The Immortals (21 page)

Quantico
November 2

B
aldwin hated fighting with Taylor.

Having to tell her about Fitz over the phone was a catastrophe. He should have called Sam first, had her there. He'd heard the cracks form in Taylor's otherwise rock-hard shell, and it made his heart break. She was the strongest woman he knew, the bravest. And the most foolhardy when her dander was up. He hoped like hell he'd gotten through to her, that she would actually listen to him and stay in Nashville. She'd promised, but he wasn't convinced. Knowing her friend was out there in need may prove too hard for her to hold back on.

He needed to get this hearing over with and get back to her before she did something stupid.

He checked his watch. They were due to reconvene in twenty minutes. He needed to get a move on.

 

Reever was waiting for him when he arrived.

“What took you so long? I thought you weren't going to show.”

“There's some role reversal for you, Reever. That's how I felt yesterday.”

“Touché.”

“Listen, how much longer do you think this is going to go on?”

“Depends, Doc. How much more do you have to tell them?”

Baldwin looked at his friend. How much more indeed. He could just sacrifice himself, fall on his sword, give them everything right now and walk away. It wouldn't be the first time he'd considered leaving the Bureau.

But with the Pretender on the loose, he needed the full force of the FBI behind him. No, he needed to continue to tread delicately, not giving them anything that wasn't absolutely necessary. He still didn't know what they had hanging over him, though he was starting to get an inkling. And if he was right, he was in more serious trouble than even the disciplinary board realized.

“Baldwin, time to go in. You ready?”

“Yeah.”

They got settled at the table. Tucker entered the room like a judge; Baldwin waited for the cry of “All rise.” Instead, Tucker actually flashed him a smile, which disconcerted Baldwin to no end. It wasn't friendly, that was for sure.

Tucker made sure his minions were ready, then looked down his long nose at Baldwin.

“You may continue where we left off yesterday, Dr. Baldwin.”

“All right. We executed the search warrant at dawn. We had such hope that we would find Kaylie Fields alive.”

Northern Virginia
June 17, 2004
Baldwin

Harold Arlen came to the door outrigged in a terry cloth robe over short blue-striped pajamas, moose hide slippers
and a glass of orange juice. Every piece coordinated, he looked like any other suburban guy who'd been startled out of his morning routine.

“What the hell is this?” he demanded.

The Fairfax County detective held up a sheaf of papers. “We have a warrant to search the premises. Please stand back, Mr. Arlen.”

“Search? For what? I haven't done anything. What the hell is this about?”

“There've been a number of little girls gone missing over the past few weeks, and—”

Arlen's mouth fell open. “You think I'm the Clockwork Killer? Are you daft, man? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard.”

The air crackled, the situation's intensity ratcheting up. Baldwin and Charlotte stayed back. This was the Fairfax Homicide boys' show. Goldman was there, overseeing his detectives as they served the warrant. Arlen's probation officer was there, too. When they pushed into the house, moving Arlen out of the way, his PO grabbed him and held him aside. That didn't help his temper at all—his fury and indignation continued to explode. He met Baldwin's eye like he knew who was behind this, and Baldwin felt the implicit threat. He just smiled. They were going to wrap this up today. Maybe, just maybe, little Kaylie would be found before it was too late.

A deep rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. Baldwin couldn't see very far. They were sandwiched in the cloister of houses, but the weather forecast called for severe storms today. Just what they needed—rain to hamper the search efforts.

Baldwin saw the curtains twitch across the street at the Kilmeades' house. The door opened a few seconds later. Mr. Kilmeade came out onto the porch, fully dressed despite the early hour, the scowl on his face evident from a distance. He started down the stairs, intent. Baldwin broke away from the group to head him off. He met him at the bottom of the
drive. Kilmeade had built up a head of steam, Baldwin actually had to put out an arm to stop him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You can't go over there.”

“What's happening? Is Harry being arrested?”

“They're executing a search warrant. Arlen broke his parole when he had contact with your daughter. They have to look at every angle in this case, and Arlen fits.”

Kilmeade was shaking in fury. “That's a lot of preconceived bull. I told you, Harry wouldn't hurt a child. It's not in his nature. And how dare you use my dead child in this case? What is she, just a means to an end? She's not alive to defend herself, to explain. How dare you?”

“I'm sorry this upsets you, Mr. Kilmeade. But right now, we need to stay back and let the police do their job. Why don't we go back into your house and have a cup of coffee?”

