All the Pretty Girls - J. T. Ellison [112]
There. Now it was time to go home.
Forty-Two
Baldwin ran his fingers through his hair and made the ends stick up like quills on a hedgehog. He’d been up all night, unable to get any restful sleep. Grimes, a faceless killer, dead bodies had swarmed through his troubled dreams. He’d finally roused himself at 3:00 a.m., after Taylor had left in a rush, and powered up his laptop. He went through his notes again and again, trying to make all the details fit into a pretty little package.
The transportation of the dead girls was bothering him. There were a few tight time frames in Buckley’s schedule. Mapping it out, it was clear that he must have skipped some flights, driven instead. Of course, itineraries change, flights are missed, rental cars lost. He’d put in a request for all of the rental cars Buckley had used to be worked over by forensic teams, but that could be a mute gesture. The feds would be working that today.
He got into the shower, stood under the stream of water and made a mental note that he needed to change the filter on the showerhead. The thought stopped him. In the middle of all of this death and mayhem, he was worrying about water pressure.
He let the water run a few moments longer, then snapped off the faucets and stepped out from behind the plastic curtain. He wanted a new house with a shower and tub that were separate, but he wasn’t sure how to approach Taylor about it. He knew how much she loved their house, the cabin sanctuary that she had created for herself, and then him, to live in. But it was a small place for two people, and what happened if they got married and had kids? They would need a bigger house for that anyway, unless they wanted a child living in a hammock in the loft, strung above Taylor’s precious pool table. He laughed to himself at the image. All he knew was that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, and give her anything she wanted. Kids, house, dogs or cats, it was hers. He just prayed that she would feel the same and want to let him give her the world. Taylor was a strong woman, but he could not believe that she would not want to be with him exclusively forever. Well, he would have to tackle first things first, and a marriage proposal was top on the list. He had already bought the ring, it was this damn case that had interrupted the events that he had planned. He’d almost managed it in the kitchen last night. She’d circled him warily for the rest of the evening, as if he was a bomb about to explode. He laughed and vowed to himself that the minute they caught this bastard, he was asking her to marry him. The thought gave him new resolve, and he dressed quickly and walked back to the study.
Jake Buckley was looking more and more like a plausible suspect in this case. A BOLO had been issued for the man’s BMW, the airports had been faxed pictures of him in case he tried to hop a plane; train and bus stations were circulating pictures among the ticket agents, yet he was nowhere to be found. Nor had any trace of Ivy Clark been discovered. He checked his watch, it was almost noon. Seven girls dead and one missing. He shook his head. It was just too much sometimes. He understood that. But Grimes had not, and Baldwin was sorry about that. There wasn’t much Baldwin could do when a fellow agent was on that track, despite Garrett’s admonishments. He still thought he should have seen it coming. Regardless, he couldn’t get himself into a funk over it now. There was too much to be done.
Baldwin went back to tracking Buckley’s exact