The Cold Room

Thirty-Three

Taylor hung up the phone with Baldwin. She closed the laptop, looked for a case. She didn’t find one, but did find a power cord. She bundled that together. Tim was wrapping things up with the coffin; the basement had been combed over. Samples of DNA had been taken, fingerprints, everything they’d need to nail Adler to the wall. If they could catch him.

Keri McGee was watching all this with a trained eye, waited until Julia Page had gone upstairs for some air before approaching Taylor.

“Is this something I need to erase from the tapes?”

Taylor gave the girl a smile. “No. This is an instance of me taking the initiative. If I get busted, so be it. But Quantico is better equipped to handle this than we are. I just have to go downtown and plead my case to whoever I can find who’ll let me go. Baldwin said he’d fix it, but I can’t exactly run up there with evidence without authorization.”

“Okay. I heard what you said. Identical-twin killers, huh?”

“It looks that way.”

Keri brushed her bangs out of her eyes. “You know, I had a Cajun granddaddy, his name was Welton Keif. I remember one time we’d gone out to the bayou to visit him, in this flat-bottomed skiff, water moccasins slipping through the murk, mosquitoes as big as your hand flitting around. We’d been visiting with a cousin of mine who’d had identical twins, and we brought pictures so he could see. We showed him the babies, told him they were identicals. He looked at us funny, said, ‘What the hell is an identical twin?’ We were taken aback, surely everyone knew what that was. But my mom explained anyway, that they were two little boys who were exactly alike who’d been born at the same time. He got this look of recognition on his face. Said, ‘Oh. Them’s born partners, that’s what they are. Born partners.’ Sounds like that’s what you have here, Detective Jackson. Born partners who are driven to kill. I wonder what made them that way?”

“Born partners, huh? Well, they’re certainly partners in murder. I wonder what made them this way, too, Keri. If I can find out more about them, I might be able to answer that. Thanks for the input. Sounds like your granddaddy was a perceptive man.”

“That he was, Detective. Too perceptive. He also said I’d come across another pair, far away from him. Looks like that was rather prophetic, don’t you think?”

The hair rose on Taylor’s arms. “Yes, Keri, that’s a little strange.”

“I’ll just get back to work now, Detective. You travel safe. Good luck catching these guys.”

McKenzie met her at the top of the stairs. He had the gray cat in his arms, and the cat was snuggled into his shoulder, purring loudly. He looked settled in and happy.

“His name is Art,” McKenzie said. “It’s on his tag.”

“Art the cat. Well, that fits. These killers are imitating famous paintings, why not have a cat named Art? Hey, kiddo.” She scratched the gray behind his ears again, and she swore he smiled.

“He’s really friendly. He seemed lonely, so I thought I’d give him a little love. Now I’m afraid to put him down.”

“McKenzie, we’ve got work to do. Have you found any pictures of this guy, anything that might help us identify him? We only have the photograph from his license to go on, and it was issued in 1998. You know how deceiving those pictures can be. He could have changed his look four times since then.”

“No. This place is clean. Except for all those CDs and the basement, this place is sadly devoid of personality, actually. Um, Jackson? I kind of promised Art I’d take care of him.”

Taylor ran her hand across her forehead. “Well, we need to call animal services and let them come take him.”

“No. They’ll, they’ll-” He looked at her frantically, mouthed the words put him down.

“Not necessarily. What do you propose?”

“Can I keep him?”

McKenzie sounded so much like an eight-year-old who’d found a stray that Taylor had to laugh.

“McKenzie, this is going to be our little secret. You may foster the cat until we figure out what needs to happen with him. Is that fair?”

He just nodded, a wide grin plastered across his face.

“Okay then. That’s settled. I need to go back to the CJC and secure permission to go to Quantico. Though I have no idea who I’m going to do that with. Can you stay here, continue running the scene? Tim has oodles of evidence that needs to be logged, and I want your eyes on it. Then I want you to take the license photo of Adler, put it in a six-pack, and see if Hugh Bangor can identify him. What’s the word on Kendra Kelley?”

“She’s being pumped full of Narcan and she’s responded well. Looks like she’ll be okay.”

“That’s great news,” Taylor said. “Is she awake enough to talk?”

“Not yet. Why are you going to Quantico?”

“The Macellaio task force is all there already. They need this piece of the puzzle.” She tapped the laptop. “Baldwin’s working it with our superiors. I’ll fight for you to come, too, you’ve been instrumental in this case from day one.”

“Well, don’t worry if they say no. I’ve got enough here to keep me busy.”

Gracious of him. He walked into the kitchen, singing softly under his breath to the cat. Sheesh. Big man gone soft over a fuzzball. Though she had to admit, Art was kind of cute.

She had bigger problems to worry about than one of her detectives fostering a criminal’s pet.

She caught herself. McKenzie wasn’t one of her detectives, he was her partner. She didn’t have her command back. Yet.

Taylor stopped at home to pack a bag and grab her passport, just in case. By the time she made it to the CJC, the orders had been secured for her trip to Quantico. A commander she’d worked with in the past, Joan Huston, was in the Homicide offices when she arrived.

“Commander,” Taylor said.

Huston patted her sun-streaked brown hair and smiled, then handed her a file folder. “Detective. I’m overseeing Homicide until we get things straightened out with Lieutenant Elm. I’ve got your clearance for Quantico. I appreciate the request to take Detective McKenzie, but we’ve decided that he doesn’t need to travel at this time. He can be your conduit to the investigation in Nashville. You’ve been authorized on a TPSPA both for Quantico and for any overseas travel that may be necessary. A temporary special assignment to the FBI’s behavioral unit was the best we could do on this short notice. It’s on the FBI’s dime, which made it easier for the chief to swallow. You need to hurry, you don’t want to miss your flight. I do hope you’ll keep me informed of your progress.”

Wow. That was easy. Baldwin must have made some interesting phone calls. “I will. Thanks so much for helping.”

“You got it. Do us proud. We’ll have all this-” she waved her hand around in a circle, meaning Homicide “-figured out upon your return.”

She smiled again and shook Taylor’s hand. She’d always gotten along with Huston. It was nice to have someone of rank actually smile at her again. Maybe things were getting ready to turn around.

It was early enough that the drive to the airport wasn’t too bad. She dumped the car at Executive Travel and had them shuttle her over to the terminal. Her flight to D.C. was in forty minutes, and she still needed to get her weapon checked and registered. Flying armed wasn’t an easy proposition, but once she got to the airport, all the provisions she needed had been arranged for. With her weapon surrendered and secured, she was escorted through security, her bag x-rayed, and fifteen minutes later she was on the plane.

That had to be a record run through an airport. She liked working with the FBI. They knew how to make things happen.

The flight was going to take two hours. She did the only rational thing. She put her head against the window, and fell asleep.