Copycat (30 page)

Tuesday, March 21, 2006
1:00 p.m.

K
itt stared at the phone log, at the damning number.
Brian had called Joe last night.
Kitt checked the time.
At 5:20. Just before he had called her.

Her vision blurred. Why? What possible reason could he have had?

He'd been looking for her. It made sense. He'd left her a message, had obviously needed to speak with her so—

She and Joe had been divorced for three years, why would Brian call there, looking for her?

What had Joe said this morning?
That he'd discovered that the line between love and hate was thin, indeed.

Dear God, how thin?

She felt ill. All along, M.C. had thought Joe was a good suspect. She hadn't believed it. She still didn't. Not Joe. Not the man she had loved almost her whole life.

But if he had lied about the alibi…

What else had he lied about?

She reached her desk. On it sat two calendars. One from 1989, the other from 1990. Both were promotional, from the Society for the Deaf.

There was a note on top from M.C.
From the storage facility. Could be something. Call me.

“Hey, Lundgren? You okay?”

She looked up. Detective Allen stood beside her desk, staring quizzically at her.

She worked to regain normalcy, her sense of balance. “Fine. What's up?”

“Been looking at Brian's computer. He spent a good bit of time yesterday searching old cases.”

He handed her a printout. “Some of them are cold cases, others were solved.”

Kitt quickly scanned the page. He had pulled up the files of Marguerite Lindz, Rose McGuire and Janet Olsen. In all of those, she knew, he had been one of the investigating officers. The other cases she didn't recognize.

She handed the list back. “With the exception of these three, could you look up who the investigating officers were on the cases? I'm going to question some of the folks Brian called yesterday. I'll have my cell phone if you need anything.”

A partial truth, she thought as she exited the VCB. She intended to speak with Joe—and see where that led her.

Her cell phone buzzed and from the display she saw it was M.C. She started to pick up, then hesitated. She couldn't tell her about Valerie recanting Joe's alibi. Not just yet.

She needed to speak with Joe first.

She reholstered the device and hurried down the elevator to the parking garage.

As she exited the elevator, the phone rang again. This time it was Danny.

She hadn't spoken to her friend since the night she rebuffed his advances.

“Hi, Danny,” she said.

“I was hoping we could talk about the other night.”

“This isn't a good time.”

He was quiet a moment. “When would be a good time?”

She frowned. “Truthfully, I don't know. This investigation is really heating up.”

“How about after group?”

“I don't know if I'll be there, it depends on the—”

“Investigation.”

The word dripped sarcasm and irritation rippled over her. “It's my job. And sometimes, me staying on the job is the difference between life and death.”

“Right, how could I have forgotten?”

“Look, I'm sorry about the other night. We're friends and I value that too much to get romantically involved with you.”

She expected him to apologize. For getting pushy. For putting her in a position that jeopardized their friendship. Instead, when he spoke, he sounded angry. “I know you, Kitt. I know what drives you—and what drives you to drink. You need us. You need
me.
”

Something about the way he said it raised her hackles. “I've got to go. I'll be back to group as soon as I can.”

She hung up and went in search of Joe.

Kitt tracked him down with Flo's help, at one of his building sites.

“Hi,” he said, breaking into a smile. He moved to kiss her and she backed away.

His smile slipped. “What's wrong?”

“We have to talk.”

“Okay. Sure.”

He glanced around. The house was in the process of being framed in. Joe's crew was everywhere.

“How about my truck?”

Kitt nodded and followed him to his pickup. They climbed in the cab and she turned to face him.

“Valerie was in this morning,” she said, not mincing words. “She told me she lied about the night of March 6, said the two of you did not spend the night together.”

He frowned. “I don't understand.”

“She recanted, Joe. You don't have an alibi now. For any of the Copycat murders. You want to change your story?”

“No! We were together. All night.”

“She says not.”

“And you believe her?”

“I don't want to. But—”

“I thought you knew who I was, Kitt.”

“I do. But I have a job to do.” She heard the quiver in her voice and acknowledged that she was out of her depth here. That M.C. had been right to take this out of her hands.

Cool-eyed objectivity. She had it.

Yeah, right. What a joke.

“Did it occur to you that maybe she changed her story out of anger? Because I met her this morning and broke our engagement?”

“She was still wearing your ring. I figured you would—”

“Stay engaged to her? After last night? What kind of man would I be if I did that?” He caught her hands. “I love you, Kitt. I never stopped.”

