The Cold Room by J.T. Ellison Page B

whopping three hours of sleep under her belt, Taylor rose at seven so she could get a run in before she had to go to work. Baldwin had bought a treadmill for their bonus room so he could run off his excess stress, and she’d found it helped her, too. She was dreading today. She could only pray that the troll she’d met last night wasn’t really going to be her new lieutenant.
    After a quick three miles, she showered, put her wet hair in a ponytail, dressed in a new pair of dark denim jeans and a black cashmere T-shirt, then jammed her feet into her favorite pair of Tony Lama cowboy boots. Elm would probably be one of those sticklers for the dress code, but damn if she was going to wear slacks and pumps to work. She figured as long as her badge and weapon were visible, it was quite apparent that she was dressed for the job.
    Downstairs, she grabbed a Diet Coke and shrugged into a black leather car coat. Summer was nearly here, but it was still getting chilly in the mornings. Weird weather. She backed out of the driveway, debating. Should she go to the office to face the music with Elm, or should she goto Gass Street, to Sam, and witness the autopsy of their victim from last night?
    Her cell phone rang. Speak of the devil. Punching the talk button, she smiled as she greeted her best friend.
    â€œHowza,” Sam said, and Taylor burst out laughing. It was code from their high school days at Father Ryan. Howza was one of their ways of letting the other know they’d gotten in trouble with the nuns. Neither one could remember where and how it started, but it stuck.
    â€œWho are you in trouble with?” Taylor asked.
    â€œMe, in trouble? I hear it’s you who’s in hot water.”
    Taylor groaned. “What did you hear?”
    â€œThat you told off the new guy.”
    â€œAnd where, pray tell, did you hear that?”
    â€œYour new dick is in my lobby.”
    â€œJust Renn?”
    This time Sam laughed. “Just so. He’s here to witness the post. He was worried that you were getting reamed by the new guy, and that’s why you’re late.”
    â€œI’m not late.”
    â€œNo, you’re not. He’s early. He was waiting for me when I got here, and I was early. You need to give him some saltpeter or something, get him calmed down.”
    â€œDoesn’t that affect his Johnson?”
    â€œProbably wouldn’t hurt that either. I think he’s got the hots for you.”
    Taylor rolled her eyes. “Great. Thanks for the warning. I’ll head into the office before I come to you.”
    â€œBy the way, you may want to avoid the paper. It seems your new boss gave the reporter a lot of detail from the scene. You may want to talk to him.”
    â€œI tried that last night. He wasn’t listening.”
    â€œTry harder. See you in a bit.”
    Sam hung up before Taylor could reply. Damn. It was face-the-music time.
    Traffic was unbearably light. Just her luck. She was downtown, pulling into the parking lot of the Criminal Justice Center before the clock turned 8:30 a.m.
    The CJC was one of those never-changing entities in her life. In one way, shape or form, she’d been here at least five times a week for the past four years. And for the previous nine, she’d been filtering in and out, bringing suspects in for booking or questioning, meeting with superiors, taking exams…. Thirteen years of her life, this had been her home base. Stocky gray cement with a red-and-brown brick facade, the close smell of the Cumberland River, the back stairs with an industrial ashtray littered with cigarette butts, all served to make her feel a familiar sense of calm.
    It was the inside of the building that had undergone the dramatic transformation.
    The new chief had systematically decimated everything the Metro Nashville Police Department stood for, accomplished, and created during the thirteen years she’d been a cop.
    The changes had begun