Field Of Graves. J.T. Ellison

for the rest of her life. Detective David Martin. He wouldn’t be arrested, indicted, or even charged with running the scheme. Because he was dead, and Taylor had killed him. But that had been self-defense. The grand jury said so.

      She smiled at Price. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

      “Taylor, I think—”

      “Price, it’s all good. Really. I’m all set to testify against Martin’s partners. I have everything laid out. As for the rest of it—” she sighed “—I’m doing my best to put it all behind me. The shrinks cleared me. Internal Affairs cleared me. The DA’s office and the GJ cleared me. It is past, gone, forgotten.” That’s it, girl, she thought to herself. Keep up a brave front. He doesn’t need to know about the whispers from the other officers, the panic attacks, that you can’t sleep without horrific nightmares.

      Price stared at her for a split second longer, and she wondered if he knew everything she’d been thinking without her saying a word. But the moment passed and he nodded.

      “Then go find me a name for our Parthenon girl.”

6

      Taylor closed the door quietly behind her. She took two steps and tripped over a ream of paper. She fell into her desk, banging her leg on the corner of a half-opened drawer. She bit back a curse, rubbed at the bruise. Surveyed her kingdom.

      The Homicide squad was crammed cheek to jowl into a crappy forty-by-forty-foot bull pen. The close quarters meant no privacy and constant distractions. At least there were fewer bodies to deal with. Six months earlier, the decentralization of Violent Crimes had created several distinct Homicide Units. Each city sector now housed a grouping of general detectives who handled everything from fistfights in bars to aggravated assaults to murders in the projects. In Nashville, Homicide covered the full gamut of physical crimes.

      Taylor’s group was unique. She ran an elite squad of detectives nicknamed “The Murder Squad.” They were the most successful shift in the CID. What made Taylor’s team different from Nashville’s other homicide detectives was the element of mystery in their jobs. If a violent crime occurred that resulted in a death, and there was no suspect, they caught the case. If the trail went cold after twenty-four hours, it was theirs. If another shift didn’t want to deal with a case, it fell into their laps.

      Taylor was proud of her team of detectives. They had an incredibly high close rate, nearly 86 percent, which had its good and bad points. It got them excellent press and made the department look good, which meant perks all around like interesting cases, less scrutiny, and more freedom for outside work.

      But success was always tempered with a desire to see failure. There were the detectives who dumped their loads simply because they wanted to see her fail. She hadn’t made a lot of friends when she’d killed David Martin, even though he was as dirty as they came. There were grudges aplenty among the detectives who’d worked with him. In some minds, if she’d just come forward with what she suspected, Detective Martin could have been charged and tried with his partners instead of killed. No one wanted to see a cop dead, even if he was a bad guy.

      Which would have been fine by her, if Martin hadn’t tried to kill her first.

      She was on shaky footing. Her once-carefree demeanor had changed. Her actions were tempered with caution. Her words more measured and thought out. She was on edge all the time, though she thought she was doing a pretty good job of hanging in there. At least in public.

      The news that she would testify again this week was actually welcome. She just wanted to get it over with so she could put it all behind her. Though she knew as soon as the grand jury handed down the indictments, the plea bargaining would start, then the trials. It wasn’t going to end, not really, for a very long time. And there was nothing she could do to erase the memory of David Martin, dead on her billiards room floor.

      None of it mattered. She had a job to do, and she was going to do it.

      Fitz came into the squad room, whistling.

      “Ahh, Mr. Fitz. Thank you for joining our little party.”

      “Don’t mention it. I strive to achieve perfect timing.”

      “And so you have.” She sat on the edge of her desk. “Okay guys, let’s get started.”

      Marcus Wade, her wet-behind-the-ears rookie, and Lincoln Ross, her seasoned computer expert, faced her expectantly. Fitz took a seat across from her. He was her veteran; they’d been together for years now. Between the four of them, Taylor was pretty certain they could crack any case that came their way.

      “What’s happening at Centennial?”

      “There’s nothing turning up on the grid search,” Fitz said. “And we haven’t found any witnesses. Even Adidas claims to have been asleep on his personal bus bench, like a good little boy.”

      Adidas, so named for his labeled gym bag from the sporting goods company, was one of Nashville’s many homeless citizens and a well-known fixture around the park, but not a threat to anyone but the pigeons. “Was he sober?” Taylor smiled to herself. Fat chance of that.

      “Naw, he was reeking like a distillery. He must have lit it up last night. Didn’t even hear the sirens this morning.”

      “Too much to ask to have a witness, I guess. Okay, boys. Here’s what’s going to happen. Price and I decided Fitz is going to take over some of my cases so I can focus on our murder this morning. Is that cool with you, Fitz? I’m going to keep you in the loop on everything that happens, and if we need to pull you back in full-time, we’ll do it. I’m hoping we can wrap this up quickly, but if not...”

      “Fine by me. You gonna let the kid here run with you?” He pointed at Marcus Wade, who sat up straighter in his chair. This was the highest-profile case he’d ever been tapped to work.

      “Yep, that’s the plan. If you would be so kind as to wrap up the park and file your report, I’d appreciate it. Then you can start messing around with my stuff.”

      “Sure thing.” He gave her a smile, and Taylor thanked whatever being had sent Fitz her way. Any other detective would have gotten snotty or hurt by the request to stand down, but Fitz knew enough about the politics not to worry. Taylor knew he would never suspect her of cutting him out of a case to take the glory for herself. He had told her from the beginning that her move to lieutenant would cut back some of his responsibilities and allow him the space to prepare for a graceful retirement from the force in a few years. Taylor returned the smile with gratitude.

      She turned to Marcus. The kid was handsome, with long brown hair and puppy-dog brown eyes. He made a good impression to the outside. Taylor knew under his happy-go-lucky exterior, he was smart, and despite his lack of experience, she was happy to have him. Eagerness was sometimes a better quality in a detective than years on the job; people got staid and used to their own methods. Taylor liked Marcus’s fresh perspective in her investigations.

      “Marcus, you work with the Metro spokesman, Dan Franklin. He needs to be briefed so he can give a statement. I want to be in complete control of all the info before we talk to anyone. So no leaks about anything, okay? Hopefully we’ll have an ID on this girl and can inform her next of kin, maybe even a cause of death, and we can release it in the statement. The mayor’s pressing for something official ASAP.” Taylor snorted through her nose. “She’s pretty fired up. The big arts and crafts fair starts Friday, and she’s pushing to get the scene cleared and the park open.”

      “Got it.”

      “And, Marcus? I know you and Lee Mayfield have been seeing each other. No preferential treatment, and no pillow talk. Okay?”

      Marcus turned three shades past eggplant and looked at his desk. It wasn’t a huge secret that he had been dating the crime reporter for The Tennessean.

      “Umm, actually, I broke it off. She’s not very cool. I’ll talk to Franklin.”

      “Oh.