I’m sorry,” Connor said when both he and Kit were in the department sedan.
In the passenger seat, Kit leaned her head back and closed her eyes, blocking out Joel’s tidy Victorian house. “We needed to know. Dr. Reeves has been conveniently in the middle of all the major discoveries on this case.”
“You called him Sam in there.”
She winced. But she wasn’t going to apologize. “Yeah, I did.”
Connor sighed and started the engine. “I believed him, too.”
“I have since the beginning,” she confessed.
“You’ve got a good gut, Kit. Everyone knows it.”
She turned to look at him, wondering who this man really was. Sometimes she wanted to smack his face. Other times, like now, he could be gentle and kind. “Thank you.”
He backed out of Joel’s driveway and into the street. “We need a warrant for the mail room where Driscoll worked.”
“I’ll call it in. Maybe Howard can do the search while we’re at the school.” Connor grunted his agreement and Kit dialed Navarro, putting the call on speaker. “Connor and I just left Dr. Reeves,” she said when her boss answered.
“Why?” Navarro asked sharply.
Maybe he was still smarting over whatever he and Levinson said to each other. Kit was almost too tired to care.
“We needed to know if Reeves knew what was on those hard drives. We showed him about twenty seconds of the one with Naomi Beckham.”
There was a long, long pause and Kit thought he’d be angry with her, but he only asked, “And?”
“He threw up. Both Connor and I believed his reaction was real.”
“Okay, then,” he said brusquely. “You checked off that box. You on your way to Orion now?”
“Yes, but we need a warrant for the mail room where Driscoll worked.” She told him about the spying that Driscoll claimed his boss was doing.
“That building has apartments, too,” Navarro said. “Swanky ones on the top floors. Maybe he lives there.”
Connor shook his head. “He would have had to get the dead girls out of the building somehow. I think someone would have noticed a dead body over his shoulder.”
“Could have transported them in a big suitcase,” Navarro said. “I’ll request the mail room warrant and keep you updated on the status. It’s not a lot to go on, but we might get lucky. Wealthy people have apartments in that building. I imagine they’d want to know if someone was spying on them. May give me a little extra convincing power with the judge.”
“I hope so,” Kit said fervently. “We need some luck. We’ve been playing catch-up to this bastard for years. He’s been several steps ahead of us the whole time.”
Navarro heaved a sigh. “We actually did have some luck. Or at least Levinson did us a favor. He gave me the name of the head attorney at the school. I talked to the man, told him that the reporter is publishing an unsubstantiated rumor. That we want to talk to them as witnesses versus suspects.”
“That’s true,” Kit said. “None of our background reports came back with any smoking guns. Doesn’t mean there aren’t any, but if we get bad vibes from anyone at the school, we can dig further. Who are we going to see?”
“The headmaster, the admissions director, a shit ton of lawyers, and their IT guy. They should have them all gathered by the time you get there. I’ll send you a list.”
“We’ll review their backgrounds again while we drive. Thanks, boss. Did Howard come back yet?”
“No. He called in, said he was taking a personal day.”
Kit felt a flicker of irritation at that. She and Connor had watched more of the videos than Howard had, and they were still working. From the way Connor was muttering under his breath, he appeared to be thinking the same thing.
“What about CSU?” she asked. “Have they examined the remaining hard drives?”
“Almost. Sergeant Ryland says there are no more murder victims so far, but Driscoll had a lot of child porn on the other hard drives. Preteens mainly, but some younger. We’ve called in ICAC to take custody of those videos. They say that they’ve seen them online before, that Driscoll probably didn’t make them.”
The Internet Crimes Against Children department dealt with sick bastards day in and day out. “I don’t think I could do that job,” she murmured.
“Me either,” Navarro agreed, his voice heavy. “Ryland says they still have a few hard drives to go. I’ll text you when I know more. Good luck with Orion.”
“Thanks.” Kit ended the call. “Let’s review the files for the people we’re going to meet.”
The Orion School, San Diego, California
Wednesday, April 20, 1:00 p.m.
Kit studied the stony faces around the table in the lavishly decorated conference room at the Orion School. The carpet was thick under her boots and the paintings on the walls looked like museum pieces. The table itself was a solid piece of wood that appeared to be mahogany.
Forty thousand dollars a year tuition.
Right.
There were ten people at the table, not counting her and Connor. Just one of the ties the men wore cost more than the monthly rent on her boat slip.
