Joel sighed. “Sam, you’re making me crazy. Sit the fuck down.”
Sam glared at him. “I’m freaking out. I’m allowed to pace.”
After the adrenaline from his visit to the Beckhams’ home had passed, he’d panicked. What had he been thinking? McKittrick was going to level him and he’d deserve it.
Visiting the victim of a crime that way.
But you got the goods. She wasn’t able to. You did good, Sammy.
His feet stumbled to a stop. “She can’t do anything to me.”
“I wouldn’t bet on that. She’s pretty vicious if you fuck up her crime scene. I did once by accident and, let me tell you, I will never be so careless again.”
Sam blinked at him. “What did you do?”
“Walked into a crime scene without putting those footie things over my shoes. Cross-contaminated the scene. I had to surrender my shoes to CSU and everything. Took me a month to get them back and they were my Ferragamos.”
“You poor baby,” Sam said dryly because Joel sounded so outraged. “If you’d bought normal shoes like normal people, you wouldn’t have been so upset at losing them.” Why anyone would pay that much for a pair of shoes was beyond Sam. He’d thought his Top-Siders were expensive. Buying them had been his quarterly splurge and they’d been on sale. Joel’s shoes cost ten times as much. Insanity.
“I am normal people. I just like nice shoes. Anyway, Ryland from CSU told me later that they’d been done with the shoes after two days, but McKittrick had kept them for the rest of the month as petty revenge.” He gave Sam a pitying look. “And I never even said a word to any witnesses.”
Sam scowled at him. “I was starting to feel better.”
Joel just grinned. “You’re welcome. Oops, there you go.”
Sam’s new phone was ringing. McKittrick. He answered, putting it on speaker.
“Detective,” he said, drawing on his therapist voice.
“What did you do?” she demanded.
He sat down heavily on Joel’s sofa. Joel’s expression was now one of grim encouragement. “I had some time today, so I decided to do a little investigating of my own.”
A beat of silence. “What did you do?” she repeated, more ominously.
“Look, I know you’re going to do your best to solve this thing, but if you don’t, it’s just a disappointment to you. It’s my life on the line here, Detective.”
She huffed out an impatient breath. “What. Did. You. Do?”
“I googled missing teenagers and Avondale. Naomi Beckham’s name came up.”
“Okay,” she said warily. “And?”
“I went to her house. Talked to her family.”
Another moment of silence, much longer than before. “You did what?” she hissed.
“I spoke to Naomi Beckham’s mother and brother. I arrived shortly after you left.”
“There was no brother there.” Her voice was cold, but he thought he heard a minute thread of curiosity.
“He got home from school after you left. His mother was on her way to getting drunk.”
“I don’t think she ever stops being drunk,” McKittrick said, her tone grim. “The house was littered with empty bottles. So . . . tell me about these important details you learned.”
“Mrs. Beckham said that Naomi and her friends had shared open auditions in the past, but the rumor was that she’d kept one secret. That was where her classmates thought she’d gone.”
“Huh. That is useful.”
“That wasn’t the bombshell, though. When I asked if she was seeing anyone, the mom said no. But the brother—Nathan—looked panicked and guilty.”
“The missing-person report said he saw a car, but the investigation determined that he was either lying or mistaken.”
“He was lying, but only about where he was when he saw the car. He was coming home from a friend’s house. It was late, about two thirty. He’d been drinking and smoking weed, so he was afraid to admit to where he’d been. He saw Naomi getting into a black Mercedes with tinted windows. She got in voluntarily. He got a glimpse of the driver, Detective.”
She sucked in a breath. “And?”
“He said the man was older than his parents. He had graying hair and wore glasses. He didn’t see his face. Just those details.”
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “That wasn’t Colton Driscoll.”
“No,” Sam said simply. “Nathan figured his sister would come home eventually and his parents were constantly fighting, so he didn’t say anything except that he’d seen the car. He’s a sensitive kid. He was afraid to come forward with the whole truth because he’d been breaking house rules. But Naomi didn’t come home and his parents’ fighting got even worse. Dad eventually left. It looks like poor Nathan has been taking care of his mom ever since.”
