Page 9 of The Wolves Come at Night
“Linc, for the presser, what do you want to say? Do I need to write you up some talking points?”
Lincoln shook his head. “Marcus, tell us what you know, and we’ll go from there.”
Marcus opened the folder he’d been carrying. “Well, my gut is, we should wait. We have a solid description of the suspect. Our witness said she thought it was a personal thing between them, so before we blast this all over the airwaves, I’d like to see if someone in her immediate family or her label knows who this is. If we could get a couple of hours…”
“I’ll take care of that,” Taylor said. “There’s no reason to have a presser if we need to be chasing down a lead.” She already had her phone in her hand, sending a text to Franklin. “There. He’ll get it rescheduled.”
Lincoln grinned at her. “Huston won’t like it.”
“Let me handle Huston. What else? Tell me about this witness.”
Marcus consulted his notes. “Witnesses, plural. Carson Conway, and her roommate, Isabel Heathcote. Vandy freshmen. Carson is the one who physically saw the shooter. She’s scared, as you can imagine. The campus police are keeping an eye on her dorm, just in case the shooter identifies her and decides to look her up. The sooner we can get with Georgia Wray’s people and find a suspect, the easier the kid will rest.”
“I’ll want to talk to her. Do you have any contact info for Wray’s people?”
“Two steps ahead of you. I’ve already talked to her manager, he flew in from LA. Caught the red-eye last night. That’s who tuned up the chief, I think. Her folks are on vacation, in New Zealand, of all places. Arrangements are being made to get them back here, but it’s going to be another day at least before we can sit down with them. But her manager is expecting me—us? If you want to join me—as soon as we can get to Music Row.”
Taylor nodded. “Yeah, I’ll tag along. Your show, though. I’m just observing.”
“No need, Cap. You step in whenever you want. I’m not picky about who gets the solve.”
“God, stop calling me that. I hate it.”
Both men laughed, knowing full well her opinions of her new job. They liked to poke at her, though. It was part of how they’d all operated for years.
“Taylor,” Marcus said. “Better?”
“Yes. What do we know about Georgia Wray outside of the public persona?”
“Not a lot yet, actually. We’ve pored over her socials and searched her house—her purse and cell were on the counter, her car in the drive. She was wearing workout clothes and an Apple watch, had a house key tied on her shoelace, so I’m assuming she went for a walk or a run and was taken. I’m still waiting on data from the cameras around her neighborhood to see if there’s any credence to that theory.”
“How far is her place from Radnor? Could she get there easily on foot?”
“No, not easily. She’s in East Nashville. Nice place. She could have met up with a friend who drove her to the lake, for sure, but I can’t imagine planning to be gone for a couple of hours and not having your cell with you.”
“No, me either. Not someone her age. She was pretty active online, too,” Lincoln added, handing Taylor his tablet with Georgia Wray’s feed pulled up. “Couple of posts a day, at least. Nothing since Tuesday morning.”
Georgia was pretty, delicate, with a pouty mouth and rosebud cheeks against a spill of wheat hair. If her dark eyebrows were any indication, the hair was chemically lightened, and the smile looked like she’d had a run at some decent orthodontia. She was lithe and strong, built like an athlete. There were photos from earlier in the year of her finishing a 5K with some friends in the East Nasty Running Club, so Marcus’s assessment made total sense. These personal shots were interspersed with show pictures and professional photo shoots, shots from her tour bus, reels of her singing. It was an altogether adorable feed, and Taylor felt bad for all involved. A budding, talented life cut short.
“Does she post herself, or does her team do it for her? You know how it is with celebrities—it’s not always them behind the curtain.”
“We can ask the label, they’ll know.” Marcus flipped a page in his notebook. “The witness heard Georgia arguing with the killer before the shot was fired. She thought it was a lovers’ spat, though the kid’s in shock, so no idea how accurate that observation is. She can’t remember it word for word, but she did say it was heated. That’s all we’ve got so far.”
“That’s a good start. All right, puppy, you’re with me. Lincoln, you keep running interference with Franklin while we go track down who might be responsible for the girl’s death.”
“You got it. Be in touch, though. If Huston comes down here and yells at me, I want to be able to give her updates.”
Taylor had a moment of sheer pride at his command. She’d trained him well. A lieutenant, a father, a leader. He fit his new roles perfectly.
She saluted. “Yes, Lieutenant. I will make sure your ass is not in a sling for the rest of the day. Permission to take your detective on a joyride?”
Lincoln’s eyes sparkled with merriment. “Take him off my hands. He’s worthless.”
Marcus flipped Lincoln the bird. “Hey! I resemble that remark.”
Giggling, Taylor bumped knuckles with Linc, then jingled her keys. “Come on, Marcus. Let’s get out of the big man’s hair.”
“That’s Lieutenant Big Man to you. Captain.”
