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J.T. Ellison

Mars had moved out of Nashville in 1989 on the heels of a financial scandal. He headed north, looking for money and anonymity. He disappeared off the books for several years, only to come back, no longer anonymous. He opened an accounting firm on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. Within six years, he’d developed a reputation and gotten all over the police’s radar. Who sets out to become a notorious check kiter and securities fraud? Mars spent some time in Otisville at the federal penitentiary, had gone down on a racketeering and corrupt organization charge under the RICO Act in 1998.

He was out of prison now, had a new business consult

ing on REITs—Real Estate Investment Trusts. REITs could be easily manipulated, but according to all the pub

lished accounts, Mars’s company was clean. Yet in the quiet corners, he was widely supposed to still be involved with the Mafia. He’d been co

vestigations were under way linking him directly to orga

nized crime. If he was dirty, Mars was much more careful now. Nothing on the surface of his company appeared illegal, and it wasn’t a crime to be friends with criminals. But Richardson had been a reporter for a very long time, and with his years of finely honed instinct for getting to the bottom of a story, he smelled a rat. Mars was up to no good.

He’d spent the day doing research, on and off the phone and the Internet, calling in a few favors along the way. He co

Richardson felt more alive than he had in weeks, months. Back in the chase. He already had plans to write 14

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about this tale, to make a tidy little sum selling the rights to the book. These were the kinds of stories that made millions.

He printed out all the information he could find, includ

ing addresses and phone numbers. He was thorough. He liked Taylor Jackson, admired her spunk. Admired those long legs, too. Her fiancé was a lucky man, that was for sure. Truth be told, she reminded him a bit of his wife when she was younger.

Feeling chipper, Frank packed up his things. If he hustled, he might catch the lovely lieutenant at her office before she shut down for the day.

Nineteen

Taylor stared at the body before her. Long black hair, ivory skin, a gaping wound in her neck, bright red lips. Snow White.

She went out in the hall, cursing. “Son of a bitch! Roll body two, right now!”

Sam followed her. “Taylor, I need to make sure—”

She whirled to face her best friend. “Just do it, Sam. I need to know, okay? Then I’ll leave you to it and see if I can’t find this motherfucker and nail his balls to the wall of my office.”

“T, I need—”

“If you won’t do it, I’ll do it myself.”

She strode into the opposite room. She saw Baldwin out of the corner of her eye. He was heading toward her full speed. Sam came right behind, pushing her out of the way.

“No, no, no, no. Let me do it, damn it.”

Taylor stopped, let Sam by. The M.E. came to the bedside slowly, trying to make sure she didn’t drastically disturb the scene. When she reached the body, she gently slid a hand under the girl’s left shoulder and pulled her up partway, so Taylor would have a clear view.

“Goddamn son of a bitch.”

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“The same?” Sam asked. “I can’t see from this angle.”

“Exactly the same. A fucking double. It’s too soon. Baldwin?”

“Yeah, I see. Same exact scene as across the hall. The symmetry is beautiful, don’t you think?”

Taylor gave him a sharp glance. He’d taken on the dreamy expression he got when faced with the most hideous of crimes. Profilers.

He was murmuring to himself. She strained to hear him. “You notice the mirror presentation? That took some time to get just right. He’s meticulous, our fellow. Wanted this to be perfect. Snow White did a double, didn’t he?”

“Yes, he did. Danielle Seraphin and Vivie

“Hmm. Clever boy.”

“Sick fuck is what I’d call him.” Fitz had joined them.

“I agree with Fitz.” Taylor nodded.

Sam was still holding the dead girl by the shoulder.

“Excuse me. If y’all are done psychoanalyzing, would you mind if I got back to work? I have a lot to do here, and I know you want the posts quickly.”

The posts. There were artifacts to recover.

“Yes, Sam, sure. Sorry. Go ahead. We’ll get out of your way.”

“Thank you.” She laid the body down, then bent closer, looked at the girl’s face. “Hey, Taylor?”

“Yeah?”

“There’s no visible emulsion on the temples.”

“Seriously?”

“Nothing remotely like it. Looks like you’re right about him shifting the pattern. I won’t know for sure until I get them back and do the posts, but I’m not seeing it.”

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J.T. Ellison

“Will you call me when you know for sure?” Taylor asked, but Sam was already lost, back in M.E. land. Taylor started to say something about canceling the party, but Sam was crossing the hall into the other bloody bedroom. Taylor watched her roll the body gently, look closely at the second girl’s face.

“Nope, none here, either.”

She set the girl’s body back upon the bed. When she swiped a hand, albeit faintly, across the girl’s hair, Taylor knew it was time to leave. Sam’s communion with the dead had just begun.

The three trooped from the house, waved to Parks and stood by Fitz’s vehicle.

Taylor chewed on the cuticle of her left thumb. “Either Jane Macias is still alive or he’s broken the pattern. He’s moved the double up in the count. Jane should have been number five. But he’s mimicked the Snow White’s sixth and seventh murders, and Jane’s still out there.”

Fitz nodded. “Might be we just haven’t found her yet.”

“Might be. Baldwin, knowing what we know, how likely is it that he’d change the pattern at this point?”

“Considering he didn’t do it in the past eighteen copycats, highly unlikely. He may be decompensating. The lack of the frankincense and myrrh oil is interesting. Escalation, distraction, interruption, all are reasonable ex

planations. And if that’s the case…well, suffice it to say that if he has Jane Macias, she could be suffering more than the other girls thus far.”

Taylor sighed, stared back at the little house. “Like getting raped and having your throat cut isn’t bad enough. I need to go back to headquarters and sort this out. Fitz, you mind sticking around, ru

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“Of course. I’ll meet you back there as soon as we’re wrapped up. Crime Scene will take this place apart. We’ll find something, LT.”

“Okay if we steal your car?”

“Yeah. I’ll get a ride with Parks. You go on now.” He tossed her the keys and went back across the lawn, snapping his fingers at a crime-scene tech, who straight

ened and came to him as if he’d been ordered to march by a general. Taylor smiled. Fitz knew what he was doing. If there was anything to find, he’d be the one to find it.

“Get in. I’ll drive.”

Baldwin just nodded and slid in the passenger side of the car.

Marcus and Lincoln were in the office when they returned.

Taylor came through the door and went straight to her desk. She picked up the phone and called Mitchell Price. He answered on the first ring. “I heard.”

“Good. We’re in a shit of a mess now. Two more apparent Snow White victims, one girl still missing, a dead witness after a shoot-out at the hospital. How much more can this day bring?”

“Don’t ever ask that, Lieutenant. It will only bring you misery.”

“Yeah. Well, I’m going to slough through some of this paperwork. Fitz is holding down the fort at the massageparlor crime scene. Is Remy St. Claire still in town?”