Captain Mitchell Price was a small, generally happy man in his early fifties, nearly bald, with an impressive mustache he took great care to groom. As the head of the Criminal Investigative Divisions, he oversaw Homicide, Vice, and all the other investigative departments. Price was on his phone when Taylor barged in, but quickly placed his finger over his mouth, hit the speaker button for her to hear, and set the handset quietly back in the cradle. He ran his hand over his shiny scalp, pushing away the last few stray strands of faded red hair, and motioned to the door, rolling his eyes at the voice now emanating from the speaker. Taylor closed the door silently behind her and took a seat across from his desk.
“Damn it, Price. When are you going to have some answers for me?” Mayor Meredith Robbins was yelling loud enough that even with the door closed, Taylor knew the rest of the squad could hear her strident voice. “When are your people going to get their asses in gear? A girl shows up dead in the middle of Centennial Park, which is going to be closed for God knows how long while your teams wander around, and we’ve got the Arts and Crafts Fair this weekend. There are trucks full of crap ready to get in there and unload, and I’m the one who has to smooth out all the granola-filled feathers. It’s too late to cancel this thing now. There’s going to be hell to pay if you can’t get the park open immediately. And all you can tell me is ‘you’re working on it’? I want some answers, and I want them now!”
Taylor mouthed the word bitch to Price, then turned away, smiling. Meredith Robbins was a thorn in the department’s side. The woman was a self-serving, nasty politician whose only concern was making herself look good, the citizens of Nashville be damned. How she got elected in the first place was still a mystery to Taylor.
Turning back to Price, she twirled her finger around and raised an eyebrow. He smiled and nodded, interrupting the tirade.
“Um, Mayor, we’re working things as fast as we can. I’m sure we’ll have some answers for you very soon. And the sooner we can get off this call, the sooner I can get the details from Lieutenant Jackson.”
“Fine. Get back to me the moment you have some new information. And get the damn park opened back up. If the vendors start canceling because of this, I will hold you personally responsible.”
Price sighed loudly for effect and said, “If anything, Meredith, I’d assume the curiosity factor is going to draw people to the park, not drive them away.” The comment hit its mark, and she backed down a bit.
“No more excuses. Get the park open. And tell that lieutenant of yours to be nicer to the media.” She hung up the phone with a bang, and Price slowly clicked off the speaker. He looked at the phone with distaste, and then raised a hairy red eyebrow at Taylor.
“Well, that was fun. She is such a pain in the ass. Ignore her—I’ll deal with it. But tell me you have something for me.”
Taylor took in a deep breath. “Sam thinks the scene was staged, and I have to agree. She’s going to get the girl’s prints over here ASAP. As soon as they show up, we’ll start looking for a match. That’s my number one priority. I want to give this girl a name, and find out where she’s from.”
“What other thoughts did our intrepid ME have?”
“There was plenty of semen for a sample, so I’d like to ask Sam to send it over to Private Match instead of TBI. I want to see if we can get a quick hit in CODIS.”
“You don’t think it’s this yahoo’s first rodeo?”
“I don’t. The whole thing felt off to me.”
Price sat back in his chair. “How off?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised to see more. The scene was definitely staged.”
“Great. Just what we need.”
“No kidding. So are you cool with me sending the DNA to Simon Loughley? The tox screen will go to him automatically anyway. This way, he can handle the whole case.”
Partly because of Meredith Robbins’s actions over the past three years in office, the MNPD still didn’t have their own forensics lab. She had suggested that if the department wanted their own lab, they could cut employees to get the necessary budget requirements, and Metro had no intention of cutting their officers. So they were beholden to other official labs for results. They hated sending high-profile DNA to the FBI labs for comparison, because even with a push there could be a wait of a year or so. The TBI, Tennessee Bureau of Investigation, was the next best bet, but they too could drag out the final results over several months. Their only choice for fast-track cases was private labs. It wasn’t standard operating procedure, but there were times and cases that necessitated a quick turnaround. Private Match had done work for them in the past. Taylor trusted them, and trusted Sam’s abilities to finagle the work quickly. Plus, Simon Loughley had been a friend for many years. He could be counted on to do the work fast, and get it right.