So Close the Hand of Death (22 page)

T
aylor felt her legs begin to give, wisely stepped back from the sharp edges of the cabinet and sat down hard on the carpet, the picture still clutched in her hand.

A son. Baldwin has a son.

This was what he’d been keeping from her. This was the big secret. What he’d nearly confessed to her in the car to North Carolina. No wonder he hadn’t been able to articulate his thoughts. How did you tell the woman you love that you have a kid with someone else? More importantly, if you truly loved someone, why would you keep a secret of this magnitude?

Why wouldn’t he tell her?

Taylor wasn’t sure she could stand just yet. She felt the anger begin to boil in her stomach. How long had he known? From the beginning? Recently? He’d been acting funny ever since he’d gone to Quantico for the hearing and gotten himself suspended—had he found out then? Or had the past two years of her life been a full-on lie?

And who was the mother of this mystery child?

Quick math and some basic intuition gave her an idea. Charlotte Douglas. It must have been. The red
hair was the final clue. Unless Baldwin had made it his practice to do it with a bevy of redheads, planting his seed without discretion throughout D.C., which seemed rather unlikely.

My God. He’d had a child with Charlotte, and hadn’t told her. And assuming this was a current picture, if the child was only two years old, it must have happened just after Taylor first met him.

Who was this man she was planning to marry? She knew he had his secrets, all people did. She liked that he was mysterious, with murky and unspeakable bits to him. It gave her an excuse to keep parts of herself quiet. She hadn’t told him everything about her life. It was better that way. He’d admitted to so much—that he worked for the CIA in a very covert group. That he had been trained early and spoke thirteen languages. That he had planned on being a medical ethicist but instead had been drawn into profiling by Garrett Woods, a Machiavellian man if there ever were one. She knew he was strong, tender, and in love with her. Those things she knew without doubt.

But she had never known Baldwin to be a liar. Or a cheat.

Taylor swallowed back the lump in her throat, amazed at the emotions she was feeling. She had no time for this, no energy to handle his infidelities right now. She needed to find Sam.

She stood, amazed that her legs would hold her weight without shaking.

Took extra care to tape the picture back into its place. They’d have to talk about this sometime soon, but she had to prioritize.

She glanced at her watch, she’d only lost three minutes.

She felt hollow, the scar of knowledge across her heart burned. She opened the gun cabinet, extracted the weapons she needed, tucked them into her bag, closed and locked things back up. All the while, two words ran through her head:
Find Sam.
She felt her focus return, pinpoint and clear.

The guards were waiting patiently by the garage. She nodded to them, then got in the 4Runner and pulled out of the driveway. As soon as she got to the end of the street she opened her cell phone and called Lincoln. He was still at the CJC with Colleen Keck, ostensibly holding her, but in fact keeping her safe.

“Have you heard from Sam?” she asked.

“Not since yesterday. She sent over a postmortem report on the Schechter boy. High BAL, but no sign of drugs on the tox screen. He drowned, but was strangled first, carefully. There was hardly a mark on him. Maybe just enough to render him unconscious. There was water in his lungs, so he was still breathing when he went in the water. Why?”

“Listen to me very carefully. I need you to protect Colleen. Send Marcus to cover Fitz. I’m on my way to Forensic Medical. Sam isn’t answering her phone.”

“You don’t think—”

“Yes, I do. I think he’s taken her. He sent me a cryptic message that had her home address on it.”

“Have you seen the news this morning?”

“No, why?”

“Colleen’s blog is front and center. Zodiac letters were sent to the papers in both Las Vegas and Denver. There was a Son of Sam letter found at the scene in New York, too. Boston PD are trying to quell the fear. Their switchboard is completely overloaded. The idea
of a copycat Strangler has that whole town on edge. So the story is totally out.”

Son of a bitch.

“San Fran, Vegas and Denver. The Zodiac copycat is moving east.”

“Yes. So far there’s no doubt, all the victims were regular commenters on Colleen’s blog.”

“Have there been reports of any other big murders? According to Colleen, there’s supposed to at least three of these fools running around. God knows how many more might be in play.”

That gave them both pause.

“Nothing yet, but I’ll keep checking.”

“I’ll call New York right now. Emily Callahan should have some idea of what’s been going down.”