Kilmeade shook his head. “No. You're not welcome in my home. You've used me and my family to further your sordid goals. I'm going back in and calling a lawyer. You don't have the right to come in and railroad Harry just because he fits your idea of what a killer should look like.”

“Mr. Kilmeade,” Baldwin started, but the man ripped his arm away and stormed back into his house. Great. Just what they needed, more lawyers involved.

Baldwin went back across the street. Charlotte met him at the door, a huge grin on her face.

“What is it? Did you find Kaylie?”

“No, we didn't. But he's got kiddie porn galore on his computer. It was open—we must have interrupted his morning constitutional. More than just dabbling, it looks like he might be trafficking, as well. And there's pictures of all of our victims too, including Kaylie, and several other girls we don't recognize.”

“Then we've got him!” Baldwin had to resist sweeping Charlotte into a hug. He settled for squeezing her hand. This was fantastic news.

“But there's no sign of Kaylie, or where he might be holding her?”

“No. This is going to take a while. They've Mirandized Arlen. Goldman is having him transported back to Fairfax County for interrogation.”

“Has he lawyered up?”

“Not yet, though his PO is going insane. He insists he's innocent. Arlen says he has nothing to do with any of this.”

“Don't they all. Kilmeade, from across the street? He's pretty fired up, said he was going to call a lawyer on Arlen's behalf. So be prepared. Homicide is taking care of the families, right? Do we need to be along for that?”

“No, we're good there. They've got it covered. We can keep focused on helping find Kaylie.”

Baldwin nodded. “Okay. I want to do a walk-through of the house, get a feel for things, and I want to be there when they do the interrogation. There's still something we're missing.”

“I figured as much. Goldman said he'd give you a ride whenever you're ready. It's going to take a bit to get Arlen processed anyway. I'll stick around here, if that's okay with you. I want to see what else they might find.”

“That sounds good. I'll see you back in Quantico, then.”

Nashville
12:00 p.m.

T
he mood on the ride back to the CJC was triumphant. Taylor called Commander Huston and told her about the morning's events, got a nice attagirl that left her feeling good. They were getting close, getting very, very close.

Lincoln met them at the door to Homicide, his grin ear to ear. Even the space between his two front teeth looked cheerful. He had a sheaf of papers in his hand. “Got it,” he said.

“Got what?” Taylor said, discarding her leather jacket behind the door to her office.

“The IP address of the video uploads. I cross-referenced the IP addresses the video-sharing sites gave me and got a match to one here in Nashville. Right now, I'm looking for the actual place where the movie was uploaded. It came from Davidson County, that much I know. I'm waiting on BellSouth to give me an exact location.”

“Oh, that's great news. How long, do you think?”

“Within the hour.”

“Fantastic work, Lincoln. Really.”

“I'm also collating some reports for you from the autop
sies. Hang tight, I'll be there in five minutes. Sam wants you to drop by her office this afternoon when you have a chance. She has something to show you.”

“Gotcha, thanks. We've got too much stuff to cover to handle it in my office. Move everything into the conference room.”

She felt good, that high that comes when a case is about to break free. They were forty-eight hours in and had almost all the pieces together. Good old-fashioned police work, not mind reading and other bunk.

Ariadne stepped into the Homicide offices, the patrol escort at her elbow looking nervous. Ariadne seemed to have that effect on men, Taylor noticed.

Taylor nodded to her, thanked the patrol, who wiped his hand surreptitiously on his blues and backed into the corridor.

“I'm sorry we're so late. Why don't we go in my office,” Taylor said.

“All right,” Ariadne responded.

Taylor led the woman in, then shut the door behind her.

“You're looking very pleased this morning,” Ariadne said.

“It's been a productive day so far. Listen. I have what we call a six-pack of photos that I want you to look at. You tell me if any of the men in the pictures match the one you saw at Subversion Halloween night, okay?”

“Certainly. Anything I can do to help.”

Taylor laid the hard sheet of paper on her desk, facing Ariadne. Six sets of eyes glared up from a white background. Ariadne sat forward, running her finger along the pictures, absorbing.

She finally sat back. “I'm sorry. No one in those pictures is the boy I saw.”

Taylor shook her head slightly. “Look again.” She couldn't lead the woman, but Juri Edvin was the second from the right, top row. If she was telling the truth at all, surely she'd recognize him.

“I'm sorry,” Ariadne said. “The boy we're discussing isn't in these photos.”

Taylor felt the wind go out of her. She pulled the sheet with the females on it, handed it over.

“What about this?” she asked.

Ariadne was quick this time. “That's her. Bottom right. She's the one I saw at Subversion, the one that slapped the boy.”

