Field of Graves (7 page)

“Ventricular fibrillation. And something’s hinky with her liver.” She didn’t elaborate.

“Okay. Wanna expound on that? I don’t know if
hinky
will stand up in court.”

Sam’s forehead wrinkled. “That’s the problem. On the surface, I can’t tell you what’s wrong. I sent off the tox screen, so we should get that back quick enough. But they can’t look for anything but the obvious, and the way her organs look...my gut tells me we need to look deeper. I sent a runner with all kinds of samples to Simon’s lab—blood, urine, tissue, the works. I asked them to do a more comprehensive workup than the normal drug and alcohol screen. I’m hoping they can isolate something off the standard panel.”

“Like what?”

She waggled her head casually and shrugged, like a child with an important secret. “Oh, I’m thinking poison.”

“No way. Poison? Cyanide?”

“Not cyanide, I didn’t get an almond smell when I opened the body. I don’t know what we’re looking for, but I definitely think she ingested something, and it didn’t sit right with her system.”

“Ingested something like what?”

Sam gave Taylor a sweet smile. “Honey, that’s what we’re going to find out. Back to business. She was raped repeatedly. Even more bruising and tearing than I’d thought, lots of semen. We’re going to have to wait for the labs on that, too.”

Taylor’s shoulders knotted up. “How long’s it gonna take?”

“Well, it won’t be overnight. I’ll try to talk Simon into dropping all his other fascinating cases and handle the toxicology right away, but I can’t promise anything. As far as the semen is concerned, I can send it up to TBI with a push and have them do the rapid DNA, or I can throw it to Simon and ask him to handle it as a personal favor. We haven’t talked in a couple of days though, so he may blow me off.” She busied herself with a scalpel.

Taylor waited for a more detailed explanation, but seeing none forthcoming, decided not to voice an opinion on the rocky relationship’s latest turn. “I already ran it by Price. It won’t be a problem. Go ahead and give it all to Simon. If you don’t want to call in one of your own, tell him it’s a favor for me, and I’ll owe him one.”

“Got it.” She gestured toward the computer screen behind her. “The rest is basics. Height, one hundred seventy-six centimeters, weight, forty-seven kilograms. Blond hair, blue eyes. Maybe a little anorexic. No distinguishing characteristics, no tattoos, nothing out of the ordinary. Doesn’t look like she’s had any surgeries except a tonsillectomy.” She looked up, gave a wan smile. “Sorry, Charlie. Right now we’ve got a run-of-the-mill dead girl. Little Shelby didn’t put up much of a fight, nothing under her nails, no defensive wounds. That’s about as exciting as it gets.”

Taylor sighed. She knew the drill. Nothing else could be done here until they had the lab results back. “Can I give her parents a cause of death?”

Sam thought quietly for a moment. The parents would want every detail, and there weren’t a lot to give them. She shrugged. “Tell them we’re doing more tests and hope to have an answer for them quickly.”

“Great, that helps a lot. All right, keep me in the loop on anything you find. And I mean anything. I don’t care how obscure it is. I can deal with Simon if you don’t want to do it yourself.” It was a dig for information, but Sam saw right through it.

“Yeah, I may do that.”

Taylor knew discretion was the better part of valor when it came to Sam and Simon. “Okay, then. Play nice with Simon. I think he likes you.” She grinned and walked out of the room.

Taylor pulled out on Elliston Pike and started back downtown. As the skyline came into view, she was overcome by exhaustion. She had planned to go back to the office, maybe take the warrant over to Vandy, but it was late; their offices would be closed until the morning. There was nothing she could do tonight. She decided to hit a drive-through and go home. She called Marcus, gave him the update from Sam, told him she was out for the night, and suggested he and Lincoln should do the same.

She stopped at the Taco Bell near her house. Eating her dinner in the car, she finished before she hit her driveway. She stumbled into the house, set her holster and gun on the coffee table, gave the cat a rub on the head, fell onto the couch, and crashed immediately.

Again, there was a field of graves, stretching out before her. A large statue shadowed the land, covering waves of ripe wheat in sheaves, and the path forward was littered with body parts, arms and legs bent in imitations of crosses, bones shaped into grave markers. The sky was red with angry storms, and the wind whipped her hair around her face. Flowers pushed dead from the earth, black and rotted, their scent overwhelming. She walked toward the monstrous statue, the grave markers waving in synchronous motion, reaching out to touch her, strange dead hands and legs and arms draping against her body, grabbing her legs, holding her back, pulling her to the earth...

