Field of Graves(63)
“That’s the most obvious explanation. He could be a counselor, or a doctor, or a janitor for all I know. But he definitely has access to them, and I’m inclined to think he’s in a position of authority over them. We’ve surmised they were all dating someone, Jill and Shelby perhaps on the sly. If they were all seeing the same man, and that man is the one who is killing them, it makes it simpler to understand their connection. He’s having affairs with his students, which is a major no-no.”
“So why kill them? They found out about each other? Might talk and turn him in?”
“I don’t think so. One explanation for Jordan’s death is her pregnancy. We’ve learned that the DNA of the fetus didn’t match the DNA left at Shelby’s crime scene. It’s possible he was furious that she had gotten pregnant by another man. And Shelby...well, she was raped, repeatedly. Maybe he was trying to get her pregnant. With Jill’s pregnancy... I can’t be certain, but the father angle is the best thought I have for right now. The guy has a God complex.”
Price gave him a long look and wadded up his taco wrappers. “You are scaring the hell out of me. Let’s get back to the squad. It’s time to kick this into high gear.” He stood and took their trays to the trash can. His excitement was palpable; cases broke on less cogent theories. They started back to the office, walking quickly. Just before they reached the door, Price turned to Baldwin.
“And, son? You hurt Taylor, and I’ll rip your balls off. Got me?”
Baldwin didn’t miss a beat. Apparently their body language had been enough to give them away. He wasn’t sure how she felt, or where it was going, but he did know he wanted to get to know Taylor much, much better. But he didn’t hesitate or play around. He looked Price in the eye, unflinching.
“Yes, sir.” And he meant it.
51
Taylor pulled up in front of the Washington Square building on Second Avenue. She looped into the parking lot and took the first open space. She locked her car, walked the twenty yards to the door, and entered the building.
She was prepared for this meeting of the grand jury. She wasn’t thinking about guns. Or the coppery scent of blood. Or the slight sense of satisfaction she had felt when she realized who she had killed. None of those things were going through her mind at the moment. She was totally focused on an image of twelve-year-old Tamika Jones, lying in a puddle of blood on her grandmother’s kitchen floor.
Taylor was so intent on her purpose, she walked right past Julia Page.
“Hey, Lieutenant. Over here.” Page trotted after Taylor, an engaging grin on her rotund face. Taylor stopped dead and looked over her shoulder, realizing she had missed seeing the Assistant District Attorney. Granted, ADA Page was maybe five feet tall on a good day, so she wasn’t automatically in Taylor’s line of vision, but she shouldn’t have missed her totally.
She started back up the hall. “Sorry, Julia. Lost in thought. We all set?”
Page tried to keep pace with Taylor’s strides, her brown curls bobbing with the effort. “Yes, we’re all set. Are you ready?”
Taylor stopped, realizing the shorter woman was practically running to keep up. “Ready as I’ll ever be. I want to get this over with.”
ADA Page pursed her lips and looked her over, as if to gauge whether Taylor was telling the truth. “I don’t blame you. The grand jury is in room 502. They’re waiting for you. You know I can’t go in there with you.” Her pug nose twitched, and her demeanor became all business. “And you know how important this is.”
“That almost sounds like coaching, Julia. I’ve got it covered. I’ll see you after, okay?”
With that, Taylor strode away, catching the elevator at the last moment. She shoved her hand in between the closing doors, and they slid back open. There was only one other passenger. He sighed loudly in annoyance. She gave him her brightest smile and fingered her Glock. He blushed and looked at the floor.
The ride was quick. The elevator stopped at the second floor. Taylor watched the man’s pudgy ass waddle off the elevator. Should have taken the stairs, buddy.
She got off at the fifth floor. Following a black-and-white diamond-patterned corridor, she stopped in front of room 502. She didn’t hesitate. She rapped three times, almost amused that it seemed like a secret knock. The door was opened immediately by the foreman of the jury, and she was ushered into the room.
Twelve members of the grand jury were already seated at the table. Taylor recognized the faces. She’d sat in front of them just a few weeks before. She had testified on her own behalf, explaining the shooting of Detective David Martin as self-defense. Thankfully, the grand jury had agreed with her assessment and did not indict her. Now they had to decide the rest of the case, the one Taylor had blown wide-open.
She took her seat at the head of the table. The thirteenth juror, the foreman, a sweet gentleman with a thick southern accent and black glasses, held the chair for her. She thought he looked a bit like the colonel from the fried chicken chain. When she was seated, he took the chair to her left and cleared his throat.
“Ladies and gentlemen, you all know Lieutenant Jackson. Lieutenant, could you state your name and occupation for the record, please?”
Her voice cracked when she answered. “Certainly. My name is Taylor Jackson, lieutenant, Criminal Investigations Division, Homicide Unit. Badge number 4746. Let me apologize up front for my voice. I’ve caught the Tennessee Crud. I’ll try not to sneeze on you.” That drew a few smiles and laughs from the room. Taylor relaxed. It was better to work with an audience that was at ease.