Thank you for seeing me,” Kit said to the principal of Naomi Beckham’s high school. Howard had taken Jaelyn Watts’s school and Connor was visiting Cecilia Sheppard’s.
Principal Larkin’s smile was crisp and professional. “Of course, Detective. Please have a seat.”
Kit took the offered seat and waited for the principal to go behind the desk, but she sat in the guest chair next to Kit’s.
“Now.” Larkin folded her hands atop the notebook she held. “What can I do for you?”
“Did you hear about the serial killer who was identified ten days ago?”
Larkin shuddered. “It’s all any of us were able to think about for days. He targeted teenage girls and that’s half my student population.”
The age of the girls had been included in Tamsin Kavanaugh’s article. At least that had been a good revelation. Parents and educators would be more vigilant.
Except that they still thought the danger was over because Colton Driscoll was dead. The interviews that she and Howard and Connor would be doing today might tip someone off that this was no longer the case. If that happened, they’d do another press conference.
Navarro already had his script planned. Until then, they’d investigate under cover of as much secrecy as they could.
“We’re not sure that we’ve identified all of his victims,” Kit began, “so we’ve gone back through missing-person reports for young women who fit the killer’s profile.” Or killers’. “We want to be able to give families the closure they deserve.”
Larkin’s face fell. “Naomi Beckham,” she whispered.
Kit nodded, startled but able to hide it. “Yes, but how did you know?”
“The teachers and I talked about it after watching the press conference and reading the paper. Naomi was a rather willful girl, and it was easy to believe at the time that she had run away. But when we heard about this Driscoll, we wondered if she’d been targeted by him.”
Kit managed to swallow her irritation. “Why didn’t you call us?”
“We don’t have any proof and it was only idle speculation. There really wasn’t a lot of information given at the press conference. What do you want to know about Naomi?”
“Well, I talked to her brother this morning.” It had been an emotional interview and Kit had seen exactly what Sam Reeves had. Nathan Beckham was so very fragile. She’d left him in the care of his school counselor, who’d vowed to get him the help he so desperately needed, and had made herself a note to let Reeves know. For his peace of mind.
She owed him that much.
Larkin’s brows rose. “Nathan? I wasn’t informed that you’d been here.”
“Because I didn’t meet him here at the school. I called the office first and they said that he wasn’t here today, that his mother had called him in sick.”
Larkin exhaled carefully, but her expression showed her concern. “His mother calls him in sick often. We’ve been watching Nathan for any sign that he’s being neglected, but he claims to be well fed and his clothes are always clean. We’ve called child welfare services a few times, but the social workers never found cause to remove him from the home. The office should have told me that you called.”
“I contacted the school counselor and she met me at the Beckhams’ house.” The interview process had taken three times longer than Kit had anticipated. That had delayed the other things on her to-do list, but the boy had needed care.
She’d just have to work later tonight.
Color rose on Larkin’s cheekbones. “I didn’t know that, either.”
“The counselor left you a message. I heard her do it.”
Larkin rose, shuffled through the stack of pink message slips on her desk, then sighed. “Yes, she did. I just hadn’t read it yet.” She returned to her seat. “What happened?”
“The counselor stayed with him when I was finished questioning him. She called social services and was going to try to convince the mother to get him admitted to a facility for treatment right away. The kid’s depression was off the charts.” And he’d been clutching Sam Reeves’s business card like it was a talisman that could ward off anything bad.
“Thank you for taking such care with him,” Larkin said, her voice thick with emotion. “That poor boy.”
The principal should be thanking Sam Reeves, Kit thought. If Sam hadn’t warned her, she might have inadvertently made things worse for Nathan.
“My parents are foster parents,” Kit said. “I’ve seen a lot of children in a lot of emotional pain. I know the drill.” She shifted in her chair, meeting the principal’s eyes. “His mother was sleeping off a drunk episode this morning, but Nathan filled us in on what might be important details. First of all, he told us that there had been rumors floating around at the time of Naomi’s disappearance that she’d failed to tell her friends about an upcoming audition. That this was why she’d run away. And that her friends had turned on her afterward.”
Nathan had, in fact, corroborated everything that Sam had told her last night.
