14 - J. T. Ellison [111]
“Was kidnapped,” Baldwin filled in.
“Right. Seems a little strange to refer to myself in those terms. Anyway, there was nothing that we had outside of the crime scene that would lead us to the shooter.
“Then a reporter friend who was helping with the Snow White case, Frank Richardson, was killed. He had just found out some information on Burt Mars. You say Mars works for L’Uomo? Well, Frank was killed by the same gun as Saraya Gonzalez. It seems to me that L’Uomo’s ‘interests’ in Nashville are as sordid and simple as that.”
Eldridge sat back in his chair. “We’re talking about the Frank Richardson, right? Guy who won the Pulitzer? You say he was a friend?”
“Briefly. But yeah, he was a good guy.”
Callahan was taking notes. “Killed with what kind of gun?”
“Both Frank and Saraya were hit with a Desert Eagle Jericho .41 caliber. Israeli made, they don’t make—”
“Them anymore.” Eldridge smiled, and Callahan got a look of pure joy on her face. She tapped her fingers on the table. “I may have something for you, Taylor. We have ballistics from several scenes that involved L’Uomo’s big assassin, the one we call Atlas. He uses a Desert Eagle. That could be the tie-in you’re looking for. If Atlas was dispatched to Nashville to take care of a few loose ends, then we have the answer to your question. And that hole in Mars was made with a big gun. Ballistics will tell us for sure, but I’ll take odds that Atlas killed Mars, too. Delglisi is tying up loose ends.”
I wonder what that makes Win. Taylor pushed the thought away.
“I’m a little foggy on the particulars. I saw his face, know he was a huge guy, but don’t really remember it. You think it was Atlas who snatched me?”
“Yes. Especially if he was already in town on errands. He was most likely instructed to bring you to New York unharmed.”
“So Delglisi could try to bargain with me, threaten me? Why wouldn’t they just deliver the message in Nashville?”
“That wouldn’t show you how much power he has. It was much more dramatic to snatch you from your wedding. Bigger impact.”
Taylor looked at Baldwin. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. He just nodded and smiled back. They’d had a wedding night of sorts fifteen floors up the night before. There was more to them now than words or paper could provide.
With some effort, Taylor broke eye contact with Baldwin and turned to Eldridge. “So we tie this all up, neat and tidy, with a little bow. Except for one thing.”
“Win Jackson,” Baldwin interjected.
Taylor gave him a look of gratitude. “Exactly. What does my father have to do with Edward Delglisi?” She turned to Eldridge and Callahan. “Have you come across any information that would explain his presence in all of this?”
They both shook their heads. “No, we haven’t.”
Shit, Win. As much as she hated it, she was actually worried for him.
She excused herself to use the restroom, giving Baldwin an “I’m fine” look as she left. She crossed the parquet floors, the heels of her boots thudding dully. She stopped at the glass-fronted fireplace for a moment, warming her hands and watching a thoroughly New York woman who was lingering briefly at the entrance to the restaurant so she could be admired. Glossy black hair, dark jeans tucked into chocolate suede boots, a white cashmere scarf wound around her neck—Taylor blinked and the chic girl was in motion, whipping the scarf off, coat and sunglasses gone, and she was across the room and being greeted by her party. Effortless. Not a word Taylor often used to describe herself.
The hotel’s asymmetrical floor-to-ceiling windows, frosted glass with leaves pressed between the panes and the occasional cobalt square, looked out onto Lexington Avenue, which was teeming with people getting ready for the holidays. Even the cars and buses and police cruisers radiated good will. The hustle and bustle of the city was depressing Taylor. There was something sinister about this place now. Just knowing that Edward