ALL THE PRETTY GIRLS BOOK 1 (19 page)

Taylor was back in her office, waiting for Lincoln and Marcus to return from interviewing the previous alleged victim of the Rainman. She had missed a call from Baldwin, which left her moody. She wanted to talk with him, but he was up to his ears in dead girls. As she fiddled with a few reports that needed to be completed, Fitz rolled in, with Marcus and Lincoln on his heels. He got to the office door first.

“Everything okay?” he asked gruffly.

Taylor gave him a startled look. “Everything’s fine. Why?”

“You’re just looking a little ill, that’s all. You’re not catching something, are you?”

Taylor waved his concern away. “Had a long night. I’m fine, really.”

“Ready to go over what the kids got on the Rainman?”

She nodded. “Yeah, let’s do it. But let’s go into the conference room, I don’t feel like crowding in here.”

She led them to the room down the hall, then locked the door behind herself so they wouldn’t be interrupted at an inopportune moment.

“Okay, give it to me. Marcus and Lincoln, you first.”

Lincoln leaned back in his chair and flipped a file open in his lap. “We talked with the last victim of the Rainman, Lucy Johnson. She was victim number seven, and had told Betsy she thought she recognized the guy, right? Well, after thinking on it for a few days, she wasn’t totally sure she even wanted to point a finger. Marcus charmed her right out of her panties, so to speak, convinced her that it would be the right thing to do. Here’s where the problem is. She thinks it’s a guy that works out at her gym. She also sees him around town a lot, the Mapco when she goes for gas, Publix when she’s shopping. So he’s local to the area. Too local.”

Taylor nodded. “Think she’s legit?”

Lincoln shook his head. “We know he’s been working a specific geographical area. He went pretty far out of it to get to Betsy in East Nashville. All the other rapes occurred out in the west and south parts of town, Bellevue, Forest Hills, Franklin and Brentwood.”

“Where does Lucy Johnson live?” Taylor interrupted.

“That south part of Davidson County off Highway 100 that straddles Williamson County.”

“And what gym does she use?”

“She goes to the YMCA at Maryland Farms.”

Lincoln was pulling more notes from his file. “At least three of the other victims work out at that gym. So that’s a connection between them. I guess I can understand why Betsy got excited when Ms. Johnson told her that she thought it was a guy from her gym.”

“Well, that’s great, but did she identify him?”

Marcus gave a half smile. “Well, that’s the problem. She’s a treadmill and bike, he’s apparently into the free weights. She didn’t see his face anyway, so there’s no ID to go on. She recognizes his arms.”

Taylor looked at the file, flipping back through the witness statements. “Free weights? I thought he was supposed to have a slight build?” she asked.

“Slight, not tall, but muscular and strong. That’s what Lucy Johnson said.”

Fitz had been quiet throughout the exchange. “Can she pick him out of a lineup?” That was Fitz, taking it down to brass tacks.

“It’s not a face that she remembers. It’s the arms, the body, the way he walks. She also said she hasn’t seen him at the gym in a while. So unless we pull their records and go through all of the ID cards, then get all of their arms in a lineup, there’s no way to go this route.”

Taylor chewed her lip. “I thought you said she recognized him from around town, running errands and the like.”

Marcus glanced at Lincoln and they shared a silent look.

“C’mon, guys, spit it out. There’s something more to her statement. What is it?”

Lincoln gave Marcus the barest of nods. “When she sees him around town it’s not in gym clothes. She thinks he’s driving an undercover. She thinks he’s one of ours.”

Taylor set the file on the desk and raised an eyebrow.

“Undercover, like one of our detectives undercover? Or just plainclothes?”

“She doesn’t know. She doesn’t seem to know a lot of things, but she’s certain she saw him get into one of the white Caprices. She recognized the way a cop in Mapco walked, thinks he works out at her gym and that he showed up at her door and raped her. It’s a little thin.”

“Does she know the cop’s name?”

“No, but she gave a really blasé description of him. Jarhead it sounds like. I don’t know, Taylor, I can’t imagine we could make an arrest based on how someone walked. And this Lucy Johnson didn’t seem screwed in too tight, if you know what I mean. It could be that she’s just seeing phantoms. Rape can be very traumatic.”

