Sweet Dreams Boxed Set

“Just watching a little TV.”


“I have something else I need you to know. It’s about Arlen.”

Baldwin tensed. “I don’t want to talk about him, Garrett. All bets are off if you bring him up again.”

“But Baldwin, there’s news—”

“That’s my deal, Garrett. No Arlen, and I’ll think about talking to your friend. Are we clear?”

“You’re not exactly in a position to make demands on me, Baldwin. Just let me tell you what’s happening.”

“No.”

Garrett was silent for a moment. “Fine, have it your way. Will you call Price?”

Baldwin gave a last longing look at the gun. “Yeah.”

He clicked off the phone and gently set it down on the table beside him. Went into the kitchen, fetched a Guinness. Poured it into an ice-cold mug from the freezer. He’d always preferred it cold, rather than the correct British lukewarm.

The gun wasn’t calling as loudly now. He’d felt a small adrenaline rush at the news reports. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to talk to the captain. He could pull out at any time and come back to his miserable little existence. Maybe fate was dealing him a new hand. He guzzled half the beer, called Price at home and set an appointment for 8:00 a.m. in the morning.

He sat back in the chair, took a smaller sip of the beer, picked up an empty notepad from the coffee table. Began writing out the thoughts in his head. Time to trade the mind of one madman for another.





Twenty-One



Taylor was wide awake. She had gone home after the press conference and hit the bed completely exhausted, thinking a good night’s sleep would help her think clearly in the morning. Instead, she kept reviewing the facts of the case. The white board from the squad room shone brightly in her mind’s eye. The faces of the dead girls ran over and over through her head.

After an hour of tossing and turning, she finally accepted sleep wasn’t going to come anytime soon. She got out of the bed and made her way to her pool table, flipped on the TV as she walked by for noise.

Racked the balls. Took the break. Smoothly cracked the balls into their respective pockets. She felt the tension go out of her shoulders as she finally started to relax a bit. The rain was still coming down. The local weather station had broken into the late night feed to give radar warnings for the severe thunderstorms moving through the area. Tomorrow was supposed to be even worse.

Taylor kept a small refrigerator in the back corner of the room. She made her way there and grabbed a bottle of ice cold Miller Lite. She sipped and mused, expertly sinking ball after ball, re-racking, breaking, playing eight ball against herself.

With a delicate meow, her cat jumped up on the table and began batting at the balls. Taylor couldn’t help but laugh. The kitten adopted from the local shelter and named Jade for her green eyes was at the very least Taylor’s best confidante. She had adopted her on a whim. She’d gone into the animal shelter to serve a warrant, saw the scruffy kitten sneeze and fell in love. She was surprised to realize that she never felt alone when the cat was around.

She racked the balls again, shifting her thoughts to the weird aspects of the case at hand. She hadn’t given the drug angle too much thought. These were college kids, who did stupid things like drink and do drugs to excess. Was it possible straight-laced Shelby had decided to lighten up a little bit and fell in with the wrong crowd? According to Gladys, Jordan was a habitual user, but none from her crowd knew Shelby. The limited connections bothered her. The beer and fatigue were dragging her mind into Park.

Getting more in depth with Shelby’s background had been hard; there was little new information to be gained. Calls around campus had given them a few answers, but left more questions in Taylor’s mind.

She was sure the girl was seeing someone. They hadn’t found any kind of birth control in her things; the campus clinic had no record of her being a patient with them, other than a bout with bronchitis earlier in the semester. No one else had been able to confirm or deny her out of class activities—apparently even the students in Shelby’s program didn’t know her well. Her advisor had lauded her with praise. Taylor sensed it was heartfelt, not just laurels for the dead. Her parents obviously cared for her. She was a hardworking scholarship student who seemingly kept her nose clean. So why would someone want to rape her, leave her body at the Parthenon and cover her with herbs?

The herbs told Taylor that whoever had killed Shelby loved her. Even though her body had been abused, she had been given some kind of tender send-off, a show of reverence.

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