Field of Graves(34)
He struck the table with his fist, scattering the barricade of paper clips all over the table. He impatiently brushed them aside, watching them scatter in random patterns on the floor. He stared, trying to find some clue in the metal outline, but saw nothing. An appropriate reaction for one whose mind was a jumbled blank.
He was out of practice.
With a sigh, he pulled the file of Jordan Blake toward him, and started again.
*
The door to the conference room opened, light spilling in from the hall. It was the woman, Jackson, the light haloing around her head. She looked like an avenging angel.
“Mr., ah, Dr. Baldwin? Fitz and I are getting something to eat. Would you like to join us? Samantha Owens, our ME, may come with the results of the tox screens on our two murdered girls. You said you’d like to meet her.”
Baldwin glanced out the window, surprised to realize it was dark out. He’d been cloistered in this room all day with no break. Checking his watch, he saw it was past seven. In response, his stomach growled. He looked at Taylor sheepishly.
“Sorry, time got away from me. Are you sure it’s cool if I join you?”
Taylor smiled. “Everyone has to eat. Besides, you look like you could use a square meal. We’re going to Mulligan’s Pub down on Second. Come on. A walk will do you good.”
Baldwin considered for a moment. Why not? He had nothing better to do, and no place better to be.
“All right. If you’re sure.” He followed her out the door, then stopped and went back into his new office, grabbing the files and shoving them in his tattered leather backpack, shaking his head as he did. The case had its claws in him, and he didn’t want to let it go so quickly. Nor did he want to leave his notes behind.
Taylor watched him closely. He was disheveled, his hair standing on end, unshaven, clothes wrinkled. He almost looked dangerous, and much more engaged than he had earlier. She was surprised to feel a moment of longing in her stomach. There was something about him that intrigued her. She’d spent all afternoon wondering what he was up to.
Stop that, she snapped to her mind. You have enough problems of your own without taking on his, too.
26
A traditional Irish green-and-gold sign framed the wooden doorway over Mulligan’s Pub, holding the promise of the real deal. Quartered windowpanes gave it an inviting, homey look. Upon entering the warm, smoky foyer, there was dining to the left and a cozy bar situated straight ahead. A moth-eaten ibex, stuffed and smiling benevolently, presided over the deep walnut bar with a benign billy goat grin.
Celtic music played quietly. The weekends featured excellent live Irish music, boasted a loyal clientele braying drunkenly for their favorites and always finding succor in the generosity of the band. A plaque on the bar wall claimed the pub’s distinction as the first bar in the state of Tennessee to pour a pint of Guinness draught.
Taylor and Baldwin arrived first. They’d walked to the restaurant in silence. She’d been at an unaccustomed loss for words, and the uneasy silence had enveloped them in a fog. After putting their name in for a table, they hit the bar for a beer. Taylor wondered for a moment if it was smart to let him drink, then decided she wasn’t his mother. She didn’t know how to approach the situation, anyway. They ordered, then she excused herself to go to the ladies’ room to regroup.
She washed her hands and looked long and hard in the mirror. She wasn’t happy with the face staring back at her. Her hair had come down from its ponytail. She quickly wrestled it back into place. She had dark circles under her eyes. Her face was pale. She looked like hell, but she felt worse. Maybe she was coming down with something. Maybe she just needed some sleep. She splashed some water on her face, dried off with a scratchy towel, and forced a smile at the wraith in the mirror. A little better.
Back at the bar, Baldwin had an empty pint glass in front of him, was started in on another.
She sat next to him. “Um, listen, Dr. Baldwin, take it easy, okay? We need to get our ducks in a row. This is a business dinner, and I need you clearheaded.”
Baldwin squinted at her, drained the second pint, turned to the bartender and asked for a double Glenfiddich. Drink in hand, he turned toward her as if about to say something, then bit it off and looked away. He didn’t taste the Scotch.
“Baldwin,” she said, softly. “What’s up?”
“Nothing. The lighting in here is nice. I haven’t been here in years.”
Taylor looked around and had to agree. The gas lanterns glowing softly over the brick and walnut were soothing, much more comfortable than the harsh lights they’d worked under all day. She imagined him sitting alone in the dark in an anonymous room and realized he probably hadn’t been socializing very much. But she wasn’t his keeper, and she didn’t want to start anything.
The hostess signaled the table was ready. “Are you coming?” she asked.
“I’ll just...get the tab.”
Taylor sighed and turned away, leaving her errant charge behind with his Scotch. Fitz came in the door, flirted happily with the hostess while they assembled around the table. As Taylor and Fitz sat down, the door opened and Sam breezed through.
Taylor saw her friend come in and gave a jerk of her head toward Baldwin, who still stood at the bar. Sam gazed sharply toward him, spotted Baldwin leaning against the wooden counter and made a beeline for him.