned over and put a hand on her shoulder. Squeezed, then got up and left without saying another word.

  Taylor took a deep breath. Shit. If Marcus was noticing she wasn’t 100 percent right, the others were, too. She needed to get herself in check, and fast.

  David Martin just wouldn’t let her go, the bastard.

  17

  Taylor and Marcus took the familiar route to Vanderbilt’s administrative offices. Chief Graber was nowhere in sight. Taylor didn’t complain. They caught a plump, grandmotherly woman holding a clear plastic umbrella just as she was locking the doors to leave.

  “Excuse me. I’m Lieutenant Jackson and this is Detective Wade—”

  “Detective Wade. I remember seeing you yesterday. I’m Gladys Thorton.” She gave Marcus a sweet, inviting smile. He coughed and looked at the ground. “You were here about Shelby Kincaid. I saw you talking to Chief Graber right after he came and got the Kincaid girl’s records. I heard more about it on the news. Poor little lamb.”

  “Yes, ma’am, it is a shame. We need a favor, though. Would you mind letting us in and looking up another record for us? I promise it won’t take long.”

  “Well, I’ve got my book club in an hour. If you can be quick...?” Taylor nodded and Gladys turned the key, unlocking the door, happy to chat despite her rush. “Have you ever read Middlesex? I just couldn’t seem to get through it. I’m embarrassed, really, I’m sure they’re all going to think I’m some sort of dummy, but it just didn’t capture my interest. These big books...”

  Taylor smiled at Marcus and let the woman prattle as she led them into the office. Maybe they’d get lucky and she’d be too distracted to question their motive in pulling another record. News of Jordan Blake’s death wasn’t out yet; they needed to be careful.

  “Whose record did you say you wanted?”

  Marcus finally spoke. “Uh, we didn’t. But we need Jordan Blake’s file.”

  Gladys stopped. “Jordan Blake,” she said disapprovingly. “Do you have a court order for the records?”

  Marcus waved the blue-backed paper in front of her.

  “You’re supposed to go give that to the counsel’s office first, but since Chief Graber took responsibility for the last one, I’m sure he’ll do the same for this. He knows you’re here?”

  Taylor shifted uncomfortably and told a tiny white lie. “Um, no, ma’am. I wasn’t able to reach him before we got here. He may have gone home for the day.”

  Gladys clucked, “That poor man. His leg pains him something awful. You just leave the court order with me, and I’ll make sure it’s all taken care of. Jordan Blake. My, oh my. Did she kill the Kincaid girl?”

  Taylor froze. “Why would you say that, ma’am?”

  Gladys was bumbling around the office like a bee in search of honey, smiling over her shoulder at Marcus all the while. “Oh, the Blake girl, she’s a bad apple, if you ask me.”

  Bingo, Taylor thought. Gossip was as good as anything right now. Taylor leaned in confidentially to give the woman more comfort to spill the beans. “She is? Can you tell me why, Gladys?”

  “Well.” She directed her scandal-laden voice at Marcus. “Jordan’s been trouble since day one. Always getting herself in scrapes. Drunk driving, wild parties, missing classes. She’s on academic probation again this semester. If I were the dean, I would have kicked her out long ago.”

  “Why hasn’t he?”

  “Why, because she’s a Blake, dear. Jordan is Gregory Blake’s daughter.”

  Marcus looked blank, but Taylor suddenly understood. She mentally kicked herself for not putting it together sooner. The Blake family was one of the largest benefactors to Vanderbilt. Gregory Blake was an incredibly successful oilman from Texas who had attended Vanderbilt for undergrad and law. He’d made a lot of money and wanted to give it back. He’d done his best to get his name on Vanderbilt’s new library, but the honor had gone to Alexander Heard and his wife, Jean. Heard was the ex-chancellor of the university and had much more clout than the oilman from Texas.

  But it all made sense now. Out of the country, no contact with their wild child, just throwing money at the situation rather than dealing with it. It was going to take some tightrope walking to keep this from becoming a huge mess.

  Taylor grabbed Marcus’s hand to keep him from talking any further. Gladys had led them into the records room and was riffling through the cabinet marked B–2006. Graduates scheduled to receive their wings in 2006. Girls and boys ready to take on the world, unknowing and untried. Innocent. Taylor felt the old familiar worthlessness creeping up, but shut it away firmly.

  Gladys was still talking. “So did that girl get into trouble again? I can see her getting involved with the wrong crowd, one that could hurt the Kincaid girl. I swear, one of these times she’s going to get herself in some real trouble. Such a shame, too, because she’s a smart girl. If she just applied herself... Here’s the file.” She looked at her watch. “Oh my, I really do have to lock up and get to my book club. The rain makes the traffic so awful. Why don’t you just take it with you? You can bring it back in the morning. Leave the subpoena on my desk. I’ll deal with it tomorrow, too.”

  As she spoke, she ushered them out the door, locking it behind them. “See you in the morning.” She gave Marcus another smile and hurried off, humming quietly to herself.

  Marcus was still speechless. Taylor started laughing, then found she couldn’t stop. The fit of hysteria was catching, and they ended up sitting on the steps of the building, trying to catch their breath. The rain had calmed to a heavy mist, and the overhang of the ornate edifice gave them enough shelter. Taking advantage of the dry spot, Taylor groped in her pocket and came up with a wrinkled pack of Camel Lights. She offered one to Marcus, who accepted sheepishly. “You’re a bad
influence.”

  “If the whole squad hadn’t decided to quit smoking at once, it would be a lot easier to cheat.”

  They lit up, sat companionably for a few moments, smoking, not speaking, lost in their own theories about Jordan Blake. Without warning Taylor burst out laughing again. She stood and started to the car, giggling as Marcus walked slowly after her, impervious to the rain.

  “All right, puppy. Let’s go talk to some of Jordan’s classmates. Give me a second, I’ve got to grab my phone—I left it in the car.”

  Dan Franklin had left a message on her cell while they were in with Gladys. The press conference was in an hour.

  All the humor fled. Just what she wanted—to face the cameras again.

  18

  Captain Price was getting ready to walk out the door when his phone rang. He hesitated; it was late, and he was caught between the desire to just clear the hell out and the knowledge that he had to take the call. He let out a huge sigh and walked back to his desk.

  “Price.”

  “Hey, man. How goes it in the land of make-believe?”

  “Garrett Woods. How the hell are ya? It’s been a while. You in town?”

  “Don’t I wish? No, I’m sitting here underground at Quantico, as usual. I think I’m becoming a vampire. The light hurts my eyes when I get outside.”

  “Sorry to hear that. You still running the BSU up there?”

  “Behavioral Science... Investigative Support. They can’t decide what they want to call us. Yeah, I’m still running it. Isn’t all it’s cracked up to be these days. Too many crazies and too little time. Speaking of which, I hear you guys are having a little fun down there yourselves.”

  Price caught the note in his friend’s voice. Uh-oh. He really liked the man, but he didn’t relish the thought of the FBI trailing around his cases. He’d had many good experiences with them, but he’d also found when profilers get on the case, things could go a little astray.