Taylor woke with a cry, sweating, her breath coming in jagged gasps. She wiped the tears from her face. She groaned when she looked at the clock on the mantel, which read 4:15 a.m. The nightly ritual was fulfilled. She wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. She hit the shower and headed into work.

THE
SECOND
DAY

8

He watched the body drift away slowly, bumping into driftwood as the current caught it and dragged it toward the shore. He felt a brief pang of sorrow. The woman had been beautiful, perfection in dimension and proportion. Until the end.

Still, she was a worthy sacrifice. She had brought him much joy, much pleasure. It was her own fault she was dead. Dead and gone. No longer.

9

Marcus and Lincoln were futzing around in the captain’s office when Taylor walked in. When Price went out and things were slow or on hold, the squad had a habit of congregating in there to watch TV.

Lincoln vacated Price’s chair for Taylor to sit in. She did so gratefully. It was the one chair in the squad that was remotely comfortable.

“Where’s Price?”

“Ran down to talk to the chief.” Marcus rolled his eyes. “Old windbag wanted to have another press conference so he can look like he’s actually being a cop.”

Taylor laughed. Their chief of police was about as popular as the mayor.

“Did you find Shelby’s parents?”

“Yeah. Reverend Spenser talked to the Bowling Green police chaplain. They did the notification, and BG’s chaplain is driving them down this morning. They’re pretty upset. Her dad’s a Baptist minister. The chaplain knew Shelby, too.”

“Great. Lincoln, any luck on any of the databases?”

“Nothin’ yet. Hit a dead end after her prints popped. Sam have anything new?”

“Outside of the possible poisoning? No. She sent everything over to Simon. It’ll be a day or so before we know what the poison might be.”

“If only we could identify the poison, I could plug it into ViCAP, maybe broaden the scope a little.” Lincoln’s eyes were shining. He loved playing with the technical stuff.

“Once we have it identified, you can put it in the system, but not before. We need to keep it quiet, like the herbs. Especially with her parents.” She looked pointedly at Marcus, a silent warning to keep his own counsel outside of the squad room.

Price’s phone rang, and Taylor picked it up. “Homicide... Okay, thanks.” She cradled the phone. “Marcus, Shelby’s parents are here. Wanna go out and get them?”

“Damn, they’re early. I’ll meet you in the interview room.” He stood, brushing invisible lint from his pants. Taylor could see the air of discomfort that washed over him; facing grieving family members wasn’t his favorite thing to do either. He squared his shoulders and walked out. Taylor gave Lincoln a small smile.

“Do we have any coffee or anything we can offer them?”

“I’ll go make some.”

“Thank you. If the chaplains are out there, see if they want some, too. I’d best go save Marcus. Bring the coffee when it’s ready.”

He smiled in acknowledgment and left the office. Taylor pulled her hair out of its ponytail, unsuccessfully attempting to smooth it down. Impatiently reholstering the unruly mess, she squared her own shoulders and marched the short distance to the interview room in the hall. Marcus already had Mr. and Mrs. Kincaid inside. A box of tissues had miraculously appeared at Mrs. Kincaid’s elbow.

The Kincaids were small, unassuming people, easily in their late fifties. Mrs. Kincaid’s eyes were rimmed in red, but there were no tears threatening to overflow. Mr. Kincaid had a vacant look on his face but seemed to be holding up. Marcus introduced Taylor. She pulled up a chair.

“Mr. and Mrs. Kincaid, thank you so much for coming down. I am so sorry for your loss.” Her cliché was worn but sincere. Mrs. Kincaid nodded and sniffed. Shelby’s father took control of the meeting.

“Where is our daughter, Lieutenant? We want to see her.”

“Could we get you anything to drink? Coffee, water...”

Mr. Kincaid cut her off sharply. “No. Where is our daughter?”

Taylor looked at Marcus, signaling him to tell Lincoln to forget the coffee. He stuck his head out the door, gestured to Lincoln, then stepped back in and shut the door behind him, lounging quietly against it.

Taylor took a deep breath. She had a feeling this wasn’t going to go well. “She’s still at the medical examiner’s office, sir. We had to do an autopsy to see...”