“Thank you for the lesson, Marcus.” Taylor gave him a smile. “But I’m not willing to overlook anything right now. Let’s talk to Betsy and find out what she thinks. Could you handle that? I think she’s being released today, you could run over to her house. And boys, I’m sure I don’t need to remind you to look over your shoulders. We don’t want the press camped on her doorstep, you know?”

“Sure, LT, no problem.” Marcus sat back in his chair.

“Wonder why he only hits when it rains?”

Taylor waited to see if anyone would answer, then chimed in. “Because the rain washes away his sins. Not to mention the evidence.”

All three men looked at her, nodding slowly. Well, that made sense.

As Marcus and Lincoln left to go speak with Betsy Garrison, Taylor signaled for Fitz to stay behind.

“What’s up?” he asked, twiddling a pencil between his meaty fingers.

“Julia Page came to see me. Seems she’s a little worried about our friend Terrence Norton’s ability to beat each and every rap he’s fallen for.”

“Yeah, I heard about the reluctant witness getting shot by some runner out of Atlanta. Guy had an outstanding warrant, too—he’s cooling his heels here while Atlanta scrambles to get him back. They want him bad, think he’s a bagman for one of their biggest dealers. They want to play let’s make a deal with him, and soon. You know how these guys seem to disappear into the earth as soon as their bosses get threatened.”

“Yeah. Page seems to think it all goes deeper than that. She thinks he was brought in to silence the witness just in case he changed his mind about testifying. Thinks Terrence set it up.”

“Anything’s possible. Little shit like Terrence, he could have it in him. I didn’t think he’d gotten quite to that level, but…”

“Would you be willing to look into it for me? See just how strong Terrence has gotten? Page would love to get him for tampering, intimidation, anything that could take him down.”

Fitz stood and stretched, his ample belly reaching for the sky. “Sure, I’ll get with her, talk to a couple of confidential informants. See what the word on the street is. I gotta tell you, he’s starting to insulate himself pretty well. May be a bigger mess than we expect.”

“Uninsulate him for me. The drug and gang scene is strong enough here, we don’t need another player in the mix. Deal with Vice, whoever you need to talk to. But keep it quiet.” She chewed on her pencil for a moment.

“Page thinks the seeds of corruption may go even deeper. All the way to the bench.”

Fitz guffawed. “I wouldn’t worry my pretty head about that. Terrence doesn’t have that much pull. Besides, Hamilton was ticked as hell at Page because the jury acquitted Terrence this time. I heard he was really hot for her ass, and not in a good way.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured. Just pursue the witness/jury angle with Page, see if you can turn anything up. Keep your ear to the ground, work a couple of sources, see what shakes loose.”

“You got it, sugar. Rather be dealing with a criminal I can understand anyway. Drug dealers, pimps, the regular Nashville nasties. I hate this serial killer shit.”

Taylor was gathering up her things, trying to tidy up, when her phone rang.

“Lieutenant Jackson.”

“Taylor, it’s Mitchell. I need you to do me a favor.”

“Since you’re my boss, anything you ask me to do is actually considered a direct order.”

Her smart-ass remarks usually made him laugh, and this was no exception. “While I appreciate that you’re my subordinate, I have a feeling you’re running the whole show regardless. I understand you were at the accident scene this morning where Whitney Connolly lost her life?”

“I was. Sam and I were having coffee around the corner, so I tagged along. Why, is something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong exactly. But I need you to head over to Quinn Buckley’s home. She’s Whitney Connolly’s sister.”

“I know who she is, boss. I went to school with them for a couple of years. They transferred in after their

‘incident.’ Besides, I don’t think there’s a person in Nashville who doesn’t know who Quinn and Whitney are.”

“Yeah, well, it’s been a long time, and those girls went through a terrible ordeal. And now Whitney’s been killed, and it’s been a big shock from what I hear. Not just a sister, but an identical twin. Apparently Quinn Buckley is taking the news very hard, which is to be expected. I’ve heard twins have some bizarre connection to each other that normal siblings don’t have. Anyway, I’m getting off track. She told the officers that went to inform her of the accident that Whitney had been trying to reach her. ‘Frantically’ was the word she used. I thought you could head over there and see what ‘frantic’ means in Belle Meade.”

“I’m happy to. I haven’t been slumming in a while now. What’s the status of their case, anyway? Did the guy ever get paroled?”

