Garrett’s sudden heart problem was a fallacy. Baldwin had been pulled to Quantico so Atlantic could honor their agreement. He was being warned, and given the tools to suss out his enemy. A nemesis had disappeared from the OA’s radar screens. The killer had cleared out his home, taken all his papers, all his false IDs, and disappeared. The chatter on the circuit was he’d contracted a job in the States, but so far, no one would own up to the hit.
The assassin was an American, at least by birth. He’d been brought up all over the world, the brilliant, prodigal son of a career diplomat. He’d started killing early, sanctioned by the government. His extracurricular activities were hidden well, he had worked hard to be quite discreet. But he wasn’t quiet enough. Once he’d gotten the OA’s attention, they knew he needed to be watched. And now, all the field reports agreed. The killer known simply as Aiden was making a transatlantic journey.
Baldwin had danced with Aiden many times. He could recognize his signature anywhere. Aiden liked to be thought of as an old-school assassin, an artist who used a silver garrote to strangle his victims. He had at least forty kills to his name that they knew of; the actual number could have been much higher. He played the game, knew about the OA team, knew he was fed targets. He was an indiscriminate sort-he didn’t need a type, just needed a neck. That made him especially dangerous.
If the reports were right, if Aiden was truly in the States, Baldwin needed to keep a very close eye on him. If he could find him.
Eleven
T aylor and Fitz sat at a patio table in the back of Las Palmas. The front room was filled with giggling Vanderbilt co-eds and migrant workers on their lunch break, a testament to the quality of the restaurant as well as its reasonable prices. Taylor was nibbling a steak fajita quesadilla, Fitz was plowing through a taco salad. A pitcher of sweet tea separated them.
“So what did Price say?” Fitz asked.
“He understood, for starters. He’ll fight any disciplinary action taken against Lincoln. So Linc will feel a lot better about that. Poor guy, he was completely rattled. I don’t know if it was the dope or the sheer terror of having to report that he’d been smoking it. Can you imagine Lincoln with a few toots in him?”
Fitz laughed. “No. Mr. Fancypants has always struck me as the one scotch before dinner because it looks good, rather than enjoying it type. He isn’t much for losing control.”
“Well, that’s to be expected, if you think about his background. Damn, it would be nice to have him back to work this Wolff case. I’ll bet there’s a ton of financial discovery, right up his little computer-literate heart’s alley. Marcus is back tomorrow, right?”
Marcus Wade, her youngest detective, had been out for four days doing his in-service training rotation. Without the two detectives, the squad had been too quiet.
“He’ll be in bright and early tomorrow. We can get him up to speed with the Wolff case, let him go to town. Media’s having a field day with the 911 tape.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet. I heard it last night. It’s gut-wrenching.”
“Wish they wouldn’t do stuff like that. Makes our life harder.”
“No kidding.” She took a bite of quesadilla, wiped her mouth off with a napkin. “When we finish here, I want to take a run out to the Wolff house. The second interview with Todd Wolff is scheduled for two o’clock. Corinne’s whole family came to Forensic Medical this morning, did I tell you that?”
“No.”
“Yeah, well, they were all in the lobby when I left the autopsy. It was miserable. They told me Todd took Hayden to his parents’ house. Do you know where they live?”
“Not offhand. Did they say it was far?”
“Didn’t say. I haven’t gotten a call telling me he isn’t going to make round two, so I assume it’s close by. Think he’ll show up with a lawyer?”
Fitz rolled his eyes. “If he knows what’s good for him, but with any luck, no.”
“We can tag team him, see if he’s come up with anything else. The autopsy was pretty straightforward. Someone beat the living hell out of Corinne. There were signs of strangulation too. I want to look closer into Mr. Wolff’s days away.” She set her fork down on the edge of the plate, suddenly not hungry.
“So, tell me. Do you know what case Lincoln is on?”
Fitz dunked a tortilla chip in the spicy salsa and crunched before answering. “No, but I can guess. While you and the fed were off gallivantin’, he had several calls with that confidential informant he’d been wrangling, the kid working as a deejay?”
Taylor nodded that she remembered, and Fitz continued. “Well, the CI started talking big that he would be willing to distribute drugs through the club. He needed a dealer. Lincoln was the behind-the-scenes guy for a week, and then he dropped off the radar. I think Vice decided to keep him on it. Linc’s a smart kid. He can land on his feet. But couple all that information, and I’d assume it’s something to do with our good friend Terrence Norton.”
Taylor groaned. Terrence Norton had been a fly in the department’s ointment for years. A hoodlum, a generic neighborhood thug, he’d risen through the ranks of the underbelly of Nashville with meteoric speed. Drugs, shootings, assaults-the kid had a rap sheet fourteen pages long but skin like Teflon. None of the charges would stick. With each hung jury, each dismissed case, Terrence grew stronger. He was the main conduit of heroin and cocaine into Nashville, running the drugs up I-24 from Atlanta. But Terrence reported to someone, wasn’t high enough to be running the operation himself.
Taylor desperately wanted to see him nailed and out of her hair. She’d thought the chance was there-two months earlier, the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation had taken over a case of possible jury tampering. The final report had been on top of Taylor’s files when she returned from Italy, finding no apparent wrongdoing. The TBI had happily dumped Terrence squarely back in the locals’ lap, but kept the task force open, just in case something broke.
Terrence had been relatively quiet in the time since she’d been back, hadn’t killed anyone that they knew of.
A thought hit her. “It can’t be Terrence. He’d recognize Lincoln, wouldn’t he?”
“Well, he kept that cue-ball look after you left, and grew a beard.” Fitz laughed. “Scruffy, moth-eaten curly shit, too. He looks like a hood, not at all like his usual dapper self. And Terrence only dealt directly with you and me. So he’ll fit in okay. Besides, until his little foray onto the wild side, he was only working with the CI. Terrence wouldn’t have ever seen him.”
“I worry about him. I’d never forgive myself if we lost him. He gave me the sense things would be breaking soon, so hopefully we’ll have him back.”
“Amen to that, sister.”
Taylor pushed away her plate, let the companionable silence build. She hated to drag everyone into her paranoia, but she knew she needed her back watched.
“Someone’s watching me.”
Fitz met her eyes, didn’t blink, or shake his head, or pat her on the arm. She appreciated that. He knew her well enough to know if she felt she was being watched, she was.
“Think it’s Snow White’s apprentice? Sorry, the Pretender?” He made little quote marks with his fingers. “Why would he call himself a pretender, anyway? Seems derogatory to me.”
“I think he’s shooting for something like a pretender to the throne. Someone who should rightfully rule, but circumstance has taken their monarchy. A self-anointed king of serial killers. No one said he wasn’t cocky.” She took a drink of her tea and shifted in her chair, glancing around as she settled back in.
“No, I don’t think it’s him. I don’t know why, but this feels different. Wrong, somehow. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end and I can feel it, you know? Like electricity. It’s so strange. Ah, hell. I’m just getting spooky. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“Now who’s kidding who?”
She smiled. “I know. It will be fine. I’m aware of it, so that’s nine-tenths of the solution right there. So. You want to go to the Wolffs’ house with me? Do a run-through before the interview?”
“Why not. I don’t have anything better to do. Let’s go.”