Larkin sighed. “Teenagers do that. Hear a rumor, spread it. Amplify it. Then another student’s life is upended and they’re suddenly a pariah. Canceled, as they say. That happened to Naomi.”
“Do you know what the audition was for?”
“I don’t. I asked at the time because she’d gone missing and her parents were frantic. But the kids closed ranks. Nobody talked. Of course, they made it seem like they were confused and didn’t know.” She lifted a shoulder helplessly. “Teenagers.”
“I get it.” Kit had been a champion deflector back then, able to bat her eyes innocently with the best of them. Only Harlan and Betsy had seen through her charade. “We’re trying to establish this killer’s MO. How did he target his victims? How did he communicate with them? We have reason to believe that Naomi went willingly the night she disappeared.”
Larkin’s eyes widened. “You think it was someone from the school? From the drama department?”
Kit might have, had it not been for the fact that every known victim had come from a different school. It still wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. “I didn’t say that. What I am saying is that she might have been lured by the promise of this audition.”
“Because the other victims were also into theater?”
Kit nodded. The damn reporter had shared that little fact as well. “Yes, ma’am. Are any of the students who got Naomi canceled still attending the school?”
“Yes. Naomi disappeared in February of her freshman year. Her classmates are seniors now.” Larkin closed her eyes. “Naomi should be graduating next month.”
Kit thought the same about Wren every time she saw a high school graduation in the paper or on TV. “Can you call these seniors into your office? I’d like to ask them what they remember.”
“One at a time or all at once?”
“One at a time, please.”
“We’ll start with her best friend, Madison.” Returning to her desk, Larkin called the student to the front office.
Ten minutes later, a perky brunette wearing an outfit that cost more than Kit’s whole wardrobe knocked on the door. “Mrs. Larkin? I was told to—” She stopped when she saw Kit. “What’s wrong?” she asked suspiciously.
“This is Detective McKittrick. She’s got some questions for you about Naomi Beckham.”
“Like what?”
Larkin pointed to the chair next to Kit. “Have a seat, Madison. You’re in no trouble. The police have reopened the case of Naomi’s disappearance.”
Madison’s eyes were bright blue—probably colored contacts—and were extremely wary as she sat. “Okay.”
Kit had known girls like her when she was younger. Madison gave off a Mean Girls vibe. Definitely a queen bee.
Pasting on a tentative smile, Kit hunched her shoulders a little and the girl took the bait, both her smile and her gaze sharpening. Sensing weakness. Blood in the water.
All the better to lower Madison’s guard.
“Madison, you were Naomi’s best friend back then?”
Madison’s chin lifted. “Not really. She was kind of a wannabe, if I’m being honest. We let her hang out with us because we felt sorry for her.”
“But you left such a lovely message on her Facebook page when she disappeared,” Kit said, feigning confusion. “You said that you’d love her forever. You begged her to come home.”
Madison shrugged. “Her mother was hanging around the school all the time, crying, asking us if we’d seen her. It got old. If Naomi had just come home, her mother would have stopped. But now the woman’s a drunk. My mom knows her. Mrs. Beckham used to be on the flower show committee at the country club, but she’s been too drunk to do anything for years. My mother’s had to pick up the slack. She’s the chair now.”
If there had been any compassion in Madison’s voice, Kit might have rethought her original impression, but there was none. Just derision. Which she’d likely heard and learned from her mother, the flower show committee chair.
Rich people could be so very irritating.
“We heard that Naomi did you all dirty before she disappeared,” Kit said, still pretending to be tentative.
“Oh, she did,” Madison said with a haughty nod. “Selfish bitch.”
Kit glanced at Mrs. Larkin, who appeared to be doing her best not to speak. She didn’t look happy with Madison.
Kit leaned in a little, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “What did she do?”
“Kept an audition all to herself,” Madison spat. “That is simply not done. Not if you want to stay on the right side of us.”
“Us?” Kit asked.
Madison rolled her eyes. “Our group. The drama kids. When she ran away, we figured good riddance. We didn’t need a backstabber like her hanging around.”
Kit nodded. “I can see how that would make you angry with her. Do you remember what the audition was for? Was it a play or a movie maybe?”