“I see,” she said quietly. “Will he tell me this himself?”
“I think he might tell you more easily if you get him away from his mother. He’s fragile and I think he feels like his mother is the only parent he has left. He’s torn up by guilt, but he’s really afraid.”
She blew out a breath. “Wow. Okay. Well, first of all, you could have really messed everything up, Dr. Reeves. You might be thinking that it turned out okay, but you could have ruined a witness’s testimony simply by being there. You’re a suspect.”
Sam bristled. “You don’t believe that, though.”
“No, I don’t. But my job is not to make you feel better by believing you. Nor is it my job to make your life easier. I get that you’re worried about your job—”
“And my freedom,” he interrupted with a snarl, anger hitting him hard.
“And your freedom,” she said, speaking down to him like he was a recalcitrant child, which only made him angrier. “But you cannot investigate this on your own. You can’t.”
Sam found that his chin had risen, his jaw clenching. “Is it illegal?”
“Maybe,” she snapped, sounding exasperated. “It could be construed as witness tampering. Which is a federal crime, Dr. Reeves.”
Gone was his worry that she’d be mad at him. He didn’t give a flying fuck. “Or people might talk to me.”
He heard her inhale, probably through her nose. She was pissed.
He didn’t care. It wasn’t his job to make her feel better, either. “Did you know that I’m on a leave of absence now, Detective?” he demanded bitterly. “My boss believes in me, but my very presence at my job could risk my clients’ mental health and their potential recovery. Did you know that?”
“No,” she admitted. “That’s why you have time?”
“It is,” he bit out. “The Beckham boy said you’d already been by. I figured I wasn’t hurting anything by asking a few questions. I got answers. You’re welcome, by the way.” He glanced over his shoulder to find Joel staring at him like he was a stranger.
He felt like a stranger. A more powerful stranger. “If it pisses you off that I’m asking questions, I’m not sorry. Skyler Carville was my friend!” He was shouting now and couldn’t seem to stop. “Her parents think that I killed her! And you just expect me to sit and wait while you figure all this out?”
Joel had slid closer and now gripped Sam’s shoulder. “Hey,” he murmured. “Settle down. You’re not going to win her over by yelling.”
“Who’s there?” McKittrick asked sharply.
“Joel Haley. I’m staying at his house because I can’t go back to my apartment.”
“The cleaners are still working?” she asked, sounding sincerely confused.
“For fuck’s sake,” Sam snarled. “Are you stupid or just unfeeling? Her parents are my neighbors. They think I killed her. And you think I can live there knowing that? What am I going to say when I see them in the hallway? ‘Sorry for your loss, but I didn’t do it’?”
“Yes,” she said so calmly he wanted to hit something.
Which wasn’t like him. He didn’t hit things. Not even the punching bag at the gym.
“Well, you might be able to separate your feelings, but I can’t.”
“You’re a mental health professional,” she said, speaking factually as if discussing the weather. “You should be able to as well.”
His rage left him in a rush. She was right. He should be able to. His eyes burned and he took a deep breath that hurt.
“Did you know that I met Skyler when she was only seventeen?” he asked, his voice breaking. “Did you know that I helped her draw up her business plan for her dog-walking business? Siggy was her first client. I sat with her parents at their kitchen table and together we helped her with her college applications. I was one of her references. She introduced me to her prom date before they left for the dance. I took a picture and told him that he better take good care of her. I still have the picture on my phone. When she decided to major in psychology, I was so proud. Like I’d touched a life. She was like a younger sister. And now she’s dead, Detective. Some bastard with gray hair, glasses, and a black Mercedes lured her somewhere because she thought she was meeting me for drinks. He killed her because of me. To make me look guilty.” He shuddered and wiped his face because tears had begun to fall and he didn’t even care. “So forgive me for being human, Detective. Forgive me for not being able to separate my personal and professional personas. But I can’t. If you need to arrest me for anything else, make sure you contact my attorney because I’m not saying another word to you.”
