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Marcus chimed in. “From what Hunt says, they’d had a pretty rough time of it from the get-go. He wanted to break it off, she was desperate to keep him around. Long story short, she cornered him in a bar off Old Hickory, they had a few drinks, he went home with her and they had a farewell fling. Officially broke up, he actually started seeing someone new. According to Hunt, Lucy started stalking him, wouldn’t leave him alone. He filed a restraining order against her, she responded by filing a TRO of her own. It’s a bunch of crap, basically. Lucy came forward and said she’d been raped, Betsy answered the call. Lucy managed to make it seem like it was the Rainman. There’s been enough info in the news that she was very convincing.”
Marcus finally came in the office and sat down, looking discouraged. “Who knows whose DNA she had in her system. Hunt gladly volunteered a DNA sample, we’ve taken it and gotten it to the TBI. It’s in the works. We’ve been chasing a phantom.”
Lincoln tossed the file to Taylor. “I think you should bust her for filing a false report. Hunt seems like a standup guy, just wants Lucy to leave him alone. We’re ready to go talk to her, confront her with Hunt’s statement. If you want us to get a warrant sworn out against her, we will.”
“Do it,” Taylor said, furious. “She wasted countless man-hours for her own personal vendetta. You guys have been off chasing your tails because of her story, not to mention all the time and effort Betsy’s crew put in. Jesus, and the TBI…yeah, go haul her ass in. We don’t need this kind of crap. Maybe that will take some of the media attention off the ‘mystery’ victim as well. They can make hay out of this Lucy, for all I care.”
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“Will do, LT.” Lincoln gave her a smile. “How’s the Strangler coming along?”
She groaned. “It’s coming. I’m on my way to meet Agent Baldwin right now.”
Marcus leaned back in his chair. “You know, Taylor, about ‘Agent Baldwin’?” He used his fingers to make quotation marks as he said the name. “You don’t have to do that, you know. No one’s going to care…”
She shot him a look, and he didn’t finish his sentence, just gri
Taylor stopped him. “Hey, you guys put together a statement for the press once she’s under arrest so they know we’re moving forward. They’ll be staking out night court anyway, it’d serve her right to get filmed while she’s being booked.”
They left, Lincoln whistling a ditty, Marcus with his head held high. They’d done a good job ferreting out Lucy Johnson’s bullshit, and they knew it. Taylor watched their backs, ru
“LT, glad I caught you.”
“What’s up, Fitz? I’m on my way out.”
“I’ll walk you to your car.” He stepped in beside her.
“Just got finished talking with Julia Page. Word on the street is that Terrence Norton is taking over the drug All the Pretty Girls
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trade for the entire east side, but it’s going to take more than a few conversations with informants to get the whole story. We’re going to need a full-blown investigation, undercovers, the whole works. It’s not something that I can get cleared up overnight, unfortunately.”
They reached her truck and Taylor leaned against it, smoking the last of her Camel, thinking.
“Fitz, let’s get this out of our hands. Talk to Julia, tell her we need to turn the whole thing over to the TBI. Homicide can’t be responsible for ru
“Sounds great to me. We’ll have to deal with Terrence Norton on our own side of the fence soon enough.”
She patted him on the arm. “I’m going home, work on some more stuff with the Strangler. Oh, by the way, Marcus and Lincoln—”
“Yeah, I know. No co
“Yes, I haven’t gotten word back whether it’s a match or not.”
“If I hear something I’ll give you a call. Try and get some rest, we’ll tackle it again tomorrow.” He gave her a pat on the rump, a wink, and moseyed away. Thirty-Nine
Baldwin was moving like a whirling dervish through the house. He had a cell phone to one ear, a portable house phone to the other, the desktop computer was on, his laptop was open and buzzing and the laptop that belonged to Whitney Co
She read the words aloud.
“Thou know’st that this ca
And pamper’d swells with one blood made of two; And this, alas! is more than we would do.”
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Baldwin sat down hard in the leather chair, flipping the hair back from his forehead. “Just came in. It’s been a bit of a rough afternoon.”
“Let me get you something to eat, then you can fill me in. I’m starved, so I assume you are, as well.”
“Yeah, I am. I already put some soup on. You had some of that vegetable beef in the freezer, it should be about ready.”
She brushed her lips against his forehead then left the room, headed for the kitchen. He heard her rustling around and was struck by the normality of it. He belonged here. With Taylor. It was time to start thinking seriously about getting the hell away from the FBI. A bloodcurdling scream coincided with the crash of china. He leaped from the couch and bolted to the kitchen.
“What, what is it?” he yelled.
Taylor was backed into the corner between the refrigerator and the wall, her right hand on her gun, the left holding the holster in place so she could unsheathe the weapon smoothly. He looked around wildly, trying to find the intruder. Taylor was white faced, eyes wide. As he took a couple of breaths, he realized that no one was in the kitchen.
“Someone outside?” he whispered, his own hand reaching for his weapon.
“Huge. Spider. Sink.” Taylor hissed the words, teeth clenched.
Baldwin’s eyebrows rose a full inch, and he burst out laughing. “What were you pla
“Just. Kill. It.” Taylor’s hands had dropped to her sides, her eyes shooting daggers at him for laughing.
“What would you do if I wasn’t here?” He went to 308
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the back door, where a week’s worth of newspapers were stacked neatly in a large basket, ready for recycling. He picked up a section, folded it in half and made his way back to the kitchen.
“I’d evacuate.”
Biting his lip so he wouldn’t laugh again, he looked at Taylor. “Evacuate?”
“Yeah. Go get Sam or someone. I don’t like spiders.”
“I’ve noticed. It’s in the sink?”
She nodded. “Dropped right down out of the damn sky, landed on the plate I was taking out of the cabinet. I threw the plate at the sink. Christ, would you quit dilly-dallying and kill the damn thing?”
He held up his hands, the newspaper crackling in his left. “Okay, okay. In the sink, you say?”