Читать книгу Field Of Graves - J.T. Ellison, J.T. Ellison - Страница 12

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Taylor made a last slow circuit around the crime scene. The techs were carefully moving about, photographing the site from every possible angle. She half noticed them brushing fine black powder in the areas surrounding where the body had been found, looking for latent fingerprints.

Why the Parthenon? Why would the killer dump a body in the middle of West End? You couldn’t look in any direction without seeing students jogging from the gates of Vanderbilt, trendy yuppies coasting through the gourmet restaurants and bars, hippie granolas Birkenstocking their way to the natural food and clothing stores. It was a risky venture, even in the overnight hours.

She made a few notes, thinking about Sam’s comments. Staged. Huh. The scene wasn’t terribly gruesome compared to many she’d seen, but it did have a more organized feel to it—after all, he had made himself very vulnerable coming out in the open with a dead girl slung over his shoulder, risking the time to arrange her and scatter herbs on her naked body. He’d spent at least a few minutes setting things up. A huge chance to take that no one would be around. Even teenagers who were supposed to be in bed were out cruising through the park all night.

Taylor headed in the direction of her car and passed Sam’s lead investigator, Tim Davis, as he started up the stairs.

“Later, ’gator,” she called out.

Tim gave her a dirty look. “That joke is really getting old.”

She gave him her sweetest smile. “Tell that to Sam. She’s the one who christened you guys ’gators. Besides—” her voice dropped two octaves “—‘Death Investigator’ just sounds so, well, depressing.”

“Death is depressing, Taylor.” He smiled and turned away.

Taylor felt a brief qualm of conscience. Tim was one of the best ’gators the medical examiner’s office had and was deadly serious about his work.

She stopped walking and turned around to look at the Parthenon again. She stood quietly, staring at the huge structure. What the hell was this guy up to? A sacrifice to the goddess Athena, who guarded the murky interior of the building? She laughed, startling a goose ten feet away. It waddled off, honking in annoyance. Yeah, take that theory into the squad room. The boys would love it. She shook the image of the goddess out of her mind.

It was time to get to work. Taylor picked her way through malodorous fowl dung scattered all over the ground back to the phalanx of police cars. She needed to talk to the young couple who’d found the body before they were brought in to give their formal statements. She walked out into the control center and found Bob Miller, the first officer on the scene. He was short and stout with a bristling black mustache and impossibly white teeth.

“Officer Miller. Where do you have them?”

He flashed her a brilliant smile. “Hey, LT. He’s in my car, and she’s over with Wills.” Keith Wills was Miller’s partner and was becoming a specialist in handling witnesses of the female persuasion. “She’s still crying, but she’s calming down. Name’s Catey Thompson, he’s Devon Post. They got engaged last night, messed around until nearly dawn, then went out for a rrrromanteek sunrise stroll.” His dreadful Italian accent got a quick laugh and a headshake out of Taylor.

“Had they been drinking?”

Officer Miller returned to his normal southern twang. “Yeah, champagne. But they knocked off the heavy celebrating a few hours ago. They were pretty straight when they set out, and now...well, they’re scared sober, if they weren’t already.”

“Thanks, Miller. Will you stick around and make sure the scene stays sealed up tight for me? Fitz already has a grid search going on, and I don’t want anyone messing it up.” She clapped him on the shoulder. “Sorry, pal, it’s gonna be a long day.”

He smiled and strode away. Taylor approached Wills, who was holding Catey’s hand and offering her a box of tissues.

“Hello, Officer Wills. Miss Thompson? I’m Lieutenant Jackson from the Homicide Division. I’m the lead detective investigating this murder. I’d appreciate it if you could give me your account of what happened this morning.”

Catey might be pretty, but Taylor was having a hard time seeing it at the moment. Long brown hair escaped the clip that held it back, and her brown eyes were bloodshot. Her perfectly petite nose was cherry red, and her face was swollen and blotchy from crying. She looked up, took a deep breath, and spoke in a soft, hesitant voice.

“We were walking through the park, waiting for the sunrise. We walked right up to her. I was actually annoyed that we weren’t alone. She was sitting on the top step, leaning back against the gate. I thought she was watching us. Her eyes were open, and at first I didn’t realize...” Her voice began to waver. “I thought maybe she was there to watch the sun come up, too. But she was naked and just sort of sat there, and I realized she was dead.” She began to cry again. “I started screaming, and Devon pulled me away. He took my cell phone, and I heard him calling for help, then I threw up. It was horrible. Is she really dead?” The girl was preparing to get hysterical again.

Taylor ignored the question. “Miss Thompson, this is very important. I know it’s difficult to revisit the memory, but if you could try for me, hold yourself together for a little longer?”

Officer Wills pushed the entire box of tissues into the girl’s hands, and Taylor continued. “Think very carefully. Did you see anyone else around? Maybe someone walking in the park at the same time? Did you hear a car?”

She snuffled into a new tissue. “No. I’m sure we were the only people here. It was so nice, so peaceful. My God, what happened to her? Are we safe? What if he saw us? Oh my God, oh my God, ohmyGod...” She began bawling in earnest, and Taylor patted her on the shoulder.

