Copycat (17 page)

Thursday, March 16, 2006
3:40 p.m.

H
e watched the girl play. She was perfect. A perfect angel. Carefree. Lovely. More perfect than any of the others had been.

Why? He cocked his head. She was blonde and blue-eyed and pretty. But the others had been also.

No, this one was special because of Kitt. He had made a threat. And a promise. A threat to the little girls around his Kitten.

And a promise to himself. To win. At all costs.

She cared about the girls. Hurt them and he hurt her. And this one she would blame herself for.

Funny, now that he had determined her punishment, and realized how utterly effective it would be—he wasn't angry with her. Yes, she had defied him again. Challenged him again. But he saw it as fighting spirit. And truly appropriate.

He leaned against the park bench and let the sweet breeze flow over him. What a devastating blow it would be to her when this girl died. Poor Kitten. Would she be able to overcome it? Would it send her back to the bottle? Or maybe, this time, for her service weapon.

One shot to the head and all the pain would go away.

A part of him hoped she took that path. She had endured so much already. But another part was rooting for her to fight on.

Interesting how attached he had become. How connected to her struggles.

It was too bad this scenario could only have one outcome—Kitt Lundgren's death.

Thursday, March 16, 2006
6:20 p.m.

M.C.
stood at her kitchen window, leftovers Melody had dropped off earlier heating in the microwave. She and Benjamin had stayed for animal crackers and a chat. Ben, of course, had been more interested in the crackers than the talking. M.C. had learned that in her absence at the previous evening's dinner she had been her mother's main course.

The microwave chimed and she retrieved the cannelloni. She carried the plate to the table, sat but didn't eat. Truth was, she wasn't all that hungry. M.C. hated the position Kitt had put her in. She had overlooked Kitt's lapse into the bottle. Now she expected her to overlook this. What next?

She had done as she'd threatened and boycotted Kitt's meeting with the chief. A small thing, but one Sal would make note of. Even so, she wasn't at all certain that move had been the right one.

Yes, Kitt had acted outside protocol. But it had been a ballsy move. The “no guts, no glory” kind that sometimes paid off big-time.

M.C. wasn't a gambler. She couldn't afford to be associated with risky behavior. Brash, ballsy cops weren't the ones who became chief of detectives, let alone the chief of police. Because those big risks backfired as often as they paid off.

No, the cops who climbed the ladder were steady. They followed protocol, were brilliant strategists and excellent politicians. Admittedly, she had a ways to go in those areas, but she had time. If she kept her eyes on her goals, she would achieve them.

The doorbell rang and for a second she thought it was the microwave again. She made her way to the door, peeked out the sidelight. Brian Spillare stood on her porch, hands jammed into the pockets of his faded blue jeans.

She opened the door. “Brian? What are you doing here?”

“Can I come in?”

She hesitated, then opened the door wider. He stepped through and she closed the door behind him. “What's up?”

“I needed someone to talk to. Someone I could trust.”

An epidemic, apparently.
At this moment no one would be better to discuss Kitt with than Brian. After all, he had been her partner.

She smiled. “Coincidentally, so do I. How about a cup of coffee?”

“You have anything stronger?”

Typical Brian.
“Beer?”

“Perfect.”

He followed her into the kitchen. His standing in the doorway that way brought back memories. Ones that weren't unpleasant, but had no place in their present relationship.

“Something smells awfully good.”

“Leftovers of Mama's cannelloni.”

She thought about offering him some but didn't want him to get the wrong idea. Sharing a meal in her small kitchen was just a little too intimate for comfort.

She handed him the longneck bottle, eschewing a glass. He had always preferred drinking out of a bottle. She was pretty certain in his case it was somehow a phallic thing—the man really was all about his ding-dong.

“Thanks.” He took the beer. Their fingers brushed and she drew her hand away.

“You're not drinking?” he asked.

“No. Not tonight.”

He rolled the bottle between his palms. “Ivy kicked me out.”

“When?”

“Two days ago.”

“I'm sorry,” she said. And she was. Not that she blamed the woman. She had certainly put up with a lot in her years married to the hard-partying cop. “Maybe she'll take you back? She has before.”