“I’ll keep looking for similar murders. ViCAP’s going to take too long.”

“Wait,” Taylor said. “Wait a minute.”

“What?”

“Do you have a map?”

She heard clicking. “The United States, at your fingertips.”

“Look at the path the Zodiac is taking. Where does it look like he’s going?”

“Assuming he’s continuing to head east, he’s less than a day’s drive to Nashville.”

“Right. So if the other killers are doing the same thing, striking on their way here, what paths might they take?”

“Boston south could be D.C. Or maybe Philadelphia? Shoot, same with New York.”

“Lincoln, you’re going to have to start running through the entire eastern seaboard. Stick with major metropolitan areas. Call their Homicide offices and see
what’s happened in the past forty-eight hours that could match these MO’s. Get a couple of people to help you, it’s going to take a while. And keep an eye on Colleen. She’s as much of a target in this as I am, though I’ll be damned if I know why.”

“We have his real name now, don’t we? Have you asked her if she recognizes the name?”

“No, I haven’t. God, what an idiot I am. Get her on the speakerphone for me, will you?”

“Sure, hang on just a second.” She heard shuffling, then a click. “Okay, LT, you’re on speaker with Colleen.”

“Lieutenant, what’s happening? Why can’t I take Flynn and go home?”

“I still think you’re in danger, Colleen. Just hang tight with Detective Ross and let us protect you, all right?”

“How long am I going to have to stay here? I have—”

“Colleen, please. I need to ask you something. Do you know anyone by the name Ewan Copeland?”

She heard Colleen’s sharp intake of breath. When she spoke, her tone was flat, emotionless. “Why are you asking me about him?”

Jesus.

“Colleen, how do you know him?”

“I can’t believe that you would lock me up here all night, then casually throw his name in my face. You’re a cruel, horrible woman. I can’t believe Tommy told me to trust you. You know exactly how I know him, or you wouldn’t be asking. No wonder you didn’t have the courage to do it face-to-face.”

“Whoa, that’s enough, Colleen.” Lincoln took her off the speaker. “LT, what in the hell is going on?”

“I don’t know, Lincoln. I have no idea.” She could
hear Colleen, furious as a scalded cat, hissing in the background. “I hit a nerve, that’s for sure. Can you get her back on the phone?”

“Not going to happen, LT. She’s packing up her stuff.”

“Lincoln, whatever you do, don’t let her out of the building. Detain her if necessary. I’ll deal with the fallout later.”

She was on Gass now, coming up on Forensic Medical at speed. “I have to focus on Sam. See if you can get Colleen calmed down enough to tell you how she knows Ewan Copeland, okay?”

“I’ll do what I can. Keep me posted on Sam, okay?”

“I will. Thanks for everything, Lincoln.”

She clicked off the phone, a million thoughts running through her head. She should have asked Colleen about Ewan directly last night, she was just so damn tired, and wasn’t putting the pieces together properly. She thought Colleen had come across his path, she never in a million years expected her to actually know the name. Her first instinct was to call Baldwin, tell him where she was and what had just happened. She couldn’t bring herself to hear his voice, not now. Not after what she’d learned. She was trying, so damn hard, to tuck the hurt and frustration away. She just needed to lay eyes on Sam, then she could deal with the rest of her crumbling world.

She flipped her phone back open and dialed the 212 area code that led to Emily Callahan’s office phone. The call connected and Callahan’s voice floated through the ether.

“Taylor Jackson, as I live and breathe. How the hell are you? Are you in New York?”

“Hey, Emily. No, not so lucky. I’m in Nashville, working a case.”

“Ah, this is a professional call. Gotcha. What can I do for you?”

That was what she loved about Callahan, the woman was a professional first and a friend second. She always felt like she could let her hair down with her. She’d always been a compassionate, intelligent shoulder for Taylor to lean on. Callahan had been promoted out of Long Island City and was working in Manhattan’s 6th Precinct Homicide now.

“Emily, no chance you caught a shooting in Washington Square Park the other night, did you?”

“The homosexual couple? No, it’s not my case, but I know the detective who landed it. Why?”

Taylor took a few minutes and filled Callahan in on the situation. Taylor heard her clicking, knew she was going through the case file to see what she could glean.

