She parked the Lumina in the back lot and headed inside, up the stairs to the landing that held a new industrial ashtray, dark gray and heavy plastic, with a slot at the top for the spent cigarettes to disappear into. Though she’d quit more than a year before, she still had cravings now and then. She had to admit it was nice not seeing used butts sticking up like matchstick men arrayed for battle from the depths of the reusable kitty litter that used to serve as sand.
She swiped her card and entered, wondering just how many times she’d followed this exact route in the past. Hundreds, thousands of times. Always hurrying into the office to work on the most pressing cases. She rather envied her old boss Mitchell Price his new late-night office hours.
The place was buzzing with activity, the hallways full of people moving between appointments. Nodding to faces she recognized, she stopped at the soda machine-she desperately needed a Diet Coke this morning. Cold can in hand, she entered the homicide offices.
Commander Huston was standing by Marcus Wade’s desk, flipping through a manila file folder.
“Morning, ma’am,” Taylor said.
Huston turned and nodded to her. The woman was no-nonsense, five foot six, a runner with muscled calves and a compact body, veins protruding in her forearms. She wore no makeup. Her hair was short and hand-styled over her ears, a light brown streaked with blond from excessive time in the sun. She’d been training for a marathon, and Taylor knew she ran fifteen miles after work every evening. She admired the dedication Huston put into her life-work and running took all of her focus and she was good at both.
And she let Taylor manage things in Homicide, which was even better.
Huston turned and gestured to Taylor’s office. The two women went inside and shut the door. Huston took the chair opposite the desk.
“Fill me in. Lieutenant. What’s happening?”
“We have some crazies, that’s what’s going on. The letter sent to the paper was marked at the end in blood with a grouping of symbols that look to be pagan. McKenzie is at the library right now, trying to make sense of them. There was a phrase under the bloody marks, ‘Blood is intensity, it is all I can give you.’ Tim Davis is running through everything now, getting what he can from it.”
“Prints? Delivery method?”
“I don’t know about the prints yet, and the letter was found on the floor in the ground-floor hallway-that’s the back entrance near the printing presses. Those doors are locked-only Tennessean employees can get inside that way. Their security guy figures someone shoved the letter through the doors, but he didn’t see it happen on film, We’ve got the tapes. I’ll have Lincoln look through them and see if he can spot anyone. What I’m worried about is the film.”
As she spoke, she tapped in the address of the video. She swiveled her monitor toward Huston, made sure the volume wasn’t overly loud. When the screaming started, she didn’t want the entire building to come running.
Huston watched for a few minutes, pale under her tan, then met Taylor’s gaze with worried brown eyes.
”What can we do?” she asked.
Taylor clicked the stop button. The screen froze, the wide-fanged mouth mocking her, “I’ve already asked Lincoln to get in touch with the company and get it pulled from the site. I can’t imagine they’ll fight us on this. I need to check in with him, see where we stand,”
“You’re meeting with the administration at Hillsboro this morning?”
“Yes, ma’am. Ten.”
“It’s nearly nine now, I’d best let you get to work. Keep me informed, especially about this movie. I’ve heard from the hospital. Young Brittany Carson is not doing well. She isn’t expected to make it, it’s just a matter of time. She never regained consciousness. Too much damage done by the drugs, I suppose, I’m sorry, I know you worked to save her.”
Taylor sighed deeply. “I work to save them all, ma’am. It seems to be a losing battle somedays.”
“Yes, it does, Lieutenant. Yes, it does. Make sure your detectives talk to the department psychiatrist by the end of business today. I’m sensing this case will be bothering everyone for quite some time. That goes for you, too.”
“I’ll pass the word along. Ma’am, I have a request. Forensic Medical is going to be overloaded on this case, and the multiple toxicology screens and DNA runs are going to take weeks if we send them to TBI.”
“Yes, they will. What do you propose?”
“In the past, we’ve used a company called Private Match to do time-sensitive work. I’d like to get permission to have the samples sent there for testing.”
Huston cocked her head to the side. “I think that’s a good idea. I’m already getting pressure from on high to get this case solved as quickly as possible. If you think that Private Match can help us attain that goal, then I’m all for it. I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”
“Thank you. That’s going to be a help.”
“Get some sleep. Lieutenant. That’s an order.”
Huston shook Taylor’s hand, then opened the door and disappeared. Taylor took her hair out of its ponytail and ran her fingers through it, combing it out. Huston was easy to work with, though much more formal than she was used to. Regardless, she was a woman who knew how to get things done, and that’s exactly what Taylor needed right now.
One problem solved. She didn’t have time to get meditative about Brittany Carson. She had to admit, she’d been hoping the girl would pull through. And she really didn’t feel like sitting down with the department shrink.
Marcus came to her door, knocked softly on the doorjamb.
“Yeah,” she said.
“We’ve got a name on the man who appeared in the crime-scene footage. We’ve sent a patrol to pick him up. With any luck we’ll have him here by 11:00 or so.”
“Why so long?”
“He lives north of town-it’s transport time.”
“What’s his name?”
“Keith Barent Johnson.”
“Okay. What’s so special about Mr. Johnson that we were able to identify him so quickly?”
“You don’t recognize the name?”
“No. Should I?”
Marcus smiled. “He was in the system, so I checked him out. He was arrested last year after making threats against the president. Ended up getting busted for tax evasion.”
“Oh, yeah. I remember him. He’s a kook.”
“Yep. A kook who’s all over the Internet calling himself the king of the vampires.”
That got her attention. “You’re kidding.”
“I kid you not. Lincoln needs to see you, if you have a minute.”
“I have just a minute. I need to get to Hillsboro. Will you look over the security tapes from The Tennessean for me, see if you can see anyone slipping a letter through the back doors?”
4The letter from the killer?”
“Yeah. Keep it quiet. I want to hold as much of it back as possible.” She briefed him, then said, “McKenzie’s researching all the symbols right now. Hey, listen. What happened to our kid from last night, the one Simari’s dog took a chunk out of?”
“He’s still in the hospital. The bite hit into the muscle in his leg. He’s going to have surgery this afternoon, then some recovery time.”
“Good. I want to talk to him again.”
Lincoln joined them, dreads standing on end. He looked rough. They all did-no one had gotten any sleep last night. They were all wearing yesterday’s clothes, running off of caffeine and adrenaline.
“The video company is working with us, but it doesn’t seem to matter,” he said simply, sinking into the chair closest to the door. He ran a weary hand across his dreadlocks, getting them into a bit of order.
“What do you mean? They won’t take the video down?”
“No, they complied immediately. It breaks their community guidelines. YouTube took the video down after it got flagged by several viewers as obscene. But it’s gone viral. People have downloaded it to their own computers and are uploading it to other video-sharing sites. They all have a version running-Vimeo, Vuze, MSN, Yahoo!-and everyone’s trying to work with us, but it’s growing too quickly. At last count ten video sharing sites on the Internet have it. Some have cut the end, where Brandon Scott is murdered, some have it intact. We can’t keep up, though I’ve been doing my best. Word on the street is this is the work of an underground film crew. Some of the Hollywood wannabes apparently do high-quality independent work, especially in the horror genre. The message board and comments are lit up like Christmas trees, debating whether it’s real or just incredibly excellent editing. And people are e-mailing it around, too.”