Kit paused outside the third bar on her list when her phone buzzed in her pocket. Connor’s name flashed on her screen.
“Hey,” she said, stepping away from the bar’s front door. “What d’ya got?”
“I’ve been calling the parks in town, asking about planting schedules. I focused on Longview Park, where Jaelyn Watts was found, since she’s the most recent victim, not counting Skyler Carville.”
“Because Skyler wasn’t his MO.”
“Right. Longview Park confirmed a scheduled maintenance for two weeks around the day Jaelyn disappeared. They weren’t planting, though. It was a new irrigation system. They’d just finished putting it in that morning. The ground had been dug up, leveled, and was sodded over the very next day, covering up the body.”
Yes. “Who had access to that information?”
Connor blew out a breath. “Who didn’t? The park staff and the volunteers. That part of the park was closed off for a while, so it was on their website.”
“Well, shit.” Anyone in the public would have known that area wasn’t going to be accessible. “I guess we have to start looking at park employees and volunteers.”
“And the board of directors.”
Kit’s brows went up. “They know about maintenance schedules, too?”
“For some maintenance, yes—at least at this park, because it’s private and charges for admission. That area is a major draw because of the pond, and schools sometimes use it for picnics. It being closed meant an expected drop in admissions revenue and that, along with the expenditure of the new irrigation system, required approval from the board. I’ve requested a list of board members.”
Which was exactly what she’d been about to ask. “Excellent. Maybe get a list of their membership from the public, too? Since this killer exclusively uses parks—at least from what we know so far—it’s more likely that he’s more involved in the system rather than a random guy who cruises park websites looking for service outages.”
“I already asked the person from Jaelyn’s park for their general membership list, but she clammed up. Said she’d need to ask the lawyers.”
“Which means a warrant.”
“Already requested it.”
Kit was impressed. “Thank you. What about the earlier victims? Any success there?”
“Most of the parks don’t keep records that long. Unfortunately, that was the case for the park where the victim before Jaelyn was discovered.”
“Miranda Crisp,” Kit murmured.
“Right. She disappeared seven years ago. I did request maintenance and planting schedules from all the parks for as far back as they had them, though. I’ve got details for two of the parks already and am waiting for the rest. Hopefully we’ll get those soon, because we already got a match. Balboa had scheduled a planting for the week around when Cecilia Sheppard disappeared.”
“He buried Skyler in Balboa as well.”
“Hell, Balboa’s so big he could have buried half his victims there and no one would have suspected a thing. I’ve asked CSU to get a team out to the area where Cecilia might be buried ASAP with a GPR to scan the ground.”
“Wow. You’ve made so much progress. I should have made those calls weeks ago, dammit. We could have had all this information earlier.”
“Don’t beat yourself up,” he said kindly, surprising her yet again. “You’ve been working nonstop on this case. Besides, we didn’t have a lot of the details to make sense of the schedules.”
“Thanks,” she said, but was still angry with herself. “What next?”
“Navarro is working on getting us a search warrant for the mail room where Colton Driscoll worked.”
“So we can hopefully match the living room in his videos.”
“Yep. When that comes through, I’ll call you and we can go over together. Until then, I’m going to keep calling the parks. Finding those bodies might not give us any new information about their killer, but we can at least enable their families to bury them.”
Kit’s chest tightened. “Yes. The closure is important.”
“I know,” he murmured, and she wondered what he meant. Was he empathizing with what she and the McKittricks had gone through with Wren, or did he have his own story to tell? “Where are you?”
“In front of the third bar on the list Howard gave me,” she said. “I checked the security footage at the first two but didn’t see Skyler and no one remembered her. I’ll call you as soon as I’m done with the remaining bars.”
“Unless you find him first.”
“Your mouth, God’s ears.” She ended the call, pocketed her phone, and pushed through the bar door. It was dark, unlike the first two places she’d checked out, which hadn’t yet been open and had the lights on full as they prepped the serving areas.
The bartender, whose name tag read Rosie, gave her an easy smile. “What can I get you?” she asked.
“Information,” Kit said, returning the smile. Easier to catch flies with honey, after all. She flashed her badge, then produced the photo of Skyler Carville. “I’m Detective McKittrick. Do you remember seeing this woman last Friday night?”