Madison shook her head. “It was for a scholarship.”
Kit barely managed to keep her eyes from widening. Partly because it was unexpected, and partly because she didn’t think a girl with Madison’s apparent wealth would be that interested in—or eligible for—a scholarship. Maybe Madison’s family wasn’t as wealthy as they appeared. “A scholarship to what?”
“The Orion School for the Performing Arts.”
Kit glanced at Larkin because the older woman had sucked in an audible breath. “The private high school downtown?”
“A very exclusive drama school downtown,” Larkin said. “Very expensive. They accept less than five percent of applicants.”
“More like less than one percent,” Madison corrected bitterly. “It’s nearly impossible to get an audition with their intake committee. They had an opening back then and Naomi heard about it. She should have told us. At least me. But she kept it a secret. None of us got to try out.” She scoffed. “Like Naomi would have gotten the spot anyway. She wasn’t that good.”
“How did you find out about the audition?” Kit asked, because this could be the break they’d been waiting for.
“I saw the form in her backpack.” Madison shrugged. “I needed her lipstick, so I went through her stuff.”
“Did she know you’d seen it?”
“Yeah, because I was mad. When I yelled at her, she told me that I’d had my chance with Avondale. That this was her chance.” Madison sat up straighter. “I . . . slapped her. I’m not proud of that. But I was angry.”
“What’s this about Avondale?” Larkin asked.
Nathan had mentioned the Avondale audition that morning, but Kit waited to see what Madison would say.
“There was an open audition for Avondale three years ago. It was in the fall. Naomi found out about it and told us. We went up to L.A.—me and Naomi and a few others. We all tried out and I got the callback. Not Naomi.” Madison jabbed herself with her finger. “Me. Naomi thought she was such a big deal because she got the Ariel role in Mermaid.” She scowled. “She wasn’t. And she sang off-key anyway,” she added in a grumble.
Wow, Kit thought, so happy that she was no longer a teenager.
“What happened with the Avondale role?” Larkin asked.
Madison’s scowl darkened. “They canceled the show and the opportunity was gone. Getting into the Orion School is huge. You can write your own ticket. Their graduates get Hollywood roles and sing on Broadway. That Naomi kept it to herself was . . .” She shook her head. “Selfish, like I said before.”
“Did you know who her contact was for the scholarship audition?” Kit asked.
“No. She wouldn’t tell me.” Madison drew a breath. “That was when I slapped her.”
Kit had a tiny bit of sympathy for Madison. That would have been a terrible betrayal. But it was only a tiny bit, because she didn’t think that Madison had told anyone this back when it mattered. “What did she do then?”
“Cried. Like she didn’t deserve being slapped. I told her that I’d tell everyone what she did, and her name would be shit around school. That I’d make sure of it.”
“What happened then?”
“She left. It was only lunchtime, but she walked out.”
“And then?” Kit prompted.
“She was gone. The day we fought was Friday and by Sunday, her parents were calling every one of my friends, trying to find her.”
“Did you tell anyone about the scholarship audition at the time?”
A petulant shrug. “I told her parents that she was talking about going out for a role. That she’d probably be back by Monday with her tail between her legs because she was a talentless hack.”
“But she didn’t come back,” Kit said quietly, watching Madison for any spark of empathy, of regret.
“Nope,” Madison said lightly, like it didn’t matter. Maybe it did, maybe it didn’t.
I bet Sam Reeves could figure her out.
And . . . Whoa. Where had that come from? Not only was the thought jarring, it was also wrong. Because I’m figuring her out, all right?
“When was the audition?” Kit asked.
“The paper she had in her backpack said it would be the next day, first thing in the morning.”
But Naomi had left in the wee hours of Saturday morning, hours too early.
Then Kit remembered a detail. Nathan had said that his mother had yelled at Naomi earlier that evening, at around nine p.m. Right before he’d snuck out to play video games and smoke weed with his friend. Naomi had left the house after her mother had told her to never come back if she walked out. Where had she gone between nine p.m. Friday night and two thirty Saturday morning?
“Did Naomi come by your house that night?” Kit asked.
Madison’s mouth fell open. She quickly snapped it shut, but that told Kit what she wanted to know.
