could have walked in with the body slung over his shoulder. The tapes would help, if he’d been stupid enough to be caught on them. Taylor somehow doubted this guy would be that careless.
Two bodies in three days. Their boy was getting antsy. She tried doing the calculations-Allegra Johnson had been missing for three weeks. She had no idea who this new victim was, or how long she’d been gone. But with the bodies being dropped in such close proximity, she wondered if he’d had them both, at the same time. Jesus.
No way to tell until Sam got a look at her.
As they walked back to the car, a Newschannel Five van pulled into the parking lot.
“Shit. Stall them,” she said to McKenzie. She slipped into the car and called Rowena to check on the fax from New York. Nothing yet. She asked if Elm was in the office. Rowena just snorted and said hold on. A click later, the phone rang. Elm answered.
“Lieutenant, this is Jackson. I’m at Radnor Lake, attending-”
“Where are you?”
“Radnor Lake. It’s-”
“Not what I meant, Detective. Why haven’t you checked in yet today?”
“Um, sir, Detective McKenzie and I were heading to Manchester to look at an open murder case down there when we got called to this crime scene.”
“It is simply not appropriate for you to start your day anywhere but in this office. Do you understand?”
Taylor swallowed the reply telling Elm where to go. She said, “Yes,” instead.
“That is all,” Elm said, then hung up.
Taylor looked at her phone as if it could give her the answers she sought, then closed it and shoved it in her pocket. She needed to do something about Elm, and fast. This administrative bullshit was going to end up getting someone killed. Probably Elm. By her.
Channel Four had joined Channel Five, and the Channel Seventeen van was pulling in now too. The respective reporters tumbled out of their vans like puppies, pulling on rain gear and opening golf umbrellas. She needed to nip this in the bud, fast. Taylor knew how the Nashville press could work a story. She decided to get ahead of it.
She got out of the car. McKenzie leaned against the trunk ignoring the rain streaming down, stone-faced, not answering the multitude of questions being asked him. Good. The kid was learning. She opened an umbrella and went to him. He nodded in appreciation. The news teams were still setting up shop. The cameras weren’t rolling yet. Perfect.
The reporters saw that she was going to talk to them and started scrambling. She really shouldn’t enjoy that, but she did. Oh, well. She was probably going to hell anyway.
“Hi, Scott, Cindy. Hey, Cynthia. Listen, I don’t have a prepared statement. Here’s what I can give you. An unidentified black female, no apparent wounds, found floating in Otter Creek, just off the lake. We have no determination of homicide or suicide. We don’t know who she is, and we don’t have a cause of death. I’ll make sure Dan Franklin gets with you as soon as we have more. Okay?”
The three reporters started peppering her with questions. The one that mattered came from Fox’s Cindy Carter. “Is this related to the Love Circle crime scene? We’ve got two dead girls in two days, both black. Is there a serial killer on the loose?”
“No comment. Seriously, I have absolutely nothing to indicate that the crimes are related.”
“What’s your gut say? Is this the work of the Conductor?” Scott asked.
“I learned not to discuss my gut with you long ago, my friend. Nice try, though.” She spied Cynthia Williams edging away; her cameraman had one of the park rangers in his sights. She’d given them enough. They could conjecture the rest.
She ignored the rest of the questions and left them. They wouldn’t be allowed inside the crime-scene tape while Tim was still collecting evidence, and the angle they had wouldn’t give them anything concrete. It was time to move on.
She and McKenzie shook themselves off and got in the car. They needed to get to Manchester. She really wanted to see those files now.
By the time they reached I-24, the rain had stopped.
They started south again and she asked McKenzie a question.
“Talk to me about the differences in the two scenes, so we’re fresh and clear when we look at the Manchester case.”
“Okay. There was no music playing at Radnor Lake, for one. The victim was clothed, not naked like Allegra. No obvious signs of trauma on the lake girl, but who knows what’s under that dress.”
“And the similarities?”
“Black, bone-thin, staged scenes. Cause of death would be helpful, if she was starved we have something to go on. She’s holding those flowers…with the ring of violets around her neck, too, there’s something about the flowers that have meaning for him. It seems gentler than the Love Circle murder, more serene. But this definitely feels like the same killer, don’t you think?”
“Yes, I do. Why do you think he’s changed his M.O.?”
“Thinks he’s smarter than us, maybe? Wants to be seen as a criminal mastermind.” He was quiet for a moment. “So you think he’s talking to us?”
“Absolutely. He wants the glory, wants to be seen as clever and important. He’s playing with us. The first crime scene he posed Allegra like the Picasso painting. This one looks like a variation on the drowning of Ophelia, but narrowing it down to one artist will be difficult. Many, many painters interpreted Shakespeare.”
They continued comparing notes until the Manchester exit. Taylor turned right and entered the small town. Maybe there would be a solid clue here.
Coffee County was named after a confederate general named John Coffee, a good friend of Andrew Jackson’s and a hero of the War of 1812. Down here, there was still pride about the role Tennessee played in the forming of the nation. They called the Civil War the “Late Unpleasantness,” and confederate flags flew high. Most were just country folk; honest, hardworking people who recognized their heritage for what it was. History can’t be undone, regardless of who it might have hurt.
The Coffee County Sheriff’s office was on Hillsboro, only about five minutes from the highway. Taylor hadn’t been down here in years, not since a school field trip to see an air show in neighboring Tullahoma. Now, Manchester was world famous for hosting the hippie jam Bonnaroo, a yearly pseudo-Woodstock.
It wasn’t a rich area, by any means. But it was clean, and safe. For the most part.
The sheriff’s office was quiet and cool. A receptionist called back to Sheriff Simmons, who came out to the front with a big smile and a heavy handshake. He nearly broke Taylor’s arm from her shoulder. He was a bear of a man, wide through the shoulders and gut. A former defensive lineman, she guessed. He was built like a house. And young, too, no more than her age. Probably a little less.
“Detective Jackson, Detective McKenzie! Thanks so much for coming down. I’ve got us all set up in my office. You had another murder in Nashville this morning?”
“Yes,” Taylor said, following him back a short hallway. “Another black female, very thin and posed. I’m doubly anxious to go through your records now.”
He got them seated, asked if they needed a drink. They both declined. Simmons went around to his side of the desk, sat heavily in a gargantuan leather chair. The springs squeaked in protest.
“So here’s the deal. I’ve got the files for you.” He waved his hand at the desk, where three file folders were stacked on each other. “But there’s not a lot there. I read through them all again. I don’t know what help it’s going to be.”
“We appreciate you putting this together for us.” She picked up the first file. “Were you involved in the investigation?”
“I sure was. It was my last case as a deputy, I got promoted right after. But I’ll never forget it. The victim, LaTara Bender, was a girl in my younger brother’s class at Central. I knew she’d gotten into some bad stuff, but you never think things are going to go that far south. The scene was straightforward. The girl was found in the bathtub by her mother. Her death looked like it could have been a suicide or an accidental drowning. You know, maybe the girl got high, passed out, slipped below the water. Her mother kept insisting that LaTara was clean, that she’d been murdered. Once we got the autopsy done, seems like she was right. Medical examiner, right nice lady who I’m sure you know, Dr. Loughley up there at Forensic Medical, found a skull fracture. We investigated her death as a