Rosie immediately put down the glasses she was stacking and took the photo, studying it. “Yeah. I saw her. I remember carding her because she looked so young. She was twenty-one, though.”
Skyler would never see twenty-two. “She died that night. I’m trying to retrace her steps.”
Rosie flinched. “Oh my God. How?”
“Homicide. Do you remember if she met someone here?”
The woman frowned, thinking. “No, I don’t. But I can get you the security vids. They’re not the best quality, but you can have a look.”
“I’d appreciate that, thank you.”
Rosie called someone over to cover the bar, then led Kit back to the office, which was filled with boxes of booze and one ancient desk with a newish desktop computer. A few clicks of the keyboard brought up the footage from Friday night. “You can sit here and watch,” Rosie said. “I can’t leave you here alone, but I’ll go over there and do some inventory.”
Kit sat in front of the computer, setting her concentration to the screen, just as she’d done twice already that afternoon. But this time she saw Skyler walk into the bar and look around.
For Sam. Skyler thought she was meeting Sam. Pity sat heavy on Kit’s heart as she watched the young woman take a seat at the bar. There was Rosie on the screen, carding her, just like she’d said.
Minutes passed and Skyler waited. She finished the white wine she’d ordered and was getting up to leave when a man with gray hair slid onto the bar stool next to her.
Kit’s pulse started to beat faster. Same body type as the man in Driscoll’s videos. She couldn’t see his face because the camera was only catching his back. She waited impatiently for him to turn around, but he kept his body turned just right. Kit was about to ask Rosie if there was another camera positioned to catch another angle when the man on the screen gestured for the bartender. A male bartender approached and poured another white wine for Skyler.
Kit saw the moment that Skyler’s killer added powder to her glass. Skyler had turned to look at something and he slid it in so quickly that Kit would have missed it had she not been specifically watching. He’d clearly had a lot of practice drugging his victims.
The minutes passed and Skyler clearly grew disoriented, but not so much that someone would have noticed. The man put his arm around her waist and turned her around toward the door.
Giving Kit a glimpse of his face before he slid on a pair of sunglasses.
For a moment she stared, disbelieving.
Not possible. No.
No, no, no.
She froze the frame, her movements jerky. She couldn’t breathe.
But he doesn’t really have gray hair. He doesn’t really wear glasses.
Her cell phone rang, and she answered automatically, bringing her cell to her ear. Her focus was pinned to the screen, her mind racing along with her heart. “Yeah?”
“It’s Sam. I know who he is. It’s a psychologist here in the city. He works with cops, Kit. His name is Scott. John Scott.”
Her throat closed, betrayal hitting her like a brick as she stared at her therapist’s face, thinking of the secrets she’d revealed to this man. This killer. “I know,” she mumbled numbly. “I found him with Skyler.”
“What?” Sam asked. “I can’t hear you. What did you say about Skyler? Kit?”
His use of her name knocked her brain back into gear. “How did you find him?”
“He was Colton’s prior therapist. His third ex-wife gave us his name and there’s a video interview online. It’s the same living room, Kit.”
Kit forced herself to breathe, aware that Rosie the bartender was watching her, wide-eyed. “Meet me at the station as soon as you can. We need to brief Navarro. Are you with Laura?”
“Yes.”
“Have her call the desk when you arrive. If I’m not back, I’ll have Detective Robinson walk you in. I don’t want you alone at any time.”
“My alibi,” he said grimly.
“Your life,” she corrected tersely. “If he knows you know, he’ll kill you, too.” Rosie gasped, and Kit cleared her throat. “I need to go.” She ended the call and looked over at Rosie. “I’ll need a copy of this footage.”
“Of course,” Rosie said, and Kit got up to let her sit in front of the computer.
With shaking hands, she texted Connor. Go to Navarro’s office. I need to update you both ASAP.
Are you okay? Connor texted back.
No, she was not okay. Unhurt. Will call in a few minutes. Wait for me.
She wasn’t going to text them this information and she wasn’t going to say another word in front of Rosie. She’d already revealed too much while talking to Sam.
It took only moments for Rosie to download the footage to a thumb drive. She handed it to Kit. “Be careful,” the bartender said seriously.
Kit nodded, still numb. “Thank you,” she managed. “Have a good day.”