“She did, didn’t she?” Kit murmured. “What happened?”
Madison’s chin went up. “She called me after dinner, crying again. Said she wanted to explain. To make it up to me. That my friendship was important to her. So I let her come over, but she wasn’t sorry. So I threw her out. At that point, she was dead to me.”
Kit wanted to sigh but didn’t. It likely wouldn’t have made any difference if Madison had let her stay. Naomi would have still gone with whoever had offered her that audition. But what would Madison do if she knew that Naomi probably was dead?
“Mrs. Larkin told you that I’m a detective. She didn’t mention that I’m a homicide detective.”
Kit watched as emotions flitted across Madison’s face. Shock. Horror. Denial. Then . . . understanding followed by a cool acceptance.
“What happened?” Madison asked.
“I don’t exactly know yet. Did she happen to mention an older man?”
“Yeah. He was going to give her a ride to Orion the next morning. She offered to let me come, too.”
Kit’s pulse sped up. “Did she describe this man?”
“No. Said he wanted her to keep their relationship on the down-low. Because he was older and they’d get into trouble. She did say that he had a nice car. That we could ride to her audition in style.”
“Did she say what kind of car?”
“A black Mercedes. Which was not special. Half of the school’s parents drive Mercedes.”
“Why didn’t you go with her? That was what you wanted, wasn’t it?”
“It was only to give her ‘moral support,’ ” Madison said bitterly, using air quotes. “I figured it out when she said we’d ride in style to her audition. Not ours. I wasn’t going to be able to audition. There was only one slot and she said she’d already taken it. That she’d turned in her paperwork days before. What I saw in her backpack was just a copy. That’s when I threw her out.”
“When was this?”
“Around midnight? I don’t remember. I guess I was lucky. If I’d been with her, I’d be dead, too.”
Maybe. Especially if the killer had known that Naomi had confided in Madison.
“What was she wearing that night?”
Madison rolled her eyes. “Her Avondale T-shirt, same as she wore to school. She had a dress packed to change into when she did her audition.”
“Did she mention spending time with this older man?”
“Yeah. He’d invited her to his house to practice. He had a baby grand and played for her while she sang. I would have worried that he’d have tried something. You know, in exchange for the audition. I accused her of sleeping with him. She said he’d been a gentleman, that he’d never touched her. That they’d watched Avondale reruns together. That he really just wanted to help her.” She met Kit’s eyes and Kit finally saw a spark of sadness. “I guess that was a lie, huh? There was never an audition?”
Madison wasn’t sad about Naomi’s disappearance. She was sad that there never had been an audition. Wow.
“I don’t know. Did she mention where he lived?”
“No.”
“Do you know where she went after you threw her out?”
“Back home, I guess.”
Kit wasn’t sure about that. The cops had checked surveillance cameras back then, and that would have been noted. “Why didn’t you mention any of this when her parents started looking for her?”
A final shrug, nonchalant. “Like I said, Naomi was dead to me. I wasn’t going to help her then. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not glad she’s dead. But she lied to us and karma’s a bitch. None of that was my fault.”
Okay. “Did you ever see a man with gray hair and glasses hanging around Naomi?”
Madison huffed, sounding bored. “No. But you just described half of our teachers, so . . .”
“One more question. Did you ever audition for the Orion School after that? In the fall when they had regular tryouts?”
Madison’s eyes narrowed to angry slits. “Yes,” she hissed.
That she hadn’t been accepted didn’t need to be said.
“Thank you for your time, Madison.”
“Can I go back to class now?” Madison asked coldly.
“You may,” Larkin said and gave her a note. “Here’s your hall pass.”
When she was gone, Larkin dropped her head into her hands. “I need to retire.”
“Do you have a contact at Orion?” Kit asked.
Larkin looked up, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. “No. It’s private and exclusive. We’re a public school. Our paths don’t cross. I’m sure the school office could set up an appointment, though. I’m . . . devastated. If we’d known, we might have been able to save Naomi.” Larkin frowned. “Wait. Gray hair and glasses? The man your boss was talking about in the press conference wasn’t gray. And didn’t wear glasses.” She abruptly straightened in her chair, her eyes growing wide. “Is there another killer?”
