All the Pretty Girls - J. T. Ellison [40]
Amazing how her near miss with death had cemented their relationship. For the longest time, Taylor worried that he’d stayed out of pity. Now she knew better.
Smiling to herself, she went down the hall to the Sex Crimes office. The room wasn’t empty, but all the detectives seemed preoccupied. She knew that Brian Post had told everyone that Betsy had been in a car accident and was in the hospital. This was the most plausible excuse anyone could come up with, and it masked her injuries wonderfully. He’d mentioned that Lieutenant Jackson from Homicide was going to look over the Rainman files while Betsy was laid up, and when she entered, she got a couple of friendly waves. Waving back, she walked over to Betsy’s desk, where some kind soul had already pulled the files and bound them with a rubber band for easy transport.
She grabbed them and scooted out before anyone wanted to get into a big discussion, and went back to her office. The hallways were coming to life, uniforms and plainclothes men and women started drifting by in clumps of two or three. As she walked back to Homicide, the spirit came back into the building. She sighed. It had been nice to have the place so quiet.
She went into her office, switched on the lights and closed the door. She wanted some privacy to go through these reports. Seven women brutalized, not counting Betsy. Regardless of their lack of physical injury, emotionally they’d be scarred for life. She wanted to give them some respect.
She sat at her desk, took a deep breath and opened the casebook. An antiseptic summary greeted her. No conclusions, just the facts. She started to read, and was soon lost in the reports.
Taylor jumped when she heard the knock at her door. She laid a sheet of notebook paper strategically across the open files on the Rainman, just in case it was someone she didn’t trust to know what she was doing, and yelled, “Come on in.”
The door opened and Lincoln Ross stood there, filling up the entrance with his broad shoulders and beautiful Armani suit. Lincoln was a clotheshorse, plain and simple. He was also one of the most talented computer detectives that existed. He could track a fly down if it landed anywhere in cyberspace.
He gave her a gap-toothed grin, deep dimples forming in his mocha skin. “Whatcha working on, LT?”
“A new, well, an old case but new to us that’s been dropped in our laps. Where’s Marcus?”
“Getting a soda, he’ll be here in a second. What’s the case?”
“Let’s wait for him, I don’t want to go through it twice. How was court?”
“Excellent. Nailed the bastard. He’s never going to practice again, unless they give out medical licenses in jail.” Lincoln and Marcus had been working the alleged accidental death of a Belle Meade matron for a couple of months. Instinct told them it was a homicide, but the scene was set to look like a very convincing suicide. They’d been right. The husband of the victim had slipped a lethal cocktail of cyanide in his wife’s drink before he put the gun in her hand and pulled the trigger. Lincoln had cracked the case before the medical examiner when he found a draft copy of the suicide note that had been deleted from the husband’s computer.
Lincoln was still on a high. “Convicted him for first degree. They had that poor jury sequestered out for two weeks, but they came in with the verdict first thing this morning.”
Taylor nodded her thanks. “Good job. Hey, Marcus.” Marcus Wade strolled into the room looking like the cat that licked the cream off the canary.
“You look quite pleased with yourself.” Taylor couldn’t help but smile. Marcus was young and handsome and got such a charge out of catching the bad guys. So many cops simply didn’t care, they just wanted to close a case. Marcus and Lincoln took a lot of pride in their capabilities, and Taylor was glad for it. It kept them motivated.
“I’m just the greatest homicide detective that