Dr. Scott. Motherfucking Dr. Scott.
He’d had her trust.
Shit. Fucking shit. He’d also had Navarro’s trust for how many years? Most of the investigation, that was how long. Navarro would have disclosed details.
All the details.
Scott must have been so goddamn smug.
This was going to destroy Navarro. Kit felt destroyed with the minimal information she’d provided. Navarro had been telling Scott his secrets for years.
She ran back to her vehicle, dialing Navarro’s number before she’d even closed her door. “It’s Scott,” she said as soon as Navarro picked up.
“What?” Navarro asked. “Scott who?”
“Dr. Scott,” Kit snapped. “Our. Therapist.”
“What?” Navarro repeated, incredulous. “Come on, McKittrick. It wasn’t Levinson, either. What’s gotten into you?”
“I have the video evidence. In my hand.” Kit started the car, her hands still shaking. “He met Skyler at the Lazy Oyster Bar. I saw him roofie her drink. I saw him lead her out. I saw him.”
For a long moment, there was silence.
Then Connor gently asked, “Where are you now, Kit?”
“On my way back.”
“Okay,” Connor said, still gentle. “Get yourself back here safely. You hear me?”
“Yeah. Boss?”
“Yeah?” Navarro asked hoarsely, and Kit’s heart broke for him.
“Not your fault, boss.”
“I told him everything,” Navarro said, his voice cracking. “Are you sure it’s him?”
“Yes. Plus, Sam Reeves found him, too. He’s on his way in. If I’m not back yet, please escort him up, Connor.”
“Of course, but how did Reeves find him?”
“Third ex-wife told him that Scott was Colton’s therapist. Sam found an interview video Scott did from his living room. It’s the same living room in the videos.”
“Let me google Scott,” Connor said, then cursed a minute later. “Reeves is right. There’s a video online and it’s the same living room.”
Navarro cleared his throat. “I’m sending uniforms to his offices and to his house right now to make sure he doesn’t leave.”
“Offices?” Connor asked. “His office is here. In this building.”
“One of them,” Navarro said, sounding like he was barely holding on. “He has another office. Oh fuck.”
“What?” Kit demanded.
“The address. I hadn’t been there in years, not since he got the office here. I wouldn’t have recognized it offhand. It’s in the building where Driscoll worked.”
“Does he live there, too?” Kit asked. “In one of those penthouses?”
“No. He has a waterfront place on Mission Beach.”
“All right,” Connor said calmly. “I’ll coordinate uniforms to all the places. Kit, you just get yourself back here in one piece. Do I need to send someone to drive you?”
“No. I’m okay to drive. See you soon.”
She ended the call and rested her head on the steering wheel, trying to catch her breath. Her phone rang again, and she answered it without checking the screen. “Connor?”
“No, honey, it’s Pop.”
“Pop,” she breathed. Just the person she needed to hear right now.
“Where are you, honey? I was waiting outside for an hour, but you guys didn’t come out. I’m in the coffee shop now, but you’re not here.”
Her racing heart stopped. “What? What are you talking about, Pop?”
“You texted Rita,” Harlan said, his voice now echoing her anxiety. “Told her to meet you at the coffee shop near your office. I dropped her off, just like you said in your text. I waited at the curb for an hour, but she never came out. I came in to find her, but she’s not here. Neither are you. What’s happening?”
“Pop.” Kit gasped for air as the possibilities bounced around her mind. It couldn’t be. Scott didn’t know about Rita.
But he did.
Because I told him.
“I didn’t text Rita.”
“What?” Harlan whispered. “Kit, what’s happening?”
“Stay where you are. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Her hands had only been trembling before. Now they were full-out shaking as she redialed Navarro. Tears clogged her throat and her voice came out thick and raspy. “Rita Mendoza is gone.”
She heard the echo of the room as Navarro put her on speaker. “Who? Wait. You mean Maria Mendoza’s daughter? Your foster sister? Did she run away?”
Fury exploded within her. She’d heard those words before, when Wren disappeared.
“No. She did not run away. She was tricked into meeting me. Just like Skyler was tricked into meeting Sam. Scott has her.”
“How does he know about her?” Connor asked.
Kit tried to swallow the sob, but it broke free. “Because I told him about her in my last session. I told him.”
