So Close the Hand of Death (26 page)

T
aylor ignored the phone when it rang again.

She hated lying to Baldwin. Even though he’d been lying to her for God knew how long, she didn’t want to be that woman. The one who said she was going shopping with her friends and actually met her lover in the park. The one who calculated a man’s worth before she spoke to him. The one who said
I love you
and didn’t mean it. She wasn’t that kind of woman, yet here she was openly lying to her fiancé about where she was going. And worse, what she’d be doing.

Greater good, Taylor. You know he’d stop you if he was close. You’re smart to send him away. To send him where he’ll be safe
.

And face it, you don’t want him around while you commit murder.

When Kris told her Barclay/Ewan lived with her, her heart sank. A separate address would have been much too easy. Of course he wouldn’t do that. She sat in her car for five minutes, breathing, thinking, deciding. She had a feeling she knew where he was, where he’d taken Sam. If she were Ewan Copeland, it was exactly where she would go to end things in Nashville. He knew her
well enough to know she’d figure that out. The stage had been set perfectly.

She placed a quick call to Julia Page, the assistant district attorney she felt most comfortable asking a favor from.

Julia picked up on the first ring. “Taylor, thank goodness you’re okay. I just heard about the shooting.”

“Which one?”

“There’s more than one? I’m talking about Colleen Keck.”

“We also had a suspected copycat in the parking lot of Forensic Medical. He was neutralized.”

“Good God. Did you shoot him? Did he hurt Sam? Have you found her?”

“No, I didn’t. Jesus, Julia. I’m hardly trigger-happy.” Yeah, right. Like she wouldn’t have taken the opportunity herself, and enjoyed it. This was who she’d become. Blindly seeking revenge. “I don’t know anything more about Sam, but I’m working on it. Hey, Julia, do you have a contact number for Joshua Fortnight?”

Silence billowed through the phone. Julia finally cleared her throat.

“I know the name of the home he’s in. He opted for a group living environment when his father was killed. There was no one left to take care of him, and the estate got locked in an escrow fight, and the staff was let go. The estate will be in probate for years. They released enough funds to pay Joshua’s medical expenses. We were able to get him well placed, the best we could do, considering. He’s at the Guardian facility, off Antioch Pike and Old Harding.”

“Awesome, Julia. Thank you.”

“Do I want to know?”

“I just need to ask him some questions later. Nothing
to worry about. This whole case ties back to his father, I just need to clarify something.”

“Okay, Taylor. Good luck.”

Taylor knew Julia had worked hard to take care of Joshua. A victim of Treacher Collins syndrome, he was blind, going deaf, his face deformed beyond recognition. The fact that he was leading a relatively normal, healthy life was a miracle in itself. His mother, Carlotta Fortnight, had died in childbirth. His father, Eric Fortnight, Snow White, dead by Taylor’s hand. His sister, Charlotte Douglas, impregnated by Baldwin, slain by Ewan Copeland…

Joshua’s history was a bloody one. It was remarkable that he’d survived unscathed—he’d saved his father from his creation by shooting Copeland in the shoulder moments before Taylor and the SWAT team burst through their doors.

The whole saga was much too incestuous for Taylor’s liking.

She was already past Ellington Parkway. She whipped it around and took the exit for I-24 East, settled into the fast lane. She could make it to Joshua’s group home in less than ten minutes.

Joshua. The innocent, surrounded by tragedy. The lamb staked out for the lions.

He may have the answers she needed.

She was going to find Sam and see her safely away from the bastard. She refused to give up trying to save the innocents around her, to wallow in her failures. There would be plenty of time to mourn the ancillary players once she was finished.

The phone rang again. She might have to just turn the damn thing off so it wouldn’t be such a distraction.

She glanced at the screen—it was an international
call. She recognized the number, with its +44 prefix. Memphis.

What the hell? Why would Memphis be calling now? Should she answer? She pressed the button and connected the call.

“How are you, Special Agent Highsmythe?”

His thick British upper-class boys’ school accent flew out of her cell-phone speakers tinged with relief. “I’m so glad I reached you. Are you all right?”

He actually did sound relieved, the fool.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Taylor, I saw the case on the news. You’re everywhere. It looks like things have gone to hell. Please tell me you are taking care of yourself.”

“Worry not, Viscount. I’m always careful.”

“I’ve seen you in action, remember.
Careful
isn’t what I’d deem an appropriate term for you. You’re as dangerous as a courting lion.”

She couldn’t help herself, she laughed. He’d always had that ability, at least. Even when she was infuriated with him, he could turn her mood upside down.

“Seriously, I’m all good. What can I do for you?”

“I was worried,” he said simply.

He was quiet then, and she felt that strange guilt that always washed over her when Memphis revealed his true feelings about her. Memphis had formed an attachment to Taylor, and when he’d been selected to work at Quantico as the liaison between New Scotland Yard and the FBI on counterterrorism, she’d been terribly worried he wouldn’t let things lie. But Memphis had kept his distance, and behaved himself. For the most part. Baldwin didn’t know that Memphis called her, and that sometimes, when she wanted a laugh, she answered the phone.