“I’m sure you’re perfectly safe, Miss Thompson, so don’t worry. I seriously doubt whoever killed her was hanging around. Thank you for your help. Officer Wills is going to take you downtown to make a formal statement, and then you and your fiancé will be free to go. If you remember anything, anything at all, even if you think it doesn’t matter, I want you to call me. Okay?” She handed her a card with her office and pager numbers on it. “You can call me day or night.”

Catey sniffed, trying to regain some semblance of control, dragged the tissue under her eyes, spreading raccoon rings of mascara. “Thank you, Lieutenant Jackson. Can I see Devon now?”

“We’ll get you two together downtown, all right? Thank you for your help.”

Catey nodded. Taylor stepped aside with Officer Wills.

“Do their stories match?”

“Yeah, to a tee. They’re really shook up. Do you want to talk to him, or can I take ’em now?”

Taylor felt the headache deepen. She rubbed her forehead. “Go ahead, get them out of here. Better if the cameras don’t get a shot of their faces. Thanks, Wills. You did a good job here this morning. Can you leave a copy of your report on my desk as soon as you get it done? And gather up everyone else’s, too?”

“Sure thing, LT. I’ll bring them up ASAP.”

Looking around, she corralled Fitz and told him to get back to the squad as soon as he could get away. The boys from the ME’s team had bagged the body and were rolling the stretcher toward their plain white van. Though most people wouldn’t give a medical examiner’s vehicle a second glance, the van’s circumspect attempt at discretion didn’t fool the media, who followed every movement with their cameras, even running after the van as it pulled away. With some good B-roll filler on tape, they turned for another source. Taylor was fifty feet away, walking with her head down, ostensibly looking to avoid the muck left behind by the ducks and geese. The yells started.

“Lieutenant!” screamed Channel 5.

The NBC affiliate chimed in. “Who is the victim? What was cause of death?”

Their onslaught beat in time with the throbbing in Taylor’s head. It wasn’t unusual for her to make statements at a crime scene; normally she was fine with the cameras. Taylor had striking good looks that she worked to her advantage when necessary. Huge gray eyes—the right slightly darker than the left—shifted between clear smoke and stormy steel, depending on her mood. Lips just a touch too full encased orthodontically enhanced straight white teeth, and a slightly crooked nose gave her countenance a vaguely asymmetrical aspect. She was nearly six feet, blond and rangy, with a deep voice, husky and cracked.

This particular morning, though, with dark smudges under her eyes, a hasty ponytail, and a nasty headache, she looked slightly less than ethereal.

“No comment, guys. I’m sure we’ll have something to say later on.”

“C’mon, Taylor. You need to let us know so we can make the noon report.” A flaxen-haired beauty from Channel 2, her rectangular tortoiseshell glasses sliding down her well-done nose job, stuck a mic in her face. “Just give us something,” she pleaded.

Lee Mayfield of The Tennessean gave Taylor an inquiring smile. Taylor shook her head; she’d be damned if she gave the paper’s crime reporter anything. Besides, the woman would spin it her own way and distort the facts anyway. Let her do it on her own.

“You have to give us something to go on, Lieutenant,” the latest talking head from Channel 17 admonished.

Taylor whipped around, her limited patience worn through. Spotlights glowed in her eyes, blinding her for a moment. Blinking back into focus, she said, “I said we’ll have something for you later. Now quit lurking around my crime scene. You’re making my team’s work difficult.”

Taylor turned her back on them, hurried across the small parking lot in front of Lake Watauga, jumped into her unmarked squad car. Wow, she’d let them get to her. Not very professional. It seemed every little thing got to her these days. Oh well, it would give them something fun to work on for their precious stories: Lead Investigator Loses Temper.

“Jerks,” she said vehemently, rubbing her temples. She watched the press milling around their trucks, each trying to find a spin on her blatant and sarcastic remarks.

One by one, she saw the cameras start to point at the sky. A banner day for Nashville’s reporters. A murder and an eclipse, all tied up in one tidy little package for them. The noon broadcasts really were going to be chock-full of fun.

She pulled to the east entrance of the park, noticing the Park Police weren’t letting anyone in, on foot or by car. At least they were making themselves useful.

She stopped at a light and briefly closed her eyes. The body of the dead girl was stark against her eyelids. Taylor couldn’t help but think of the terror she must have felt as her life was stripped away, and wasn’t surprised to feel the anger come. It had been like that lately.

Over the years, she’d learned how to detach herself from crime scenes. She had to; it kept her sane. After a time, she’d grown relatively numb to the atrocities she saw. Lately, though, her armor had developed cracks.

Giving the Parthenon one last glance, she realized the vibe surrounding the scene was making her very uncomfortable. She had the feeling she’d missed the message the killer was trying to send.

She turned left onto West End Avenue and registered the slow burn that had started. “I’m gonna catch you, you son of a bitch. You just wait. I’m coming.”