Читать книгу 14 - J.T. Ellison, J.T. Ellison - Страница 11

Nashville, Tennessee Monday, December 15 9:24 p.m.

Taylor fidgeted under the hot studio lights of the Fox affiliate in Nashville. Their parent network, Fox News, wanted to get the lowdown on the Snow White case from the inside, and Taylor had been ponied up for the slaughter. As soon as she’d been set and miked, the remote anchor had been drawn into a breaking-news story: a suicide bomber had taken out a group of diners at a restaurant in Jerusalem, claiming the lives of fifteen and injuring two Americans. The news alert had been going on for a while, giving her plenty of time to second-guess agreeing to be interviewed.

She was grateful for the opportunity to get the word out, though she would have preferred the newspeople talk with Dan Franklin, Metro’s official spokesman. She wasn’t fond of doing on-air interviews. Understandably, the reemergence of the Snow White Killer had the entire country up in arms, not to mention her own city and her homicide division. That meant everyone was pulling cross duties.

She wiped her fingers across her forehead, gathering little beads of sweat. It would be nice if they turned off the lights while she waited. She stared blindly into the bowels of the studio, her mind in overdrive. The network had specifically requested Taylor’s presence. She suspected it had more to do with her notorious background than the fact that she was the lead investigator on a sensational series of crimes. The anchor had been warned to steer clear of the Win Jackson story, and Taylor hoped they would listen for once.

Oh, Win. Where in the world are you?

There was a commotion. The tech was signaling they were going live. He counted down, then went silent, showing his fingers. Three, two, one. She took a deep breath, blew it out slowly and smiled for the camera.

“We’re back now with Homicide Detective Lieutenant Taylor Jackson from the Metro Nashville Police Department. We’re talking about the horrific string of murders plaguing Music City, a town more accustomed to the shenanigans of country music stars than murderers. Just last night, a new victim of this dreadful killer was found.

“Lieutenant Jackson, have you identified the body of this latest victim?”

“No, we haven’t. We—”

“And this is victim number four, correct?”

“It’s too soon to—”

“Two months ago, police found the battered body of young kidnap victim Elizabeth Shaw. The girl had been raped and her throat cut with a sharp object presumed to be a military-style knife. Three weeks later, the body of Candace Brooks was discovered, the cause of death identical. Last week, a young woman named Glenna Wells was found near Percy Priest Lake, raped, beaten and showing signs of exsanguination due to a knife slash across her throat. The crime scenes showed eerie symmetry, and the Nashville police are investigating what seems to be a serial murderer.”

Oh, God. Great. An editorializer.

A voice sounded in her ear, making her jump. She could never get used to producers popping into her brain unannounced.

“Sorry ‘bout that. Feel free to step on her next lead-in.”

Taylor checked her smile; she didn’t want to go back live grinning like a fool. I’ll do that.

The monologue continued. “These serial killings are dreadful enough in their own right, but they have been traced to a man known to all of America as the Snow White Killer, the fanatical murderer who killed ten women in the 1980s and has never been caught.”

The screen went blank, then female faces and names floated into the space. The anchor’s voice filled Taylor’s ears as the prerecorded voice-over began. They were recapping the 1980s murders, drawing the parallels to her current cases. Taylor watched the montage, only half listening.

She’d been in middle school at Father Ryan when the Snow White Killer was picking and choosing his way through beautiful girls, and was only a few years younger than the youngest victims. When she made the force, she checked out the files and memorized them, hoping to someday find the killer. It seemed now she might have her chance. The irony that she was now the lead investigator into the new slayings wasn’t lost on her.

Taylor realized the anchor was still talking, and dragged her attention back.

“The media christened the killer with a suitable moniker, the Snow White Killer, because all of these beautiful young ladies bore a strong resemblance to the Disney character, with black hair, pale skin and painted-on red lips.”

Of course they’d latch on to the more commercially viable and recognizable version of Snow White. Taylor felt the victims were much more the Grimm brothers’ fairy tale, but who was she to argue? She looked closer at the anchor’s overdrawn features. Hmm, Kimberley, if we slipped some bright red lipstick on you, you’d be an excellent candidate.