God knew she needed something cheerful now, but this wasn’t the time.

“I’m fine, really. But I have to go. I’m tracking down a lead and I’ve just arrived.”

“Be careful then, Taylor. You and your chap need to come over to England sometime. I’ll show you around.”

“I thought you were in Quantico?”

“Back on the Queen’s soil now. The colonies no longer needed my expertise.”

He didn’t sound bitter, but Taylor couldn’t help but wonder if Baldwin had seen to that. He was wildly jealous of Memphis, and having him underfoot in Quantico was probably too much of an annoyance, even for a man with Job-like patience.

“I’m sorry about that. I know you were enjoying yourself.”

“Yes, well. One can’t have everything one wants, isn’t that right?”

And boom, he crossed right on over the line. Typical of him, he could ride the edge for only so long. He was trouble, with a capital
T,
and Taylor knew it.

“I’ll talk to you later, Memphis. Have a good night.”

She hung up the phone and forced Memphis, and Baldwin, from her mind. She must focus on Nashville.

B
aldwin had been using the Nashville field office for his day-to-day needs for a couple of years. Its biggest advantage was its proximity to downtown, and to Taylor. Morning traffic into town from the east side was usually terrible, and today was no exception. He took advantage of the crawl to call Garrett back.

“It’s about time you rang. Don’t your minions give you messages anymore?”

“I have no minions. Just loyal, hardworking souls who would never take the chance of contacting me while I’m on suspension.”

“Yeah, right. Tell Salt I believe that.”

“Things are going to hell, Garrett. Taylor’s bodyguards just killed the Zodiac copycat at Sam’s office. Sam is missing. Our best lead is dead. Everything is falling to pieces.”

“I know that. Which is why I needed to talk to you. I’ve spoken with the director. We’re reactivating you and rescinding your suspension. There’s too much happening out there to have our best player on the bench. Try to stay away from the media, but get a handle on
these copycat killers and wrap this case. Where are you with things?”

It was about time.

“I’ve been working the angle with Ewan Copeland, trying to figure out who he is and where he’s from. He’s been working at Forensic Medical as a death investigator named Barclay Iles. We nailed his sister—she’s the shooter from North Carolina. She’s from Raleigh, North Carolina—the SBI are on that part of the case. Her name is Ruth Anderson, and she’s on the run. Copeland can’t be far behind her—he sent Taylor a CD with the license plates of the copycats. He blew their cover on purpose. It was probably just another part of the game, or he got bored. Who the hell knows. And the true-crime blogger is dead.”

“I heard. Salt says they have one of the other copycats in custody. I want you to talk to him face-to-face.”

“He’s in Knoxville, Garrett. I need to stay here. The game in is Nashville.”

“The pawn of the game is in Knoxville. You need to get up there.”

“But—”

“Baldwin, your return is conditional. The director feels the media attention to the case warrants finding out why three men decided to start pretending to be famous serial killers. We have too many dead, all over the country, and two more killers in the wind. This fool has had direct contact with the Pretender. The director wants answers, and results, and he thinks the key to the case lies in Knoxville. So get up there. That’s an order.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll make plans to get to Knoxville right away.”

“Let me know what you find out. And no cameras, you hear me?”

“Got it.”

“Good. One other thing. On a more personal note.”

Baldwin knew exactly what that meant. Garrett had news about the child Charlotte claimed to have aborted.

“He’s overseas. A foreign adoption. That’s all I’ve gotten, but I’m still working on it.”

Baldwin felt the breath whoosh out of him.

“He’s okay though, right?”

“It’s been at least two years since anyone’s seen paper on him. With Charlotte’s death, all sorts of agencies got involved. You know how the government octopus works. That picture is very outdated. I’m doing the best I can.”

“All right, Garrett. Thank you.”

He clicked off. The traffic was finally moving. Once he got past the 440 split, things went smoother. He could see downtown clearly. The clouds had retreated, typical Nashville weather, teasing a storm and delivering sunshine instead. The cold sun glinted off the buildings. It all looked so normal. It felt so right.

The idea of leaving Nashville for Knoxville scared the hell out of him. He couldn’t leave Taylor unprotected. It was bad enough that they’d split to work different angles of the case. He needed to be with her, by her side, helping her track down Copeland and Sam.

But if he defied orders when he was on such precarious ground, everything he’d worked for all these years would go out the window.

A week ago, he wouldn’t have hesitated. He’d have
said to hell with the FBI and attached himself like a limpet to Taylor’s side.

But there was his son to consider now, too. Garrett’s support in finding the boy had been phenomenally helpful. Could he purposefully turn his back on his boss, his friend—his son, maybe—to follow his own path?

He never thought he’d have to choose. He was going to fail this test, he could feel it in his bones.