“Fucking hell,” Navarro breathed. “Come back, Kit.”
“No. I’m meeting my pop at the coffee shop.”
“No,” Connor said sharply. “You come back here now, or I’ll send someone to get you. I’ll send a car to get your father and get CSU out there. They’ll check out the security footage from the shop. You can’t touch this case anymore, Kit. You know I’m right.”
She did know. But . . . “She’s just a kid, Connor. She’s only thirteen.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “We’ll get everyone out there searching for her. You get back here, okay?”
“Okay,” she whispered. She ended the call and called Harlan. “My partner’s sending a car for you, Pop. They’re going to bring you to meet me at the station.”
“Kit,” he barked. “What is happening?”
“I think Rita’s been abducted.”
“Oh my God,” he whispered. “Not this. Not again.”
“We’ll find her, Pop. I have to go. I’ll see you at the station.”
She ended the call and put the car into drive.
If that bastard hurt Rita . . . I will kill you myself.
Carmel Valley, California
Wednesday, April 20, 7:30 p.m.
It was a nightmare. Again.
Kit sat in Harlan and Betsy’s living room, feeling fifteen all over again. Except it was worse this time. This time she knew exactly what was happening to Rita.
She’d seen it herself.
“Here.” Sam sat beside her on the sofa, holding out a cup of fragrant tea. “Akiko says it will calm you down.” Because Kit’s sister had raced home as soon as Kit had called her. Akiko had put out the word, and now the kitchen was filled with fosters, here to support Mom and Pop. “She tried to give some to your mom, but Betsy’s pounding on bread dough like a prizefighter.”
Betsy always baked bread when she was stressed. She found punching the dough cathartic.
Kit couldn’t stand the look on her mother’s face. Or her father’s. Betsy was attacking bread dough, but Harlan looked shattered. He’d held Kit too tightly when she arrived, but Kit let him without a single protest. He’d looked a breath away from a breakdown.
Because of me. Because I told that bastard about Rita.
Harlan was sitting in the kitchen right now, surrounded by foster kids, looking as brokenhearted as he had the night of Wren’s funeral. Kit hadn’t been able to stand it, so she’d come out to the living room to blame herself in private.
Except she wasn’t in private anymore. Sam was sitting beside her, and she didn’t want him to go. He was generosity and forgiveness and kindness, and she needed those things.
Kit wrapped her cold hands around the warm mug. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
He’d brought her here after Navarro had sent her home. She hadn’t wanted to go to the boat. She’d needed to be with Harlan and Betsy, but Sam had taken her car keys, unwilling to let her drive while she was so shaken.
Navarro had already sent Harlan home with a uniformed officer who sat outside in his cruiser. Just in case.
Kit wasn’t even sure what that meant. In case of what? In case John Scott came for them? He wouldn’t. He only attacked little girls. He’d taken Rita, a thirteen-year-old girl. Yes, he’d killed Driscoll, but only after he’d drugged him.
He’d probably killed Daryl Chesney, too. The boy who’d “found” Skyler Carville’s body with his metal detector. No one had seen him since Sunday afternoon.
“I’m sorry,” Sam murmured.
She turned to stare at him. At his eyes, warm, sad, and so damn sincere. “Why are you sorry? You’re the one who’s been wronged in all of this. You and Rita and all the others. You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“I wish I’d figured it out sooner.”
“I’m the cop. I should have figured it out sooner. I never should have told Scott about Rita. What was I thinking?”
“That you could trust him,” Sam said gently. “You should have been able to, Kit. I’m sorry you—and other cops—lost that. This is not on you. It’s on him.”
The words were kind. And maybe even true. But it didn’t matter.
She clutched the mug tighter. “I feel so helpless, sitting here like this.”
Because she’d been recused from the case the moment Scott had approached Rita in the parking lot behind that coffee shop. Rita’s cell phone records showed several texts from Kit’s number. Spoofed, of course. They only knew what the first text said because Rita had shown it to Harlan.
Hey, kiddo, I have a break this afternoon. Wanna meet me for a latte? We can have some girl time. I’ll wait for you inside the Never-Empty Cafe. Pop knows where it is. Have him drop you off.
The texts that followed must have asked Rita to come to the back parking lot, because the shop’s cameras showed her walking out the rear door of the shop. And then getting into a gray Toyota RAV4.
