Sweet Dreams Boxed Set (60 page)

She took a deep breath, holding it for a count of thirty then letting it out slowly. It was a trick her therapist had taught her, and it did work. She felt much calmer when she let it out. She thought she had finished the self-flagellation. She had been cleared in David’s death. Been put back to work. She’d dealt with the looks, the whispers. Went on with her life with a small empty spot gnawing quietly at her heart.

“Baldwin seems like a decent man. He could be handsome if he got himself back together. I’m telling you, cat, I may be in the business of saving people, but I really didn’t know what to do when I saw him with that gun. I just reacted, like I would do with anyone I found like that. It seemed to work, I think he may be okay. But it scared me.”

Jade gave Taylor one of those unnerving stares, holding the eye contact until Taylor scratched her on the nose and she settled back in.

“Yeah, you’re right. Maybe I want him to be okay. Sam seems to like him, and she’s a pretty good judge of character. We’ll see.” She shrugged, too hard, and the cat dug in her back claws and leapt off her shoulder.

“Damn, girl, why do you do that?” Taylor peeled back her shirt and saw the long scratches on the top of her arm. “I swear, you do that again…”

Jade sat calmly on the rug, washing her front paw. Confession time was over. “Fine.” She drained the Diet Coke. “I’m going to bed.”

Exhaustion hit her like a brick as soon as the word
bed
came out of her mouth. She made her way up the stairs with Jade galloping ahead of her, sounding like an elephant on a tear. She made it to her bedroom and to the bed, lying down fully clothed and was asleep within minutes, a purring bundle of fur curled up behind her legs.

The Fourth Day

Thirty

Taylor was dreaming again. She knew it was a dream this time, but couldn’t drag herself out of it. It wasn’t exactly the dream; it was a more tailored nightmare. Only the worst parts replayed themselves: the yelling, the heat of the bullet as it flew, the look of absolute shock on her face when she realized who she had killed. It replayed slowly, inexorably, as all tragedies do. She could see every detail as if it hadn’t been dark. The tiny spot of blood from a shaving cut mingling with the blood pouring out of his head, the gel he applied to the cowlick on his forehead making each strand of hair glow and shine, the blue fleck entrenched in the brown of his right eye. And then it all sped up, and she was standing over him, the cold steel smoking, a smile on her face.

She woke with a start, tears wet on her cheeks yet unable to open her eyes: her brain lingering on the final scene. It was different this time. Before she’d never been able to stop before she died along with him. She didn’t feel the gut-wrenching pain that usually accompanied the dream. In fact, she felt almost peaceful. She concentrated for a moment, trying to relive the last moments of the dream. She could have sworn she’d heard a word just before she came to, but her rapidly awakening neurons forced it away and the word slipped from her grasp as quickly as it came.

Taylor opened her eyes to the sun streaming through the window. Jade was still zonked out at the foot of the bed, a surprise. Usually when she had the dream the cat was right next to her face, her piercing emerald eyes full of concern, as if she shared in her pain. She mustn’t have shouted out this time.

She got up, peeled yesterday’s clothes off and jumped into the shower. While she washed her hair she tried to recall the element of the dream that had changed, but still couldn’t put it into words. She gave up, finished her shower, dried and dressed and headed to the kitchen, the thought of a fizzy jolt of Diet Coke pushing everything else out of her mind.

Thirty-One

Baldwin hadn’t slept, but the constant nagging voice in the back of his mind had blessedly shut up. He wasn’t sure what was going on. Eight hours before he’d been loaded and cocked, recklessly imbuing fate with chance. Now he felt a strange sort of hope, almost as if he had absolved himself of something.

After Taylor left, he’d sat in the dark the rest of the night, thoughts turning, cascading waterfalls of feelings through his head. None made much sense, but when the sun came up, he was determined to help Taylor Jackson.

He arrived at the station before she did, felt a vague sense of disappointment. He shook it off, got buzzed in through the back door, helped himself to a soda and sat down at Taylor’s desk in the squad room. He caught the curious glances from the night shift as they bundled up and went to live their lives for the day, and was sure the word had gone out the lunatic ex-agent was on the grounds.

You’re being paranoid, Baldwin. Stop it.