“Hard to say.” Kit pulled out the answer that Navarro wanted her to give. “We think there was involvement from another individual. He’s a person of interest at the moment. We’re still trying to suss out all the victims. Can you think of anyone who meets that description?”
“I hate to agree with Madison, but she’s right. Half of the male teachers on this campus are gray with glasses. I mean, none of them drive a Mercedes. We are public school educators, after all.”
“If you see anyone meeting that description who looks suspicious or remember anything, please give me a call.” Kit set a business card on the woman’s desk, knowing that it would probably get lost in the stack of pink message slips. “Thank you for your time, ma’am.”
Mira Mesa, California
Tuesday, April 19, 3:30 p.m.
“Thank you,” Sam murmured as Laura Letterman parked on the curb outside the Epsteins’ home.
“You don’t have to keep thanking me, Sam,” Laura said, her tone firm yet somehow tentative at the same time. “You’re in trouble because you tried to do the right thing. I can help you, so I will.”
She’d rearranged her schedule to be free to drive him around town, although their time had been unproductive so far. Colton Driscoll’s ex-wives numbers three and four hadn’t been home when they’d knocked, probably at work. Ex-wife number two had moved to the East Coast and his first wife had died in a car accident while still in her twenties, a few years after their divorce.
Sam would have to return to the homes of ex-wives three and four later one evening. But not tonight, because he felt guilty using Laura this way. It had seemed so simple at first—he’d be giving her a chance to make amends. She’d jumped at the opportunity so hard that even Joel had been impressed. But now Sam wondered if he’d been fair.
“I appreciate it,” he said sincerely. “But I can’t expect this every day. You have a career and a life. I’ll make other arrangements.”
“Or,” she said with a wince, “and I hate that these words are even coming out of my mouth—you could trust McKittrick to do her job.”
Sam stared up at the house belonging to the man beaten by Colton Driscoll. It was a nice house with a tidy lawn and a whimsical mailbox built to look like a ship. After his medical discharge from the navy after being wounded in the line of duty, David Epstein now worked for a military contractor.
Epstein was just one of many who’d been hurt by Colton Driscoll, but at least he was still alive. There were at least eight young women who would never grow up thanks to Colton and his partner, the mysterious man with gray hair, glasses, and a black Mercedes.
Sam had considered backing away several times that day, but . . . he kept thinking about the victims. That small grave in Longview Park.
Nathan Beckham and his mother, their world torn utterly asunder.
About poor, sweet Skyler’s family, who thought that he’d lured her to her death.
“She called them ripples,” Sam murmured. “McKittrick. She called the victims’ families and friends ‘ripples.’ Consequences of the murder that went on and on. But they’re not ripples. They’re tsunamis.”
Laura sighed. “I don’t like McKittrick on principle, but she’s never made a wrong step. None of her cases get thrown out on a technicality or a bad search. She’s focused, dedicated, and a straight arrow. But she does care, too. I don’t think she meant that the ripples were small, gentle things. I think she meant that they spread, touching many other people. I think it’s because of her own loss.”
Sam turned to look at his ex with a frown. “What loss?”
Laura’s eyes widened. “You don’t know? I thought you researched her.”
“I did. I read about the cases she’s closed and watched a video interview. Why? What am I missing?”
“Oh. Well. You haven’t watched the right interviews. You knew she grew up in foster care?”
“Yes. She was adopted by the McKittricks.”
“Before that, her foster sister was murdered. They were fifteen.”
Sam stared in horror. “Oh my God.”
Are you stupid or just unfeeling? Never had he wished words back with such intensity.
“Yeah. From what I heard, it was awful. She and her foster father followed up leads for years. That’s how she met Baz Constantine. He was the lead detective on her sister’s case. I don’t think Constantine got over it, either. He helped her and Harlan McKittrick run down leads until the leads dried up. From what I heard, Kit practically lived in the precinct as a teen. Now understand, McKittrick and I are not besties, so all this came from the rumor mill, and the one interview where this topic was brought up, she walked out. But that’s why she became a cop—again, rumor mill. But it tracks. She’s a machine. Works all the time. Takes on other people’s cold cases on her own time. Closes them, too.”
