Where All the Dead Lie

Marcus was right. There was never anything nice about suicide, especially by gunshot. Bowerman had used the .40 Glock. Sam could see it lying right next to his hand. He only had half a face.

“Ugh.”

“Yep. You need any help?”

“I’ll yell if I do. Thanks.”

She just wanted to get this over with.

She set up by the body, gathering his effects. She flipped open his wallet, doing a standard double check of the man’s identity. The driver’s license said Douglas Bowerman, but the photo showed a blond. This man, what was left of him, was brown-haired. Remembering the wig hairs found in Marias González’s pocket, she reached down and pulled. No, the hair was real. The height was off, too—the license said six feet, and this man was infinitely shorter than that. They were going to have to go through a full identification process in order to figure out if this was Bowerman, or if the Reluctant Robber had murdered yet another i

“Marcus?” she called.

He wasn’t far away, was by her side in seconds.

“What’s up?”

“Who is this?” She pointed at the body on the floor.

“Bowerman.”

“No, it’s not.” She stood and handed him the driver’s license. He looked at it, then down at the body.

“Son of a bitch.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Keller!” Marcus took off like a shot. Sam backed away from the body. Suicide was one thing—especially one attended by so many people. But if this wasn’t the suspect, then who had been shot? And why?

She stepped to the kitchen, took off her gloves and retrieved her BlackBerry from her back pocket. Sent Simon a message that she’d be later than pla

Marcus was still talking to Keller, who was gesticulating wildly. They were having a doozy of an argument. She left them to it, sat down at the abandoned kitchen table and checked her email. They’d call her when they were ready for her to get the body. They’d need a crime scene tech to take a different set of pictures and video first.

There was a new note from Taylor. She’d sent it in the middle of the night. Up all hours, just like at home. Some things never change. Poor thing. Nothing would fix her in somnia; it was a part of her being.

Sam opened the mail and started to read.

Dear Sam,

There is a moment in every life that defines, shapes, transcends your previous spirit, molding you as if from newborn clay. It’s come for me. I have changed, and that change is irreversible.

Sam, there’s no doubt anymore. I’m losing my mind. The shooting is haunting me. The horror of your loss, of who I’ve become, all of it is too much. I’m not sure how much longer I can stand to go on like this, trapped under glass, trapped away from everyone. I’m lost.

Oh, no.

This was not good. Taylor was completely going around the bend. Ghosts and hauntings were one thing, but she was coming unhinged. Damn it. She should have listened harder yesterday. Taylor was trying to tell her she was in trouble.

Sam knew her best friend very well. Better than she knew herself, in many ways. Something was wrong, and it wasn’t with Taylor’s mind. She was probably having a bad reaction to the meds Dr. Benedict had given her. She didn’t want to be an alarmist, but the more she read of the note, the more she felt like something was terribly wrong.

She finished reading the email quickly and immediately speed-dialed Taylor’s number, not caring about the international rates. It went to voice mail. Damn it. She tried again. Nothing.

She didn’t hesitate this time. Taylor would be pissed at her, but what did that matter? She was in trouble, and Sam wouldn’t forgive herself if she didn’t at least try to help.

She forwarded the email to Baldwin, then followed up with a call. He, unlike Taylor, answered on the first ring.

“Sam. Are you okay?”

“Hi, Baldwin. Yes, I’m fine. I’m sorry to bother you. I know you’re working. I was calling about Taylor. I just forwarded an email she sent me—something is obviously wrong. I think she may be having a bad reaction to the meds. I think she needs you. She’s certainly too proud to ask for your help.”

“Well, hold on and let me read it.”

“Sure.” Marcus was gesturing for her. “Actually, can you call me back when you’re finished reading it? I’m at a scene.”

“No rest for the wicked. Of course. I’ll call you right back.”

She hung up and went into the living room. Marcus was fuming.

“Hey, Sam. Holding pattern. We have to all stop and treat this as a homicide. I need to go talk to the wife, find out if she knows who this is.”

“This guy likes the chase—no one robs banks for their health. There’s a huge rush to it. Now he’s guaranteed you have to come looking for him.”

Marcus shook his head mournfully. “We were set up. Marias González has cleaned here. They have a Jaguar. The wife said her husband wrecked it and it’s in the shop for repairs. Bowerman’s our guy, I’m sure of it. The real Bowerman, that is. But where the hell is he?”

“Think he used her as an escape hatch? Y’all didn’t know this guy was in here. Bowerman sends his family out, shoots this one and takes off. We think it’s a suicide and don’t go looking any further, at least for the time being. Gives him time to flee. He’d have to know we’d figure it out eventually.”

“I don’t know, Sam. I hope his wife isn’t in on it.”

“Anything’s possible.”

“You know it. I’ve got a BOLO on him. He can’t have gone too far.”

Her phone rang. Baldwin. “I gotta take this, Marcus. Hang on.”

Baldwin’s voice was strained. “I can’t raise her. You’re right, that letter is over the top. I’ll keep trying. If you hear from her, you let me know, okay?”

“Can’t you just go get her?”

“I don’t think I can.” His voice was bleak. She hadn’t heard him sound this upset before. “There’s a huge storm, all the transportation services are out. There are no flights getting into or out of Great Britain. I’m in Amsterdam, if you can believe that. I’ll be stuck here, at least for another day.”

“Where’s the illustrious Memphis?”

“I don’t know.”

“Great. So we can both worry about her from afar. Let me know if you hear anything.”

“You too.” He hung up. She tried Taylor’s phone again, got her voice mail.

She had to get back to work. Sam typed a quick message then, frustrated, turned back to Marcus.

“Sorry. You were saying?”

His forehead creased. “What’s wrong with Taylor?”

“Nothing. She’s fine.” I hope, she added silently.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Please, God. Not again.

Memphis had been stuck in the car for over an hour, trying to get onto the A1. The trains were stopped. The planes were grounded. The only hope he had was driving, and he was still nearly three hours away. He couldn’t believe the snow. It was coming down harder than he’d seen in years.

All he knew was he had to get to Taylor, as quickly as possible.

Damn that woman. She hadn’t seemed that bad to him. Delicate, certainly. Not being able to speak, being forced away from hearth and work, into the clutches of the big bad wolf…yes, she’d been a bit vulnerable. But not crazy. But she was used to acting strong, to keeping people at arm’s length. But from what Trixie said, she was well past that. She’d gone straight to hallucinations and crying in her room. Acting decidedly unlike the Taylor Jackson he knew.

Acting like Evan, before she died.

Please, God. Not again.

The car in front of him inched forward. He thought he would scream if they didn’t start to move.