263

mountains to here, so he pulled over to the side of the road, happy to have a cell. When he looked at the display, he saw that it was Taylor calling.

“Hi, honey, how are—”

“Baldwin, I’ve been trying to reach you. Where are you?”

“I’m on 40 outside of Crossville. I rented a car and decided to head on back to Nashville for a couple of things. I’ll be back in an hour if traffic holds. Why, what happened?”

“I went to Whitney Connolly’s to get the e-mails. There was another e-mail, one that came in yesterday or this morning, after Quinn and I had left her house. If the e-mails and poems correlate to your poems, we may have trouble.”

Baldwin gritted his teeth. Damn. It was very possible that another girl had been taken from Asheville, and no one had reported it. “What was the poem?”

“I actually recognized it, it’s a few lines from ‘The Flea.’ John Donne. You know that one?”

“Actually, yes, I used to use it on girls all the time. Okay, I need you to do something for me. Do you have the poems in front of you right now?”

“Yeah, I just brought the whole laptop with me. In case there are other e-mails that come in from this address, I thought it would be best if we had the computer in front of us.”

“Okay, I’m going to start driving again. Bear with me a second. If I lose the cell I’ll call you right back.” He started the engine and pulled out onto the highway.

“Okay, I want you to read what each e-mail says, starting with the earliest one.”

264

J.T. Ellison

He could hear Taylor flipping through pages. The poems were going to match, he already knew that. He was starting to feel it, that connection that things were about to break all over the place. Taylor came back on the phone.

“The first one is dated a month ago. The content reads,

“A perfect woman, nobly planned,

To warn, to comfort and command;

And yet a Spirit still, and bright

With something of an angelic light.

“Uh-oh. There’s a postscript here I didn’t see before. This is the first time I’ve read them on paper, I didn’t see it on the screen. ‘This was at the crime scene.’” She paused. “Baldwin, she knew. She knew and she didn’t come to us. Stupid reporter.”

Baldwin’s heart started pounding. “That’s the same as the note found in Susan Palmer’s bag, without the postscript, of course,” he said quietly.

“All right, the next one came in two weeks ago. Here goes…

“A creature not too bright or good

For human nature’s daily food

For transient sorrows, simple wiles Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears and smiles.

“Here’s the P.S. ‘This one was from LA.’”

“That’s Jeanette Lernier’s. Shit. This guy was sending Whitney Connolly the same poems that he was leaving at each kidnapping scene. That second P.S. makes it sound like she hadn’t figured it out, that he was All the Pretty Girls

265

giving her more to go on. Taylor, honey, you are the greatest. Please keep going.”

“The next is from Sunday, right after we found Jessica.

“A sudden blow: the great wings beating still Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed By his dark webs, her nape caught in his bill, He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.

“The P.S. says ‘Do you get it yet?’”

Baldwin was getting excited. “That’s the poem they found with Jessica’s things. Right on, Taylor, thank God you were there to find these. What’s next?”

Taylor read him the next e-mail.

“How can those terrified vague fingers push, The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?

How can anybody, laid in that white rush, But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?

“‘P.S. From your backyard.’”

“That’s Shauna Davidson, no doubt about it. What else?”

“The next one reads,

“Being so caught up,

So mastered by the brute blood of the air, Did she put on his knowledge with his power Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?”

Taylor stopped for a moment. “Marni Fischer?”

“Yeah, that’s right. No P.S.?”

266

J.T. Ellison

“No, this one is just the poem. What’s up with that?”

“I don’t know. Either he felt he’d made his point or he got into a rush. What else do you have there?”

“The next one’s dated two days ago. It goes:

“She half enclosed me with her arms She pressed me with a weak embrace; And bending back her head, looked up, And gazed upon my face.

’Twas partly love, and partly fear, And partly ’twas a bashful art,

That I might rather feel, than see, The swelling of her heart.”

Taylor could hear what sounded like paper being brushed against the phone. She envisioned Baldwin raking his hand through his hair.

“That’s what we found at the motel room where Christina Dale was killed. But you said ‘The Flea’ came in last night?”

“I have to pull it up and double-check the time stamp, but it came in sometime after Quinn and I left Whitney’s house yesterday evening. I take it you didn’t have any missing persons reports when you left Asheville?”

“No, we didn’t. But if this follows the pattern, he has taken another girl. Dammit, this guy’s on overdrive. I better get the word to Grimes, but we can’t be absolutely sure he struck in Asheville. Of course, he could have taken someone that no one’s missed yet. Listen, I’ve got a meeting as soon as I get into town. I’ve got to talk to the CEO of the company that owns some of the hospi- All the Pretty Girls 267

tals where three of the girls were employed. It’s called Health Partners, he’s going to go over some of the—”

“What did you say?”

“I’m meeting with the CEO of Health Partners,” he said, and he could hear Taylor’s breath quicken. She spoke softly.

“Baldwin, Quinn Buckley’s husband works for Health Partners. He’s a big time VP. There has to be a connection there, that’s got to be what Whitney Connolly found out. You don’t think…”

“He’s a vice president, you say? I bet he does some traveling. Let’s get together before I go over there. Can you meet me at your office? I’ll be there in less than thirty minutes.”

“Hurry, Baldwin.”

Thirty-Four

He flashed by the car with the FBI agent in it. How funny was that? Here the man was looking all over the Southeast for him, yet if he had looked to his left, just for that one moment, he would have seen the grinning visage of the man he was trying to find. Such a pity really, they just didn’t have a clue what he was up to. He’d been watching the tall man from the FBI. He’d seen him stand quietly over Christina’s body, seething, wondering. He wouldn’t need to wonder much more. It was nearly time.

He wrinkled his nose. The smell in the car was getting worse. He was going to have to give his car a bath. Clean out the trunk, too, that was for sure, get some fresh ice for the cooler. It was a good thing that he had tinted windows, the look on his face must have been enough to cause some stares. There was always the bag on the floorboards in the back seat. A relatively nondescript leather bag, it was the contents that would get the tongues wagging.

All the Pretty Girls

269

The man smiled. This was going too well. He only had one more to go, then it was time for his triumphant return to watch the fireworks from the safety of his own home. He just hoped she was getting the picture at last. He knew how smart she was. This would make everything right. Thirty-Five

Taylor sat at her desk, tapping her fingers on the bleached wood. Where the hell was Baldwin? She had caught his excitement over the phone and had been trying to go through the case herself. She was lacking the details, and the frustration mounted. She wanted to be out there chasing the killer rather than sitting in her office. She knew she’d helped, but damn, it would be great to be out there, gun in hand, stalking the stalker. Lincoln and Marcus came into Taylor’s office, interrupting her fantasy of shooting the bastard between the eyes. She started and smiled at them. For at least an hour, she’d forgotten all about Betsy Garrison and the Rainman case. She tried to play it off.