“I might not want her back.” He took another swallow of the brew. “Other fish and all that.”

They had been married twenty-some years and had three children together and “other fish” was what he had to say? No wonder she kicked him out.
You go, girl.

“You wanted to talk to me about something?” she asked.

“Us.”

“Oh, please.” She pushed away from the counter, irritated. “I don't have time for this.”

He caught her arm. “Can you just listen?”

“Brian—”

“I've never gotten over you.”

She stood stiffly, working to control her annoyance. “This is so interesting, Brian. Your wife kicks you out and suddenly you've never gotten over me.”

“It's true.”

She shook her head, disgusted. With him, his adolescent behavior. With herself for ever getting involved with him. And for allowing him into her home tonight.

“We shared nothing but a few weeks of sex.”

“But it was great sex.”

She shook off his hand. “Grow up, Brian.”

He took a step forward, weaving slightly. “That'd hurt if I believed you really felt that way.”

He'd been drinking.
Dammit, why hadn't she noticed that before she let him in?

“I think you should go.”

“Don't be that way, baby.”

He made a move to grab her; she sidestepped him. This situation presented a big problem. The man was a superior officer. Well liked and well connected within the force. He could make trouble for her. The kind of trouble that could affect her climb up the ladder.

She eased toward the front door. “I'm seeing someone. Regularly.”

“It doesn't have to be love. It can just be fun.”

“Not interested, Lieutenant. Please go.”

M.C. reached the front door. She grabbed the knob; he laid his hand over hers. “Who're you seeing? Not that scrawny comic from the bar?”

“Yes, if you must know.”

He snorted. “What do you see in him?”

“He makes me laugh. Let go of my hand, Brian.”

“Bet he's not as good as I was.”

“You're a legend in your own mind. But nobody else's.”

His mouth thinned. He made a grab for her; she swung sideways, grasped his upper arms and kneed him square in the nuts.

He doubled over, moaning and muttering a string of curses, all directed at her and her gender.

“Sorry, Brian. I didn't want to do that, but you left me no choice.” As he started to straighten, she opened the door and pushed him through it. “I'm willing to pretend this never happened. But if you
ever
try this crap again, it'll cost you more than sore balls.”

Thursday, March 16, 2006
11:00 p.m.

A
s she'd threatened Kitt that she would, M.C. had taken a stand. Kitt had faced the chief alone, her partner's absence pointedly noted. Sal was sharp. He suspected something was up but had supervised detectives long enough to understand the wisdom of giving them space. Most issues eventually resolved themselves, one way or another. And if they hadn't, he'd stepped in with appropriate action.

What the chief didn't know wouldn't hurt him. At least at this juncture.

Or so Kitt told herself.

She didn't blame M.C. her decision. If this blew up in Kitt's face, her partner didn't want to be taken down with her. As M.C. had said, she had ambitions.

But if they cracked this case, nailed the SAK and the Copycat, M.C. would take part of the credit. Even if it was directly a result of the “left of protocol” move M.C. so strongly protested, she would move up her rung.

Kitt would be happy for her; everybody would win—but especially the children.

Kitt sat at her kitchen table, files spread around her. Her mind raced. The chief had agreed—study the Olsen, Lindz and McGuire case files, look for a commonality between them and the SAK killings, something the original investigating officers missed. Brian and Sergeant Haas had worked it. That'd been just before she and Brian had been partnered up; Sal had been sergeant then.

Kitt frowned. She was starting to understand this bastard. This time, she was going to nail him. If it was the last thing she did in this lifetime, his ass was going down.

She pushed away from the table, stood and stretched. Her body ached, and the muscles in her neck and back were knotted. She rolled her shoulders in an effort to loosen them, then tipped her head from side to side.

It momentarily relieved the tension, and she began to pace.

Three old ladies, beaten to death. Vicious murders. Gruesome. Scenes surprisingly clean, considering. One had lived in an assisted-living community, one in an apartment, another a home. All had lived alone. None had been sexually assaulted. Robbery had not been a motive. No witnesses. No hair, fingerprints or bodily fluids.

Frustrated, she turned and strode back to the table. Her doorbell sounded and she glanced at the clock. It was after eleven, late for a visitor.

