more look at photo four.”
Jim leaned forward and glanced at it. It was more of the same but from a different angle. There was no flag in the corner. “You forgot to add the flag to this one.” He smirked at Taylor. Busted.
“You’re a real son of a bitch aren’t you?” Taylor jumped to his feet, his fists clenched, arms akimbo.
Jim tried not to flinch, sure that the other man was about to round the table and slug him. He’d been expecting it. It’s what he’d have done if the tables had been turned, only he wouldn’t have made up a crazy story to get Taylor here. No, he’d have just found the guy and let him have it.
Taylor sucked in a deep breath, and blew it out, his shoulders and hands relaxing as though he’d commanded his body to relax. “I’m sorry, Jessie. I tried. I shouldn’t have even shown him that last one. It’s not like he doesn’t deserve his fate.”
Jessica jumped up and circled to Taylor, taking his arm and leading him a few steps away. She spoke in a low voice, but Jim heard her. “You don’t mean that, Mark. I saw you agonizing over this. You know it’s the right thing to do.”
Taylor looked away from her, off to the right, his mouth set in a hard line. The muscles in his neck and jaw flexed. He turned and looked at her for several seconds before finally nodding. Jessica’s fingers tightened on his arm, briefly before Taylor returned to the table. He tapped a finger on the photo. “See anyone you recognize in there? The one lying in a pool of blood behind the old lady?”
Jim sighed but examined the photo yet again. He bent to take a closer look. Cold washed over him and the hairs on his arms stood on end. “That’s me.”
In the picture, his eyes were wide, but the way he lay, and the bullet hole in his forehead indicated that he was dead. He’d seen enough dead bodies in pictures to recognize one… even when it was his own. “How’d you do that?”
Taylor moved to the chair beside him. “I don’t do anything. The camera does. But, I have dreams.” He pulled a folded piece of paper out of his back pocket and set it in front of Jim. “I wrote down all the details I could remember.” He sat leaning forward expectantly, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped. His eyes, wide with hope, darted from Jim to the pictures. “I’ve got no reason to make this up, and I sure as hell have no part in what’s going to happen if we don’t act.” His gaze met Jim’s. “I swear to God.”
It was crazy, but Jim believed him. Years of training had made it instinctive for him to study body language, tone of voice and subtle expressions to decipher when a suspect was being truthful. Not only did he read the truth in the man’s face, but the truth, incredibly, made more sense. The details on the paper filled both sides of the page, and staging a photo shoot of that magnitude would cost a fortune. Logistically, Taylor wouldn’t be able to pull it off.
The guy was right about one thing. It made no sense for him to go to all the trouble to stage a photo shoot like this and then write it all down. There was no payoff as far as Jim could tell. He flipped through the prints again. The photos showed dozens of bodies, with more strewn farther up the concourse. Faking something like this would cost a fortune. The site was definitely Wrigley Field and if it had been used for some elaborate photo shoot, the media would have reported it. Jim rubbed his hand over his mouth and sighed. Hell, the guy was lucky to have a couple of dimes left to rub together. The fact that he was partially responsible for Taylor’s financial straits didn’t elude him. That made this even more puzzling. He laid the pictures side by side on the table, and spread his hands wide. “I don’t get it.”
Taylor straightened, his expression once again blank. “What?”
“According to these, I’m going to be a victim here too.”
Taylor shifted forward again, and glanced at Jessica, who had resumed her seat. “Yeah. It looks that way.”
“So, why’d you tell me?”
Guilt stole over Taylor’s features and he cleared his throat. “Honestly, it’s probably the hardest damn decision I’ve ever had to make.”
Jessica nodded. “We discussed it last night. Of course he wanted to stop this, but, he’s taking a huge risk here. You realize that, right?” Her eyes narrowed as she continued, “After what he went through the last time he tried to prevent something like this, who could blame him for ignoring these pictures?” She picked up number four. “And even though he didn’t say it, I’m sure it crossed his mind that you being a victim wouldn’t be a bad thing.”
Jim felt heat climb his face, and Taylor stared at the floor. She was right. He couldn’t blame Taylor. He shrugged. “I understand. So…we have a lot of work to do if we’re going to prevent this.” Another thought hit him. Cracker Jack. Baseball. It made sense and he mentally kicked himself for not making a connection sooner.
Taylor’s head snapped up. “You believe me?”
Standing, Jim stacked the photos, trying not to look at the one with his own image. “Do I have a choice?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Over a year’s worth of shame and humiliation exploded out with a single breath. Mark bent forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped behind his head as he absorbed the fact that Jim believed him. His throat convulsed, and embarrassed, he closed his eyes. He sensed motion in front of him, and lifted his head to meet Jessie’s gaze. No words were necessary, and then he broke the eye contact and stood, suddenly restless.
The lunch crowd had dwindled in the mid-afternoon, and he was glad for that. Their section only had one other table and with a couple of older guys who weren’t paying any attention to them. Jessie took her purse off the back of her chair and he grabbed the bag. Together, they followed Jim to the front of the pub. The waitress prattled about the weather as she rung up the meal. When Mark pulled out his wallet, Jim waved him off and paid with a credit card. Ten minutes ago, Mark would have protested, and fought for the right to pay for his own meal.
Energy pumped through him and, not knowing where to focus it, Mark went outside to wait for the other two. Pacing in front of the pub, he felt ready to burst as emotions tumbled one over the other. Elation and satisfaction at finally being vindicated bubbled inside. The bubble of joy burst when a guy wearing a shirt emblazoned with a Cub’s logo passed him. Time was running out. What was taking them so long? Just as he thought that, the door opened and both exited, cell phones pressed to their ears.
Jim glanced at Mark, but spoke into the phone, “I need everyone on this. A level one alert…that’s right. Wrigley Field.” He approached a dark blue sedan with government plates parked along the curb. Still barking orders into the phone, he leaned against the car.
Mark turned to Jessie, about to ask what was next, but she held her hand up, her head bent to her phone.
“Sir, just giving you a heads up. The FBI is now involved and advises we get all available manpower on the Wrigley Field case.” She brushed past Mark and stopped, a finger in one ear as she spoke to what sounded like her boss.
Confused, and unable to make eye contact with either, Mark resumed pacing. Did this mean they didn’t need him? It sounded like they had called in the cavalry. His lunch hour was over and if he wanted to keep his job, he’d need to get back. Aimlessly, he wandered up and down the street, checking every few seconds to see if the other two were done with their conversations. Lacking direction, and feeling unneeded, he turned and headed for the El. He’d gone half a block when Jim caught up to him and grabbed his arm.
“Mark! Wait, where are you going?”
He whirled at the contact, yanking his arm out of Jim’s grasp, and walking backwards. Just because they had called a truce didn’t mean he felt comfortable being touched by the other man. “I figured I’d head back to work. You don’t need me.”
“Like hell we don’t!” Jim motioned him back towards the sedan. “Come on. We need to pick your brain to find out any more details.”
“Pick my brain?” A chill washed over him and he halted. “What do you mean?” Visions of chains and a stark white room rose in his mind.
His fears must have shown because Jim’s eyes widened and then he put up both hands. “No, it’s not what
