“Huh? What was that again?”
“The Nashville police are working two murders. Coeds from Vanderbilt. There are some bizarre aspects to the deaths. I think they may have a serial on their hands. I just talked to the captain down there. He’s an old friend of mine. Your name came up. Do you feel up to doing a little consulting? Or are you still messing around with your gun?”
Baldwin gave a little laugh. How nice to be so predictable.
“’Fraid I’m a little tied up at the moment, Garrett. With my stellar reputation and all, why the hell would they want me? Let me guess—you didn’t tell him the whole story?”
“Like I said, Mitchell Price is a friend. He knows what went down. He’s a big believer in second chances. So am I. I’m not asking you back to the Bureau. I’m asking you to talk to a friend of mine. Maybe give him a little advice. Maybe sign on for a while to see if they can get this guy who’s hunting young women in your backyard. That’s all.”
“Why don’t you send one of your people?”
“Because this is right up your alley. You’re already on-site. You’re familiar with the territory. And despite what you seem to consider your little fuckup, you’re still one of the best in the business. C’mon, Baldwin. Humor me. Get out of the house for a while. Maybe do some interacting with the rest of the world. It might pull you out of the funk. You have been in a funk, right, Baldwin?”
Therapy. Yeah, he was falling for that.
“I don’t think this is such a good idea, boss.”
“Well, I do. They need another brain, Baldwin, and I don’t have any to spare. Since you’re probably not real up-to-date with the program, we’re losing people right and left. Big bucks on the mashed potato circuit, everybody wants to be a consultant on cable TV. We’re low on resources, and all the remaining personnel are in Minnesota, working a skinner case. Guess you haven’t heard about that either. Never mind. Will you do it? It’s only a conversation.”
“I didn’t ask for any favors, Garrett.”
“This isn’t one for you, Baldwin. It’s a favor to me. Just call Price, go in and see him. You can make the decision from there.”
“Hold on,” Baldwin said as he pulled the phone away from his ear and reached for the TV remote. He turned up the opening of the local ten o’clock evening news. A pretty blond anchor in tortoiseshell glasses, with a long nose and the requisite overbite that reminded men of what a mouth like that could do, spoke quietly, with the intonation of doom only a TV person could muster. Two female students from Vanderbilt University had been found brutally raped and murdered, their bodies left at two of Nashville’s very public sites.
“The press has it.”
“Hard to keep it away from them.”
He stared up at the ceiling, willing the report to go away. He heard a woman’s voice fending off detailed questions nicely. Quelling the panic, Baldwin thought to himself. Shaking his head, he turned the TV up to listen.
“... Shelby Kincaid, of Bowling Green, Kentucky. She was a sophomore at Vanderbilt, and was reported missing several days ago by her roommate.” The woman cut off a question: “No, John, we’re not releasing the name of the roommate. Get real.” There was a ripple of laughter throughout the room. “The second victim is Jordan Blake, of Houston, Texas. She was a junior at Vanderbilt. Yes, she is the daughter of Gregory Blake. We don’t have any indication this crime is in any way related to her father’s business.” There was a flurry of sound, voices, papers, phones. The woman ignored it and pressed on.
“We want to pass a message to all students in town. Don’t go out alone. Stay with friends if possible. Keep your doors and windows locked at all times. Go to class in groups. Don’t put yourselves in any compromising situations, especially with alcohol and drugs. We’re doing our best to find the suspect. Thank you.” The shouting started again, but she turned and walked out of the room. A man the TV screen named as Dan Franklin approached the podium. Baldwin wasn’t paying attention anymore.
Man, the chick was pretty. He thought he knew her from somewhere, though she looked a little older and worn a little thin. They’d picked the right woman as their PR spokesman. Spokeswoman. She obviously knew everyone there, had kept them under control.