Kit had expected wealth but had honestly expected a more laid-back, creative vibe. It was an art school, for heaven’s sake. Where were the kids dancing in the hallways singing show tunes?
She felt betrayed by Glee and Fame. This place was like an ice castle.
Kit met each of the gazes currently glaring at her. Lawyer with a blue tie; lawyer with a red tie; lawyer with a rainbow tie, so at least he had some personality. The principal—wait, so sorry, she was the headmaster—looked very stern. More lawyers. And one IT guy who looked only slightly posh.
He must be the misfit of the Orion School staff.
The admissions director was noticeably absent. She and Connor would need to find out why that was.
Two of the attorneys had the same body type as the killer on the videos, and Kit noted their names. They’d do more in-depth background checks on them later.
“So,” Kit began. “I’m Detective McKittrick and this is my partner, Detective Robinson. I tried to call yesterday. Gave the woman at the front desk my name and badge number. Told her it was urgent that I speak with the headmaster.”
“I’ve spoken with the receptionist,” the headmaster said. She was Headmaster Worthington, because of course she was. Her suit was clearly designer and very expensive, because of course it was. “She is being reprimanded. Had I known you’d called, I would have answered immediately.”
That might even have been true. It didn’t really matter now.
“The department regrets that this story made it to the media,” Connor said sincerely, just as they’d agreed as they were en route. He was to be the good cop today, which was fine because Kit rather enjoyed the bad cop role. “But the reporter didn’t cross-check her facts. She was incorrect.”
“We’ll be dealing with the media outlet,” one of the lawyers said grimly. “This is unacceptable. The very idea that someone in our school was involved.”
The very idea.
“Someone is hunting and killing teenage girls, sir. We’ve identified twelve victims and are confident there are more that we don’t yet know about.” Kit let the statement hover for a moment, waiting until their expressions began to change from stony to something more human. “It is unfortunate that a reporter included your school in her article without fact-checking, but your reputation, while important, is by far the least of our concerns. We need to stop this man before he kills again.”
It was Kit’s fear that their killer would soon feel cornered and kill again to throw suspicion back on Sam Reeves.
It was just a matter of time.
The lawyer had the good sense to look chagrined, but it was the headmaster who spoke. “Of course, Detective. You’re quite right. Justice for the lives of these young women is the most important thing. How can we help you?”
“Thank you.” Kit opened the folder she’d brought and selected a photo of Naomi. “One of our victims, a fifteen-year-old named Naomi Beckham, told a classmate that she was coming here for a scholarship audition. That her benefactor was an older man with a black Mercedes.”
“None of us drive a black Mercedes,” another lawyer said. “Other colors, yes, but not black.”
Kit’s smile was tight. “We know. We checked before we came. The young woman who thought she was getting an audition disappeared that night. We now know that she’s dead. She likely died that same night.”
We saw him kill her. The killer’s living room had been lit by lamps when Naomi was killed. She hadn’t lived to see the sunrise.
“Many of our victims,” she continued, “participated in drama club or expressed an interest in acting. Along with basic physical characteristics, it is the only commonality.”
Connor offered a sad smile. “We know that you’ve been harassed by a scammer who’s offered teenagers auditions over the years. Naomi’s experience seems to fit with this.”
“Your lieutenant said as much. How did you learn of the scam?” the headmaster asked.
“Unlike the reporter,” Connor said, “we do our homework before we charge in. What we’d like to know is how often these scams occurred, what times of the year, and what you did to track the perpetrator. Because we’re assuming you tried to stop him.”
It was a nice deflection and redirection, Kit thought. Good job, Connor.
The headmaster nodded once. “We did. Your lieutenant gave us an idea of what you wanted, so I invited Ted Bolin, our IT professional, to the meeting. Mr. Bolin, please tell them what we know.”
The IT guy smiled nervously. “The first time this scam occurred was fifteen years ago. I wasn’t here at the time, but my predecessor kept track. There was always a scholarship dangled as a prize, and the target of the email was always female.”
“Blond and under five-three?” Kit asked.
Ted nodded. “Yes.”
“Did they occur in specific months?” Connor asked.
“Yes,” Ted said again. “September and February.”
“The September occurrences always puzzled us,” the headmaster inserted. “We open the application process in the late summer, both for regular admission and the scholarship award. We’ve never done an audition in the fall.” She frowned. “Did some of the victims go missing in the fall?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Connor said sincerely. “February as well.”
“It didn’t happen every year,” Ted said. He handed them a sheet of paper with several dates. “These are the reported occurrences of the scam.”