“Dr. Reeves, wait. Please don’t hang up.”
She’d said please, so he drew another breath. “What?”
“First, I’m sorry this has turned your life upside down,” she said, her tone no longer like arctic ice. This was the woman who’d patted Siggy’s crate and told his dog it would be all right the night she’d arrested him. “It’s the ripples.”
“Ripples,” he repeated flatly.
“Yes, ripples. Murder doesn’t just affect the victim. It touches family, friends, colleagues. The person who discovers the body, even if they’re a stranger. No one in the victim’s circle will ever be the same. You tried to do the right thing, but you got sucked into a case that never should have touched you or Miss Carville or her family. But this is where we are.” She hesitated. “I’m asking you to trust me to do my job. To stay away from this investigation.”
He wanted to say Okay, I’ll back away. He wanted to pretend none of this was happening. That her ripples hadn’t touched his life. But they had. “They aren’t ripples,” he said instead.
“Excuse me?”
“This isn’t a ripple. It’s a goddamned rogue wave and it’s dragging me under with it.”
“Was that a no?” she asked stiffly.
“It sure as hell’s not a yes. Have a good evening, Detective. And when you talk to Nathan Beckham, be gentle. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said he was fragile. I think he’s at serious risk of self-harm. I wouldn’t want you to find another body hanging from a rope, because Nathan’s would actually be suicide.”
He ended the call and sat staring at his phone.
Joel still sat beside him, his hand still on his shoulder. The silence between them seemed to go on forever. Then Joel sighed.
“I’m so sorry, Sam,” he murmured.
Sam looked over at him. “For what?”
“For not realizing how much Skyler’s death hurt you. I was thinking of this as a danger to your reputation and your career. I wasn’t thinking that you were grieving, too. I’m sorry for that.”
Sam shrugged. “It’s okay. I think the detective is going to make my life a living hell, though, because I’m not going to back away and trust her. I can’t.” He expected Joel to try to talk him out of it, but he didn’t.
“First, I do understand. I’m not going to tell you to stop, but you have to be careful.”
“I will. What’s second?”
“McKittrick isn’t stupid or unfeeling. I got a new case today, an arrest of a city councilman who’s accused of murdering his former housekeeper.”
“Okay,” Sam said cautiously. “What does that have to do with me?”
“Nothing, but it does have something to do with McKittrick. The murder happened a few years ago, but the guy wasn’t even questioned because he’s rich and has connections. But Kit met the victim’s daughter. She’s being fostered by the McKittricks. When Kit found out that the killer was never caught, she looked into it. Found an issue with the evidence and got her boss to reopen the case. Today they made an arrest. She didn’t get involved after handing it off to Lieutenant Navarro even though she had to have wanted to.”
“She trusts the system,” Sam said heavily, because that meant she’d expect him to trust it—and her—too.
“She trusts the system to a point. I think it’s more accurate to say that she trusts Navarro. I think if Navarro hadn’t reopened the case and taken it seriously, she would have stepped back in. She’s by the book, nearly all the time.”
“And?”
“Her investigations are nice and neat. She’s a workhorse. She never stops, and when she closes a case, she gets a conviction. A Kit McKittrick case will be as airtight as an Egyptian tomb.”
Sam shook his head, becoming frustrated. “And?”
“And you’re toppling her carefully constructed world. I don’t think she blames you, but I’d be shocked if she didn’t try to stop you.”
“What can she do?”
“Put you in protective custody, for one.”
Sam’s eyes widened. “She’d do that?”
“I honestly don’t know. But I wouldn’t be your best friend if I left you unprepared.” He squared his shoulders. “I also wouldn’t be your best friend if I let you go this alone. You need a chaperone, someone to vouch for you if the bastard in a black Mercedes does anything else. That’s going to be me. I’ll need some time to get my cases handed off and request a few days’ vacation. I have plenty since I never use it.”
Overwhelmed, Sam’s mouth opened and closed before words would come. “But your career. I won’t jeopardize that.”