“Then why—”

“Because I wanted a life. A family. I thought Valerie and I would be good together. And she needed me, because of Tami, her handicap.”

He gazed into her eyes. “I'd given up hoping you'd ever need me again.”

“I always needed you,” she said. “I was just in too much pain to—What handicap?”

She saw by his expression that he was confused. “Tami,” she repeated. “What handicap?”

“Tami's deaf,” he said. “I thought you knew.”

Tuesday, March 21, 2006
1:40 p.m.

A
s M.C. was leaving the Walton B. Johnson Center for the second time that day, her cell phone rang. The foundation's headquarters in Chicago housed all records over a year old; they had been contacted and would begin a search. It would take longer than M.C. would have liked, because they didn't know exactly who they were looking for or the date the check had been written.

“Riggio here,” she answered, certain it would be Kitt on the other end.

Not Kitt. Lance. “I need to talk to you,” he said, tone urgent. “It's important.”

She frowned. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes…no. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. About how much you mean to me.”

“From where I'm standing, that sounds like a good thing.” She darted across the parking lot to her SUV.

“There are things you need to know about me. My past. They may affect the way you feel about me.”

He had her full attention now. “What kind of things?”

“About my family. How I grew up.”

“I doubt your family could change the way I feel about you.”

“That's because you never met them.”

The way he said it made her laugh. “Well, you haven't met mine yet, either.” She unlocked her vehicle and slipped inside. “This is a really bad time, Lance. The investigation—”

“Ten minutes,” he said. “Fifteen, tops.”

She glanced at her watch. She hadn't eaten yet and was getting a headache. “I have to grab a bite, maybe we could—”

“Come here,” he said. “I'll have a sandwich ready for you. And I make a pretty mean ham and cheese.”

“Mayo and lettuce?” she teased.

“Absolutely. Although, I'm warning you up-front that my story might ruin your appetite. My family's pretty weird.”

“Weird families are right up my alley. I'll be there in ten minutes.”

Tuesday, March 21, 2006
2:20 p.m.

I
t took a moment for Kitt to process what Joe was saying.
Tami was deaf?

How could she not have known? Kitt replayed the times she had been in the girl's company. At the leukemia fair, Kitt had been reeling over discovering the girl's existence. She had been in her presence only moments before hurrying off. At Valerie's home, Kitt had been taken with how quietly Tami played, been impressed by the absence of TV. She hadn't commented as theirs hadn't been a social call.

It made sense. It—

The calendars, she realized. The ones that M.C. had left on her desk that morning, from the Society for the Deaf. Peanut hadn't been lying—there had been a clue for them in the storage unit. They just hadn't dug deep enough until now.

“Kitt?” Joe was looking at her strangely. “What's wrong?”

“I have to bring you in. I believe you. But if it looks like I covered this up or behaved inappropriately it'll be worse—for both of us. You have to trust me.”

He didn't hesitate. “I do. Let me give my lead guy some direction.”

They both climbed out of the truck. Kitt watched as he jogged across the site to one of his workmen, then turned and jogged back.

“Shall I follow you?” he asked.

“Leave your truck. I'll drive.”

He nodded, expression tight. “Don't want me to try to make a run for it, right?”

She caught his hand, laced her fingers through his. “I know that's not going to happen. I'm acting with an abundance of caution.”

They crossed to her Taurus and climbed in. Kitt started it up, thoughts racing. She had heard some of the divorcées in the RPD discussing how hard it was to find a guy when you had kids. She imagined it would be doubly hard if you were the mother of a handicapped child.

Could Valerie have created this elaborate scheme to get away with murdering her own child?

The idea was sickening. Repugnant. As it would be to any sane person. But, as her years on the force had proved, human behavior often proved anything but “sane.”

Valerie had a connection to both Buddy Brown and the pediatric ward where Julie Entzel had visited her cousin. Kitt had thought from the beginning that the contents of the storage unit had either belonged to a woman or been assembled by one.

And now, Valerie had a motive—freedom.

“Tell me more about Tami,” Kitt said as she headed toward the PSB.

“What's this all about, Kitt?”

“I can't say.” She glanced at him, then back at the road. “Just trust me, okay?”

He nodded tersely and began. “She's been deaf since birth, though they didn't realize it until she was about two. She goes to a school for the deaf and reads lips and signs. She's very well adjusted and an all-around good kid.”

“What about Valerie? What's her story in all this?”

