14

She caught his eye, raised an eyebrow. He held up a finger in a wait-a-minute gesture, then finished the call. When he shut the phone, he ran a hand over his face, and Taylor saw how tired he was. Fitz wasn’t a spring chicken anymore; the stress of the week was showing on his haggard features. He came to her then, shaking his head.

“We’ve got a murder scene,” he said when he reached her. “Need to head over there. Want to join me?”

“Goddamn. How much more can we take today?”

Taylor swept a hand at the chaos. “Is it Jane Macias?”

“Doesn’t look that way. It’s one of the massage parlors off Nolensville Road.”

Relief flowed through her chest. She just couldn’t stand the idea of failing one more girl.

“Massage parlor mania today. I thought we had all of them shut down?” They started walking to his car. 14

175

“Hey, wait up.” Baldwin came after them, jogging.

“Where you headed?”

“Just got a call in for a murder at one of the suppos

edly closed massage parlors. This might tie back to Saraya. We need to head over there. This guy got away, there’s no question about that. Marcus is handling the search. He doesn’t need us.”

“Yeah, he’s got it under control. You’re right, this is all a bit useless. I can come with, if you want?”

“Why not? More the merrier,” Fitz grumbled. They got into Fitz’s department-issued Cavalier and left the afternoon’s failure behind.

“Anything new on Snow White’s copycat?” Fitz asked as he negotiated the phalanx of blue strobe lights. “I figured that chick from Quantico would be all over us today. You know where she is?”

“I haven’t seen her today, thankfully. I’ve been avoiding my office like the plague,” Baldwin answered.

“Pity, that.” Taylor’s sarcasm wasn’t met with denial. Charlotte Douglas was going to be a problem, she could feel it in her bones. “We haven’t heard anything new on the Snow White case today. Been a little busy. Though Remy gave me some ideas on how to track Giselle’s movements. I’d like to talk to her grandparents, see if they can point us in the direction of any friends she might have who they don’t like. Remy insinuated that Giselle might have snuck out.”

Fitz had maneuvered them over the bridge, onto 65

South, and off the first ramp so they could travel the back roads to the massage parlor. He was never a fan of the freeway, and it drove Taylor crazy sometimes. But he was a demon on the side streets, and they pulled up in front of a small, well-kept house within minutes.

176

J.T. Ellison

“This is a massage parlor?”

“Apparently so. They can’t get away with a business front anymore, so they’ve moved into the private homes down here.”

The area was largely dominated by Spanish-speaking residents, with a few Kurds and indigent blacks thrown in for good measure. There were plenty of crack houses in the nearby streets, and a couple of Section 8 government housing projects a few blocks away. Homicide was busy enough in this area, and had to employ trained civilian translators to help solve the crimes. Many of the residents were illegals, and didn’t trust the police to do anything that could be construed as positive for the neighborhood. They unloaded from the vehicle, checked in at the command post, signed the call sheet and got their party clothes—booties, gloves, all the protective accoutrements for a get-together with death.

An officer met them on the front lawn. Bob Parks was one of Taylor’s favorites, a happy yet serious man who doubled for the SWAT team. He had a luxuriant black mustache that looked like it had been oiled and groomed recently.

“Welcome, welcome,” Parks bellowed. “Nice of you to come and join us this afternoon. We have a lovely time pla

tionables you’ll be thrilled to see.”

“Hey, Bob.” Taylor greeted him with a thump on the back. “How’s the kids?”

“Like Dilbert says, ’bout as happy as a bunch of barefoot squirrels in a tire store.”

Taylor snorted back a laugh.

“I’m telling you, LT, having teenagers will be the death of me. Hi, Dr. Baldwin.”

14

177

“Hey, Parks. Sorry to see you under these circumstances.”

Fitz bellied up to the younger man. “What am I, chopped liver?”

“Naw, Fitz, you’re just a pain in my ass. How come you haven’t retired yet? You’re too old to be messing with this shit.”

“Parks, you’re not that far behind me. Shut the hell up already. What do you have here?”

Parks turned back to the little house, shaking his head.

“It’s not a pretty scene, I’ll warn you. Double homicide, two girls. Both look Spanish, which is fitting for this part of town, but they’re facedown, the M.E. hasn’t gotten here yet. We were waiting for her to declare before we moved them. Took the pics, and video is rolling.”

“Spanish. Let’s go take a look.” Taylor led them across the lawn to the front steps.

On the small porch the four geared up, covering their shoes with the booties, gloving their hands. Taylor wound her ponytail into a bun to make sure there weren’t any loose strands that could fall off and compromise the scene. Fully geared, they made their way into the house, follow

ing the thinly taped guide route one of the officers had laid on the floor.

The inside of the house was dressed in a nearly sterile white. To the left of the entry foyer, white leather furni

ture with glass tables and lamps dominated a small living room, with white walls and white drapes. To the right, a kitchen with white marble floors and a white countertop completed the monochromatic decor. White Berber carpet led down a short hallway to three doors—Taylor could see a pristine bathroom at the end of the hall and assumed the two other doors led to bedrooms. She was right. 178

J.T. Ellison

“Door number one,” Parks said, gesturing to the right.

“And door number two.” He pointed left. “Take your pick, they’re nearly identical.”

Taylor chose the right side first. She stood in the doorway and looked into the room, ru

tiguous white theme, was very defining. From her vantage point at the doorway, she could see blood everywhere, cast off on the unmade bed and headboard, washed across the wall, soaking the carpet. In the middle of the bed, a darkhaired woman lay on her stomach, facedown on the sheets, which were nearly black. Exsanguination, her mind told her. The woman’s legs were akimbo, the left twisted under the right as if she’d fallen at an angle onto the mattress. Taylor couldn’t see her arms.

She switched places with Baldwin and Fitz, looking into the left-side room. The scene was virtually identical. A knot formed in her stomach. A double homicide, with both scenes indistinguishable at first glance. Fuck. She heard talking, turned to see Sam striding toward her.

“Heard you had a bad day,” she said when she reached Taylor.

“Couldn’t be any worse than yours. You had Remy St. Claire fogging up your office. I’m just on my third and fourth bodies today and Baldwin’s former lover is in town with some kind of agenda.”

“A stellar day for us both. What do we have here?” Sam was dressed for the scene and obviously champing at the bit to get to work.

“Two dead, lots of blood, and a mess. I was hoping 14

179

you could shed some light. They haven’t been turned, I want to see that. This feels a little too familiar, if you know what I mean.”

“Okay. Let me work. By the way, you know we’re supposed to go to di

Taylor groaned. Yes, they were supposed to have di