“You admire her.”
“I do, as dirty as that makes me feel. She’s not rude, either. In court, I mean. A lot of the cops get vindictive and foul-mouthed to defense attorneys, blaming us for freeing the criminals they arrest, but I’ve never heard of McKittrick doing that. But she’s not soft. She will put you down like a rabid dog if she thinks you had anything to do with these murders. Joel knows that, too. That’s why he didn’t want you to leave yourself vulnerable.”
“I said something terrible to her last night,” Sam murmured.
“You don’t say terrible things to people, Sam. Not even when they deserve them.”
Like me, went unsaid. Sam had never yelled or cursed at her when he’d discovered her in bed with Joel. He’d simply turned and walked away.
“I accused her of being unfeeling.”
Laura winced. “She’s heard worse, I’m sure.”
But not from me. Guilt lodged in his throat, making him swallow hard.
“I’ll have to fix that later. Let’s go talk to the Epsteins.” Because his life was still on the line, regardless of what a good person McKittrick was.
“Okay,” Laura said quietly.
They walked to the Epsteins’ front door in silence, Sam trying to get control of his racing heart. He’d apologize to McKittrick later. That was all he could do. Now he had to concentrate.
He’d rehearsed what he planned to say, how he’d explain his interest in Colton Driscoll, but his words disappeared like mist in the sun when the door opened. A teenage girl stood there, her face so pale that Sam worried she’d faint.
“Are you all right?” Sam asked.
The girl gulped audibly. “Yes. I’m fine. Who are you?”
“My name is Sam Reeves. I’m investigating Colton Driscoll. I was hoping to talk to your father.”
“He isn’t here. He’s still at work.” She went even paler. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you that.”
Sam smiled, hoping to put her at ease. She clutched the door so hard that her knuckles were white. “It’s okay. I’m only here to ask questions. What about your mom? Is she home?”
The girl hesitated. “Yeah. Mom!” she called over her shoulder. “More cops.”
“I’m not a cop,” Sam hastened to say. “Just a psychologist.”
The girl blinked. “Not a cop?”
And she relaxed. Visibly. Laura had noticed as well, her expression going cautiously curious.
“Not a cop,” Sam confirmed.
“What about her?”
“I’m a defense attorney,” Laura said. She gave the girl a card.
“Huh.” The girl looked up. “You can have anything printed on a card, though.”
Laura’s lips twitched. “You can, but I didn’t. You can google me.”
“Maureen?” An older woman came to the door, holding a toddler. Gemma Epstein, David’s wife. She blinked when she saw Sam and Laura. “You’re not McKittrick.”
That McKittrick had already been here was no surprise.
“No, ma’am,” Sam said respectfully.
“He’s a shrink named Reeves and she’s a lawyer named Letterman,” Maureen supplied.
Sam had to keep himself from wincing at the disparaging look that crossed the teenager’s face when she said shrink. “Mrs. Epstein, do you have a few minutes to answer some questions about Colton Driscoll?”
Gemma’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
Because I’m researching serial killers. That was what he’d planned to say. But he didn’t. “He hurt people I care about.”
This was true. Colton hadn’t killed Skyler, but his partner had.
Sam had never met Jaelyn Watts, Cecilia Sheppard, or Naomi Beckham. But he still cared about them.
Gemma glanced at her daughter, who was looking at her phone.
“She’s really a lawyer,” Maureen said, showing her mother the screen. “Totally legit.”
“Then I guess it’s okay.” Gemma opened the door. “Please come in.” She led them to the living room. “Pardon the mess. Toddlers.”
Sam sat next to Laura on the sofa and Gemma held the child out to Maureen. “Take her in the kitchen, please.”
“No, Mom,” Maureen said. She took the baby and sat in one of the chairs. “I’m not leaving you alone with them.”
Her mother sighed, exasperated. “You said she was legit.”
“She is, but I’m still not leaving.”
Gemma sat down, shaking her head. “Then let’s make this quick. She’s going to need a bottle soon. What do you want to know about Driscoll and why? Who did he hurt that you care about?”
“Did you hear about the young woman who was killed this weekend?” Sam asked.