The voice sounded in her left ear again. “Okay, Lieutenant, we’re back to you in three, two …”

“And then he stopped. People never forgot, but they went on with their lives. Until now.” The montage ended and Taylor’s face filled the screen.

“So, Lieutenant Jackson, it seems the Snow White Killer has resurfaced. Do you have any additional proof to confirm this theory? Where has he been all this time?”

Time to get this back under control. Taylor cleared her throat and smiled warmly.

“First off, let me thank you for having me tonight, Kimberley. As you know, the Snow White Killer was active in the mid 1980s here in Nashville. In 1988, he went off our radar, and we just aren’t sure what happened to him. He could have gone to jail, he could have died. He could have moved, changed his MO and started killing in a whole different city, but that isn’t very likely. It’s rare for a serial killer to change his stripes, as you’re well aware.”

As the whole world is well aware, thanks to programming like this that features profilers and forensic scientists giving their opinions on any murder case that happens along.

“Isn’t it true, Lieutenant, that the police believed he was a man of means and that he may have skipped the country?”

“Yes, Kimberley, that’s one scenario we looked into. Though the homicide team is confident that he was still in the state of Tennessee for at least another year.”

Because they got a polite letter from the fucker saying he was still in town, but didn’t plan to kill any more girls. But you don’t need to know that.

“Lieutenant, what makes you think that the Snow White Killer has resurfaced?”

“Well, Kimberley, that’s something the media has seized upon and run with. We have no corroborating evidence at this time that indicates that the same person is committing these new crimes. The staging is familiar, the MO similar, but there isn’t anything substantive that proves that the Snow White is culpable here.”

Except the notes and the knots, and I ain’t sharing that little tidbit with you, either.

“He’s been dormant for more than twenty years, Lieutenant. Just like Dennis Radar, better known as BTK, the Bind, Torture and Kill murderer in Wichita. Could the Snow White Killer be living among your fine citizens, be a part of society, paying his taxes and coaching Little League?”

“Anything is possible, but that’s not a realistic scenario. Killers like this rarely stop. There is often an escalation in violence over time, and most will kill until they’re caught or incapacitated in some way. It’s more likely that the man responsible for the Snow White murders is dead or in jail for another crime. We don’t want to cause a panic here.”

“Isn’t it true, Lieutenant, that all of these new murders have something in common? Weren’t all of the victims found to have high blood-alcohol levels indicating that they may have been drinking heavily just prior to their abduction and murder?”

“Yes, the victims had elevated BALs. That’s as much information as I’m able to divulge for you at this point.”

We’ll leave the roofies out of it.

“Okay, Lieutenant. Do you have any warnings for the women of Nashville tonight?”

“Just the usual commonsense precautions, Kimberley. Women in the Nashville area should always be alert and not put themselves in compromising situations. Don’t accept drinks from people you don’t know, always watch the bartender make your drink and don’t leave your drink unattended. Don’t leave with a stranger. Always keep your doors and windows locked, your car doors locked. Be aware of your surroundings at all times, and if you see or hear anything suspicious, call 911. We’d much rather come check things out and see that all is well than get to a scene too late.”

“That’s great advice, Lieutenant. Let me ask you one more question. How does this make you feel, personally, that a serial killer is on the prowl in your city, picking beautiful young women as prey? What do you do to sleep well at night, knowing a monster like that is out there?” I don’t.

“Kimberley, we are all very concerned about the emergence of this killer. Nashville Metro has many very talented and dedicated officers who are on this case, working diligently to capture this murderer before he strikes again. We want to calm the fears of the people of Nashville, not raise hysteria. Again, if you have a concern, please, call 911 or the hotline. Do you have that number up on the screen?”

“Yes, Lieutenant, we do. I do have one more question. Your father, Winthrop Jackson IV, went missing from his yacht nearly two months ago. We understand that the federal government has been involved in the manhunt. Have you had any new information on his case?”

Taylor felt her blood pressure rise. Just couldn’t help herself, could she?

“No, Kimberley.” She clamped her lips together and crossed her arms. There was a brief moment of dead air, then the anchor spoke quickly.