He got on the phone to Kevin as he took the exit to swing through downtown to the CJC. Arranged for a chopper to take him to Knoxville. If he had to go, he needed to do it quickly.

The CJC was a mess when he arrived. The roads were closed at the bridge. He had to park on Second Avenue, in front of Hooters, and walk himself in. He did it quickly, worried. There was an ambulance, but the EMTs were standing around, not acting. When he turned onto the street, two fire engines pulled away. First responders were done. Was all this for Colleen Keck? Or had something else gone down?

He felt a moment of sheer panic. Taylor. Where was Taylor? He flipped open his phone to call her and broke into a run. The call connected, then went to her voice mail. Damn it. Did she have her phone off? Or had Ewan Copeland’s final piece of the puzzle dropped into place?

The medical examiner’s van pulled up to the light next to him. He ignored the red hand telling him to stop and sprinted across the street. Marcus Wade was standing on the corner, talking to Lincoln Ross. Taylor’s boss, Joan Huston, was taking Lincoln’s weapon from him. But he didn’t see Taylor.

He ran up to them. “Where’s Taylor? Is she okay?”

Commander Huston turned to Baldwin. She was calm, collected. Sadness tinged her eyes.

“Hello, Dr. Baldwin. The lieutenant is fine, so far as I know. We lost a witness in the parking garage, and the suspect who killed her. Detective Ross was forced to employ his service weapon in self-defense. This is a crime scene, so I need to ask you to remove yourself. This is a local case, it has no bearing on the FBI.”

She was right: he had no right to be there, no reason. But Lincoln was his friend, as was Marcus. He didn’t want to leave. And where in the hell was Taylor? She should be here by now.

He looked over to Lincoln, who was gray with misery. Marcus was standing next to him, speaking quietly. He squeezed his arm, then nodded to Baldwin.

Without speaking, Marcus walked away, back toward the CJC. Baldwin fell into step with him. They took the long way around the building, to the back entrance, then stopped on the stairs to talk.

“What the hell is going on?” Baldwin asked.

“Chick had a knife and she was inside the zone. Linc had no choice but to shoot her. He’s pretty messed up. It’s a clean shoot, straight self-defense. Problem is, three people saw what happened, and two of them are dead. He’s on leave, he’s going to get sent home for the day at least, after he sees the shrink.” Marcus slid his key card through the reader. “Where’s Taylor?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to find out. I was hoping she was here already. She asked me to meet her. She’s looking for Sam. We think Copeland’s got her. I thought you were with Fitz?”

“I was, but when I heard Sam was missing, I got back here pronto. I’ve got two guys I trust on him. He’ll
be fine. This day just keeps getting better and better,” Marcus said.

“What caused Colleen Keck to blow up?”

When they were inside the Homicide offices, Marcus went straight to Taylor’s office and beckoned Baldwin to follow. He shut the door so they could talk freely.

“Lincoln had a set of her prints run. Turns out she was living quite the lie. Her real name is Emma Brighton, and she’s from Forest City, North Carolina. Copeland’s hometown.”

“Taylor said she thought Colleen was tied to Copeland in some way. That she recognized the name.”

“That’s what Lincoln was trying to get out of her when she snapped. He thinks she was the rape victim from when Ewan was sixteen. She was in the group home with him.”

Baldwin smacked his forehead with his hand. “My God. That makes perfect sense. No wonder he was targeting her—he’s wrapping up loose ends. She started her life over under a different name. Got married. Had a kid.” Another thought hit him. “Her husband’s murder was never solved, right? I bet Copeland was responsible somehow.”

“It’s possible… He was killed on the interstate during a drug interdiction sting—all caught on camera, but whoever did it knew how to shield his face. They knew it was a man, just by the size of him, but that was all they got. The ballistics never matched anything, it was a clean gun.”

“That sounds like Copeland. He found his old flame Emma living as Colleen Keck. He knew who she was married to. He used Keck’s name to visit his mother three years ago. He spent years looking for her, then decided to systematically ruin her life. At her most basic,
she was a witness. We know he’s changed his face cosmetically several times since then. He’s been posing as Barclay Iles, from Forensic Medical. One of my profilers is serving the plastic surgeon he’s been using with a warrant right now.”

“No shit?”

“Nope.” Another thought hit him. “The blog name. Felon E.
E
for Emma. I wonder if she did that intentionally or subconsciously? I bet after her husband died, she couldn’t help herself. But who was the woman Lincoln shot, the one who killed Colleen?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out. She doesn’t have any ID on her.”

Baldwin stood and paced for a minute. “The clues that he sent us, with the license plate numbers and Sam’s address. There was a leftover letter—an
E. E
for Emma Brighton,
E
for Felon E.”

“Makes sense.”

“I didn’t ask—how was she killed?”

“Gruesome. Her throat was slit.”

It hit him in a rush. “Marcus, we’ve got to go back out there. I think I know who Lincoln shot in the parking structure. And if it’s her, this just became my case, too.”