All The Pretty Girls

“I’m not taking calls today, boys.” She started to roll over, get some sun on her back, but the midget with the phone stepped closer, shoving the tray at her. The phone continued to jangle incessantly, and Taylor finally reached out a hand…

She came awake, realizing that it was her phone ringing. She groaned and rolled over, picking up the All the Pretty Girls

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receiver with a grunted hello. She reached a hand out to find Baldwin, but his side of the bed was empty. She focused her attention back on the phone. A chirpy voice rang out into the bedroom.

“Lieutenant, this is Metro Dispatch. I was asked to inform you that we have a possible home invasion in progress that your presence is requested at.”

“Is anyone dead?”

“No, ma’am, the message I was given—”

“Then go away, Dispatch. If no one’s dead, they don’t need me.”

“Lieutenant, Officer Parks is on the scene and requesting your company. He mentioned there might be a 216 involved that you would be interested in.”

Shit. That got her attention. Bob Parks was a good friend, and if he thought there was a rape involved in the home invasion that she’d be interested in, and if she was being called off the books, that could only mean one thing. The Rainman.

Taylor was out of the bed, trying to balance the phone between her neck and ear as she struggled into a pair of jeans. She realized the TV was on—sure enough, the identical-twin midgets in blue blazers and ascots were parading across the screen in a ridiculous late-night infomercial. No wonder she had been dreaming about them. But hey, maybe their investment opportunities could make her millions and she could quit this crazy job.

“Where’s the scene, Dispatch?”

“Off Old Hickory Boulevard across the street from Harpeth Hills Golf Course. A gated community called Middleton. Are you familiar with the area?”

“Got it, Dispatch. Tell them I’m on my way. Raise 316

J.T. Ellison

Lincoln Ross and Marcus Wade for me, too, get them out there. I can be on-site in ten minutes.”

She hung up the phone, buttoned her jeans, yanked on her cowboy boots and tucked in her T-shirt. Crossing to the dresser, she snapped her holster onto her hip, glanced into the mirror and smirked. This better be worth dragging her ass out of bed at two in the morning. Baldwin was on the couch, half asleep, piles of paper scattered across the cushions and floor. Taylor gave him a quick kiss on the forehead, told him where she was headed and let herself out of the house into the dark. A soft drizzle misted through her driveway. Shit. She got in her truck and slapped a red light on the dash. Speeding through Bellevue, she hit Old Hickory within five minutes, tearing up the deserted road, the stone guardrail flashing dark gray as she sped past. She passed the steeplechase course and the golf course, saw the stone entrance to Middleton a moment too late. A patrol car with emergency lights rotating sat at the entrance as she blew past. Braking carefully so she wouldn’t skid on the wet asphalt, she made a quick U-turn and turned left into the community. The patrol officer held out a hand, stopping her. She put the window down and waved. The patrol turned friendly.

“Hey, Lieutenant.”

“Good morning. Where’s the scene?”

“Drive to the end of the road, then turn right. You can’t miss it, there’s a bunch of us down there. Why’re you here?”

She ignored the question, gu

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as she drove past. Porch lights spilled golden illumination into the street. She could see the flashing blue and white lights ahead of her. She followed the road to the end, parked behind the crime scene van, and made her way through the crowd to the tape that designated the crime scene control area. She saw Bob Parks standing in a puddle of light from a lamppost and went to him.

“Bob,” she whispered in his ear, making him jump. He turned and gave her an uncharacteristically grim nod.

“Good, you’re here,” he said. “I thought you’d want to see this.” He gestured toward the house, a stately twostory with white harled brick.

“What’s happening? Dispatch said you had a home invasion with a possible rape?”

“Yup—911 got a call from a kid inside the house. Kid heard noises from downstairs and came down. Saw his mom wrestling with a man in a mask. Guy had slipped in through the back French doors, grabbed the woman as she slept on the couch. Kid’s a smart little cuss, he ran right back to his room, locked the door and called 911. Patrol got here within a few minutes, but the guy had already done his thing and left.”

“Did he rape her?”

“Yep. She’s very shaken, but she did manage to tell us that he had a knife to her throat. It was all pretty fast.”

“And you think it was the Rainman?”

“Well, it is raining. Plus the MO sounded right. I know you’ve been dealing with the case, thought you should be here at the scene.”

“The kid all right?”

“Yeah, he’s fine. Shook up, but he may have saved his mom’s life, you know?”

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“Thanks for the heads-up. I don’t know how much I can do, but I’m glad you called. Lincoln and Marcus should be here soon. We’ll talk to the vic, see if she remembers anything that could help. We’ll have to get her to the hospital so they can do a PERK and check her out. Do you have guys searching around here?”

“We do, got the dogs, too. Vic said he took off out the back door when he was finished, right as the sirens were within hearing distance. There’re heavy woods out there that back into the farm. That abuts to the parking lot of Christ Presbyterian.”

Taylor stared off toward the north. “Did you get patrols in their parking lot? He may have parked there, then come in on foot.”

“Yep. We’re on that. We don’t have anything yet. Like I said, just thought you’d want to know what was happening.”

Taylor touched his arm. “I appreciate it, Bob. You did good to call me. Go on and do what you need to, I’ll just wait for Lincoln and Marcus and get into the house in a minute.”

With a nod, Parks went off toward the house. Taylor took in the scene. There was a large crowd of people assembled, watching the drama unfold. Women in bathrobes and men in sweatpants stood in knots, necks craning to see whatever they could. Taylor was reminded of an evening when she was in her teens and a neighbor’s house caught fire. It seemed the whole neighborhood had gathered in the street to watch the conflagration envelop the home. People were drawn to tragedy like moths to a flame.

Years of training unconsciously kicked in, and she All the Pretty Girls

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looked at each face in turn. No one seemed out of place. Tired countenances, lit with anguish, but all looking appropriately rumpled from being wakened in the middle of the night by sirens. She shook her head and turned toward the noise of another engine making its way down the road toward them.

Lincoln Ross pulled up in his assigned vehicle. They weren’t supposed to bring personal cars to a crime scene, and he had grabbed an unmarked and made his way to the west side of town. Marcus was riding shotgun. What good boys, she thought. As she started toward them, a shadow caught her eye. She looked to the right, could have sworn she saw someone moving along the side of the house. Lincoln got out of the car and she silently got his attention, motioning with her head toward the house next door. She started that way slowly, not wanting to look as if she was chasing anything in the gloom, but intent on finding out what had caught her eye.

Lincoln and Marcus joined her and they formed a flying V, walking slowly and carefully toward the darkened edge of the house. Lincoln whispered in her ear.