Both Epsteins nodded warily. “And?” Maureen asked, a little too belligerently. She’d gone pale again. “It wasn’t Driscoll. He’s dead.”
“The police think that he had a partner,” Laura said. “Or an accomplice.”
Maureen’s mouth fell open and she looked sick. Her mother swooped in to grab the baby before Maureen dropped her. “Mo? What’s wrong?”
Maureen closed her eyes and covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “Oh my God.”
Sam slid from the sofa, dropping to one knee next to her. “Head between your knees, Maureen,” he said soothingly, placing a hand on her back to urge her forward. “Breathe with me. In and out.”
He’d had to do this several times in sessions when clients became overwhelmed. He gave Gemma a questioning look, but she was staring at her daughter in horror, clutching the baby so hard that the child squirmed.
Laura came to the rescue, taking the child and settling her in a playpen before returning to the sofa. “What can I do?” she asked helplessly.
“That was good,” Sam said, using his calmest voice. “Maureen’s going to be fine. She just needs to breathe.”
“My fault,” Maureen whispered. “All my fault.”
“Just breathe,” Sam said, waiting until the girl lifted her tear-streaked face.
“I thought it was over because he was dead.”
Laura placed a box of tissues on the arm of the chair where Maureen sat, and Sam gave her a grateful smile before turning back to the teenager.
“Maureen,” he murmured. “If you know something, you need to tell someone.”
“McKittrick will arrest me,” she whispered.
Her mother gasped. “What?”
Sam’s mind raced as he wondered what she knew. “Tell us and we’ll figure it out together, okay?”
She nodded, new tears pooling in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
Gemma moved to sit on the arm of Maureen’s chair, her arm going around her daughter’s shoulders protectively. “Hold on, Mo. You need to wait until we get you a lawyer.”
“I’m a lawyer,” Laura said. “If she needs one, I’ll act on her behalf.”
Gemma looked Laura up and down, no doubt noting her expensive suit and designer shoes. “We can’t afford you. My husband was out of work after Driscoll beat him up. We’re barely making ends meet.”
“Pro bono,” Laura said quietly. “Sam’s my friend and I want to help him. If your daughter knows something that could help him, I’ll help her.”
Sam’s throat tightened with emotion. “Thank you.”
Laura’s smile was sad. “Like you said this morning, I owe you. Tell us what you did, Maureen. And what you know.”
Maureen was looking between him and Laura, then her mother, who nodded.
“You’ve been troubled by something for weeks, honey. I thought it was just what happened to Dad. Tell them, and we can get past this.”
“I was so mad at him. Driscoll. He hurt my dad. My dad is a good person and that man . . . he hurt him. I wanted him to go to jail, but they gave him probation and sent him to a shrink.”
Sam managed not to react to that. He’d been appalled as well at the slap on Colton’s wrist. He could only imagine how furious this girl must have been.
“What did you do?” he asked gently.
“I wanted to catch him doing something. Something the cops would actually put him away for.” She looked down at the tissues in her hand. “So I put cameras in his house.”
Gemma gasped once again. “Maureen!”
Cameras. In Colton’s house. Sam had to remember to breathe. This could be huge. “What did you see, honey?”
“A man in black. He wore a mask. It was one of those ones that goes over the head with only space for the eyes, so I didn’t see his face.”
“A balaclava,” Laura supplied.
Maureen shrugged. “I guess. I put four cameras in Driscoll’s living room. One pointed at the wall with the door to the garage and one pointed at the kitchen. The other two were on the other two walls, so I got a view of everything going on in the living room. The man dragged Driscoll into his house and made him show him his safe.”
The partner. Of course, they still couldn’t ID his face, but it was more than he’d had. More than McKittrick had, too, because Maureen hadn’t told her about this.
“What did he say to Driscoll?” Sam asked.
“I don’t know. It was an old security system with no audio. I bought it off a kid at school. The man pointed a gun at Driscoll’s head and Driscoll opened his safe.”
Sam hadn’t heard that Colton had a safe. But it wasn’t like McKittrick had shared much with him, after all. “What was in the safe?”