“Evidence says there was a couple of cigarettes close to the scene that were collected. If they have anything to do with the case there’s always the possibility of DNA. There was a note, too. That’s been kept kind of quiet up here. A Son of Sam copycat will send the masses into a panic, and that’s the last thing we need.”

“No kidding. What I’m trying to figure out is where he might have gone, assuming he left New York. You haven’t had any repeat performances, have you?”

“Not that I know of. The men who were killed were both married and having a very secret affair. If something similar pops, I’ll let you know as soon as I hear about it. You’re assuming he’s done a one-off and is headed toward Nashville now?”

“Entirely possible. We’re working with air right now.”

“Tell you what. I’ll personally have them send the results from the DNA run to the FBI. I assume Baldwin is on the case?”

“Actually no, but his team is. You’ve talked to Pietra Dunmore before, right?”

“Yeah, I remember her. Good girl. I’ll send it to her, with a rush.”

“God, Emily, what can I do to steal you away from New York’s finest?”

“Grow a few hundred skyscrapers. Looking at all that blue sky down there makes me nervous.”

They shared a laugh, and Callahan promised to keep looking into the situation.

Taylor hung up and turned on her blinker. Forensic Medical was on her left. It was time to get to the truth.

P
reston Pylant was having a very bad day. He’d stopped at McDonald’s—
nasty screaming kiddies covered in ice cream; who gives their kids ice cream in the dead of winter?
—and had been waylaid by a bunch of cops as he came out of the bathroom. They hadn’t even let him finish drying his hands. Maybe they liked that sort of thing, the filthy bastards. Liked the dirty hands, knowing what he’d just done in the bathroom. Now they had him in a small, cold room with paneling on the walls. Who used paneling in decoration anymore? The gays did, they loved their paneling.

The angel had an opinion, of course. He always did.

Shoot them, homey. Shoot them all
.
Tell them how you feel about being locked up in this pissant room.
Good idea.

“You can’t tell me what to do. What do you think this is?” He was yelling, but he couldn’t help it. After an hour, they’d tied him down. He didn’t like to be tied down. The angel really didn’t like to be tied down. They’d done that once to them, in the hospital. The padded sleeves held him straight and flat, no amount
of wriggling or fighting would loosen them. The angel would harp on him, all fucking day long:
a little left there, homey, no, more to the right, you’re a stupid fucking idiot, homey
.

He didn’t want to go back to the hospital. He wanted to go to jail. Death row. That was the goal here. Not the hospital. Anything but the hospital.

The angel was screaming, a long, low build that ended like nails on a chalkboard. He knew what that meant. He really needed to take his pill. Why wouldn’t they let him take his pill?

A cigarette. That would work. A cigarette always calmed him down.

The man in the stupid hat was talking again. It looked like a toboggan. He’d had a toboggan once. Used it to slide down the street in front of his house in Queens.

“Sir, you need to calm down. We have a long day ahead of us.”

“The dog made me do it.”

“I’m sure he did, Preston. Why don’t you tell me all about it.”

“It’s just a game.” The angel chimed in at volume,
Just a game. Just a game. Just a game
.

“
Shut up, angel
. See, sir, you don’t understand. We’re the apprentices. You know, like that rich dude in New York. With the show. And the hair. He tells us who to kill and how to do it, and we follow his instructions.”

“Who is he?” the man asked. His name tag said Sergeant Green.

Preston laughed. Soylent Green. He’d been captured by Soylent Green!
Angel, check this shit out.

“Who is the man who hired you, Preston?”

“Duh, it’s Troy. If you don’t know that, you’re really far behind.”

“Troy who, Preston?”

Paneling. Who used paneling these days? “Preston?”

“Troy Land. Like
Babes in Toyland.
You know? He picked them from that blog, he made us read it so we’d get an idea of what they were like before we killed them. He called it studying the victimology. Can I go now?”

“No, Preston. You need to stay with me. You need to tell me everything you know.”

“All I know is the dog made me do it. There’s a million dollars at stake if we win. If we kill all our targets, we get a shitload of dough, and get to watch. We all like to watch. You know?”

Homey. Ask about the target.

Good idea, angel.

Preston said, “Hey, do you know Taylor Jackson? Could you introduce me?”