All the Pretty Girls. J.T. Ellison
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the matter?” He sat up abruptly, the folder falling from his hand. It spilled onto the carpet. Taylor saw crime scene photos, horrific images of death. Helping him gather the photos, she wondered what the hell they were doing. Dealing in death day after day. It was a thought she’d been having more and more often lately.
“Fitz just called, there’s been a missing persons report filed on an eighteen-year-old girl named Shauna Davidson. He’s headed to her place right now, he’ll call if he needs me. I wanted to see if the newsies are carrying it.”
The look of dread on Baldwin’s face was enough to confirm her fears. It was likely that Shauna Davidson wouldn’t be coming home tonight.
Taylor turned on the television and curled her legs under her on the couch. The lead story was the body found in Bellevue. They had full-blown coverage of the day’s events in the field where they had discovered Jessica Porter’s body. Nashville did so love its crime.
Taylor flipped through the other local channels, all of which were tackling the story.
“Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.”
Baldwin gave her a weak smile. “Looks like the cat’s out of the bag.”
Taylor flipped back to Channel Five. Whitney Connolly, their lead reporter, was at the scene. It looked like a three-ring circus—what were they hoping to find? Metro had cleared the scene, there was nothing left for them to see. But the b-roll from earlier was gold. The cameras were angled perfectly to catch the landscape of the field, the highway full of flashing blue lights and metro cruisers. Taylor flinched when she realized Channel Five had captured the crime scene techs losing their grip on the body bag as they placed it on the stretcher, the body being jolted—the photographer had gotten a close-up of the bottlenose flies scattering like a cloud of dust. Lovely.
Taylor’s cell rang again—Fitz was requesting her presence at Shauna Davidson’s apartment. So much for a quiet night. She hung up and pulled on her cowboy boots. Whitney Connolly, who had no more dirt to dish, was asking for anyone who had information regarding the body that had been found in Bellevue to call Metro Police. Her report had been more thorough than the other channels’, her words lingering with delight. Taylor sometimes thought that Connolly enjoyed her job a little too much. Reporting on death and disaster suited her well.
“Whitney Connolly is as tenacious as a pit bull. She’s one of the few reporters that seem to enjoy taking on some of the local crime stories, wants to see them through.” Baldwin spoke absently, giving credence to Taylor’s silent opinion. She glanced at him, he was lost in thought, staring at the television screen.
“I went to school with her.”
That caught his attention, and he turned to her. “A fellow debutante from Father Ryan?” he teased.
“Jesus, Baldwin. Yes, I suppose she must have been, she and her twin sister, Quinn. They were a year behind Sam and me. They would have been freshmen when you were a senior. I know you came into school late your senior year, but don’t you remember them? That whole story…” She trailed off when Baldwin’s phone rang.
He answered it brusquely. “Yes…? Yes, I’ve heard…No, I don’t…I will…I agree…Okay…Tomorrow then.” He hung up, then started pacing the living room.
“That was Garrett, making sure I’d heard about the missing girl. I’m officially being tasked full-time on this now, not just as a consultant. Figured that was going to happen.”
Taylor gave him her sweetest smile as her own phone rang. She was already up, gun strapped to her side, ready to go. “Welcome to my nightmare. Let’s go.”
Taylor pulled up to the yellow tape that was strung across the parking lot to the Davidson girl’s apartment building. She smiled as a young officer lifted the tape so she could drive through. Leaning out the window, she pointed to the car behind her.
“Let him through. He’s with me.” The officer nodded, and she watched in her rearview mirror as Baldwin maneuvered his car under the tape. She pulled up to the bevy of vehicles, turned the engine off and stepped into the night. Baldwin followed suit. She waited for him to join her, then they made their way through the maze of blue-and-white vehicles toward the building.
Fitz met them halfway up the stairs. He looked to be on his way down. Instead, he let them pass, then turned and followed them up, divulging information as they climbed.
“First officer on the scene knocked on the door, didn’t hear or see any movement from inside. No signs of forced entry. The landlord gave him a copy of the key, so he proceeded to open the door. It was locked from the inside, but only the push button, not the dead bolt. The officer went in, looked around. Things didn’t look out of place until he hit the bedroom. The bed’s unmade, biologicals all over it. Crime scene kids are about finished with it. We’ve done a canvas, too, no one remembers seeing her last night or today. Doesn’t look too good.”
They’d reached the door to the apartment and ducked under more crime scene tape. There were only a few people left in the room. Taylor nodded to them as she assessed the scene.
Shauna Davidson lived well. The apartment was tastefully decorated with a modern flair. A flat-panel television took up one wall, surrounded by high-end stereo equipment. A tan leather sofa dominated the room, buttery soft fawn suede cushions piled high. A good place to relax. There were adjacent chairs in dark brown suede, and a slate coffee table that drew all the colors together. Not a thing was out of place, as far as Taylor could tell. Magazines were lined up with precision on the corner of the coffee table. There were no errant drinking glasses or cans, no used newspapers. Good taste and a neat freak. Interesting for a young girl.
To the right, Taylor could see a small kitchen and a short hallway that led off the living room. She followed the hall, seeing an unused guest room, an office and, finally, the master bedroom. Here, things were not so neat.
The bed’s comforter was lying on the floor, the sheets a tangle at the foot of the bed. Blood soaked the mattress. Taylor looked to the crime scene tech standing deferentially to the left side of the bed, waiting for her.
“Do you have any Polaroids that show exactly how you found it?”
“Yes, ma’am. We tried to take the samples without disturbing the scene too much.”
“You’ve put things back in order then? Matches the Polaroids?”
“Yes, ma’am, this is pretty close to how we found it. We came in, saw the blood, backed out and started taking pictures. Then we took all the samples. It’s not as much as it looks, and the biologicals were desiccated. Been there for at least a day. Dusted the bed and side table for prints, came up with a few. We’ll get it all into the system, let you know. Soon as you’re ready we’ll finish bagging and cart it out.”
Taylor nodded her thanks and the young man left the room. She turned to Baldwin and Fitz. “Well?” she asked.
Baldwin took in the room, the blood. Taylor could see the signs of recognition on his face. She waited him out. He crept around the room, making notes, taking a few of his own pictures.
Taylor watched Fitz out of the corner of her eye, he was getting impatient. She was, too. “Baldwin, talk to us. What’s up here?”
He closed his notebook, slung his camera over his shoulder. “It all looks familiar. This is similar to what I’ve seen in the other girls’ apartments. The unmade bed, the blood. I think he charms them, gets them to invite him home and into their beds, then strangles them and cuts off their hands. Transports the body to wherever he’s picked next.” He shook his head. “Shauna Davidson. I don’t know where we’ll find her, but she makes number four. He’s speeding things up.”
Baldwin paced around the room. “See, there’s no sign of forced entry. That’s consistent with the other three girls. I think he picks them up somewhere, a bar, a library, who knows. They invite him back to their place. Maybe things get out of hand, maybe the sex starts out consensual, but just as quickly, they’re dead.