Taylor saw nothing but pain in his green eyes, and something told her to keep trying. “How about this, Dr. Baldwin? You go over those files. See if you come up with anything interesting. Then we’ll talk about your imminent dismissal. Okay?” She turned and shut the door behind her before he had a chance to respond.
“Great,” he said to the blue wall. “Just fucking great. Fine, I’ll look. I’ll give them some suggestions, they can go track them down, and I’m out of here.” He sat angrily at the table. He realized it was the first emotion he’d felt in months, but he pushed it to the back of his mind.
25
Baldwin ran his fingers through his hair, making the too-long strands spike like porcupine quills. He’d read the files on the dead girls twice, and didn’t remember a word. He stood and wandered around the conference room, looking idly for something to play with. He found only a handful of paper clips and a tape dispenser. They’d cleaned out the cell of the condemned. Back at the table, he half smiled to the wall, picked up a clip and started prying the wire apart. When he finished, he picked up another, then another, until a ramshackle chain-link fence formed itself on the table in front of him.
Who was he trying to kid? He didn’t have any business being here. Garrett and Price knew that, yet they were pushing him to come back to the land of the living, something he wasn’t sure if he was willing to do. Yet here he was, files spread before him, two beautiful girls dead, and he had only the simplest curiosity about how they’d gotten there. In his old life, he would have already taken each word of each file apart, would have a sense of whom they were dealing with. He’d be formulating plans on how to stop the killer from striking again. Now, well...
He struck the table with his fist, scattering the barricade of paper clips all over the table. He impatiently brushed them aside, watching them scatter in random patterns on the floor. He stared, trying to find some clue in the metal outline, but saw nothing. An appropriate reaction for one whose mind was a jumbled blank.
He was out of practice.
With a sigh, he pulled the file of Jordan Blake toward him, and started again.
*
The door to the conference room opened, light spilling in from the hall. It was the woman, Jackson, the light haloing around her head. She looked like an avenging angel.
“Mr., ah, Dr. Baldwin? Fitz and I are getting something to eat. Would you like to join us? Samantha Owens, our ME, may come with the results of the tox screens on our two murdered girls. You said you’d like to meet her.”
Baldwin glanced out the window, surprised to realize it was dark out. He’d been cloistered in this room all day with no break. Checking his watch, he saw it was past seven. In response, his stomach growled. He looked at Taylor sheepishly.
“Sorry, time got away from me. Are you sure it’s cool if I join you?”
Taylor smiled. “Everyone has to eat. Besides, you look like you could use a square meal. We’re going to Mulligan’s Pub down on Second. Come on. A walk will do you good.”
Baldwin considered for a moment. Why not? He had nothing better to do, and no place better to be.
“All right. If you’re sure.” He followed her out the door, then stopped and went back into his new office, grabbing the files and shoving them in his tattered leather backpack, shaking his head as he did. The case had its claws in him, and he didn’t want to let it go so quickly. Nor did he want to leave his notes behind.
Taylor watched him closely. He was disheveled, his hair standing on end, unshaven, clothes wrinkled. He almost looked dangerous, and much more engaged than he had earlier. She was surprised to feel a moment of longing in her stomach. There was something about him that intrigued her. She’d spent all afternoon wondering what he was up to.
Stop that, she snapped to her mind. You have enough problems of your own without taking on his, too.
26
A traditional Irish green-and-gold sign framed the wooden doorway over Mulligan’s Pub, holding the promise of the real deal. Quartered windowpanes gave it an inviting, homey look. Upon entering the warm, smoky foyer, there was dining to the left and a cozy bar situated straight ahead. A moth-eaten ibex, stuffed and smiling benevolently, presided over the deep walnut bar with a benign billy goat grin.
Celtic music played quietly. The weekends featured excellent live Irish music, boasted a loyal clientele braying drunkenly for their favorites and always finding succor in the generosity of the band. A plaque on the bar wall claimed the pub’s distinction as the first bar in the state of Tennessee to pour a pint of Guinness draught.