Sam’s thoughts spun. What in the name of hell would a black ex-prostitute have to do with the University Killer? It didn’t make sense. But that was Taylor’s problem. Right now, she had to get positive confirmation that aconite was the cause of death for this poor woman.
“Fox, consider me dazzled. You deserve a raise. Pull all the blood work and get it over to Simon Loughley at Private Match. He’s been handling the rest of this, and he’s the best equipped to get the results ASAP.” She had a thought and almost didn’t voice it because it seemed so outlandish. But she trusted science, and science would give them the answers they were looking for.
“I want you to go back to the burn victims and pull their liver samples. They presented completely different, because of what the fire did to their bodies, so maybe we missed something. Send them over to Simon, and tell him to look for aconite in them as well.”
Dr. Fox was surprised. Sam saw the look and understood perfectly. It didn’t make any sense to her either. “Why poison someone, then go to the trouble to burn them to a crisp?” he asked.
“I know it’s probably unlikely, but if there’s a chance that aconite’s present, that will tie everything together for Taylor’s investigation. Also, find out what Tim Davis got from St. Catherine’s. He said he was running the tea he found in the priest’s office there. If it’s got trace aconite in it, we at least have our delivery method. Go to it.”
He nodded and went to work. Sam headed back to her office to grab her keys. She wanted to go to the squad room and tell them in person what was happening.
56
The conference room looked like a hurricane warning center—bedlam mixed with excitement and a sense of purpose. Pictures of all the victims had been hung side by side on a huge whiteboard with as much information about all of them as they could put together. There was one photo missing from the lineup: the face of the female burn victim from St. Catherine’s. Instead, a shadowy sketch with long hair had been drawn, with a question mark under the distorted outline. Laptops were plugged in and lined the long table. File folders, computer printouts, and soda cans littered the room. The piles of paper had been sorted and lined up under corresponding title cards with headings representing “ViCAP” through “School Records.” It was organized chaos, akin to the investigation itself.
Baldwin and Taylor stood in a corner, talking quietly. He ran through his theory with her, and she agreed, between sneezes, that Vanderbilt’s staff held the key. Taylor was getting sicker by the minute and looked like a limp dishrag that had been wrung out too many times and was ready for the trash. She’d refused the repeated admonitions to go home; she wanted to get some sort of break in the case before she cut out.
Lincoln was seated at one of the laptops, blurring through cyberspace. He was running missing persons files from Georgia, Kentucky, Florida, North Carolina, and Virginia. He had open access to these databases; he was waiting for linkups to South Carolina, Alabama, and Mississippi. Fitz was back, floating in and out of the room; some new information had come in on the Lischey Avenue murder. He had managed to get Terrence Norton into an interview room and was trying to get him to give up his buddy, Little Man Graft. Terrence was consulting with his lawyer at the moment, trying to figure out how to save his own ass. It gave Fitz some time to check in with the University Killer investigation.
Marcus was sitting at the end of the table, trying to be inconspicuous. He was getting impatient to get started but didn’t want to intrude on Taylor and Baldwin’s conversation, so he put up his feet and waited. To his relief, the phone next to him rang.
“Homicide...Yes, she is, but we’re in a meeting, can it wait?... Oh. Let me get her.” He signaled to Taylor. She shook her head, but he covered the phone with his hand and said, “It’s Shelby Kincaid’s mother. She called the main number looking for you and said it was important.”
Taylor blew her nose and took the phone. She croaked a hello, then listened intently. “Can you hold on a moment? I need to get to another phone.” She punched the Hold button, told them to start without her, and practically ran from the room.
She went into Price’s office and shut the door, then punched the line to connect her back with Mrs. Kincaid.
“Mrs. Kincaid? I’m back, sorry about that. You were saying?” She could tell Mrs. Kincaid had been crying and could hear traffic in the background. She’s not at home, Taylor thought, pulse speeding up.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call you before now. I’ve been having a hard time, and the doctor has kept me sedated. I just couldn’t take it, you know, losing my Shelby. But I needed to talk to you, so I made an excuse to go out, and I’m at a pay phone. I couldn’t call from the house. There are too many people around.”
Taylor was leaning forward in the chair, her cold forgotten. Whatever would drive a preacher’s wife out of the house to call her when she was in seclusion and mourning had to be big.