“I’ll tell my boss what I’m doing. I’ll have to recuse myself from this case and anything that comes from it, but it’ll be okay. I hope,” he added in a mutter.
“I hear a ‘but’ coming.”
“But you need to promise me that you won’t make any other visits alone. You made yourself incredibly vulnerable today, Sam. The least awful thing that could have happened is that Nathan kid would realize you were the CI mentioned at the press conference. Did you think about that?”
“Yes. Several times. But this is not just about me anymore. Ripples, right?”
Joel nodded soberly. “Yeah. Ripples. What was your next step going to be?”
“I want to talk to Colton’s ex-wives. I don’t plan to reveal that I was his therapist, but knowing who his friends were is important, and his ex-wives might know this.”
“McKittrick’s almost certainly interviewed them already.”
“She talked to Mrs. Beckham, too, but didn’t ask the right questions. Colton never mentioned any in session, but one of his exes might have noticed a man with graying hair and glasses who drove a Mercedes.”
Joel pinched the bridge of his nose. “All right. And then what?”
“The neighbor who Colton assaulted had called him out on his lie. Colton claimed to be a Navy SEAL. The case file I received from the court said that David Epstein confronted him after checking to make sure that Colton hadn’t served anywhere. He might have learned something else of value when he was checking into Colton’s background.”
“Okay. Tomorrow morning I’m going into the office to talk to my boss. I’ll be home as soon as I can. You will stay here, okay?”
“Okay.” Because Joel was right. He had made himself vulnerable today. But he wasn’t sorry about any of it.
“Then tomorrow we pull on our PI hats and go fishing for information.”
“You can change your mind,” Sam offered quietly. “I won’t blame you. There’s no reason for both of us to put our careers in danger.”
Joel frowned and Sam could see that this worried him. “We’ll see what my boss has to say.”
“What if I got another chaperone?”
Joel’s brows rose. “Who?”
Sam shrugged. “Laura.”
Joel made a face. “Shit, Sam.”
“Her involvement as my defense attorney wouldn’t be unheard of.”
Joel looked disgusted. “Why would she do that for you?”
“Because she owes me. She owes both of us. Let her try to make amends.”
Joel sighed. “Ask her. I’ll also ask my boss. We’ll see what happens. Try to get some sleep tonight, okay?”
Sam hadn’t gotten any sleep the night before. He didn’t expect that to change anytime soon.
Shelter Island Marina, San Diego, California
Tuesday, April 19, 12:05 a.m.
The light was on in Kit’s cabin window when she got to her boat. Akiko was here and Kit was more grateful than she could say, especially since she’d left Snick with Rita.
Akiko was curled up on the small sofa, a glass of wine near her elbow and her tablet in her lap. The laugh track from whatever TV show she was watching grated on Kit’s ears as she locked her gun in her safe and dropped her keys and wallet on the kitchen counter. The small wooden figurine of the cat and bird followed. Then Kit leaned against the counter, bracing herself on her palms and letting her head drop low.
“Oh boy,” Akiko said after turning off the television. “That bad?”
Are you stupid or just unfeeling? The words had cut far deeper than she’d let on.
Kit didn’t turn around. I am not stupid. Of that she was certain. “Am I unfeeling?”
Akiko gasped and was at Kit’s side in a heartbeat. “No. Never. Who told you that? I’ll smack them into next week.”
And Akiko could do it, too. She was a tiny thing, but scrappy. She’d had to be to survive until she’d finally made it to the McKittricks’. Back then, her self-defense moves had been self-taught, more desperately instinctive. Like a wildcat. Now her skills were properly developed at a dojo and she was elegant. And fierce. Back when she was still a teenager, she’d fought off predatory foster fathers and sometimes their sons. Now, she used her skills to subdue frat boys who got wasted and made drunken advances when they were supposed to be fishing on her boat.
The thought of Akiko smacking Kit’s detractors usually made her smile. But not tonight. Not when it was Sam Reeves.
Kit sagged when Akiko’s hand tentatively touched her back. “Okay?” Akiko murmured as she began to rub soothing circles between Kit’s shoulder blades.
