“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 acknowledgement and left the office. Taylor pulled her hair out of its ponytail, unsuccessfully attempting to smooth it down. Impatiently re-holstering 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.”
“Was she raped?” The light went out of his eyes and he rubbed his chin.
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, and Taylor could see the steel creep back into her eyes. 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 was 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?”
“She didn’t have time for a boyfriend,” Mr. Kincaid jumped in quickly.