“I don’t know. I don’t see anything here.”
“Maybe in the kitchen? Come on, Michelle, stay with us. Michelle?”
Baldwin left for a moment, came back with a prescription bottle. “She took lorazepam. Corinne’s prescription. I don’t know how many were in here though, it was refilled this afternoon. It’s empty now. She wasn’t kidding around.”
The EMTs were banging on the front door, and Baldwin let them in, telling them what they knew.
“Will she live?” Taylor asked him.
“I don’t know. Alcohol and lorazepam can be deadly, but it seems we might have caught it in time. It’s going to be touch and go.”
His voice was cold. They stood side by side and watched as the EMTs worked on Michelle. The urgency of the rescue effort became nearly frantic. They were forced to secure an airway and do active CPR. A few moments later, the EMTs screamed out of the house with Michelle on a gurney, not willing to let her die on their watch, headed for Baptist Hospital.
Taylor stood in the door, watched them leave. She crossed her arms and glared accusingly at Baldwin.
“You knew,” she said.
He nodded.
“We could have called for help sooner,” she said.
“We could have. But we know the truth now. If she didn’t think she was going to die, she wouldn’t have told us.”
Wearily, Taylor called for a crime scene investigative team to come to the house. She didn’t want to take any chances.
She felt like she was walking through mud. It was midnight when she and Baldwin got back into the car. The call came as they drove home. Michelle Harris had died at 11:56 p.m.
Saturday
Forty-One
T he media was having a field day with the planted camera story.
National and local news reporters were fleshing out all the details of the past week’s events. The print and online journalists were digging up some extra salacious tidbits. It felt like the whole world was focused on Nashville.
Taylor was wrapping up the report on her interview with Michelle Harris when she got a call. She was to report to the Office of Professional Accountability immediately. The Oompa wanted her.
Taylor had no idea what the problem might be, and waited a good ten minutes before finally shutting off her light and wending her way to the third-floor offices of the OPA.
Delores Norris’s door was open.
“Come in,” she demanded. There was no pleasantry in her tone. Taylor entered the office for the third time in a week, wishing she were anywhere but here. God, she hated this woman.
Delores looked like a very satisfied jackal, one who’d spent the previous day and night feasting on the deserted remains of an antelope. She launched in immediately, obviously thrilled.
“We have a problem, Lieutenant.”
Taylor started to sit, and Delores tsk’ed at her. Taylor raised an eyebrow and sat anyway, crossing her arms across her chest. The Oompa was still forced to look up at her, maliciousness sparking in her eyes. Power hungry bitch, Taylor thought.
“And what problem would that be?”
“I’ve been looking over the reports on the Harris suicide. According to the EMT report on Michelle Harris, there was a chance her life could have been saved. Instead, you and your boyfriend interrogated the suspect, allowed her to continue drinking. Is this true?”
“Let me see. Yes, we interrogated her. It’s called solving a case. As for whether she would have died or not, only God can tell us that.”
“So you’ve imbued yourself with the power of God now?”
“Captain Norris, what do you want? I’m tired. The cases are closed. Satisfactorily to all involved, I must say.”
“I have a choice to make, Lieutenant. Seeing as there is yet another complaint against you, I could suspend you pending the outcome of the investigation into your actions.”
“You’re kidding me. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Eyes of the beholder, Lieutenant. Shall we review your past week? One of your detectives did drugs with a confidential informant, and you didn’t report it. You threatened a suspect with your weapon, a suspect that wasn’t being questioned in an official capacity. According to your peers, you worked on a murder investigation while you were on suspension, even going so far as to contact the mother of the murder victim. You’ve been playing extremely fast and loose with the rules. And that’s not how we work things here at Metro. Not with me.”
Wow. The Oompa had been doing her homework. Lincoln must have done his debrief and admitted he’d checked in with her. How she’d found out about Taylor’s morning of interviews was beyond her. Oh, the cop who was guarding her must have talked. Or Mrs. Harris. Damn.
“I understand how some of that might look. Detective Ross confided in me. In an ordinary circumstance, I would have gone directly to Captain Price, but Detective Ross was on assignment, and we had a breaking murder investigation. As far as the suspect I questioned, I could have arrested him for assaulting an officer. He tried to detain me the evening before. I was doing him a favor by not arresting him.”
“But, Lieutenant, you don’t get to make the rules. That isn’t how you’ve been trained, now is it? There is only one option left to me at this point. I’ve already discussed it with the chief, and he agrees that this is the correct course of action. You have gone off the reservation one too many times, and we feel a full psychiatric evaluation and continued monitoring would be beneficial to your career at the present time.
“And your team will have to report to different management while you’re under evaluation. We can’t have our team leaders on the brink, and it’s become obvious to all involved that you’re not capable of this level of leadership. Your team needs to be instilled with some discipline. They need to learn that they don’t get to take the law into their own hands. And you need to learn that you don’t rule this department.”
Taylor let her emotions take control. She stood, forcing the chair back from the table with a rending screech. “You can’t do that! That is completely unfair. I’ve done nothing wrong. My team has done nothing wrong. You’re just pissed off that you can’t fire me.”
The Oompa smiled. “That’s not true. I’m not upset with that outcome in the least. You’ll learn that you need to obey your superiors. And your superiors have learned their lessons as well. Captain Price is going to be taking early retirement.”
Taylor flashed back to Price, grimly challenging Delores, defending Taylor. She borrowed his words. “You bitch!” she snarled. “I’ll fight you to the death on this one.”
“Temper, temper, my dear. Wouldn’t want that to get into the daily reports, now would we?”
“There are better ways to get at me, Delores. You don’t have to punish them.”
The Oompa shifted in her chair, her eyes narrowing, face tightening. “Oh, on the contrary. I think this is the finest way to get to you. I don’t believe you, Miss Jackson. I think you did kill David Martin. At least you set it up so you could have a favorable outcome. Maybe next time, you’ll think twice before you suborn and perjure yourself. Videotapes are easily manipulated, I believe you told me? You should be careful what you say, my dear. It can come back and bite you in the ass. If they can be manipulated one way, why not the other? Your story about Martin doesn’t ring true. And too many experts got involved. We’ll be taking the tapes to an independent analyst.”
“I haven’t lied about any of this. Not once,” Taylor spit through clenched teeth. “You know that.”
“Do I? Well, all I can say is time will tell. To top your stellar week off, a serial killer you allowed to escape has returned to town, has killed in your name. No, my dear. It’s high time for this department to make some changes. We need a full accounting of the actions of your homicide team over the past year. Lincoln Ross will move