“Yes,” Kit rasped.
“Who said you were unfeeling?” Akiko asked quietly.
“Sam. I mean Dr. Reeves.” She’d started thinking of him as Sam in her mind, and that was not okay.
“Who is he?”
Kind. Sincere. Forgiving. In pain. “My CI.”
“Okay. Sounds like he’s a little more than that, though. Normally you let remarks like that roll off like water off a duck’s back.”
“No, I don’t,” Kit confessed. “I just have a good poker face.”
“We all know that. We just let you believe that we buy your I’m-a-rock persona.”
Persona. The same word Sam had used tonight. He couldn’t separate his personal and professional personas. Kit had never had trouble at least pretending to keep them separate.
Tonight, not so much.
“He’s a psychologist. Got sucked into this case.”
“The serial killer case? How did he get sucked in?”
“Being a Good Samaritan. Now the killer is framing him.”
“That sucks,” Akiko said, her tone so matter-of-fact that Kit laughed, surprising herself. But it was a watery laugh, tears too close to the surface.
“He’s decided to investigate for himself.”
“Oh,” Akiko said flatly. “I guess I don’t blame him. Do you?”
“No. But he could fuck things up.”
“What did he do?”
“Talked to a victim’s family.”
“Did he fuck it up?”
“No. He got information that I couldn’t. Or didn’t. And now we know details about the killer that we didn’t know before.”
“I thought you caught the killer.” Then she made a humming noise. “You didn’t catch them all yet.”
“No, but you don’t know that.”
“Know what?” Akiko asked innocently. “I am but a humble fisherwoman.”
Kit chuckled again. “Right. And I have oceanfront property in Nevada.”
“So are you mad that he talked to the family or that he got the information that you either couldn’t or didn’t?”
Kit met Akiko’s eyes. “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “That bothers me.”
“Of course it does. You like your life orderly and this isn’t. What are you going to do about him?”
“I don’t know,” she said again. “I should stop him, but . . . what if he can get information that I can’t? What if the information leads us to this killer and we can take him off the street forever? So he doesn’t kill anyone else?”
Like Skyler Carville. Sam’s friend.
“That sounds like a positive. Isn’t it?”
“But . . . he could get hurt. He’s a psychologist, not a cop. He has a cute dog and wears these dorky glasses and he’s so . . . sincere. He’s not a fighter. He panicked because I grabbed his arms.” And she didn’t know why.
His attorney did, however. Laura Letterman had said “oh” when Sam explained why he’d resisted arrest. Like that made all the sense in the world.
Kit had been wondering what had happened to trigger the man like that.
“Could you work together?”
Kit shook her head. “He’s technically a suspect. That’s why he’s investigating. To clear his name.”
“That sucks,” Akiko said again.
Kit sighed. “It does. If I did just let him do his thing . . . would I be using him?”
“Maybe. Would he mind?”
“No, I don’t think he’d mind.”
“Then let him.”
“He’s a suspect.”
“Did he harass anyone? Trespass anywhere?”
“No.”
“Then he has a right to talk to anyone he pleases. And if he passes on what he’s learned, then all the better for you.”
“Unless he gets hurt.”
“His life is on the line, Kit. Desperate people often don’t care if they get hurt.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of. He’s desperate and I’m taking advantage by turning him loose.”
“Does he want this killer off the streets, too?”
“Yes.”
“Does he seem to know his own mind?”
“Yes.”
“Then let him try. As long as he’s not breaking the law, you can’t really stop him. Can you?”
“No. But I still feel like I should try.”
Akiko was quiet as the seconds ticked by. “You care what he thinks about you.”
“I think I do.” And she hated that. But it wasn’t Sam’s fault.
“Look, Mom said you napped at her place, but to make you go back to sleep when you got home. So into bed with you. You get out of these clothes and into your pj’s. There’s rocky road in the freezer, too. I thought we’d celebrate Rita’s mom’s killer’s arrest, but it’ll do for hurt feelings, too.”
“My feelings aren’t—” Kit stopped herself because Akiko was shaking her head.