The pattern was immediately identifiable, at least for the last five years. Every time a scam occurred, there’d been no video of a murder, including this past February, two months ago.
Kit had been right. The girls who kept the secret ended up dead.
The list of occurrences was short—only four in the fifteen years they’d been happening. Which meant that the majority of the girls kept the secret.
The killer had to have a good feeling who he could trust not to tell. Add that to the profile. But how had he lured his earliest victims if not using the scholarship scheme? Their first Jane Doe was murdered between seventeen and twenty years before—two to five years before the first occurrence of the scam.
And why had the “scam” begun only fifteen years ago? The Orion School had been operating for nearly thirty years.
Oh. “When did you start offering scholarships?” Kit asked.
“Seventeen years ago,” the headmaster said. “Why? Is that important?”
Kit glanced at Connor before answering. “Most probably, yes.”
The headmaster paled. “He’s been using our school to lure his victims all the time?”
“He may have had other lures,” Connor said. “We don’t know. It’s a puzzle and we’re just starting to see the major pieces.”
Because Sam Reeves had needed to do the right thing. Thank you, Sam.
Kit hoped he was okay. She’d hated leaving him so torn up. I never should have put him in that position.
But she’d needed to know. For the girls.
“Ted, did you or your predecessor try to trace the emails?” she asked.
“Yes, of course. We even brought in consultants to help. But whoever is doing this knows what he’s doing. He uses VPNs and routes his communications through servers all over the world.”
“We figured as much,” Connor said. “Would you be able to show our CSU team the analyses you’ve done? They may have forensic tools that look a little deeper.”
Kit didn’t hold much hope for that. Finding the living room in the videos would be a better use of their time. It had to be in the city because the girls had been able to easily get there.
“Of course,” the headmaster said. “Whatever you need.”
Kit gave her a nod of appreciation. “Thank you. We can’t help but notice that your admissions director isn’t here. Why is that?”
Worry flickered in the headmaster’s eyes. “When he read that article, he was devastated. He’s been with Orion from the very beginning and we’re his life. His health is a little frail, so I told him that we’d try to address your questions first. If you still need to see him, he’ll be available.”
“We will want to talk to him,” Kit said. “We need to know if any of the victims reached out to ask questions about the scholarship.”
“He’ll give you full access to his email,” the headmaster promised, surprising Kit. She’d figured that the school would require a warrant.
One of the lawyers leaned in to whisper in her ear, but she shook her head. “I know they officially need a warrant. I’m saying that we are not going to require that. We will be cooperative. We don’t want any more girls to die.”
They probably wanted the good press that full cooperation would provide, but that was okay. As long as she and Connor got access to the emails.
“Thank you,” Kit said. “Who helped start the scholarship program and how was it originally publicized? Was there a press release to all the high schools? Did you run ads on TV, radio, or social media? Who would have known about it from the beginning?”
The headmaster blinked. “I don’t know off the top of my head who started it. It was already in place when I was selected for the position of headmaster. I assume there was a committee. I’ll find out for you. As for publicizing, the school has always sent student reps to various high schools in the district to promote. Usually they do a Q&A with the drama clubs.”
“Do you choose the schools at random or is there a schedule?” Connor asked.
“Oh, it’s never random.” The headmaster made a note on the tablet she held. “I’ll get you the schedules for as far back as we’ve had them.”
“That would be very helpful.” Kit slid the list of occurrences into her folder, then turned to Connor. “Any more questions?”
He nodded. “Yes, just one. Did you ever ask for law enforcement assistance in dealing with this scam?”
The lawyers looked at each other, then the one with the rainbow tie spoke. “We did about five years ago. We simply wanted it to stop. We thought that the fact he was offering a forty-thousand-dollar scholarship constituted fraud, so we called SDPD’s fraud department. They came out and talked to us, looked at the emails, then said it was a prank. That the ‘prankster’ didn’t financially benefit.” He swallowed hard. “I wish we’d pressed harder.”
“It might not have mattered,” Kit said practically. “Like my partner said, we’re just now gathering the puzzle pieces. We didn’t have anything to go on before, and the likelihood of connecting this scam to our Jane Does back then was minimal at best.”
The lawyer nodded. “Thank you, but I think we’ll be second-guessing ourselves for a long time.”
Welcome to a very crowded club, Kit thought as she rose. “Thank you all for your time.”
Connor stood and handed the staff their business cards. “If you remember anything else, please call. Ted, CSU will contact you ASAP.”
