an afterthought. Baldwin was circling the body, taking in all the details. The bruises around the girl’s neck were visible despite the decomposition. He made another circle, smiling to himself with a bizarre look of triumph. The body had no hands.
“I think this may be the work of our boy.”
“Your boy?” Taylor’s eyebrow went up an inch. “You know who did this?”
He ignored the question for a moment. “Is it okay to touch her?”
“Yes. The crime scene techs have finished with her for now, and we’re waiting for the medical examiner to haul her out of here. I was just giving her one last look.”
Baldwin reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of thin white latex gloves. He squatted next to the body and reached for the girl’s right stump, knocking a few maggots off in the process.
Taylor prompted him again. “Your boy, you say?”
“Mmm, hmm. I don’t know his name, of course, but I recognize his work.”
Taylor went down on one knee beside him. “He’s done this before?” She spoke quietly. No personnel were within earshot, but just in case, she didn’t want the leaks to start before she had a grip on what was happening. Habit.
“Twice, that I know of. Though he hasn’t hit for a month. We’ve dubbed him the Southern Strangler, for lack of a better name. You know us feds, not an original thought between us.” He tried for a smile, but it came out as a leer.
“Why haven’t I heard of this…strangler?”
“You have. Remember the Alabama case a few months ago, in April? Pretty little college nursing student, disappeared from the U of A campus. We found her in—”
“Louisiana. I remember.”
“Right. The second was last month, from Baton Rouge. Found her in Mississippi.”
Taylor searched her memory for the details of the case. It had been all over the national news networks, with correspondents broadcasting live from Baton Rouge, lamenting and glorifying the kidnapping. But no one had put the two together, as far as she knew. She told Baldwin that.
“The time frame was lengthy enough that the media didn’t jump on the connection. And we kept a few things back. The hands, for one.”
“Why, for God’s sake? Aren’t you guys supposed to get the word out so we small-town law enforcement types know we’ve got someone on the loose?” Her sarcasm missed its mark. Baldwin only nodded.
“The lubricant, too. We think there is consensual sex, he uses a lubricated condom. Whichever M.E. catches it should look for that.”
Taylor shook her head, putting aside the strange reality that had marred her beautiful southern town. A serial killer, passing through her turf. Great. It wasn’t something she was prepared to keep quiet.
“I already called Sam, she’ll take good care of her.” Dr. Samantha Owens Loughley was the chief medical examiner for the mid-state of Tennessee, and a friend. “You said you know who she is.” She indicated the body with a jerk of her chin, eyes accusing.
“Her name is Jessica. Jessica Ann Porter. Jackson, Mississippi. She’s only been gone three days.”
Taylor looked down again. Three days? The decomp was more advanced than that. Baldwin read her thoughts.
“You know how this works. Heat’s speeding up the process. Two weeks in this mess would be all it took to get her down to the bones. We’re lucky we found her so quickly. Another week and it would have been hell to ID her in the field.”
“Tell me more.”
“There isn’t a lot more to go on. He likes brunettes. Young brunettes. All three girls have brown eyes, are late teens to early twenties, and we don’t have really good victimologies on them. None of them had risk behaviors, none of them had been seen with strangers, nothing. They just went poof. One day they were living their lives, the next, they were just gone. I’ve been working the periphery of the cases. I was kept informed but I didn’t do the investigation myself. Now that we may have three victims, I’m probably getting involved full-time.”
Taylor heard tires crunching on the gravel on the side of the road. The body, Jessica’s body, she corrected herself, was only about ten yards from the roadside. The news van would be able to get a clear shot. Too clear. She waved to Marcus standing by his car, motioned to the van. She didn’t need to say a word. He started signaling to them immediately, forcing them away from the scene. Taylor watched as he maneuvered them to a very discreet vantage point, one from which they wouldn’t be able to view the body. She smiled to herself. Screw the newsies.
Baldwin had taken a notebook out of his back pocket and was writing furiously, scribbling notes as quickly as his mind could feed them through his fingers to his pen.
“Have you found…?” Baldwin’s voice trailed off. A uniformed officer was waving frantically at Taylor. She eyed Baldwin for a moment, realizing he knew exactly what the fuss was about. He just shrugged and put out a hand in a “you first” gesture. She stared him down for a moment, then made her way to the gesticulating officer. The look of horror on his face was evident from twenty paces.
“You have something there, Officer?” Taylor didn’t recognize him, he must have been fresh out of the academy.
“Yes, Lieutenant,” he answered, Adam’s apple bobbing. Taylor reached him and followed his pointing finger. In the grass, lying quietly, was a hand.
Taylor reared back, but Baldwin leaned over the hand with interest. She tried for glib.
“Well, Special Agent, since she’s missing both hands, I’d say we should find another right around this area, shouldn’t we?” The sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach belied the bravado in her statement. She had the distinct feeling there was more to the case than he had told her. He confirmed it in the next moment, the way he gazed at the wayward hand was a dead giveaway that there was more to this than met the eye. She dismissed the patrol officer with a flick of her hand. He scrambled away, visibly relieved.
“No, we won’t.” He gazed up at her, his green eyes troubled. “You can search for it if you want, but it won’t be here.”
“What the hell? He’s taking the girl’s hands off, leaving one in the field and taking one with him? Some sort of trophy?”
Baldwin nodded. “Definitely a trophy. There’s just one problem.”
For the briefest moment, the reality of what a psycho could do with a severed hand crowded her mind. She shoved the thought away. “What’s the problem?”
“This isn’t Jessica’s hand.”
Chapter Four
Baldwin excused himself to call in to Quantico, and Taylor signaled for Fitz to join her. He tromped through the field like a general commanding troops, his oversize belly leading his feet.
“What’s the fed doin’ here?” he asked, tone neutral. Taylor glanced at him, trying to gauge if there was anything more to the inquiry, but Fitz’s face was closed, guarded. She