“You’re human, Kit. Your feelings can be hurt. You don’t have to be all grrr all the time.”
So forgive me for being human, Detective.
She had, of course. Forgiven him. Maybe forgive yourself, too?
Obediently Kit changed her clothes and got the rocky road from the freezer, smiling when she saw it was lactose free so Akiko could have some, too. Grabbing two spoons, she crawled into bed where Akiko was already snuggled under the blankets.
“Stay?” Kit asked, holding out a spoon.
“Like you could get rid of me,” Akiko scoffed.
“Rita’s in our old room,” Kit said around a mouthful of ice cream.
“In Wren’s old bed,” Akiko said with a sad smile.
“Your old bed,” Kit corrected, but Akiko was right. It would always be Wren’s old bed. “Mom gave Rita Wren’s copy of Coraline.”
“I loved that story.” Akiko grinned. “Especially because it freaked you out so bad. You could talk about killers and bodies and crime scenes like it was nothing, but the Other Mother with buttons for eyes gave you nightmares.”
Kit shuddered. “Still does.”
“I know, honey.” Akiko got another spoonful of ice cream and held it up to Kit’s spoon. “To a night without bad dreams.”
Kit touched her spoon to Akiko’s. “To sisters who do double time as best friends.”
Akiko smiled. “You are not unfeeling, Kit McKittrick. You feel too much.”
Kit sighed. “Don’t tell anyone, okay? I got a rep.”
“My lips are sealed.”
SDPD, San Diego, California
Tuesday, April 19, 8:30 a.m.
Kit held the box of Betsy’s cupcakes out to Howard Cook. “Congratulations on the Mendoza case. And thank you.”
Howard smiled. “Just ran with the ball. You threw the pass.”
“Did you make these?” Connor asked suspiciously.
“No, my mom did,” Kit said, not taking offense. “You’re safe.”
“Excellent.” Connor took one, then sat at Kit’s desk and began peeling the cupcake wrapper, getting crumbs everywhere. “Bring us up to speed.”
“I got us a meeting room.” Kit scowled at the mess on her desk. “Clean that up first, though. God.”
She turned on her heel, Howard following behind her, the cupcake box in his hands.
Grumbling, Connor brushed the crumbs into her wastebasket, then shoved the cupcake into his mouth. A whole cupcake. He was a big guy, but that was still piggish.
“Sorry,” Howard murmured. “I’ve been trying to housebreak him, but it’s not working.”
Kit had to bite back a laugh while Connor made a grumbling noise in his throat. Howard was in his midfifties and Connor was maybe a year older than Kit. Howard had been Connor’s trainer and he’d succeeded at that. They were both good detectives, so Kit would cut Howard a little slack on the failed housebreaking.
They took their seats around the table and Kit briefed them on the case thus far.
“A man with gray hair and glasses who drove a Mercedes?” Connor asked doubtfully. “That’s not a lot to go on.”
“More than we had yesterday,” Kit said, “but yeah. Not a lot.”
“I think the audition is going to be more helpful,” Howard said. “So, according to Dr. Reeves, Naomi got offered an audition and told no one. We believe that Naomi ended up dead. Are we believing Reeves’s account of his conversation with the Beckhams?”
Kit nodded. “For now, yes.”
“Okay,” Howard said. “So, again, Naomi ended up dead. I wonder if the other victims had the same experience, being offered an audition.”
“I’m assuming so at this point.” Kit nibbled on a cupcake. “Which makes me wonder about the ones who did tell.”
Connor made an impatient gesture. “And?”
“There had to be some who told their friends,” she said. “He wanted them to keep it secret, but not every girl would have done that. I woke up wondering what happened when they told their friends.”
“You woke up wondering that?” Connor asked, his tone the tiniest bit mocking. “I’d be pissed if my girlfriend woke up next to me thinking about work.” His lips quirked. “Not that she ever would be. Thinking about work, that is.”
Kit stared at him. Connor Robinson was a handsome guy and always had a girlfriend. Kit had met a few of them, and they’d seemed nice. Which was why they usually left him.