“We’re still filing a formal complaint against that reporter,” the first lawyer said.
Kit let herself smile, just a little. “Good.”
They were walked out by Ted, who gave them his contact information when they reached the front door. “We should have tried harder to find him,” he said heavily. “It happened intermittently, and we’d get complacent when we had a few years off. We’d think, Great, he stopped. But now we know what he was doing when we thought he was inactive.”
“Don’t beat yourself up,” Connor said quietly. “Unless you know of anyone here who’s too interested in the female students.”
He shook his head emphatically. “No, and I’m all over the school every day. A computer crashes and I’m the one they call. I’ve never heard of any staff member doing anything inappropriate. The kids usually talk around me like I’m not there.” He shrugged. “Mostly it’s the really rich kids since they have staff at home. You’d be shocked at some of the things I hear. But abusive teachers have never been one of those things.”
“Good to know.” Kit gave him a smile as they took their leave. “Take care.”
She and Connor said nothing until they got to the car. “I don’t think they were involved,” Connor said as he started the engine.
“I agree. But knowing who was there at the beginning of the scholarship program might point us in the right direction. That and identifying the location of that living room are our best leads right now.”
“We didn’t find any bartenders who’d seen Skyler Carville on Friday night,” he countered. “We might still find him that way.”
“That’s true,” Kit said. “I still haven’t checked my five bars, what with digging up Driscoll’s backyard and all. I’ll take care of that.”
Connor restarted the engine. “Didn’t you want to talk to the parks and rec people about maintenance schedules in the parks where we’ve found bodies?”
“Yes, especially with the September/February pattern. That’s fall and spring planting season,” she added when he frowned. “Farm girl, remember? The ground might have been dug up for him to bury them in.”
“Oh right, you told us that. I’ll make the parks and rec calls while you bar-hop.”
“Thank you.” And then she was going to take a nap without even being nagged to do so.
Chula Vista, California
Wednesday, April 20, 3:15 p.m.
“Thank you for seeing us,” Sam said as he and Laura sat on Rayna Copely’s threadbare sofa. He’d been surprised when Colton’s third ex-wife had readily opened her apartment door when they’d knocked.
Rayna was only twenty-four years old, but she looked forty. She was thin to the point of being gaunt. Her expression held a bone-deep weariness that trudged hand in hand with desperation.
She sat on an equally threadbare chair. “I got a call from one of Colton’s old ‘buddies.’ ” She used air quotes. “He’d gotten a call from wife number four, who asked him to tell me that you might be coming by.”
Sam should have realized that Veronica Gadd would share their discussion with the man she trusted. Who’d saved her from Colton.
“You’ve stayed in touch with Colton’s old friend, Brian?” he asked.
“No. I never met him, but I’d heard plenty about him. Colton used to rag on him, complain that when he needed him, Brian deserted him. I think Brian just didn’t want Colton to fuck his life up, too. Anyway, he apologized for not being there to help me when I was married to Colton. He got number four out safely and wished he’d known to do the same for me.” She tilted her head. “I talked to the cops already. Didn’t have much to tell them, though. They asked about Colton’s friends, but he didn’t have any.”
“That’s what we’re hearing,” Sam said. “You weren’t married to Colton for very long.”
Laura had found the marriage certificate and divorce decree. The union had lasted only four and a half months.
“I wised up quick. I was a stupid seventeen-year-old when I met him. Married him on my eighteenth birthday. I was in foster care and not lucky enough to have a good home. No abuse, but it was miserable. Colton was going to be my ticket out.”
“But then he abused you,” Sam said.
She nodded. “The first time he hit me, he was so sorry. Classic story, I know.”
Sam smiled sadly. “Classic for a reason. But you did leave.”
“After the third time. I went to a women’s shelter in the city and they gave me a place to stay while I got my life together.” She waved a hand at the small apartment. “It’s not much and I have to work three jobs to feed myself, but it’s mine and I don’t have to depend on rats like Colton.” Rayna shrugged. “For the first month with him, everything was amazing. Or so I thought. I had food, a place to sleep, and a person who said he’d take care of me. Then he lost his job, and everything changed.”
“He worked in IT,” Laura said.
“He did. But he lost his temper and it was, like, his third strike, so he was out. Seemed like everyone knew he had an anger issue but me.”
“Third strike?” Sam asked. “So he’d had previous altercations at work?”
“Apparently. The office was sending him to therapy for anger management, but that didn’t take.”
That was a surprise. “He was in therapy?” Sam asked.