“Thank you for your time, Lieutenant, and good luck catching this horrendous monster. Next, we’ll talk with a forensic scientist about the clues found in the case and what it means to the old investigation of the Snow White Killer.”

The disembodied voice came again. “Sorry. I told her to stay away from your dad. Nice job. You have a good night.”

There was a snap in her ear and the blinding lights were extinguished.

“And, we’re out. That was a great job, Lieutenant Jackson.” The tech from Channel 17 was smiling at her in admiration. He couldn’t have been more than eighteen, and he made Taylor feel old. The interview had gone as well as could be expected. The producer was decent, at least. Too bad they’d ignored her wishes and asked about Win, but thankfully they took no for an answer. A serial killer was much more fun than a two-month-old missing-persons report.

She nodded at the boy. “Thank you.”

“Do you want a tape? I can get you a tape.”

“Sure, that would be great.” The boy scampered off and Taylor stood, shaking the feeling back into her left leg. Like seeing the interview again would help.

Four vicious murders in two months, all black-haired, pale-faced girls wearing bright red Chanel lipstick. Snow Whites.

They needed to catch this guy, and fast.

John Baldwin stood with his arms crossed and one long leg propped against the wall behind him. He’d been avidly ignoring the receptionist for a good fifteen minutes; she’d been staring at him like he was a tasty dessert since he’d entered the building. He’d become entirely oblivious to all but the most blatant attempts to get his attention since Taylor had entered his life. He had eyes only for her, much to the chagrin of most of the females he came into contact with. Six foot four and sleekly muscled, his wavy black hair and Lucite-green eyes drew many admiring glances. Enough that women like the receptionist made him uncomfortable.

He saw the door to the studio open, watched as a kid rigged up with what looked like electrical wire escorted Taylor to the lobby. Sound tech, Baldwin thought to himself. As a profiler for the FBI, and as a well-regarded forensic psychiatrist, he was a veteran of television interviews. Media coverage like this was inevitable. This case was eating all of them alive.

Word had even come down from Quantico that he was to follow the Snow White case, intervening when necessary. He didn’t want to step on Taylor’s toes. He let her work through her theories, guiding only when necessary. That happened less often these days. His expertise was rubbing off on her. She didn’t need his help just yet. She would, but he’d rather she come to that conclusion herself.

Taylor elbowed her way through the glass door. She absently gathered her long hair into a fist, slipped a stolen rubber band off her wrist and captured the blond mass in a ponytail. The young technician stepped aside to let her through the door, gazing adoringly at her like a puppy, telling her his name was Sean and if she ever needed anything, anytime, he was the guy to call. He was fawning and the tips of Taylor’s ears were pink.

When she saw Baldwin, the blush extended down into her cheeks, flushing her with a healthy glow. Utterly charming. Beauty, brains and guts. He’d hit the trifecta when he met and fell in love with this stunning woman.

Sean the tech spied Baldwin. A furrow creased his young brow. Not quite a man, yet he still understood the implication. He gave a half grin to Baldwin, a “Hey, you can’t blame me for trying” and professionally shook Taylor’s hand, winking as he left her in Baldwin’s company. He greeted her with a smile.

“Went well, I thought.”

“As good as could be expected, I suppose.”

“You okay? About your dad, I mean.”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” She gave him a look that plainly said no, she wasn’t okay about it, but wasn’t willing to make a big deal. He put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed, then held the door for her.

They exited the building, walking toward the parking lot. Baldwin sensed the shiver that ran up Taylor’s spine, knew it wasn’t from the snowy night. The Channel 17 studios were nestled in behind the Ted Rhodes Municipal Golf Course, the northwest corner of downtown Nashville. It was dark and remote; a feeling of dread washed over them both. He knew what she was thinking.

Four girls dead on her watch. The nation paying close attention. And a ruthless killer who was having too good a time toying with her detectives. This wasn’t a happy Christmas.

They reached his BMW, and he dropped his arm to her waist. Punched the automatic unlock on his key chain. Opened her door. Leaned in as she sat down on the smooth gray leather, ran his hand along her cheek.

“We’re gonna get him. I swear, we’re gonna get him.”

“I know,” she replied. “I know.”