Taylor thought about that. A logical explanation. So why was the hair on the back of her neck standing on end?
“You’re probably right, Marcus. I’m sure that’s the deal. I’ll ask around when I get home. The folks next door have a couple of dogs, they were probably making a ruckus, smelling something dead. Tell Keri thanks for trying for me.”
They hung up. Taylor took the Charlotte Avenue exit and cut through Hillwood into the Wolffs’ neighborhood. She pulled into the cul-de-sac and parked behind Tim’s Metro Crime Scene truck.
Tim was sitting on the front porch swing, unmoving, his back so straight that it didn’t make contact with the seat back. He hopped to his feet as soon as Taylor exited her vehicle.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey, yourself. Sorry to drag you back out here, but you need to see this in person before I start disassembling.”
“Disassembling what, Tim? Now that I’m here, clue me in.”
He blushed and looked away, eyes cutting to the right. Oh, good grief. Old-fashioned Southern men, they actually believed in respecting women. Her curiosity won out over teasing him. “Fine. Just show me if you’re too embarrassed to talk about it.”
He nodded once, then whipped around and headed into the house. Taylor followed. He went directly to the basement stairs, headed down without a word. The air smelled cool and musty, similar to the day before. When they reached the bottom, Taylor saw Tim’s light rigging set up, the five-hundred-watt beam pointing to a spot on the wall.
He was talking again, his words jerking out of his mouth rapid fire. “I was moving some of the boxes, looking for anything I might have missed. A box fell off the stack here.” He pointed to a cardboard bankers’ box, the contents spilled on the concrete floor. Plastic jewel cases, the kind that house music compact discs, were spread across the floor, the flash of the silver contents catching the light from the stairwell.
“Were they bootlegging CDs? Let me guess, there’s cartons of cigarettes too. The Wolffs are working for Al- Qaeda.” Taylor threw Tim a smile to let him know she was kidding. Poor boy was so serious all the time.
“It’s worse than that, LT.” Tim walked around the spilled box and went to the back wall, the one that was painted. He knocked on the cement. Instead of making no noise, a sharp clang rang out. Raising an eyebrow at Taylor, he pushed. The entire wall swung away, opening into a dark gap.
“A secret chamber. Cool.”
Tim just shrugged in answer and disappeared into the wall. Taylor followed him. The air changed in this room, there was no must, no humidity. It smelled of Clorox.
Tim hit the lights, and Taylor sucked in her breath. Her first impression was medieval torture chamber. The second was film studio. Tim stayed quiet, giving her a moment to process. There was a double bed in the center of the twelve-by-twenty-four-foot space made up with white sheets and a white down comforter. Fluffy pillows completed the ensemble. To the right was a peg board, filled from top to bottom with various…well, the only thing she could think to call them was accessories. Sex toys, whips, a dominatrix hood and rubber merry widow, gag balls, dildos, vibrators. It was a veritable sex store, all tucked neatly away in the basement of the suburban family home. Taylor had seen plenty of these accoutrements on various crime scenes. What she hadn’t seen was a sex chamber equipped with two professional video cameras, a boom, four different mikes and strategically placed lights.
“They’re making pornography?” Tim asked, the tremor in his voice belying his normally staid demeanor. Tim was horrifically discomfited, that much was evident. A good churchgoing man, he wouldn’t be a big fan of the Wolffs’ sideline.
Taylor walked around the space, looking. “Good assumption. One of them was, at least. It’s certainly possible that Todd was running the show and Corinne didn’t know, or vice versa. But I doubt that. Something this elaborate, it would be hard to hide from your spouse. I’d like to look at the boxes out there again.”
She left the room, made her way back to the boxes. She started to reach for one, then stopped. “Tim, have you printed this stuff yet?”
“No, ma’am. I just backed out and called you.”
“Are they labeled?”
“Only with dates. They go back a few years.”
Taylor sighed. “Well, we’re gonna have to process this entire setup. I’ll poke at a couple of these discs, see if I can find anything recent.” She looked around the basement one more time. “I daresay you’ll find both Todd and Corinne’s prints down here. I want to know if you find anyone else’s.”
Taylor picked through the CDs with a pencil, selected a few at random with dates that ranged from 2005- 2008, waited for Tim to print their jewel cases, then took the contents with her and started for Baptist Hospital. Tim had called in backup; it was going to take all afternoon to process the sin den, as Taylor had named the Wolffs’ playroom.
In the meantime, she still needed to speak with Corinne’s doctor.
What in the name of hell was Todd Wolff doing with a mini movie studio in the basement of his house? And just how many more secrets could there be, hidden behind the facade of the Wolffs’ perfect life?
Seventeen
T aylor pulled under the portico entrance to Baptist Women’s Health facility, flashed her badge at the valet. He pointed to a spot at the front, and she left the car there.
The directory listed Dr. Walberg’s office on the seventh floor. She pushed the up button on the left side of a bank of elevators, the doors to one opposite her slid open. Once inside, Taylor glanced in the smooth, mirrored wall surface and cursed. She pulled her hair out of its ponytail and shook it, turning upside down and running her fingers through as a makeshift comb. The humidity coupled with the threat of rain had created a riotous mass of baby curls around her face, which caused her hair to get wavy and stick out in all directions. She flipped back up, gathered the mess into her left hand and wound the holder back into place. She was swiping on Burt’s Bees pomegranate lip balm when the doors clanged open.
A hugely pregnant woman appeared, her belly distracting Taylor from noticing anything else about the woman. Well, she was in the right place. Taylor held the elevator doors for her. The woman waddled in and gave her a tired smile.
“Damn Braxton Hicks. I thought this one was for real.”
Taylor tried for sympathetic as the doors slid closed, then grimaced. Not her idea of a fun day, that. She hadn’t felt the tug, the desire for motherhood yet. And pushing thirty-six, she was going to have to think about it. But not right now. She’d had a scare a few months prior, and that had been enough to convince her that she was not, by any means, ready.
On the seventh floor, she went a few feet down the hallway and entered Suite 702. The door opened into a large space full of comfortable chairs and baby magazines. Dual receptionists looked up in unison.
Before Taylor could say a word, the woman on the right stood and waved her toward a door that said PRIVATE. Taylor crossed the waiting room, ignoring the looks from the curious. She opened the door and the receptionist greeted her.
“You must be that policewoman the doctor said was coming over.”
“How did you know?” Taylor asked, shaking the woman’s hand and handing her a card.
“Honey, I know all our patients. We aren’t scheduling new clients these days. Dr. Walberg’s practice is full up. And the gun is a bit of a giveaway. Who do you see?”
“Oh, um,” Taylor started, and the receptionist just smiled.
“Make sure you get your annual and a Pap, dear. And don’t forget your monthly breast exam.”
“I did. I won’t. I mean, I will.” Taylor shook her head. “Is Dr. Walberg-”
“She’s waiting on you right now. Here you go.”
The receptionist knocked once on a wooden door, then opened it. A small woman with dark gray hair and wireless glasses sat behind a massive mahogany desk.