“For the first month we were married, yes. It had started before that, but I don’t know how far back. I didn’t know the guy was his therapist at the time—Colton would come home and talk about his ‘best friend.’ How they did all these things together. How the guy was famous, richer than God, had box seats at Dodger Stadium, and how they’d be going to the games. Then, after Colton got fired, he lost his insurance. He got a job in a mail room downtown right away, but that job’s insurance didn’t cover his therapy. His ‘best friend’ cut him loose when he couldn’t pay for the sessions, and that’s when Colton got violent.”
This was important. This other therapist might have more information about Colton. Although the man hadn’t come forward when Colton was declared a serial killer. Then again, he wouldn’t have been able to, even if Colton had confessed to old murders.
Duty to warn was the key. If the therapist hadn’t felt that there was any imminent danger to a living person, he wouldn’t have come forward.
Still, it couldn’t hurt to ask.
“Did Colton threaten his therapist?” Sam asked.
“Oh yeah. All the time after the guy dumped him. Colton said he’d get back at him. That he’d make him pay, that he ‘knew things’ about him that would ruin him.” She shrugged. “He ranted like that about actors and politicians, too, so I didn’t pay much attention until he took out a business card and cut it into little pieces. I pulled the pieces out of the trash can and put them back together.” Her expression grew grim with memory. “Colton caught me. That was beating number three, the same day I walked away with the clothes on my back. I hitchhiked to a church, and they set me up with the women’s shelter.”
“Do you remember the therapist’s name?” Laura asked, seemingly on the same wavelength as Sam.
Rayna frowned. “I don’t. I might have written it down in my journal, but I’d have to hunt for the right volume. Is it that important?”
“Maybe,” Sam said. “Hard to say until we ask the man some questions, but I’d really appreciate it if you were able to find his name.”
“I’ll look in my old journals,” she promised, then stood. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to get ready for work.”
Sam and Laura rose and headed for the door. “One more question,” Sam said as they walked. “You said he got the job in the mail room right away. Did he look for another IT job?”
Because he’d wondered about that. IT professional to the mail room was quite a downgrade.
“Not that I remember. I figured that he’d burned so many bridges by then that he didn’t even try. I remember being surprised that he took the mail room job because he was always saying that it was beneath him. I asked him why and he said it had its perks. That was before his therapist dumped him. I asked him again when he complained about the pay cut and he smacked me into a wall. That was after therapy ended.”
Sam held out his hand. “Thank you. I hope things get easier for you.”
Rayna smiled as she shook his hand. “I think they will. One good thing came of this. Brian—the old buddy of Colton’s—offered me a job today, working for his legal firm. I’m giving my two weeks’ notice tonight.”
Oh? Sam’s warning bells went off. Who was this Brian guy who just happened to be there when Colton’s ex-wives needed him? They needed to check him out to make sure he was legit. Rayna had been through enough.
“That’s wonderful,” Laura said, then gave the woman her card. “But if it doesn’t work out for any reason, call me. I might be able to help.”
Rayna took the card, her eyes filling with tears. “Thank you. After so long on my own, it’s so nice to have support.”
They said their goodbyes, then walked to Laura’s car, not speaking until they were inside.
“We should check Brian out,” Laura said. “I don’t like how convenient this was.”
“Same,” Sam said grimly, then checked his phone for the time. “But I’d like to visit the family of Rochelle Hamilton first.”
“The girl you found in the runaway clearinghouse?”
“Yes. She disappeared five years ago.”
“Which would have been right about the time that Colton lost his job and threatened his therapist,” she noted.
Sam did the mental math based on the date from Rayna’s marriage license. “You’re right. But his partner—and maybe Colton, because who knows now?—was killing long before that. Joel told me that the first victim was found fifteen years ago. I figure I’ll work my way backward.”
“Then to the Hamilton house we go.” Laura started to pull out of her parking place, then stopped. “Got a text. Rayna found that therapist’s name.” She passed Sam her phone.
The young woman texted that she’d been so appreciative of their kindness that she’d immediately searched for the journal, finding it faster than she’d thought.
Sam cut and pasted the man’s name into Google, finding that he had an office in the city.
But before he could click on the phone number, a video thumbnail caught his eye. The therapist had been interviewed, the Broadway show posters in the background behind him frozen in the frame.
Sam knew this room. He’d seen it today. Right before he’d thrown up.
Holy shit.
“Sam?” Laura asked, sounding worried. “What’s wrong?”
His heart raced as he stared at his screen. “I have to call Kit.”