Danny, she saw when she went to the door. He stood in the circle of light, looking tired and tense.

“Danny?” she said as she opened the door. “What are you doing here?”

“Can I come in?”

“Sure.” She stepped aside and he entered her small foyer. After she closed the door behind him, she nodded toward the kitchen. “I have a pot of coffee brewed.”

He followed her, though he refused the drink. “I'm coffeed-out.”

She poured herself a cup, aware of him watching her, then turning his gaze to the case files.

“Your hands are shaking,” he said.

She smiled. “I'm probably coffeed-out, too.”

“Then maybe you should cut yourself off?”

“I've got a lot to do. I need the caffeine if I'm going to make it.”

“I'm worried about you, Kitt.”

“Me? Why?”

“What day is this?”

She stared at him, realizing she didn't know. Or rather, she couldn't access the information.

“It's Thursday, Kitt.”

AA. She had missed group.

“I'm so sorry. I was working…it totally slipped my mind.”

He took her cup and set it on the counter, then caught both her hands with his, holding them tightly. “The other night, when I called. You'd been drinking.”

She wanted to deny it, but to deny it would be as bad as the drinking itself. “Yes.”

“And tonight you skipped group.”

“Forgot, didn't skip. There's a difference.”

He said nothing. He didn't need to speak, his expression said it all.

She hurried to reassure him. “It was just that once, I swear. It's not going to happen again.”

“Before you fell off the wagon, wouldn't you have sworn it couldn't happen at all? That you had a handle on it?”

“That was before…something happened. Joe…his fiancée has a daughter. A ten-year-old.”

Her friend's expression softened with understanding. And regret. For her. “Kitt, damn…I'm so sorry.”

Danny, like her other AA friends, knew her heart. They knew all her hurts and fears, all the things that had sent her into the bottle in the first place.

He brought his arms around her. She rested her head on his chest, suddenly overwhelmed with emotion.

And tired. So very tired.

“It hurt so bad,” she said, voice small. “I felt…feel so betrayed.”

He gently rubbed her back, rhythmically smoothing his fingers over her knotted muscles.

“He's replacing Sadie,” she murmured, tipping her face up toward his. “And I can't bear the thought…I can't bear the thought of them all living together, being a family.”

“But drinking isn't going to make it better. It only masks the pain. And when you come off the binge, you feel worse.”

“I know, Danny, and I promise you, I'm not falling back into the trap.”

He searched her expression. “You're particularly vulnerable right now. You need us, more than ever.”

“I'm fine. I—”

“Fine? You're not! Jesus, Kitt, you're an alcoholic. You can't just turn it on and off. It'll grab a hold of you again and—”

“It won't. I have it under control.” She saw that he meant to argue with her and went on. “I can't think about anything but the case right now. It consumes my every waking thought. I have to catch him, Danny.”

He took a step back from her. “Listen to yourself. Don't you see what you're doing? Don't you recognize what's happening to you?”

“Yeah, I recognize it. I'm alive again. I have purpose. Resolve. And you know what? I like it.”

“That's addictive behavior. You're substituting one compulsion for another.”

“You don't understand the nature of police work.”

“That may be, but I understand the nature of addiction.” She tried to turn away; he stopped her. “Are you sleeping? Taking time to eat? Real food, not crap? And what about downtime? Catching a movie or calling a friend?”

“I'm in the middle of a
murder
investigation. I don't have time for things like movies or girlfriends.”

He closed the distance between them. “Dammit, Kitt, you're driving me frigging nu—”

He kissed her. For a split second she was too shocked to respond, then she pushed him away, furious. “What the hell was that?”

His face flooded with color. He looked angry. “Nothing. It was nothi—”

He bit the last back, turned and strode toward the door.

“Danny, wait! Let's talk about this.”

He didn't stop and a moment later the door slammed shut. She ran after him, through the door and onto the porch. “Danny! Come on, it's—”

Too late, she saw as he started his car and roared away from the curb. She watched until his taillights disappeared from sight, then turned and went back inside.

She locked the door behind her, then rubbed her arms, chilled from the night air. She would call him tomorrow, after he'd had a chance to cool down. Get over what was undoubtedly anger and embarrassment caused by her rejection.