“It's been really hard on her. Her husband left her when they learned Tami was deaf. He ‘just couldn't handle having a handicapped kid.' His words.”

“Before you, did she date much?”

“She tried. But when men found out she had a handicapped child, they never called again.”

“Except for you.”

“Yeah. Except for me.”

Kind Joe. Patient and loving. In a way, Sadie's disease had been a handicap. She certainly hadn't had what the world would call a “normal” first ten years.

Kitt tightened her fingers on the steering wheel. The clown who'd given her the balloon was her caller, the original SAK. And Valerie was the Copycat.

How the hell did they meet? And were they in cahoots? Or adversaries?

Perhaps they were lovers?

She stopped on that.

Lovers. In cahoots.

She glanced at Joe, an uncomfortable sensation creeping over her. From living with her, Joe knew police procedure. He knew everything about her—her fears and dreams. Her nightmares. He knew about her letting the SAK escape because she'd been drunk.

Peanut's knowledge of that incident had been the cornerstone of her belief in his being the SAK.

Brian had called Joe, just hours before he died. Joe had hired Buddy Brown.

But the clown had given her the balloon. He'd called and—

M.C. had pointed out the faulty thinking in that already. Joe had seen the clown hand her the balloon and used it as a way of proving himself innocent.

She struggled to think clearly, to separate fact from fear. What she was considering was insane. Impossible. She had known this man most of his life. Even with a voice-altering device, she would recognize his voice patterns and—

That was bullshit. A sophisticated voice-changer could make an old voice young, a male voice female—or vice versa—and all manner of adjustments in between.

But if her caller was the original SAK…

Maybe the original SAK had never been involved. They wouldn't even have needed him. It could be wholly their plot.

The three old ladies, she realized. If the SAK hadn't been the one calling her, how had he known about them?

He couldn't have.

What if that were a lie, too?

Kitt's head whirled with questions and answers to them—ones she both feared were true and prayed weren't.

She was aware of Joe looking at her. The hair at the back of her neck prickled. She hadn't cuffed him. Hadn't searched him for a weapon.

Of course she hadn't.

This was Joe.

She glanced at him, forcing a smile. As long as he believed nothing had changed, he would go along with her. “Almost there.”

“Are you thinking Valerie's in some sort of trouble?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Ever since I mentioned that Tami was deaf, you've been acting a little strange.”

She couldn't bring herself to lie to him. So she told him the truth. Her by-the-book truth. “I can't discuss what I'm thinking with you. I'm going to need to talk to Sal and he'll want to talk to you.”

Kitt reached the PSB and pulled into the underground parking area. She parked and turned to him. “Ready?”

He grabbed her arm as she reached for the door handle. “What's going on here, Kitt?”

“A murder investigation. I thought you knew that.”

He tightened his grip on her arm. “Do you love me?”

She held his gaze. A lump formed in her throat. Would she, if it was proved he was a child killer? Or an accomplice to one? How could she? But for now, this moment, even with her suspicions, she did.

“Yes,” she answered softly. “I do.”

He released her and they climbed out of the car. On their way in, they were joined by Sorenstein and Snowe, obviously just returning from lunch. The smell of fried chicken still hung on them, and she realized it'd been hours since she'd eaten.

“Yo, Lundgren,” Snowe greeted her, then looked at Joe. “Scott Snowe. I think we met before.”

“We probably did. I'm Joe Lundgren, Kitt's ex-husband.”

They shook hands. Sorenstein introduced himself as well. If the detectives thought it was strange she was with her ex, they didn't mention it.

“By the way, nothing yet,” Sorenstein said, anticipating her asking how the ballistics search was going. “I'm taking another crack at it this afternoon.”

“Let me know if—”

“You'll be the first, I swear.”

The elevator arrived and she and Joe stepped on. “What now?” he asked.

“I'll put you in one of the interrogation rooms, then go talk to Sal.”

“When he questions me, will you be with him?”

She shook her head. “I've already been too involved.”

“I'm on my own?”

“Afraid so.” They reached the second floor and exited the elevator. She led Joe to the hall where the six interrogation rooms were located. Number One was empty, she opened it and flipped on the light. “I'll be as fast as I can be.”

He nodded; she crossed to the door, stopped and looked back at him. “By the way, Joe, did Brian call you last night?”

“Brian Spillare?”

She nodded.

“No. Why?”

For the space of a heartbeat, she wanted to scream “Liar!” Instead, she forced a reassuring smile. “He was looking for me, that's all. Let's get this show on the road.”