Sam’s SUV.
Or what had appeared to be Sam’s SUV. Sam had been able to tell them that his RAV4 had a dent in the left rear fender, but otherwise, it was identical. The glass had been too dark to see the driver.
Kit could only guess that Scott had been holding a gun on Rita. Nothing else would have compelled the girl to get into the car.
Sam’s car had been stolen from Joel’s driveway, further making it look like Sam had abducted Rita. Except Sam had been with Laura Letterman all day. Thank God for that.
Joel had given the police his home security video, which showed a tall young man in a hoodie stealing Sam’s RAV4 that afternoon. Connor believed that Dr. Scott had recruited another street kid, just like Daryl Chesney. Which made sense.
Connor had put a trace on Sam’s GPS, but so far, they hadn’t found a hit. The SUV had probably ended up in a chop shop, but Joel had assured them that Siggy was safe, sleeping in his crate. That, at least, had eased Sam’s mind a little bit.
A cold nose pressed against Kit’s arm and she was suddenly so glad that she’d left Snickerdoodle here, because all she wanted to do was bury her face in the dog’s curly coat and cry. Instead, she patted the sofa, sinking her fingers into Snick’s curls when she jumped into her lap.
“What can you do?” Sam asked.
She glared at him. “Nothing, apparently.”
He held up his hands. “I’m not being cruel or sarcastic. I’m being serious. If you were on this case, what would you be doing right now?”
“Searching Scott’s house.”
“Your new partner is doing that. Scott’s not there.”
He’s not my new partner. Baz is coming back. But that wasn’t what she should focus on. Connor was at Dr. Scott’s house with Navarro and half of the homicide squad. Connor had been good about texting her what information he could.
He was pretty good for a temporary partner.
But that wasn’t what Sam had asked. Focus, Kit. Rita’s life depends on it.
If she’s still alive.
“I’d be working with Baz, pulling together what we know. Trying to figure out where else Scott would take her.”
“Can you call Baz?”
She wanted to say yes. She wanted that so much. Baz had been her rock for sixteen years, her partner for four. But she couldn’t.
She shook her head. “He has to stay calm. He had a damn heart attack, Sam.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, her cell phone buzzed with a FaceTime call, and she blinked at the screen. “It’s Baz.”
But Sam didn’t look surprised, and she wondered what he’d done.
“Hey,” she answered, trying to keep her voice level and failing completely. Just the sight of his face made her want to weep.
“Kit,” Baz said softly. “Talk to me.”
“I can’t,” she whispered. “Marian will kill me.”
“No, she won’t,” Marian said from off camera. “Unless his blood pressure or pulse start climbing. Then I’ll end the call. Talk to him, Kit. He needs to help.”
Kit shuddered out a breath. “How did you know to call me?”
Baz smiled. “I might have gotten a call from a certain someone who may have finally forgiven me for threatening to shoot his dog.”
Kit’s gaze flew to Sam’s face. He shrugged. “The forgiveness part is still up in the air, but I did call him.”
“Thank you,” she said softly, then turned back to her screen. “It’s all fucked up, Baz.”
“Tell me what you know,” Baz said in the no-nonsense way on which she’d come to depend. “Is Connor keeping you up to speed?”
“He is. He and some of the other detectives are searching Dr. Scott’s house right now. Rita’s not there, and neither is Scott. His black Mercedes is in the garage.” Clean and shiny. No trace of the mud they’d seen in the street cams on the metal detector kid’s street. “They found a gray wig and glasses.”
“He disguised himself,” Baz said. “Should have been watching for that.”
“They also found the stepladder he used to hang Driscoll and all the stuff he took from Driscoll’s house. We think he drove Driscoll home in Driscoll’s car, killed him, came back to his place on Mission Beach to dump the stuff, then drove back to Driscoll’s to leave the car in the garage. Connor said that one of the other detectives had found the taxi driver who picked up a gray-haired man with glasses about a mile from Driscoll’s house, not even twenty minutes before we arrived.”
“We just missed Scott,” Baz said, sounding disgusted. “What else did Connor find?”
“A drawer full of handcuffs and a case of sparkly pink paint cans. And three dozen photos.”
Baz frowned. “Of the victims?”