A little relief bled into Taylor's system. At least they had a positive confirmation on Susan Norwood.

“Okay. Would you be willing to sit down with a sketch artist to help us draw up something with the boy and the other girl that you saw?”

“There's really no need for that, Lieutenant.” She reached into a capacious velvet bag and pulled out a roll of parchment. “I've drawn them for you.”

She unrolled the paper, the stiff vellum crackling. It was a scene from a bar, happy faces, laughing and jumping in the background. Taylor could almost hear the music that made them sway to and fro. In the center were a boy and a girl. The girl was tall, willowy, the boy ramrod straight. They looked like they were wearing masks.

“You're an excellent artist,” Taylor said. “These are the two you were talking about?”

Ariadne nodded.

“There's just one problem. It's going to be hard to figure out who they are with all this makeup on them.”

“I took the liberty of trying it without, as well,” Ariadne said.

She flipped the paper; a second drawing was below. This captured the exact same scene, but none of the children were obscured by makeup.

“Ah,” Taylor said. “If this is them, we can work with this.”

“That's them. The little girl from the photograph slapped the big boy here, then they chased after her. I'm sorry, it's the best I could do under the circumstances.”

Taylor was glad they'd decided to let Ariadne go home last night, with a patrol on her house to assure that she didn't try to leave. Taylor imagined it hadn't been a fun night for her. Regardless, the drawings were as good or better than any of their artists could have done with an Identi-Kit, that was for sure. Taylor looked them over one more time.

“I'm going to take these pictures with me, okay? I need to see if anyone who knows these children might recognize them. What do you plan to do?”

“Pray. I plan to pray to the Goddess for your success.”

Taylor stared at the picture for a few more minutes, then looked Ariadne straight in the eye. She weighed her words carefully.

“My detective thinks I should trust you.”

“He's a very smart man.”

“Then tell me the truth. Do you honestly believe in all of this?”

Ariadne didn't blink, but the pupils of her eyes grew larger. “I do, Lieutenant. With all my heart. It is who I am. I know that's hard for you—you're a very black-and-white person. There's nothing wrong with that, nothing at all. I imagine in your line of work it can be quite useful. But me…I see all the colors of the universe, and then some. I find the path between the markers, and set upon that. What's happened over the past two days is evil. It's bad. It's wrong. No true witch would consciously seek such power over others. Psychic vampires, yes. But Wicca is the way of the light, of good. It wasn't one of ours, I promise you that.”

Taylor had to admit, Ariadne was at least partially right. She did see the world in black-and-white. It was how she slept at night.

“Okay,” she said, finally. “I can respect that.”

“Good. Then we can be friends.” Ariadne stuck out her hand, and Taylor shook it.

“You have a huge burden on your shoulders, Lieutenant. May I ease it for you?”

“What are you talking about?”

Ariadne waved toward the roses, toward Taylor. “There's a storm brewing behind your eyes. You're suffering, trying to make a major decision. On one hand is your true path. The other leads to pain and suffering. You'll choose the correct path, and you already know which that is. But a sacrifice must be made. Use your strengths to divine your way.”

Fitz? Or Memphis. Who was the witch talking about? And where did she get off prophesying?

“My path. What do you know of my path? Of my responsibilities? Of the people I care for, and who care for me?”

Ariadne looked at her with sympathy. “It's all written on your face, and in your aura, Lieutenant. And I may have done a tarot reading last night, just out of curiosity. If you give me your palm, I can direct you. The key to the occult is applying what works for you. You must seek your own truths.”

“Ariadne, now you're getting into the silly stuff. Tarot cards and palm reading? Come on. Give me a break.”

She smiled, an impish grin. “Aren't you the least bit curious, Lieutenant? Just the tiniest bit?”

“No, I'm not. I have absolutely zero desire to know what's coming.”

Fitz flashed into her mind again, bloody, hurt. She couldn't help but shut her eyes and swallow.

“I can tell you what will happen to him, if you want to know,” Ariadne said softly.

Taylor opened her eyes and stared into the deep blue of the witch's soul. Yes, she probably could hazard a guess. She had a fifty-fifty chance of being right, too. There were only two outcomes for Fitz—life or death. Taylor didn't know if she wanted to think about the possibility of the latter.

Ariadne didn't budge, didn't breath. They stood, locked in each other's gaze, until Taylor broke away.

“He's going to live,” Taylor said with finality, then swept from her office, leaving the witch behind.

Dear God, I hope I'm right.