Ringing chatter came down the hall as Taylor and Fitz shared insults to begin their day. They entered the room laughing hard, and Baldwin was surprised to realize he wanted in on the joke. But they stopped when they saw him, the mood sobered, and Taylor greeted him warmly. Fitz stood to the side, still eyeing Baldwin as if he was a piece of moldy Limburger cheese. He chose to ignore him.

“Morning, Taylor.” He saw her eyeing him, could see the thoughts running through her head. Yes, he was still in one piece. Yes, he had made it in to help them work the case. No, he didn’t look all that great, but at least he was still with them. He subconsciously touched the bandage on his cheek and gave her a ginger smile.

“And to you, Baldwin. I trust you slept well?” He was taken aback. He’d assumed his actions of the night before had been duly reported, but it looked like she hadn’t filled Fitz in at all.

“Like the dead.” He was rewarded with an earsplitting grin. He laughed, feeling the tension in the room melt away. A brief glance at Fitz brought it all back.

“So Baldwin, Taylor told you about the poison?”

“Yes, she did. I’m anxious to hear more.”

“Ain’t we all, son. Taylor, where’s Sam?”

A voice rang out from the hallway. “Right behind you, old man.”

Fitz jumped, then turned and bear-hugged the ME. He drew her off the ground and swung her around, outwardly annoying her to no end, but Baldwin could tell it was just an act. Again the feeling of being an outsider crept in, and he looked away. This was a close knit family, more than just a team of cops. He hadn’t felt like he belonged to a family for a very long time.

“Dammit Fitz, put me down. You’re gonna make me hurl my sausage biscuit all over you.”

He obliged and backed away, smiling. “Don’t you go doing that now, sugar! We can’t have the ME puking all over the squad room this early in the mornin’. Might start a few rumors, ya know what I mean?”

Sam guffawed. “Very funny Fitz. Taylor, help me.”

“Oh no, Sam, looks like you’re the one who opened that door.”

“Gee, thanks. Some friend you are.” Fitz put her down, and she turned to Baldwin. “Dr. Baldwin,” she sang out gaily, “You look like crap.”

“Thank you. I think.”

“Don’t mention it. Taylor, where’s Lincoln? I asked him to do some research on aconite for me.”

“I don’t know where he is. Probably up to his ears in ViCAP. I’ll go hunt him down.” She left the room, and Baldwin felt distinctly uncomfortable again. Taylor was his only link into this group, however tenuous that may be. He only had his intellect to go on, and he suddenly wanted to prove himself to these people.

You’re insane, they don’t care, why are you bothering?
But when Sam looked him up and down and said, “Baldwin, who looks like crap, care to give your thoughts on our little case?” he settled down and waded in. He couldn’t help himself; Sam’s enthusiasm was infectious.

“The aconite is one of the strangest things I’ve ever seen. It is a very uncommon poison in the criminal canon. Plus, poisoning homicides are usually perpetrated by women, which doesn’t fit, since obviously Jordan and Shelby were with a man before their deaths.”

“Go on,” Fitz said.

“Jordan’s murder seems like overkill to me. She’d already ingested the poison. The killer intended for her to die in the same fashion as Shelby. To stab her after the fact was violent, personal. I’d guess she pissed him off after he gave her the poison, mouthing off, perhaps, maybe even trying to escape. He needed to stop her, grabbed the knife and started swinging. It would explain the differences in the way the bodies were discovered as well. He was furious with Jordan, so he discarded her, tossed her in the river like a piece of trash.

“On the other hand, Shelby was treated with respect. She was loved, revered. Given an honorable burial in his mind. Scattered with herbs…I think we may be looking at some sort of ritual, maybe even an offbeat religious faction. The aconite itself strikes me as almost cultish.”

Sam and Fitz were paying total attention to him now. “What doesn’t fit the pattern is the herbs Sam found on Jordan,” Fitz said.

“Right. Even though he killed her in a rage, he took a moment to throw some herbs on her body before he cut her loose. Conscience got the better of him, maybe? The herbs are definitely important to him. It has to be part of his ritual. They aren’t a clue left for us, there was a good chance the wind or the water would wash the herbs away before we got to the body. They’re strictly a device for his own piece of mind. And then we have the aconite angle, which is quite odd.”