“Not exactly. They’re eight-by-ten photos of beautiful parks, framed and hanging on his living room wall.” Ironically, they hung just above where Driscoll’s camera had been, so they hadn’t been shown in the videos. The camera was no longer there, and Connor didn’t yet know when it had been removed. “Two of the photos they were able to ID—the grave sites of Jaelyn Watts and Skyler Carville.”
“So he didn’t keep his victims’ jewelry, but he went back and took photos of their grave sites?”
“It looks that way. There were two photos in between the pictures of Jaelyn’s and Skyler’s graves. Connor said that the photo closest to Jaelyn’s is probably Cecilia Sheppard’s grave. He identified it this afternoon through Balboa Park maintenance records. The second one was between Cecilia and Skyler’s graves.”
“A new kill,” Baz said grimly. “What else did they find?”
“Driscoll’s laptop and the hard drives that Scott took from his safe. The laptop wasn’t password protected, so CSU’s going through it now. Maureen’s video showed Scott making Driscoll sign into his computer. Seems like Scott was cocky enough not to reinstate a password.”
“Bold bastard. But we knew that. What else?”
“Scott had his own cameras around his house. Driscoll came to Scott’s house the night he died, skulking in the bushes, trying to see in the windows.”
“Why?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“So you followed the lead on the parks,” Baz said. “Good job, Kit.”
“Connor did it.”
“Because you told him to, right? Right. If Scott’s not in his Mercedes, what is he driving?”
“A car that looks like mine,” Sam said. “Mine was stolen out of Joel Haley’s driveway by a tall kid in a hoodie. But it’s not my car.”
“So a gray RAV4,” Baz said. “He had to have acquired it recently. You could check for where he bought it from—or stole it from—and see if there’s GPS.”
“That could take a while, though,” she said. “And Rita doesn’t have a while.”
“Okay. Has he tried to go home?”
“Connor says no. Even if Scott wanted to, there are a couple dozen cops there right now. And if his security cameras can be accessed with his phone, he might already know that.”
“Good point.” Baz drew a breath and Kit recognized the movement. It meant she wasn’t going to like what came next, so she braced herself.
“I assume his plan is to kill Rita and make it look like Reeves did it.”
She’d been right. She didn’t like it. “Yes.”
“If he had someone steal Reeves’s RAV4 out of Joel’s driveway, he probably thought Reeves was there. Thought he wouldn’t have an alibi again.”
“But I was with my attorney,” Sam said.
“Smart move,” Baz said. “Someone stole your car, so that’s a lead to follow.”
Kit shook her head. “If Scott did hire someone to steal it, he’ll probably kill them, too. The kid who found Skyler’s grave apparently went to collect payment and hasn’t been seen since.”
“Do you think he’d take Rita to a park?” Sam asked.
To bury her.
Kit’s heart began to pound anew because she should have thought of that. “Yes. If he follows his pattern, he’d take her to one of the parks that has maintenance going on. They dig up the earth for him and there’s no one around because the area is cordoned off from park visitors.”
“Where is that happening right now?” Sam asked.
Kit swiped away from the FaceTime screen to scroll through her emails. “Connor sent me the list he’d compiled of maintenance schedules.” She found the email and clicked on the attachment. “Please,” she muttered as she scanned the document. A moment later she sucked in a breath. “The Simpson Botanical Garden. They had a water main break. It was fixed this afternoon. That’s where he is.”
“I know that place,” Sam said. “It butts up against the Torrey Pines Extension. I hike there with Siggy all the time.”
That was where she was going. She gave Snickerdoodle’s head a quick kiss before sliding out from under her.
“Kit,” Baz said sharply. “Call Connor. Let him go.”
“I’ll call him for backup. I’m closer than he is right now. Thank you, Baz.”
“You did it yourself. I just helped you focus. Call me when you get him.”
“I will,” she said. “Gotta go.” Ending the call, she was at the front door before she realized Sam was on her heels. “Where are you going?”
“With you. You might need an alibi.”
She stared at him in disbelief for a split second, then opened the door, unwilling to waste time arguing. “You can drive.” She had calls to make.
“Kit!” Harlan shouted as she was about to get into her Subaru. “Where are you going?”
“I know where Scott is,” she called back. “I’ll bring her home.”
Alive. Please let her be alive.