Dammit. She didn't want to lose his friendship. She valued it. But she wasn't attracted to him. That wasn't going to change.

She felt suddenly drained. Why'd he have to pull this now? She didn't have the time or energy to deal with this. She had a killer to catch. Make that two killers—one of whom had made her mission personal.

“No, Kitten, it's the children you care about. The little girls.”

He had turned the tables on her. He knew her, her deepest fears. How had he managed it?

She began to pace, her fatigue falling away. Replaced by a kind of nervous energy. She went over what he'd said.

“How fast and how hard would you run to save another little girl? Another Sadie?”
And then,
“Aren't there some little girls in your life right now? Are you strong enough to protect them? Smart enough?”

She stopped pacing. She realized her heart was pounding. Her hands shaking.

Little girls. In her life.

Are you strong enough to save them? Smart enough?

It hit her all at once then. Joe. His fiancée's ten-year-old daughter, Tami. The Leukemia Society fair. The clown and his balloon.

Dear God. The SAK knew about Tami.

Tami was the little girl at the periphery of her life.

Fear grabbed her in a stranglehold. She pictured Tami, her shy smile and pretty brown eyes. She had to warn Joe. She had to warn his fiancée.

Kitt found her shoes, slipped into them. Her sweatshirt jacket was next, followed by a search for her car keys. She located them, grabbed her purse and headed out into the cold night.

The drive to the Highcrest Road home she and Joe had shared took less time than normal because of the hour. The house was dark; his pickup truck sat in the driveway. She wheeled into the drive, stopped behind the truck, slammed out of her car and ran to his front door.

She rang the bell, then pounded on the door. “Joe!” she called. “It's me, Kitt! Open up!”

She pounded again, calling out, growing desperate.

Finally, she heard the dead bolt slide back; a moment later the door opened.

He'd thrown a robe on over his boxers. “Kitt?” he said. “What—”

“Tami's in danger,” she said. “We have to warn Valerie.”

He blinked and she had a sense that he was only waking up now. “Tami,” he repeated. “In danger?”

“Yes. From the SAK. Because of me.”

He gazed at her a moment, then opened the door wider. “It's cold. Come in.”

She stepped into the foyer; he closed the door behind them. It smelled like
him
she realized. Not like them, their family, anymore.

She faced him. “You have to call Valerie. Now. Tonight. It's that important.”

“Slow down, Kitt. You're talking crazy. How would this madman even know Tami?”

“The Leukemia Society fund-raiser. He was there. Dressed as a clown, selling balloons.”

Joe's eyebrows shot up. “A clown? Selling balloons?”

“Yes, dammit! He saw our exchange and gave me a pink balloon. He called me later, asked me if I liked it.”

“This is madness.”

“True. But that doesn't mean I'm crazy. He threatened me.”

“He threatened you?”

“By threatening the little girls. The ones I care about, the ones in my life.”

“Kitt—”

Her hackles rose at the way he said her name. Patiently. As if talking to a headstrong child. Or a nutcase.

“He said ‘little girls at the periphery of my life.' I just realized tonight that he was talking about Tami. Don't you get it? Tami's at the periphery of my life. She's the only one.”

“Goddammit, Kitt, just stop!”

The words exploded from him and she took a step back, shocked. Joe rarely swore, and certainly not
that
epithet. She could count on one hand the number of times he had lost his temper and yelled.

“It's happening again, isn't it? The same thing that happened to you last time. You're losing it, falling apart.”

“It's not like that! Just listen.”

“No. Look at you. You're not sleeping, are you? Not eating right. You can't think about anything but the case.”

“No…no…listen. I think he's been in my house. He's stalking me. He knows—”

“Are you drinking again? Because if you're not now, it's next.”

“I'm different now. That's not going to happen.” She grabbed his hands. “I know Tami's in trouble. Because of me, she's caught the attention of a killer. I couldn't bear it if—If she was hurt because of me. If something happened to her.”

He curled his fingers around hers. “It's not your fault that Sadie died. You couldn't have saved her. Or the girls that monster murdered. None of their deaths are your fault.”

“You don't understand, Joe.” She shook her head. “You don't see.”

“You've got to let it go.”