“Nope. He’s still in and will be for quite a while. So I don’t think this has anything to do with their past, just their present. But if you would go over and find out for me, I’d appreciate it.”

“Will do.”

“Where are you with the rapes?”

“Lincoln and Marcus interviewed the victim who thought she knew him. She’s wobbly, I’m not sure if she’s going to be the best source of information. But the boys told me something interesting. She’s saying it was a cop.”

There was silence from the other side of the receiver.

“Do you think that’s the case? Could that be where the leak came from? If it’s one of our own, he could have leaked it himself.”

“That’s damn fine speculating, Cap, but I think it’s a little too soon to make those kinds of assumptions. I’m still convinced the leak came from outside this building. Lincoln and Marcus are chasing it down, I just sent them to talk to Betsy. We’ll figure it out, I promise.”

They hung up and Taylor finished gathering her things. She went out the back door, pausing at the top of the stairs where cigarette butts stuck like porcupine quills from an orange bucket of sand. She took a deep breath and kept walking, but stopped twenty paces away and dug in her pocket for her Camel Lights. Flicking a cheap, store-bought lighter, she took a drag. She rationalized for the millionth time. As soon as this case is over, I’ll quit for good.

She went to the car, rolled the window down and put the stick in gear. Blowing smoke out the window, she took off down to Broadway, then turned right and headed toward West End.

She hadn’t thought about the Connolly case in a long time. It had happened when she was only thirteen, and at the time, her parents had sheltered her a bit from it, not wanting to scare her. But she’d worked the rumor mill like every other kid in town, and while they may have had the story straight, no one knew all the details. The Connolly girls disappeared one afternoon on their way home from school. They were attending Harpeth Hall, the exclusive all girls’ prep school in Belle Meade. The school was close to their home, and they usually walked or rode their bikes back and forth to school in their little uniforms. So safe was the neighborhood, no one gave it a second thought. Their parents finally called the police that evening when the twins didn’t come home. In the age before Amber Alerts and twenty-four-hour-a-day news coverage, the news hadn’t gotten too far. Taylor never really remembered seeing it on television or in the paper, just hearing about it from friends. The girls disappeared, but were found a few days later. They’d escaped from their kidnapper, a strange man named Nathan Chase. According to the official accounts, they were just fine when they got home. The rumor mill, on the other hand, was moving in high gear.

The appearance of the Connolly sisters at Father Ryan, Taylor and Sam’s high-school alma mater, had caused only a minor stir; the genteel students and their well-mannered parents had seen to it that the girls were welcomed with open arms and never bothered by the stories from their past. At least that was the surface impression. In reality, the whispers and stares were done discreetly, the stories told quietly behind closed Junior League doors, the privileged teens murmuring during cheerleader practice and football games. The walls of Belle Meade Country Club oozed the story, wiping themselves quickly if any member of the Connolly family appeared.

But the Connolly girls were readily accepted, invited to all the right parties, dating the best and brightest boys, making excellent marks and never failing to fit in. Or so it appeared. Their scandal, instead of hurting them, made them.

The summer skies were darkening with a typical afternoon storm. Taylor opened the sunroof, catching a breath of cool air that preceded the storm. Crossing Interstate 40, traffic was slow and aimless. Passing through the quiet streets of West End, she finally came to the intersection of Harding Road and White Bridge Road. The Starbucks date she’d shared with Sam seemed like days ago, not just this morning. She’d managed to put aside all the emotions from her two-day roller-coaster ride during the afternoon, but seeing the Starbucks brought the news, or non-news, back in a flash. Talk about dodging a bullet.

She supposed she’d have to tell Baldwin about the false alarm, share the near miss with him in as lighthearted a manner as she could. God knows she didn’t want anything to screw with their relationship. Things were good. She was content. She loved him, he loved her. End of story. She didn’t want the same things many women craved. A great man, a wonderful bedmate, relative companionship. That was enough for her. Certainly, her plan didn’t have room for two point five kids and a dog. She’d never been married, hadn’t ever come close. Before Baldwin, she’d always taken her physical pleasure where she could, avoiding all emotional entanglements. Discreet, short-lived affairs on her terms. Sex, not love. Funny, she’d never realized how lonely she had been.