Price held the door for Baldwin. “Hope you like Mexican,” he said in a tone that told Baldwin he didn’t give a crap whether he liked Mexican or not. Lucky for him, he did.
The restaurant was set up like a cafeteria. They ordered tacos and enchiladas, retrieved their food and made their way to a private corner. The restaurant wasn’t full, so they had plenty of privacy.
Digging into their meals, they were silent for a moment. Price took a long drink of his soda and eyed Baldwin, finally giving the younger man a smile.
“So how are you finding our little operation? Anyone giving you any trouble? Taylor keeping you in the loop on everything?”
It wasn’t the beginning Baldwin expected, but he rolled with it. “Actually, everyone has been very gracious and helpful. Taylor especially.”
They stared each other down. Ah-ha, Baldwin thought. Maybe this wasn’t about him after all.
“Son, I was a little dubious about letting you in on this case. But your boss and I go way back. Way back. And when he asks me a favor, I’m quite likely to comply. That’s why I agreed to let you come on board and gave you the option of whether you could handle yourself enough to participate. You seem to be doing fine. But I’m wondering just how committed you are to this case. You know what I mean?”
Baldwin suppressed a grin. He felt sure Price was going to ask his intentions toward his Lieutenant, like an overprotective father. It hit him that everyone was a little overprotective of Taylor, though he couldn’t see any reason for them to be so concerned. Her anxiety attacks aside, the woman seemed to have steel fused in her backbone. He was debating how exactly to answer when Price continued, almost reflectively.
“The stuff that’s been happening around here is unusual, to say the least. We don’t have a lot of high profile cases, at least not this many in so short a period of time. I’ve been doing this for a long time, since before you were running around in short pants. I’m inclined to agree with you; my gut’s telling me these murders are related and that we’re dealing with one killer. You said you think he’s trying to send us a message. You’re the profiler on this case. Time to earn your pay.”
Exam time. Baldwin decided to go for it. He felt Price was asking for his opinion sincerely. Perhaps it was time to trust him and show his worth to the man.
“I’m going to think aloud here, ok? We aren’t dealing with a serial killer, not in the accepted sense of the word. This guy is on a spree: a very calculated, very organized spree. Each death has a meaning to him; each placement of the body is intentional. He hasn’t left any physical clues except the semen from Shelby Kincaid. And I think that was deliberate. It’s part of the message. Shelby had been raped, but placed at the Parthenon and shrouded in herbs, which strikes me as a loving gesture. Jordan Blake was pregnant. Now we find out Jill Gates is pregnant as well. There is a fatherhood theme going on here. One interpretation: he feels protective toward them, he wants to be a father figure. Or, he desperately wants to be a father. The father. Look at the church fire. He kills a ‘Father.’” He made the sign of quotations in the air with his fingers. “He places the bodies in a house of God, the Father of Christ. There are so many interpretations out of that alone that we could be puzzling it through for months.”
Price was staring at him open-mouthed, then laughed. “That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. But you’re the profiler; you guys are paid to think differently than the rest of us. So profile this guy for me. The University Killer, I guess he’s being called. Creative name, huh? Lee Mayfield at her best. Not the brightest woman, that one, thinking she can take on Taylor Jackson and win. She hates Taylor’s guts.”
“I heard about their issues. Mayfield may not be too bright, but she hit on something I doubt she realizes. We are dealing with someone who’s smarter than average.”
“Which holds true for most organized serial and spree killers.”