14 - J. T. Ellison [127]
Time froze for a moment as Taylor realized she must have been wrong, that this creature would never be able to kill.
And then she saw the ring, glowing from its home on his bent finger.
“Eric Fortnight, you are under arrest.” She didn’t lower her weapon, but came closer, trying to look into the eyes of a killer.
It was bound to happen. Things had gone so well, so quietly, until now. When Taylor met his eyes, she saw the coldness, the emptiness. He smiled at her, made her skin crawl. Ten women had died at his hands. An additional six under his tutelage.
When he lunged at her, she didn’t think, just squeezed the trigger.
His body jerked, recoiled against her bullets. He was on the floor in a heartbeat, and the pandemonium began.
Taylor stood in the driveway of Eric Fortnight’s house, blankly looking toward the windows. It was a clean shoot, but Price had arrived and taken her weapon. Standard administrative details. She would be on leave until the shooting was ruled justifiable, and she’d seen the shrink. Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing, considering.
It was over. The Snow White Killer was dead. But there was no sign of his apprentice. The ruined thing that was Eric Fortnight’s son Joshua wasn’t the man Taylor had seen at Control. He was in the wind.
The evidence was mounting. At least two mysteries had been solved. The emulsion of frankincense and myrrh that was on all the dead girls’ faces had been matched back to the house. A small jar of Boswellin cream, a pain reliever used for rheumatoid arthritis, sat on the table next to Snow White’s chair. He had the cream all over his hands. The image of how that had gotten on the dead girls’ temples, of Snow White holding their heads, transferring the benign material to their faces, made her want to throw up. Despite his infirmities, he’d helped kill these girls, held them, stroked them. And there was a room on the third floor that contained knives, rope and dried blood. Taylor was confident there would be three DNA matches—to Elizabeth Shaw, Candace Brooks and Glenna Wells. She prayed there weren’t more.
The drive was cluttered with police cars. A small crowd had formed on the street, a row of neighbors who were straining to see the show. Taylor turned from the house and watched them watching her.
She saw Baldwin’s car make its way into the driveway, and was thankful he was here.
He was forced to park and walk up the long drive. His shoulders were slumped; he was the bearer of bad news, she could tell. She’d learned all his signs now.
When he reached her, he grabbed her and held her tight. The warmth was welcome, but Taylor didn’t feel anything, not just yet. She’d just taken her second life in as many days, and she wouldn’t turn back on for a while yet.
“I have some bad news.”
She nodded, looked deep into his green eyes.
“Is it Win?”
He looked startled for a moment, then shook his head.
“It’s about Charlotte. I spent some time with Jane Macias, then had to do some checking. Charlotte was his daughter. She was Snow White’s daughter.”
“What?” she said.
“I know. I have an entire deposition from Jane. She claims that Charlotte is Fortnight’s daughter. That Snow White came to her and talked, gave her details of his crimes, like she was his confessor. He told her Charlotte was his child, that her mother, Carlotta, had died giving birth to Joshua Fortnight, her brother. He hated Carlotta, but loved her, too. When she died, leaving him with a deformed child and an uncontrollable daughter, it was the ultimate betrayal. The murders were his way of bringing her back.”
“Tell me this again, it’s too fantastic for words. Charlotte was Eric and Carlotta Fortnight’s daughter?”
“Jane swears she saw Charlotte at the house on two