“Do you mind?” she asked.
At the same time Howard hissed, “Can it, Connor.”
“Sorry, sorry.” Connor lifted his hands in a conciliatory way, but Kit didn’t buy it. He’d wanted to get a reaction from them, and he’d succeeded.
She pulled her mind back to the priority. Dead girls. “I wondered if the girls that told their friends still got an audition—along with all their friends—and none of them were killed? Or did he disappear? Make excuses? Did he actually choose someone for the part? Was there a production at all or was it all a ruse?”
“We could ask the drama teachers,” Howard said. “And, not to digress, but these are amazing cupcakes. Would your mom give me the recipe?”
“Probably. She taught me to make them. Or tried to. My sister Akiko took to the cooking. I just eat to survive.”
“That’s sad, Kit,” Howard said. He leaned back in his chair. “So . . . drama teachers. How do we want to divvy this up? We could make a list of the area high schools, split it three ways, and man the phones.”
“Then pay visits to the drama teachers who remember something,” Connor added.
“Sounds good. I have a list of other follow-up items.” She handed each of them the to-do lists she’d printed first thing that morning. “We need to ID any other potential victims from the missing and runaway lists, paying special attention to any girl that fits the profile.”
“Fifteen to seventeen, blond, petite, interested in drama,” Howard murmured.
“Was it always auditions, though?” Connor asked. “These recent victims have drama in common. Did he lure some of the others with something else?”
“That’s a good question,” Kit admitted, hoping she didn’t sound too begrudging. From Connor’s smirk, she figured she’d been unsuccessful at hiding it. “I’ve already gone through the reports up to ten years ago and have been putting anyone who fits the physical profile but without the drama connection into a separate pile.”
“I’ll take the older reports,” Howard said. “How far back? Twenty years?”
Kit nodded. “For now. We don’t know that the first victim we found was his first.”
“That’s upbeat,” Connor muttered. “I’ll take the reports you’ve set aside. Fresh eyes and all.”
Kit handed him the stack. “Thanks. Next on my list is checking with the high schools attended by our most recent victims to see if there was anyone who fits the killer’s profile hanging around. Fortyish, physically fit, gray hair and glasses, in an occupation that inspires trust—doctors, nurses, teachers, clergy. We should focus on Jaelyn Watts, Cecilia Sheppard, and Naomi Beckham. Let’s each take a school.”
They decided who would go where and Kit went on.
“We need to find Skyler Carville’s car. It may be impounded if she parked on the street Friday night into Saturday morning.”
“I’ll take that one,” Howard offered.
“Thanks. I requested Skyler’s cell phone records and should have them today. Someone lured her somewhere after her shift Friday night. It was probably a burner or a spoofed number, but we might get lucky.”
“Doubt it,” Connor said.
Kit shrugged. “Me too, but we need to at least check it out. Next, we need to canvass the bars around the interstate entrance in Little Italy with Skyler’s photo. That’s where she was headed when the street cams lost her car. She had Rohypnol in her system. If she was lured to a bar thinking she was getting a drink with Dr. Reeves, she got roofied by someone. Now that we know that Naomi got into a car with a man with graying hair and glasses, we can ask about him, too.”
“There are only dozens of bars in Little Italy,” Connor grumbled. “A few are open for lunch, but most of them don’t open until later this afternoon, like three or four.”
“I’ll make a list,” Howard said. “We can split them up and cover them quicker that way.”
“Good idea.” Kit started to feel some of her tension melt away. The tasks were manageable when divvied up.
Connor frowned. “Okay, I’m going to stab the elephant in the room.”
Howard sputtered. “You don’t stab the elephant, Connor. You just . . . mention him.”
Connor smirked again. “So, the elephant—Dr. Reeves. How do we know he’s legit?”
The tension crept back to her shoulders, even though she’d known the question was coming.
“We don’t,” she admitted, irritated at how hard it was to say those words. “But his boss vouches for him, and Dr. Levinson vouched for both of them. Looks like Reeves is one of the true helpers.”