“Not exactly sure. They looked like external hard drives. Maybe ten of them? The block ones that hold, like, a terabyte. Then the man made Driscoll go past the kitchen, to the back of his house. I think it was to his bedroom, because a few minutes later they came back and Driscoll had changed his clothes. He’d been wearing all black, but he’d changed into a jacket and pants.”
“That’s odd,” Sam said. “Then what?”
“He kept holding the gun at Driscoll’s head and made him take some pills. Then waited until he went to sleep. He cleaned out all of Driscoll’s DVDs and took his DVD player and laptop and put them all in a box. Took it to the garage. Took his safe, too. It wasn’t bolted down. I think that surprised him because he gave it a yank, then stumbled back when the safe just . . . came at him. He took the safe to the garage, then emptied his kitchen drawers. He took a bag into the bedroom and didn’t have the bag when he came out.” She grimaced. “I didn’t put cameras in his bedroom, so I don’t know what he did with the bag. Sorry.”
“That’s fine,” Sam said, still on one knee in front of her. He was afraid to move, afraid she’d stop talking. “What happened then?”
“He, um . . .” She blew out a breath. “He had a rope. Two ropes, actually. He tied one into a noose and brought a stepladder in from the garage. He set it by the front door and climbed it. The angle wasn’t right to show what he was doing, but the noose dropped down for a minute before he pulled it up and out of the picture. Then he made kind of a sling with the second rope. Used it to pull Driscoll up higher. I couldn’t see Driscoll’s face anymore, but his legs . . .” She closed her eyes. “They . . . dangled. Swinging.”
Driscoll’s killer had used the second rope to lift him into the noose because Driscoll was too sedated at that point to climb up himself. McKittrick and Constantine had asked about sleeping pills the night they’d talked in Sam’s RAV4. This was why.
“Oh, baby,” Gemma breathed, pulling her daughter closer.
At least Maureen hadn’t seen Driscoll’s face as he’d died. Small comfort.
“Then what, Maureen?” Laura asked. “Just finish it.”
“He took the second rope away and then he changed Driscoll’s shoes. Then took the second rope and the stepladder into the garage. He came back in and did a final sweep, I guess.” Maureen shuddered. “That’s when he found my cameras.”
Her mother made a sound between a gasp and a moan. “Mo.”
Maureen was so pale that Sam almost urged her to put her head between her knees again, but the teenager squared her shoulders. “He pulled the first camera from in between the books on the shelf where I’d hidden it and he looked straight into the camera. Then he found the others and the videos all ended. I thought maybe the man was someone else Driscoll had hurt.” She looked away, ashamed. “I was kind of glad he was dead. Then I found out that he’d killed all those girls, and I thought the man might be one of their parents. But when the detectives came, I was afraid to tell. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, honey,” Sam murmured. “Anyone would be afraid.”
“I’m going to jail, aren’t I?” Maureen was crying again. “I broke into his house.”
“You’re not going to jail,” Laura said firmly. “The worst that will happen is community service and I can get that waived, too. If you tell the detective this, you’ll be a hero.”
“But if the man finds out it was Maureen’s camera?” Gemma whispered. “My daughter will be in danger.”
“Safe house,” Laura said simply.
“We have to hide?” Maureen cried. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry.”
“Could he trace the cameras to this house?” Sam asked, trying to keep his tone logical.
Maureen shrugged miserably. “I don’t know. I used a proxy server, so probably not, but I hooked it into our Wi-Fi, so I don’t know.”
“Well,” Laura said. “The first thing you’re going to do is tell McKittrick. I will not leave you. If it looks like she’s going to do anything not in your best interest, I’ll shut her down.”
Maureen lifted her chin. “Promise?”
Laura smiled. “I promise.”
“Then okay. Should we wait for Dad?”
“I think so.” Gemma startled when the baby began to cry. “I need to feed her.”
“We’ll wait here,” Laura said, turning to Maureen when her mother hurried to the kitchen. “I’ll record your interview with McKittrick for your protection. But let’s go over what you saw again. I don’t want you to miss anything.”
Maureen frowned. “I have the video, if that’s easier.”
Sam’s eyes widened. “What?”
“The cameras,” Maureen said slowly, like she was talking to a child. “I have the video.”
Sam pushed to his feet. “I’ll call McKittrick.”
