own.”
“Thanks, Father. I knew you’d find a way to help. I appreciate you coming with us today.”
He nodded, murmured a prayer over her, then went back to his car and drove off, slowly. Taylor could see him looking left and right, saddened by the area. She felt the same way.
She turned the car engine over, slid away from the curve, following the chaplain’s path.
“So talk to me, McKenzie. Tell me what you think’s happening here.”
“Honestly? I don’t think a pimp who hangs out at a minimart has the wherewithal to transport a body across town, tie her to a post and stick a knife through her chest, if that’s what you’re asking.”
He slipped on a pair of aviator sunglasses. He looked so much like a cop that she wondered if it was purposeful, whether he practiced the move in the mirror before work.
“Better be careful, we might start calling you Miami Vice.”
“Why? I transferred in from Orlando.”
She bit back a laugh, refocused on his words. “Never mind. Before your time. I agree with you about Tyrone. But I’d rather hear from Gerald before I make that decision. What else?”
“I think Allegra Johnson was an easy target. Someone relatively transient, with a sketchy background and a difficult life. Someone no one would miss if she was gone for a few weeks. I think whoever killed her watched her, knew about her, knew she would be easy pickings.”
“Not bad. Lure her with drugs, or a sex act for money. Tyrone might know who she went off with, if he’s really her pimp.” She sighed. “I did a ViCAP search earlier trying to see if this case matches one from Manchester a few years back. If my hunch is right, we’ll need to take a trip down there tomorrow. Will you join me?”
“Absolutely. What else do you want me to do?”
“If you were running the case, what would you do next?”
McKenzie was quiet. They were almost back to the CJC. She glided into the side lot and put the Caprice in Park. She shifted in the seat so she could face him. He was playing with his hands, practically wringing them in frustration.
“This may sound crazy, but I think I’d like to know more about Mr. Bangor. He might be a target. He’s a homosexual, perhaps this was aimed at him, a hate crime.”
There was something odd in McKenzie’s voice, a tone she wasn’t familiar with. She looked at him sideways. Fury. His fists were balled, his brow creased. Those little actions set off her alarm bells. Was McKenzie closeted? Not that it mattered to her, but he’d mentioned a girlfriend. She tucked that away to be dealt with later.
“A message? I’ve thought about that, too. It seems a bit extreme, but he was broken into last year. He might be into something that we don’t know about. Have you run him yet?”
“Yes. Nothing. Clean as a whistle. He’s a law-abiding citizen, pays his parking tickets. His prints weren’t in the system.”
“He could be clean, he could be good at hiding things. We’ll see.”
Her cell rang. She recognized the caller ID, an internal number to the Criminal Justice Center. She answered it, hoping it was Gerald. It was. She put it on speaker.
“We talked to your boy.”
“That was quick.”
“Well, these runners are predictable, at least. Lets us monitor them easier, get them into the fold as confidential informants. My guy had a chat with him, said it was pretty apparent the news upset him. He might have actually cared about the girl.”
“That would be a first. How can you make someone you care about have sex with strangers for drug money?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. I’ll never pretend to understand these fools.” Gerald laughed. “Anyway, Tyrone said, and I quote, ‘Shorty was a fine-looking girl, ya know what I mean? Why would I be offin’ her ass? She makes me money. Now I’m sad.’ He seemed genuinely surprised to hear she was dead. My guy asked when he saw her last. He claims she split about three weeks ago.”
“That fits with the witnesses at her house. He didn’t have any ideas where she split to?”
“Naw. He was more angry than anything. Thought maybe another pimp hooked her up. Here’s the other thing. You say the murder was yesterday?”
“Thereabouts. Allegra was placed in the house between 9:00 a.m. and 5:00 p.m.”
“My UC was with Tyrone most of the day yesterday. They were over at the minimart, doing a deal with some Mexicans who came through town. My interdiction boys and girls picked up the Mexis on their way out. So the timing might have been close.”
“Okay, Gerald. I’ll strike him from my immediate list. Thanks so much for your help. You guys are miracle workers. Stay safe.” She hung up.
“So, McKenzie, we move Tyrone to the back burner for the moment. Let’s go see what awaits us inside.”
Thirteen
I t was past 5:00 p.m. Taylor sent McKenzie home, promised to call him if anything new broke. She was filling out her forms when a soft voice caught her attention.
“Miss Taylor? ViCAP results are back.”
Rowena Wright stood over Taylor, her bulk creating a shadow on the desk. Her gray hair was curled into a riot of miniature corkscrews. Taylor was reminded of a Gorgon, though Rowena was one of the most even- tempered creatures Taylor had ever come across. She was happy to do her work, go home to her family at the end of the day. She never complained, never called in sick. She’d received departmental awards for her attendance. Taylor thought the world of her.
“Thank you, Rowena. How’s your husband?”
“He’s just wonderful, Miss Taylor, thank you for asking. How’s that fine man of yours? You ever going to marry that boy?”
Taylor fiddled with her engagement ring, the Asschercut channel-set diamonds nestled flat into their platinum home. “We’re getting there, Rowena. I practically feel like we’re married already.”
“He’s a good man, Miss Taylor. Don’t you go letting him slip away cause you’ve got the cold feet.” Rowena started to leave, but paused, like she had something more to say.
Taylor squeezed her shoulder. “Thank you for getting these for me. I appreciate it.”
Rowena just smiled and left the offices. She was tucked into a space next door-she handled all the Criminal Investigative Divisions administrative details. She literally knew where the bodies were buried, and knew when to look the other way.
Funny, people were always warning Taylor not to let Baldwin slip away. She found it curious-did they think she’d never find another man as good as him? Or that she’d never find another man, period? He was a good man, and she had no intention of trading him in.
She turned her attention to the ViCAP pages.
The first search string had showed up several art thefts in Davidson, Williamson and Wilson counties, but nothing that seemed linked with their case. She discarded that report for the moment and moved on to the next.
The second search yielded some promising results. She’d set the parameters to gather anything that might be remotely related to art, sculpture and classical music, and the case she remembered from Manchester, Tennessee was on the list, as well as three others. Her heart skipped a beat. There might be a pattern here. She set the pages aside and went to the third search, the one with cause of death as starvation.
There were several cases that matched this description-mostly attributed to elder-abuse cases from various long-term care facilities. But on the fourth entry, she felt the excitement begin to build. It was a case from Chattanooga, one year earlier. She laid the two ViCAP searches side by side. The Chattanooga case had several elements that were comparable to the Manchester case-music playing at the scene and the victim profile, a thin black female. The Chattanooga COD was starvation, while the Manchester victim was drowned, but there was