Connor snorted. “I’m surprised, McKittrick. You’re usually the one who paints everyone in the worst light. What’s the deal with this guy? Are you seeing him?”
Kit bit her tongue until she could control her tone. “No, Robinson, I am not. He could be lying, but I don’t think he is. He’s given us his phone so that we can check where he was at the time of Skyler Carville’s murder.”
“Which was when?” Howard asked.
“Saturday morning between three a.m. and seven.”
“Same time frame as Colton Driscoll,” Connor observed.
“I saw that,” Kit said levelly. “Might be serendipity or it might be an important connection. If he met Skyler in a bar a little after midnight, it would have taken time to get her roofied and away from the place. Three a.m. might have been the earliest he could take her to wherever he killed her.”
“And buried her in the park,” Connor murmured. “What’s with the parks?”
“I don’t know,” Kit said with a frown because she’d forgotten something. Parks, parks, parks. “Oh! Parks. After we first ID’d Dr. Reeves as the anonymous caller, I wanted to check the park maintenance schedules. I wondered how the killer managed to bury someone in a public park without getting caught. I thought maybe he picked places where the ground was already dug up—you know, for planting or maintenance, especially with the disappearances occurring in the early fall and late winter. That’s planting season.”
“That is very possible,” Connor said, sounding a bit impressed. “Who wants the parks?”
“I’ll take it,” Kit said.
Connor nodded. “But back to your shrink. We only have his word that the Beckham kid saw a graying man with glasses in a black Mercedes.”
“I’m going to Nathan Beckham’s school this morning,” Kit said. “I’ll ask his guidance counselor to sit in.” Because the thought of Nathan harming himself had kept her awake last night. If his counselor saw what Dr. Reeves had seen, maybe Nathan could get some help. “He’s a minor and should have a parent present, but Reeves didn’t think he’d talk if his mother was around. I want to give him a chance to open up first before we bring in the mother.”
“Poor kid,” Howard murmured. “Taking care of his mom like that. What about the Epstein girl? If you’re so sure that she knows something, how do we shake it loose?”
“I don’t know. I was thinking of taking Dr. Levinson with me next time I visit her. Tonight if he’s available.”
“Or you could ask the ‘true helper’ to talk to her,” Connor said sarcastically. “Your shrink has a magic voice or something.”
Kit ignored his snark. “We won’t be doing that.” If Sam Reeves wanted to contact her witnesses, she couldn’t stop him. But she wasn’t going to solicit his assistance. She checked her list again, squinting at the note she’d scrawled on the paper’s margin, trying to read her own handwriting. “Okay, next. The kid with the metal detector. The one who found Skyler’s body.”
“Convenient,” Connor said, back to being serious. “Did you believe him?”
Kit grimaced. “I don’t know. I thought it was awfully convenient, too, but then Baz . . . Well, I got distracted at the end. I meant to follow up and ask him more questions, but I went to the ER once I’d notified the victim’s parents.”
“I’ll go,” Connor said, the gentleness of his tone surprising her.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “His name is Daryl Chesney.” She forwarded the boy’s address to Connor, then closed her folder. “Anything else?”
“No,” Howard said. “This is a good start, Kit. Should we meet back here this afternoon?”
“Four o’clock,” Kit agreed. “Thanks.”
She walked out with Howard, leaving Connor to trail behind them.
“Sorry about Connor,” Howard murmured.
“Not your fault,” she murmured back. And it wasn’t.
Connor wasn’t as bad as many of the men she’d worked with over the years. She’d show him that he couldn’t bait her, just like she’d shown the others.
But the man still irritated her.
Calling Sam Reeves her shrink. He was no such thing. And he never would be.
She’d ignore Connor’s verbal jabs. He was only temporary. Just until Baz got back. And if Connor could help her find this killer faster, she’d put up with him.
She didn’t have the time to worry about Connor Robinson, though. She’d made that damned appointment with Dr. Scott for eight o’clock that evening, so she only had eleven and a half hours to get three days’ worth of work done.
