“Do you have an extra picture? And can you get me on the phone with her father?”
“Yes. I can do that.”
“Then let’s go into Elm’s office and start making some calls. McKenzie, you come with me.”
Rowena pulled a photo out of her capacious handbag. She handed it to Taylor, who felt all the breath leave her lungs. Kendra was tiny, petite, with long black hair in braids.
A perfect candidate for II Macellaio.
She looked at McKenzie. “Those addresses just became our number one priority.”
Baldwin hung up with Taylor and grimaced. He shook three Tylenols into his hand, letting the water warm in the shower. He’d woken up with a wicked headache, which was getting worse by the second. Scotch always did that to him. He and Memphis had shot the shit, told some stories, finished the bottle and crawled off to their respective beds at four in the morning. He was too damn old to have a hangover, especially when he hadn’t been drunk the night before.
None of that mattered. He needed to focus on II Macellaio now.
He showered, shaved and left the apartment he kept for just these kinds of overnight visits. It took him five minutes to get onto the FBI campus, and by the time he swung through the gates his headache was gone. He was thinking about the profile.
The consultation had to look at the whole, rather than just the sum of all the parts. And for a case this big, he felt like he needed a full team-he’d pulled Wills and Charlaine in, then added a forensic expert and a computer analyst. Pietra was his forensics go-to girl. Kevin Salt was his most talented computer expert. He entered his offices and continued down the hall to Kevin’s cube. He knocked on the bar across the top, a tinny echoing clang.
“Kevin, briefing on II Macellaio in five. You ready?”
“I am, Chief. Got everything right here. I’ll go get set up.” He pointed to a laptop, then scooped it up and walked off down the hall. He was ridiculously tall, nearly six foot nine, whiter than a starched linen handkerchief, with flame-red hair. He’d been a point guard for UCLA but blew out a knee his last game senior year. He’d been good enough for the NBA, too; was being recruited by the Lakers and the Nuggets. A damn shame, but Baldwin saw his scores on the FBI entrance exams and had been grooming him ever since. Taylor had her Lincoln, but Baldwin could stake money on Kevin’s ability to outdo him. It would be a close, tough fight between two very different and talented men.
He moved on to Pietra’s cube. She looked tired but greeted him with a smile.
“Pietra, briefing in five.”
“On my way,” she said. “I’ll grab Charlaine and Wills. The Brit’s already in the conference room. He’s much too chipper this morning.”
“That’s not fair. He was up all night, too. Thanks, Pietra. I’m just going to grab some coffee and I’ll be right there.”
He stepped into the break room, the luscious scent of fresh-brewed java making his head swim. He poured a cup and drank it down, then poured another. Caffeine buzzed through his veins and he felt more alert. It was time to finish this.
We’re ready to get you, you son of a bitch.
Thirty
G avin rose at seven, achy, tired. He’d spent most of the night in the basement, watching the doll, worrying about who had knocked at his door.
He went into the kitchen, yawning. Art was sitting at his dish, meowing mournfully at Gavin. Oh, damn it!
Gavin cursed his fragile memory-in the excitement of finding Kendra ripe for the picking on the side of the road, he’d neglected to stop for cat food. Art ate more than a cat his size had a right to, and Gavin was forever running out of food for him. He should join one of those clubs, buy it in bulk. He just never got around to it-it was simpler to grab Art’s food when he bought his own.
No help for it, the cat had to eat. He made sure the house was secure, then drove the five miles to the Publix. He ran into the grocery store and bought several packages of Whiskas and a twenty-pound bag of dry food. That should keep them for a while.
At the self-checkout, he started thinking about yesterday, about his luck. His mood lightened. He got so excited he dropped his wallet on the floor. He needed to calm down; someone would notice. He paid for the cat food, exited with the food in his reusable bags, then climbed in the Prius. He couldn’t wait to get home, to see if he’d just been dreaming, or if there really was a new doll waiting for him.
He was two miles from home when he passed a Metro police car sitting on the side of the road. The officer inside the vehicle had a radar gun trained on him. Gavin wasn’t worried, he wasn’t a speeder. No sense in drawing attention to yourself. But to his surprise, the officer moved the patrol car out into traffic, right onto Gavin’s bumper. Then he hit his lights.
Panic bloomed in Gavin’s chest. Surely not. How could that have happened so quickly? Had the doll managed to get out of the box, found a way to call for help? The knock in the night; had the person come back and somehow entered the house? Oh, Jesus, what was he going to do?
The blue-and-white lights were still flashing frantically behind him. He knew he had no chance to get away, so he pulled over. Bluff. He could bluff. Think what Morte would do if he were caught like this.
Swallowing hard, he put down the window, flashing back to the scene just hours before when the luscious Kendra appeared at his side. This time it wasn’t a stunning young black girl, but a thick and burly sandy-blond police officer. A weightlifter. Gavin recognized the signs; he was a fan of the gym himself, though he was more streamlined than this behemoth. The officer approached the window slowly, left hand on his hip. With his right, he touched the back of the car, palm down. He wasn’t smiling. He came to the window and glared at Gavin.
“License, registration and proof of insurance, please,” the policeman said.
Gavin fumbled for the information. He managed to get the wallet out and his license in hand. Registration, where was his registration? Oh, that’s right, the console. Paper-clipped to his insurance card. Tennessee required proof of insurance, there were serious fines and you could lose your license without it. Something Gavin would never risk.
He handed the material to the officer, still not speaking. Gavin was scared to death. The officer took his information and returned to his patrol car.
It was five minutes before the officer returned to Gavin’s window.
“Do you know why I pulled you over?” he asked.
“N-no,” Gavin stuttered. Stop blathering, Gavin. “No, sir.” His voice was shaking. The officer noticed.
“Everything okay in there?” he asked.
“Yes. Yes, of course. I’m sorry, I haven’t been pulled over before.”
The cop got more conversational. “Ever?”
“Never.” Gavin gave him a small smile.
“Well, you’re not wearing your seat belt. That’s a ticketable offense. I’m going to have to give you a citation. You can pay it online or appear in court on July 17. Since you’re a first offender, traffic school will wipe your record clean. I’d just pay the ticket and do that if I were you. No points against your insurance.”
Gavin didn’t hear a word. The police officer was going to let him go. His seat belt! Gavin’s hand went to his shoulder. No, he hadn’t fastened it. What a lapse. He never forgot the seat belt. Scattered mind. He quickly clicked it into place.
“Yes, of course. I understand. Thank you so much. You’re very kind.” Maybe he was pouring it on too thick. “I mean, I’ll pay it.” Stop talking, Gavin.
The officer handed him the slip of hard white paper, then wished him a pleasant day. Gavin watched him get back into his patrol car and speak on his radio. Not quite sure if he should leave or not, Gavin waited a few moments, then carefully turned the engine over, flipped on his blinker, and slowly eased back onto the road. The cop didn’t follow.
