She let the memory of Aiden standing in her front lawn fill her. Scant moments after killing two men with his bare hands, he was so damned nonchalant, so…unfazed by what he’d just done. A sense of failure, of loss for the two men who’d answered her summons for help, died trying to protect her, crept down her spine. She’d been so wrapped up in her own troubles, she’d neglected to even find out their names.
The urban spread became Vanderbilt University, a sedate greenness signaled they had arrived. Taylor had always relished the dichotomy that was Nashville; there was something so joyous in downtown’s diversity from block to block. Vandy was always a favorite destination. The hopes of the guileless college students, the ornate buildings teeming with knowledge. Before she could get reflective for her own lost years, Baldwin took a fast right into Centennial Park, narrowly missing the ubiquitous jogger panting down the sidewalk.
The grounds of the Parthenon were filled with squad cars. Blue lights shimmered in the midday sun. A knot of officers stood at the base of the Parthenon steps, looking highly out of place. During the day, this was a tourist destination as well as a favorite walking mall. People brought their dogs to run in the grass, ate picnics at the base of the gigantic oak trees, stared in wonder at the perfect replica of ancient Greek architecture and tribute.
The chill spread deeper into her body. Aside from the cops, Centennial Park was strangely empty. The sight of the Parthenon usually filled her with nostalgia; it was never a complete school year without a visit to one of the most recognizable landmarks in Nashville. She mentally reviewed the information that had been parceled to her on every field trip: built to impress travelers visiting Nashville for the 1897 Centennial and designed to reflect the city’s reputation as the “Athens of the South,” the building was originally meant to be a temporary structure. The sophisticated citizens of Nashville left it standing and by 1931 it was rebuilt as a permanent monument. The massive bronze doors guarded the largest indoor sculpture in the Western world: a replica of Phidias’s colossal statue of Athena, goddess of wisdom, warfare and the arts, sculpted by Nashville artisan Alan LeQuire. The Parthenon art museum was respected worldwide; Taylor had visited an exhibit only last month.
Now the columns held up a roof covered in friezes that seemed much too prescient. The structure stood lonely and bereft, defiled by unsanctioned death, the site of a modern day sacrifice. Taylor could barely force herself out of the car to meet Fitz, who walked quickly to the car when they pulled up.
He was carrying something.
She stepped from the vehicle and faced Fitz. “Who?” she asked.
She caught a glimpse of the photo he was carrying. It was a close-up shot of a naked torso, she could just see the outline of a collarbone above…
The temperature hadn’t risen a degree, yet Taylor felt the sweat break out on her brow. She turned her attention to the gathering of police officers twenty feet away. She forced herself to walk slowly, to seem indifferent. Inside she was paralyzed with fear.
The body was naked, artfully arranged to lean against the top step, so a passerby paying little heed might not take notice, would think that it was simply a scantily clad person taking a brief rest.
Closer inspection showed a shock of brown hair, eyes open yet unseeing, glazed already covered with the slightest tint of white. A silver wire, the ends twisted elaborately, was buried deep in the dead man’s neck. There was a flourish on the end of the wire that made Taylor think of leftovers dressed in tinfoil worked into the shape of a swan from a fancy restaurant her parents took her to when she was young. She fought back the bile rising in her throat.
Nailed to the naked, hairless chest of the killer she knew only as Aiden was a piece of paper. It was a scroll of parchment, aged and yellowed, a single trickle of crimson blood streaming down the paper. The handwriting was spidery, old-fashioned. As she read, she sucked in her breath in shock.
Dearest Lieutenant,
The world is a better place with you in it. Consider this minor service a token of my appreciation and everlasting admiration.
The Pretender
Fuck.
“How long has he been here?” she asked, impressed with the steadiness in her tone. She didn’t dare look at Baldwin, could feel the thoughts churning in his head from three feet away. She didn’t have to look at him. She knew he was stunned too.
“Not long,” Fitz replied. “The ME’s office has sent a team, should be here shortly. First officer on the scene reported that he checked the wrist for a pulse, said he was still warm. He’s been in the sun, but it couldn’t have been much more than an hour ago. Jogger was going to run up and down the stairs a few times and saw him. Called it in immediately. I’ve talked to her.” He pointed at a squad car, where a young woman in running gear stood shaky and pale. “Didn’t see anything. The park’s quiet today, she says she saw nobody around.”
Baldwin had been silent up to this point, and Taylor looked at him. There was a bizarre mixture of revulsion and relief on his face. He answered her unspoken question.
“I don’t know whether to be thrilled or horrified. Aiden was a terrible person, and I’m not upset that he’s dead. But Christ. The Pretender.”
“Staying with the program, I see. Copycatting. You said Aiden killed with a silver garrote, right? Seems our serial killer has turned vigilante.” She gave a shaky laugh. “Maybe we should hire him out.”
The forced bravado was costing her. The mere thought of a killer she failed to catch being back in her town, killing in her name, for her honor, for God’s sake, was terrifying.
Baldwin just nodded. The ME’s van pulled up, Fitz spoke to her, his voice low.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. Go deal with the ME.” The youngest ME on staff, Dr. Fox, jumped out, eyes bright. The word was leaking out. Sure enough, her cell rang, Sam’s name popped up on the caller ID. Taylor took a few steps away and opened the phone.
“I heard. Is it true?”
“Yep. Seems our boy has resurfaced. Did quite a number on Aiden. Why aren’t you here?”
“I was in a staff meeting with the board. Couldn’t break away. Fox can handle the scene, can’t he?”
“Don’t know why not. It’s a bit cut-and-dried. The nails in his chest are a first for me though.”
“Well, I haven’t done a garroting in a while, so it should be fun. I’ll make sure everything is handled well. Don’t worry. I’ve got to run, we’re going back into session. Watch your back, okay?”
“Will do. See you later.” She hung up, turned to Baldwin, who was on his phone too. Talking to Garrett, she guessed. Calling off her tail.
She went back to Aiden’s body, the feeling of being watched making her shiver. Good grief. This had been one hell of a week. She was starting to get a complex; just how many serial killers could the city of Nashville have in one day?
Aiden’s gummy gaze seemed to look directly into her soul. Fitz and Fox joined her.
“It’s time to let them do their magic,” Fitz said. Taylor nodded. Fox was circling the body, making low clucking noises in his throat.
“Jeez,” he said. “This is going to be a fun one.”
“You ME folks sure are sick. C’mon, LT, let’s get you out of here.” Taylor let Fitz walk her back to her vehicle. “I’ll take care of this. You go back and work the Wolff case. You don’t need me for that, Lincoln and Marcus are handling things just fine. I’ll meet up with you later.”
She nodded again, numbly, and got into the sedan. Baldwin snapped his phone shut and came around to the driver’s side, sliding in beside her. He turned over the engine and Fitz carefully shut her door. She didn’t know why she was letting everyone pamper her. Snap to, girl.
Baldwin pulled away, eyes on the road. She could tell he wanted to talk. That was good, because she didn’t.
“I need to talk to you,” he said.
“I gathered. You’re practically humming.”
He cleared his throat, turned left onto West End. “There’s more to the Aiden story than I told you.”
She waved her hand in a circle. “Tell.”
He signed deeply. “What I’m about to tell you is highly classified.”
“What, am I about to get assigned to Mission: Impossible? ”
“Funny girl.” He pulled into an open parking space on the street and turned the car off.
“What’s this?”