“You can say that again.” Lincoln and Taylor came back into the room, arms loaded with a stack of papers half a foot high.

Taylor was shaking her head. “You’re going to love this. There’s some really weird stuff out there relating to aconite. Witches and warlocks and pagans. It’s on all the lists of poisonous plants on every botanical website. It’s an alkaloid and will kill you pretty darn quick, but the homeopathic sites list medical uses for it. The Chinese use it for pneumonia and rheumatism. There’s a well-documented history of its use through medieval times, and it was used in Greek and Celtic practices and pagan burial rites. You can get it anywhere too. The homeopathic websites actually sell it.”

Lincoln jumped in. “Here’s more fun stuff. According to some of the sites I accessed, aconite was mixed with belladonna, which produced a kind of delirium akin to flying. Pliny the Elder sanctioned its use for euthanasia. When he wrote
The Natural History
, he gives a whole history of the squabbles of the Roman Emperors and their families. They used aconite to get rid of enemies of the state. The Romans used aconite to poison rivals because accusations of murder by poison were incredibly hard to prove. You could get it from any drug peddler on the street, hence the custom of the royals having tasters. I can go on and on, there’s a ton of stuff out there, but I also came across one interesting tidbit on one of the Wicca sites. Aconite’s magical properties include protection and invisibility.”

Baldwin was intrigued. “Protection and invisibility. Huh. I like the protection angle. Maybe this guy thinks he’s shielding these women from something? Then he scatters them with burial herbs to complete the ritual. Interesting. Toss the Parthenon as a dump site in there, and we’ve got ourselves a real throwback to the ancients.” 

Taylor took a seat next to Baldwin. “We could trace all the purchases of aconite over the past month, but I don’t think it will do any good. It can be grown in a garden in the backyard.” She consulted one of the sheets. “‘An absolute must for every witch’s garden.’ It would be a waste of time looking for the source. We have to trace the killer through the evidence we have, and take Jordan and Shelby’s lives apart. There has to be some connection between the two besides Vanderbilt. I don’t think this guy just spotted them on the street and decided to grab them. Something in my gut tells me this was planned, that they were chosen for a reason. We just have to figure out what the reason is.”

“I think you’re right, Taylor. The organization of the scene at the Parthenon shows quite a bit of thought. If we were talking a generic serial killer, he would have killed them in the opposite order, escalating into a stabbing from the ‘gentleness’ of the poison instead of the other way around.” Baldwin ran his hands through his hair, a gesture Taylor was starting to recognize. “I don’t think we’re dealing with any kind of serial or series killer that would fit a standard profile. We’re dealing with a man with a purpose, a reason. These deaths aren’t indiscriminate. Whether he’s sending us a message or doing it for himself is the puzzle. Unlike the usual killer who stages a crime scene, I’m willing to bet our involvement is secondary to his primary goal. He’s not leaving them for us to find.”

The group digested this idea, and Taylor was the first to speak. “Okay, where do we start?”

“You have the files on the girls from the university? Let’s start there. There has to be an overlap between these two girls. It’s a liberal arts school, so there has to be a curriculum they have to follow before they declare a major. Let’s go back through their records and start looking at any classes they may have had in common.”

Taylor started giving assignments. “Lincoln, get back online and see if you can find anything else on the aconite. Toss in the herbs, the Parthenon, anything you think could be related. Baldwin and I are going to start working through the records.”

The phone rang on Fitz’s desk, and he answered it gruffly. “Homicide…yeah…shit.” He banged the phone down and started rubbing the lower half of his face.

“What’s the matter Fitz? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Is everything okay?” Taylor looked spooked. There was something in Fitz’s eyes that was freaking her out.

“That was Missing Persons. They just got a report of a girl named Jill Gates, who’s been missing for the past few days.”

Taylor sat down slowly. “Spit it out, Fitz.”

“She goes to Vanderbilt.”

Thirty-Two

The flurry of activity died down as the news sank in. Two dead, another missing. Taylor sat with her head in her hands, and Baldwin tried not to show how shaken he felt. This suspect was moving too damn quick for them to get the slightest idea of what he was trying to do.