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L’Uomo laughed, a sneering, belittling noise. “Oh, Win. I should have known I couldn’t trust you. Leave you alone for a second and you try to warn your sweet girl. Hello, Lieutenant. Lovely to speak with you again. Just wish it were under better circumstances.”
“What have you done with my father?”
“Nothing, yet. But I’ll kill him if you don’t cooper
ate. Slowly.”
Taylor felt herself pale. The mixed emotions—she hated her father, but she loved him, too. Damn it. They were both bastards. She gritted her teeth, snapping off the ends of each word as if they tasted bitter in her mouth.
“Like you did to Burt Mars? I swear, you son of a bitch, if you do anything to him, I will personally take you down.”
“No, you won’t. You don’t have that kind of power. Your fiancé doesn’t, either, so don’t think about ru
“A deal? With a criminal? I don’t think so.”
“Oh, I think you’ll play along when I tell you what the offer is. Something to sweeten the proverbial pot. You 344
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turn your pretty little head away from my business inter
ests in Nashville, and not only will I let your father live, I’ll give you Snow White.”
Taylor didn’t reply, just looked at Baldwin. He wrote her a note, slid it across the desk. She read the mes
sage— calm down.
Taylor nodded. Tried to sound more reasonable.
“Delglisi, I can’t do that. I can’t turn my head on illegal activities.”
“Yes, you can. And you will. You hold your father’s life in your hands. Snow White’s head on a platter, Lieutenant. I think that’s a generous gift.”
She raised an eyebrow at Baldwin, decided to take a chance, con the con.
“Yes, I agree. Very generous. There’s just one problem with your offer. I know who the Snow White is. So your little deal isn’t going to work. You need to let my father go.”
The laughter emanating from the speaker chilled Taylor’s spine. “You don’t know who he is, or you would have arrested him by now. Last chance, Lieutenant. I’ll give you a few hours to think it over.”
He was gone. Taylor slumped her head in her hands. Baldwin stroked her arm until she raised her head.
“Now what?” she asked.
“I have a call coming in. If my theory is right, I think we can take him down. There’s someone who might know a little more about his activities, know if he’s bluffing. And we need to get Snow White. That’s our only bargaining chip.”
“Bargaining? Surely you can’t be thinking of making a deal with that scumbag.”
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Baldwin rocked back in his chair. “I figured you’d want me to do everything I could to stop him from hurting your father.”
“He won’t hurt him. They’re in this together. I can tell. I have a sneaking suspicion about Delglisi. Lincoln said Jane Macias’s notes had the name Malik next to Delglisi’s, right? What if Anthony Malik is Edward Delglisi? It would explain everything. Eldridge said they know Delglisi isn’t L’Uomo’s real name.”
Baldwin was nodding. “This makes sense.”
“And they’ve been friends for years. That’s what I keep remembering—Mars, my dad, the guy who I think must be Snow White, all chummy on New Year’s Eve. If I could get deeper into the memory and put a voice to the fourth man, I’ll bet you anything it’s Malik. Snow White’s name isn’t coming to me, but I’m sure if I go through the society pages real quick, I can find a picture of him and that damnable signet ring. If there’s a shot of Malik, too, maybe I can tie everything together, recognize Delglisi as Malik. We’ll have actual proof.
“But I’ll be damned if I’ll listen to directives from a bunch of old criminals, trying to one-up each other. Sick bastards. My father will have to fend for himself. I’m not bailing him out of this mess.”
A knock sounded on her door. “Come in,” she yelled. Marcus opened the door, pale in the glare of the fluo
rescent bulbs. He stood, seemingly frozen in the door frame, and his voice shook just a bit when he told them.
“We have another victim.”
Forty-Four
Nashville, Te
Tuesday, December 23
3:00 p.m.
The procession to the Marriott Renaissance Hotel on Commerce Street downtown was four cars deep. Baldwin and Taylor were in one, Lincoln and Marcus followed, Fitz trailed the medical examiner’s van, who had pulled in front of them as they left the CJC. A funeral cortege. They might as well all have their lights on and traffic stopped to show respect for their passage.
Taylor was quiet. She knew who this victim must be, had heard the brief details of the crime scene. A woman, dark hair, throat slashed, overwearing red lipstick. If she had just put it all together sooner. She had failed Jane Macias. In failing her, she had failed everything—her father, her coworkers, Baldwin. The guilt was more than she could bear.
They pulled into the valet section, mindful of the doors to the lobby of the hotel. No sense in advertising too 14
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much. There were already four patrol cars in the drivethrough. No one would question that something was hap
pening, but if they could keep the Snow White aspects from the case for a bit, perhaps the media wouldn’t seize upon it and start the vicious cycle all over again. Wishful thinking.
The manager greeted them in the foyer, a wild-eyed young woman with short, spiky blond hair and a consid
erable waistline. Taylor eyed her, unable to ascertain whether she was pregnant or just heavy. As a hotel general manager, she was as professional as could be expected, considering a serial killer had struck in one of her guest suites. The woman spied Sam coming in with her gear and snapped her fingers at a bellman, who intercepted the M.E. and guided her away. The service elevator would ac
commodate the stretcher.
She spoke over her shoulder as they trooped toward the elevators.
“I’m Deborah Haver. We’re heading to the seventeenth floor. The maid found her. There’s been a Privacy Re
quested sign on the door for two days, but the couple that checked into the room next door called down and insisted they smelled something. They called the concierge, we came up and agreed. When we got the room open…well. You’ll see.”
They were in the elevator now, jetting upward into the Nashville sky.
“Who is the room registered to, Ms. Haver?” Taylor asked.
They reached the seventeenth floor and the doors slid open. She bustled out into the hallway and they followed.
“Oh, I have that information…right here…damn it.”
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The woman was flipping through a notepad, and pulled up short in front of a room whose door stood open. Taylor con
tinued into the room, looking over her shoulder at the manager, who exclaimed “Got it!” just as Taylor saw the body.
They said the name at the same time, one in a normal tone of voice, the other hushed.
“Charlotte Douglas.”
“What?” Baldwin had been lagging back, talking on his cell, but he slammed it shut and stepped into the room. Taylor felt the invisible blow as it hit his body. He didn’t move, his facial expression didn’t alter, but it was there nonetheless.
“Oh, no” was all he managed before he went to her. The smell of decomposition was strong. Taylor just didn’t want to look closely, not yet. She crossed the room, mindful of her steps, and went to the window. The view faced west, and the sun was setting. The clouds were stacked one upon the other like swirls of icing, piling up in the sky, reflected by the setting sun. They looked drenched in blood, stained crimson like the froth from a lung wound. Taylor knew it was simple refraction, the cold, clear nights often caused this unusual sight. Red skies at night, sailor’s delight. It should have been a red morning instead, so Charlotte could have been warned. Jesus, she wouldn’t wish this on her worst enemy. Bolstered at last, she turned and took in the gruesome scene. The back light from the setting sun tinged the room in pink, giving Charlotte’s body an almost lifelike glow. The gri