“Whatever. You come down and try it, wiseass.”
Smack in the heart of the South district was little Mexico. Crimes there often went unsolved because the residents were afraid to talk to the police. Most of them were illegals, though with Nashville’s lax stance on deportation, getting caught didn’t necessarily mean getting sent home.
The hostess, a pretty co-ed with a lip ring and spiky blond hair, held up three fingers, questioning.
Taylor said, “Four of us. One’s still coming.” The girl led them to a table in the back of the restaurant. The table was at an angle, so none of them had their backs to the entrance. It was one of the reasons they chose to eat here.
They slid into place, Taylor alone on one side, Lincoln and Marcus on the other. They placed their drink orders and asked for cheese-stuffed naan and flatbreads, then waited for the waiter to leave. He deposited waters for them, then gracefully disappeared.
“So how’s your new boss?” Lincoln asked.
“Terrible,” Taylor answered quietly. “He’s a mess. Administrative, all the way. A total jerk, too. He leaked one of the details we were trying to hold back about the murder last night. With any luck, he’ll blow himself up without any help from me. Either of you talk to Price lately?”
They shook their heads.
“Me, neither. All I know is the case for our reinstatement is coming along. Not to skip the niceties, boys, but here’s why I wanted to meet. Fitz called me this afternoon.”
“How is he? Ever coming back?” Lincoln sounded melancholy. She knew her boys weren’t at all happy with the way things had shaken out. They’d been working as a cohesive unit for three years, each relying on the other’s strengths. They were a team. To think about that symbiotic relationship in the past tense hurt everyone.
Taylor patted Lincoln’s hand. “He says he is. But he’s in Barbados now, stuck in the water without some sort of pump thingie. He thinks he saw the Pretender on shore. Said he ran into Susie-literally, knocked her down-then took off.”
They both raised eyebrows. Lincoln asked, “What the hell would the Pretender be doing in Barbados? Is he following Fitz?”
“That I don’t know. I can’t understand the point of that. And it’s not definite. It could be just a fluke, someone who just looks like him.”
Marcus looked her straight in the eye. “You don’t believe that, do you?”
She weighed her words carefully. “He reached out to me, too, left me a message on my home voice mail. Let me know he wasn’t to blame for the murder I caught last night.”
They both went on alert. “He called you?” Lincoln asked, incredulous.
“Yeah. Baldwin’s already chasing it down.”
“Do you have a unit on you?”
“No. And I want to keep it that way. I can take care of myself. It’s y’all I’m worried about.”
“I’d like to see him try,” Marcus said. “We could have some real fun. The Love Hill thing? Vic was Allegra Johnson, right?”
“That’s her. You know her?”
“Busted her a few times when I was coming up in patrol. Pro, solicitation and drugs, mostly.”
“Well, some creep got her, and good. I’ve been partnered with a new detective-”
“Renn McKenzie,” Lincoln said. “He’s okay, once you get past the shyness.”
“No kidding. Boy blushes constantly. You think he’s sound?”
“Yeah. Just shy. He’s smart once you get him past the preliminaries. He knows some about computers, too.”
“I wish I’d known that, I’d have made him do the ViCAP search for me.”
Their appetizers arrived and they placed a dinner order. Taylor glanced at her watch-6:45. She ordered a plate of combination satays and jasmine rice for Baldwin; he’d be there by the time the food came out.
Marcus brought them back on topic. “So you think the Pretender is keeping tabs on us?”
“It sure looks that way. Unless it was just a coincidence that he and Fitz were on the same island at the same time. He may be testing the waters to see how many of us know what he looks like. But I’d really like to know what he’s up to. Parks took a ride out to Fitz’s house, said nothing looked out of place. I was wondering if the Pretender had broken in and gotten the itinerary. I guess that’s still possible, but it seems like one hell of a lot of effort to go to.”
Lincoln sat straighter. “I think he’s just trying to intimidate us. I want him to come after me. I’ll fuck the boy up.”
Baldwin walked through the door. Taylor caught his eye and he joined the table, kissing her lightly as he sat.
“Gentlemen,” he said, shaking hands with both of them across the table.
Taylor filled him in on her day, told him about Fitz. He was concerned; she could see the grooves between his eyebrows deepen, even while he smiled. They spent the rest of the meal catching up, skipping the shop talk in favor of gossip and rumors.
Taylor declined a second caipirinha. She knew from experience that one was her limit-the Cachaca rum was too potent. She was tired. It was good to see the boys, even better to have a civilized meal with Baldwin, but she’d had an exceptionally long day.
They finally split at 9:00 p.m., with plans to meet again for lunch in the next few days and promises to watch each other’s backs. The valet brought Taylor’s truck and a black Suburban that Baldwin was driving.
“You didn’t bring your Beemer?” she asked him, stifling a yawn.
“Well, no. I’ve got to pick up the lead on the II Macellaio case from the London Met, a Detective Inspector Highsmythe, at the airport. His flight arrives late tonight. He requested an emergency consultation, and since I’m not in Quantico I suggested he come here. Besides, I’d like him to have a look at this case, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“I don’t mind. You still have to go back to Quantico?”
“Yes. Now that we’ve got the DNA and know the London and Florence killings were done by the same man, we need to coordinate. I’ve got to help him out. We’ll take this case with us and I’ll have my team plug it into our system, see what shakes out. I’m still struck by change in M.O. s, but it’s eerily similar to his earlier crimes. What kind of forensics do you have?”
“Not nearly enough. Lubricant. Fishing line. A fingerprint that matches a sex offender we’ve already got locked up, and a missing page from the Picasso monograph. Some shoe prints. Nothing definitive, I’m still running it all down. Tim’s at Bangor’s right now, looking for more information.”
“You want to head up there, see if he’s got anything?”
It was tempting. “No, I probably shouldn’t. I had a drink at dinner. The last thing I need is for someone to tattle to my new boss that they smelled liquor on my breath. ‘Alkie detective horns in on case, news at ten.’ No, that’s okay. Tim will call if he finds anything.”
Baldwin was tossing the keys from hand to hand.
“What?” she asked.
Baldwin reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of spearmint Trident. “Here, have some gum. Let’s go up there. I’d like to take another look around. I’ll follow you, okay?”
“All right. If you say so.”
Taylor popped a piece in her mouth and climbed in her truck. Damn, but this day was never going to end.
Fourteen
I t only took them a few minutes to reach Bangor’s house. Taylor parked the truck on the street, Baldwin pulled the Suburban in close behind her. They walked hand-in-hand to the porch. The door swung open just as they hit the first step.
Hugh Bangor’s smile was welcoming. He was holding a lowball with about two fingers of amber liquid.
