enough there for Taylor to feel they may be related.
Now she had three cases with exceptional similarities. One in Nashville, one in Chattanooga and one in Manchester. Jesus.
She kept going through the files, looking for anything of note, something out of place. In the end, she had a total of six cases that she thought were worth looking into, all scattered across the state of Tennessee. She knew in her gut several of them wouldn’t pan out, but the facts made chills run down her spine. Three were most likely linked. And the related cases would wreak havoc on Baldwin’s theory that II Macellaio had just come to the United States. Unless he was flying back and forth…oh, this was crazy. She decided to approach the cases with no preconceived notions. Let the evidence and the investigation tell her where to head.
She called the case officers for the six cases she’d pulled and requested their files. She was met with polite enthusiasm-free assistance was always wanted, especially if it would clear a case. Two were solved; she put those aside. The Manchester case was being run by the Coffee County Sheriff’s office.
Sheriff Steve Simmons was more than happy to have her help, even suggested she take a trip down to look at the case materials in person. She told him she was hoping he’d say that, she’d be happy to come, would be bringing McKenzie along. It would only take an hour to drive down to Manchester. She scheduled an appointment with him for the morning. He confirmed some of the details before he signed off-yes, the victim was black, yes, there was classical music playing at the scene, no, there were no suspects. Taylor felt the excitement rise in her chest. Leads were all good things.
Tim Davis entered the homicide offices, stuck his head around the wall that led to her desk. She waved him in.
“Hey, Tim. What do you have for me?”
He sat in a rolling chair to the left of her, at the desk of one of the B-shift detectives. “The palm print matches the exemplars from the home owner. But we got a hit off one of the prints we lifted from the Picasso monograph-to a sex offender we’ve got locked up.”
“Locked up?” she asked.
“Yep. He’s in Riverbend, doing three to five for child rape.”
“Hmm. How long has he been in?”
“A little over eight months.”
“So no chance the print was left last night.”
“Nope.”
“Bangor mentioned a break-in a year ago.”
“That’s within the realm of possibility. It was a little smudged, I had to fume it because it was so old, but there were enough points to match easily.”
“So we have what could be a year-old fingerprint. What’s the guy’s name?”
“Arnold Fay.”
“Looks like we need to have another chat with Mr. Bangor. See if he knows this Arnold Fay character. What else?”
“There’s a lot of random DNA, but that’s more than likely the home owner’s. It’ll take a while to sort out. The knife was clean, so was the fishing line. Thirty-test, manufactured by Berkley, a brand called FireLine Crystal. I’ve requested all records of orders for the past three months, but it’s sold in every sporting shop in Middle Tennessee, so that probably won’t help us. We plastered four different shoe impressions. The ones closest to the house are from an Asics-brand running shoe and a pair of Timberland climbing boots. Find me a suspect, I’ll be able to able to match his shoes, at least.”
Taylor thought about that for a minute. How many footprints might have been disturbed by the team responding to the murder? She pushed that away. What was done was done.
Tim was playing with a piece of paper. “There was something else. The Picasso monograph? There was a page missing from the back of the book.”
“Missing. What do you mean?”
“I brought it, I’d like to show you. It may have nothing to do with this at all, but it seemed strange.” He put the large book on her desk, then slit the seal on the evidence bag. Taylor could see the smudged fingerprint that he’d been talking about. Tim flipped the book open.
“See this, right here? It looks to me like a page was cut out of the back.”
Taylor ran her finger along the sharp edge of the thick, glossy paper. It had been cut, close to the spine. If they hadn’t collected the book, if Tim wasn’t as careful and meticulous, they’d easily have missed it.
“What was here?” she asked. “What was on this page?”
“I don’t know.”
Taylor fingered the edge of the paper again. She flipped through the book to see if she could tell what the mysterious missing page might hold, but couldn’t come to any conclusions. Tim sat quietly at her side, letting her think.
Bangor’s house was loaded with books, the built-in bookshelves crawling with tomes on every conceivable subject. And he had more coffee-table books. Was this an anomaly specific to this book, or something he did to all of his titles? Or was it something their killer had done? She smiled at Tim.
“Great catch, man.”
“Thanks. I don’t know what it means, but it struck me as odd.”
“Might be nothing, might be everything. I’ll tell you what. The scene has a ton more books just like it. What do you think about going back out there and pawing through a few of them, see if you can find any torn pages?”
“I’m already on my way. I’ve called the home owner, a Mr. Bangor? He seems very nice, said for me to come on. He said he’d start looking, too. Maybe we’ll find something.”
“Tim, you’re the greatest. Call me as soon as you know, okay?”
He left a packet of information for her and took off.
She retrieved her voice mail-Lincoln and Marcus would meet her at Rumba at 6:00 p.m. She glanced at her watch. She could just make it. Baldwin would be joining them by 7:00 p.m. He was finishing a project.
She called Sam and left her a message about the evidence found so far. She told her about Tyrone Hill and Allegra Johnson’s business relationship, and about the fingerprint match to Arnold Fay, just in case that would be relevant later on. Nothing to get excited over yet, but each piece would play an important role. Besides, Sam was a spitfire about the details. She wanted to be kept in the loop about everything, no matter how minute, because you never knew how it related to the autopsy. Taylor understood that desire. She felt the same way.
Elm’s door was open, but no one was inside. Good. She’d typed up two brief lines to sum up her day- Autopsy amp; Notification on Love Circle victim, Allegra Johnson; Interview with home owner, Love Circle, Hugh Bangor- and left them on his desk.
That would just have to do.
The drive up West End was quick. She pulled into Rumba, a fusion satay grill, dreaming about a caipirinha. It was one of her favorite restaurants in town-Cuban, South American, African, Caribbean, Malaysian and Indian influences all met, mixed and got a little tipsy on the world-class rums. She valeted the truck, went into the cool, dark restaurant.
The boys were already there. She felt the grin spread across her face. Man, she missed them. It had only been five weeks since their dislocation, but it felt like much more.
Marcus Wade nearly knocked her off her feet with his hug. His brown hair was too long, kept falling in his eyes. When he released her, Lincoln Ross did the same, openly wrinkling his Versace suit. He was still sporting the shaved head and close black goatee. If you didn’t know him, you’d think he looked dangerous. Just seeing his gap- toothed grin made her happy. She stepped back from them, a bemused smile on her face.
“That was quite a reception. You two look great.”
Lincoln shook his head. “You have no idea how much we miss working with you. It sucks out here in the precincts.”
Marcus nodded. “South isn’t exactly where I thought my career was going, you know? Estoy aprendiendo hablar espanol. ”
“And butchering it. Good grief, Wade, where the hell did you get that accent? Speedy Gonzales? You’re learning some bueno Spanish there, my friend.” Lincoln jostled Marcus, who just shook his head.