Mrs. Kincaid lost it. “You cut our baby open? How could you do that?” She started crying. Her husband put a hand on her arm. She immediately quieted.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but her death was ruled a homicide by the medical examiner at the scene. We’re required by law to conduct an autopsy.” Taylor hated having to give that pat line to a child’s parents, but there was no way to cushion the blow. “There was no identification found with the body, so in order to obtain an identification we had to follow protocol. That’s how we found out who she was. I’m so sorry,” she repeated.

Mrs. Kincaid reached for a tissue and buried her face in it, dignified sobs leaking out. Again her husband squeezed her arm. Taylor didn’t think it was meant in a kindly way. She got the impression he was uncomfortable with open displays of emotion, which seemed interesting for a man of the cloth.

“Lieutenant, Detective Wade said Shelby was murdered. Who did it? I want to know who killed our baby.”

“We don’t know yet, sir, but we’re doing our very best to find the killer and arrest him. We have some evidence that will be helpful...”

“DNA?”

The advent of TV cop shows made every layman an expert in criminal investigations.

Taylor nodded. “Yes, sir, we do have some DNA evidence.”

The light went out of his eyes, and he rubbed his chin. “Was she raped?”

Taylor didn’t want to go into detail. “We believe that may be the case, sir, but we won’t have any answers until the laboratory results come back.”

“How was she murdered, Lieutenant?” Mrs. Kincaid had finished crying. Taylor could see the steel creeping back into her eyes. When Taylor didn’t answer immediately, the woman’s voice softened. “It’s only fair that we should know. Was she shot? Strangled?”

“No, ma’am. There were no obvious signs to tell us how she died. The medical examiner is doing a number of tests to see what killed your daughter. We won’t know anything until the toxicology reports come back.”

Mr. Kincaid jumped in again, cutting his wife off. “You don’t know what killed her? Then how do you know she was murdered?”

Taylor decided honesty was the best policy. “Shelby was found at the Parthenon, sir, with no clothes on and signs that she’d been raped. The scene felt staged. Until the tests are back, I’m afraid that’s as much as I know at this point. You’ll be the first to hear when we find something conclusive. Can you tell us a little bit about your daughter?”

Mr. Kincaid gave her a dirty look. “There’s nothing to know. Shelby was a good girl. She didn’t drink. She didn’t do drugs. She worked hard for her grades. She was on scholarship. What exactly are you asking?”

In spite of his escalating tone, Taylor gave him a reassuring smile. “Sir, I meant nothing by the remark. The better I know your daughter, the quicker I can find her killer. Do you know if she was seeing anyone, had a boyfriend at school?”

Mr. Kincaid jumped in quickly. “She didn’t have time for a boyfriend.”

His wife looked at Taylor and said softly, “She would have told me. We are—were—very close.” She swallowed hard, forcing herself to stay in control. “When can we see our daughter, Lieutenant? When can we take her home?”

Shelby’s parents weren’t going to be much help. She got the feeling that even if Shelby did have a boyfriend, Mr. Kincaid wouldn’t know about it. Though she may have confided in her mother... Taylor made a mental note to follow up with her privately.

“I’ll have an officer take you to the medical examiner’s office. They won’t be able to release the b—Shelby until there is a definitive cause of death, but there are things that need to be taken care of. Marcus? Could you arrange to have Mr. and Mrs. Kincaid taken over to the ME’s office?” He nodded and left the room silently.

Taylor pulled a card out of her wallet. “I’ll probably need to speak with you again, at a more appropriate time, of course. In the meantime, if you think of anything that may be helpful, please call me.” She started to hand the card to Mrs. Kincaid, but Mr. Kincaid reached out and grabbed it.

“Thank you for your help, Lieutenant. We’d like to see our daughter now.”

“Of course, sir.”

Marcus stuck his head in and nodded. “I have an officer ready to escort you there.”

Taylor stood and put out a hand. Mr. Kincaid looked past it, but Mrs. Kincaid reached out, barely touching her fingers to Taylor’s. They were shaking.

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” She followed her husband out.

Taylor sat back at the table, cradling her head in her hands. Marcus came back in and sat across from her.

“So, what do you think?”

“Well, I think Mrs. Kincaid knows more than she’s saying. Maybe we should take a run at her without her husband.”