All the Pretty Girls - J. T. Ellison [7]
“You have something there, Officer?” Taylor didn’t recognize him, he must have been fresh out of the academy.
“Yes, Lieutenant,” he answered, Adam’s apple bobbing. Taylor reached him and followed his pointing finger. In the grass, lying quietly, was a hand.
Taylor reared back, but Baldwin leaned over the hand with interest. She tried for glib.
“Well, Special Agent, since she’s missing both hands, I’d say we should find another right around this area, shouldn’t we?” The sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach belied the bravado in her statement. She had the distinct feeling there was more to the case than he had told her. He confirmed it in the next moment, the way he gazed at the wayward hand was a dead giveaway that there was more to this than met the eye. She dismissed the patrol officer with a flick of her hand. He scrambled away, visibly relieved.
“No, we won’t.” He gazed up at her, his green eyes troubled. “You can search for it if you want, but it won’t be here.”
“What the hell? He’s taking the girl’s hands off, leaving one in the field and taking one with him? Some sort of trophy?”
Baldwin nodded. “Definitely a trophy. There’s just one problem.”
For the briefest moment, the reality of what a psycho could do with a severed hand crowded her mind. She shoved the thought away. “What’s the problem?”
“This isn’t Jessica’s hand.”
Four
Baldwin excused himself to call in to Quantico, and Taylor signaled for Fitz to join her. He tromped through the field like a general commanding troops, his oversize belly leading his feet.
“What’s the fed doin’ here?” he asked, tone neutral. Taylor glanced at him, trying to gauge if there was anything more to the inquiry, but Fitz’s face was closed, guarded. She decided it was just that, a question.
“Guess.” Taylor shaded her eyes, watching Baldwin slink through the crime scene, an overgrown cougar smelling fresh blood.
“He’s here to profile the killer because there’s a pattern,” Fitz answered, following Taylor’s gaze. There would only be one reason for a profiler to be playing in their sandbox.
“Two before her. We have a possible ID at least. Jessica Ann Porter. From Mississippi. Where’s Lincoln?”
“Back at the car with Marcus.”
“He needs to work his magic on the computer. Tell him I want to have all the information the feds have on these murders. The first was the girl from Alabama, the coed that went missing and was found in Louisiana in April. The second one was taken from Baton Rouge in June and dumped in Mississippi. Have him pull all the particulars, and let’s see what we have to work with. The feds held back information on the cases, including the fact that the killer is transporting a hand from the previous victim to the new dump site. I’m sure Baldwin will share all that he knows, but I want to have our own file going on this guy.”
“You sure he’ll give you everything?”
Taylor winked and gave Fitz a full-watt smile, her gray eyes flashing in the white air. “I’m sure.”
Taylor was putting the finishing touches on a Bolognese sauce. She tasted, stirred in another spoonful of oregano, tasted again. Hmm. Garlic. Another clove went into the pot and she shut the lid, savoring the rich spiciness that wafted through the steam.
The light was failing outside, darkness rapidly approaching. She busied herself cutting up a fresh five-grain baguette, wrapping it in foil and setting it in the warming oven to toast. She took a sip of wine, a lovely Chianti from the Montepulciano region of Tuscany that she’d discovered with the help of the owner of her local wine store. She called the man Geppetto because of his resemblance to the cartoon version of Pinocchio’s father. He was a kindly man with a droopy gray mustache and excellent taste in Super Tuscans. He loved the nickname, but allowed no one but Taylor to bestow it upon him. She smiled and took a deeper drink.
With nothing to do but wait for the sauce to finish cooking, she sat at the kitchen table, sipping