The Cold Room

Twenty-Three

Taylor and McKenzie bid the Manchester contingent goodbye. They declined the invitation for a late lunch at the Jiffy Burger, the best burger in the South, because they needed to get back to Nashville for the post of their Radnor Lake victim.

Sheriff Simmons wasn’t going to take no for an answer. He convinced them to stop and take a bag of food to go, his treat. He called ahead, had an order of burgers and fries ready to be picked up as they drove out of town. The Jiffy Burger was right next to the library, and obviously packed; the only open parking spaces were in the library lot. Taylor double parked behind a Ford F-350 and let McKenzie run in for their order. He returned in three minutes with their food and an open invitation from the mayor’s daughter to come back anytime.

On the highway north, Taylor drove with one hand and bit into the juicy, cheesy burger. It was heaven.

“Simmons was right, this burger is pretty good,” McKenzie said through a wad of bun.

“That’s an understatement.” Her cell rang. “Hey, get that for me, wouldja? Put it on speaker.”

McKenzie answered her phone in a mock Scottish accent. “Detective Taylor Jackson’s phone. Please hold for Detective Jackson.”

She laughed. Who knew McKenzie had a sense of humor? It was getting easier to be around him-she had the feeling he might just make a good detective one of these days.

She swallowed her mouthful of burger and answered. “This is Detective Jackson.”

“This is Clyde Stone, from Chattanooga homicide. Got your message about an open murder case you’re requesting information on. What can I do to help?”

“Fabulous, thanks. I had a ViCAP match from your jurisdiction, a victim named Sharonda Guilmet. Remember the case? What can you tell me about the investigation?”

“Ah, Sharonda. That was a weird one. She was killed a year ago. She was a pro, turning tricks for crack. You know how that goes. She disappeared for a while, then showed up dead back in her apartment, skin and bones, with some kind of classical music playing on her stereo.”

Too much of a coincidence, Taylor thought. “What was the music?” She could hear him shuffling papers, looking for the information.

“Here it is. Something called Requiem Mass, by Mozart. Creepy-ass shit, lots of chanting and stuff.”

Taylor bit back a laugh. Chanting wasn’t exactly the term she’d use to describe it.

“Fitting that he’d choose a requiem mass. Was her cause of death starvation?”

“Yeah. She’d been gone for a couple of weeks, no one knew an exact date. She shows up back in her own bed, bones sticking out everywhere. It was weird.”

“No staging, no arrangement of the body?”

“Nope. She was in the bed with the covers drawn up. You got a suspect for me?”

“No, not yet. But I think we’re getting close. This is the third murder that I’ve found that has the music, the second confirmed COD of starvation. I’ve got another victim that we found today floating in a lake being autopsied this evening. That could make four in Tennessee alone. Did you collect any physical evidence?”

“Sure, the usual. Rape kit was positive for semen, we’ve got it in CODIS, but never had a match. She was a whore, remember. Lots of Johns could have left it.”

“Whoa! You’ve got DNA?”

“Sure do.”

“Clyde, you just made my day. Can you fax me the results, and send me the CODIS information? I’ll get it to Quantico, they’re investigating a string of similar murders in Italy and the UK. Seems our boy has been kind of busy. And is there any way you could courier the case files to me? I’d love to come down, but I won’t be able to get there until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest. If you’d be willing to share what you have, I might be able to help you clear the case.”

“Sure. Why not. I’ll have them to you in a few hours.”

“You are my new best friend. Thank you so much.”

She gave him the information he needed, then clicked off.

“Well, McKenzie, things are looking up. Let’s go see how our lady of the lake is faring with the M.E.”

Getting close. Getting very close.