“McKenzie, I can’t discuss the situation with you. No offense, but my lawyer and my union rep want me to keep my mouth shut.”
“You think I’m just a tool for the chief, don’t you?”
His face fell, a sad, puppy-dog look crowding his features. She felt bad for him, but she couldn’t take the chance. The kid could be a damn good actor. She made a mental note to check when she’d gotten so cynical, then said, “McKenzie, seriously, I don’t know what to make of you. You seem like a decent, willing cop. I’d like to think that you and I can foster a solid working relationship. But right now, all I can afford to do is cover my ass. Surely you understand that.”
He straightened, his lips thinning more as he appraised her. “I do. But know this. I’ve learned more from you in two days than I have in five years on the force. I think you’re amazing. You know I don’t mean that in a sexual way. I mean that as the highest compliment I can give. You are being railroaded, and I’d like to do everything I can to help you get your command back. Because I tell you, Jackson, I’d work for you any day.”
The speech floored her. She took the compliment gracefully, nodded her thanks. She didn’t trust her voice. She was overwhelmed with emotion, but tried her best to turn it off. She wanted her command back, too, damn it. The sheer unfairness of how her superiors were treating her could easily boil into a black rage if she wasn’t careful.
Sam was wrong. McKenzie didn’t have the hots for her. He respected her. She liked that much better.
They split up, went to the separate locker rooms to put scrubs over their street clothes, then met in the antechamber to the autopsy suite.
“Ready?” she asked.
McKenzie nodded. She swung open the door to Forensic Medical’s inner sanctum.
Sam stood over the body of an incredibly skinny black girl, a scalpel in hand. She was well into the autopsy. She looked up, saw Taylor and McKenzie and spoke quickly, with no preamble.
“Finally. I’m almost done here. Sorry I couldn’t wait, but you didn’t need to see the preliminaries anyway.”
“Sorry. We’ve had a long day. Baldwin and the inspector from the Met are on their way.”
“The more the merrier. You think you’ve had a long day? Tell me about it. Do I have to wait?”
“No, go ahead,” Baldwin said. He and Memphis entered the room, and Taylor felt odd. Seeing them together, so intent on the case, and on her-both men were smiling at her. She ignored Memphis, went to Baldwin. Grazed his lips with hers. He squeezed her arm, glanced at Memphis. Mine, it said. She’s mine, mate. Lay off. Taylor couldn’t help but smile. She liked the jealous side of him. It was cute.
Sam was tapping her scalpel against her palm. “Ready? Okay, cause of death was starvation, she was dead before she went into the lake. No signs of water in her lungs. She’s got those funky spots on her back, too. One big difference. Her eyes were glued open, probably with some sort of cyanoacrylate adhesive. I’m running exactly what kind through the LCMS, could be Super Glue, or Vetbond. I’ve documented everything we’ve done so far, it’s on the table over there.”
“So she couldn’t look away,” Taylor said softly.
“And he could watch her die,” Memphis added.
Taylor let the horror of that sink in for a minute, then let the emotion turn itself to anger. Man, she wanted to catch this bastard.
“How long was she in the water?” Baldwin asked.
“Not too long. Less than five hours. She was never submerged, I think she got caught on a branch or something and it kept her afloat. She does have track marks, mostly up her left arm.”
Taylor thought about that for a minute. “Is she a habitual user?”
“The injection sites are relatively new. She doesn’t have any scarring between her toes, the webbing of her fingers, inside her thighs, all places I’d expect to see them if she’d been at it for a while. And the trajectory of the needle is off, too. She’s new to it.”
“Was she injecting herself?” Memphis asked. Sam gave him a harried look. Four investigators crowding the autopsy suite, peppering her with questions was starting to get on her nerves.
“Possibly. Probably. But let me finish this rundown, because I have good news for you. We might be able to get DNA. I found skin under her nails. Just a tiny bit, but it might be enough to run a DNA profile. I can nail the bastard if he’s in the system or you have another sample to compare it to.”
“We’ve got samples to compare galore. Speaking of which…” Taylor filled her in on the story from Manchester and Chattanooga.
McKenzie held up the evidence bags from Marie Bender’s house. “We’ve got more DNA for you guys. Will you handle this, or should we call Tim?”
Sam shook her head. “Better call Tim. I’m the only one left here today and I have to go get the twins. I’m getting ready to slide her in the fridge, then skedaddle. Tim’s got some stuff for you anyway. I think he was trying to run everything down before he touched base.”
McKenzie nodded, and Taylor forced her focus back to the body. “Sam, I also need to get into the records for an autopsy you did three years ago.”
“That would be archived. Kris can pull it tomorrow. Why, did I do something wrong?”
“As if. No, the case relates to ours here. Manchester, a drowning. Young black girl, music playing at the scene. It’s eerily familiar, and we’ve got samples to run now.”
“You say I did the post?”
“That’s what the sheriff said. Simmons, Coffee County. Nice guy. Seems like he knows what he’s doing.”
“I don’t remember it offhand, but if I read the report it would probably come back to me. You know how many of these I do in a year.”
“Too many.”
“You said it, sister. Back to our lake girl. We identified the flowers she was holding-”
“Daisies, poppies and pansies.” Memphis was a few feet away, fingering the posy in its stainless-steel resting place.
“Yes, that’s right. She had a necklace of violets, too, just like the painting.”
“What painting?” Taylor asked.
“It’s Millais,” Memphis said. He turned to Taylor with a big grin on his face.
Sam smiled through her face shield. “That’s right. It’s John Everett Millais’s Ophelia. I had one of my techs do a little research.”
“How did you know that?” Taylor asked Memphis.
“Oh, the Tate Britain in London has the original. I live not far away, in Chelsea.”
“That’s convenient,” Baldwin said. Taylor heard the note of surprise in his voice. She started to wonder exactly what the rivalry was between the two men-was it desire for her, or an intellectual duel to solve the cases? Now that was an interesting thought. She was definitely getting a vibe from Memphis. And she had to admit he was growing on her. He wasn’t at all what she expected after their awkward meeting this morning. He seemed quite competent, and no doubt he was charming.
She realized she’d been watching him and abruptly turned away.
Sam started straightening her tray. “You haven’t talked to Tim this afternoon at all, have you?”
Taylor shook her head. “No. We’ve been in Manchester digging up old dirt all afternoon.”
“He found a postcard of the painting in the grass near the bank of the lake. It was a dead ringer for the scene.”
“A postcard of the painting? Oh, wow.” She looked at Baldwin.
“That’s II Macellaio’s signature. Well, at least we have that out of the way. Looks like this is the same guy. Jesus. A trans-Atlantic serial killer.” He shook his head, then excused himself. Taylor saw him flip open his cell phone. She assumed he was calling his team at Quantico to warn them.
Taylor turned to McKenzie. “Would you mind calling Tim and setting up a meeting? See if he’s available now? And make a note to follow up with Kris tomorrow to pull the autopsy record for LaTara Bender.”
“Sure. I’ll be right back.”
Sam had abandoned her scalpel and was suturing the Y-incision on the victim’s chest.
“Show us her back,” Taylor said.
