Copy Cat

by Erica Spindler

  “Look, somebody’s got to hire these guys. How can they go straight if they can’t support themselves?”

  “So you consider it your civic duty?”

  He frowned. “Not really. I still expect a full day’s work for a full day’s pay. I’m not a charity.”

  “Where were you the nights of March 6, 9 and 16?”

  “May I consult my planner?”

  She said he could, and he pulled out his PalmPilot. After navigating through the menu, he said, “The night of the ninth I was with Valerie.”

  “All night?”

  Kitt didn’t look away, though she wanted to. He shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. “I don’t normally. But Tami spent the night at her grandmother’s.”

  “What about the other two nights?”

  “Nothing. Valerie, Tami and I went to dinner on the sixth. I had a homeowner’s association meeting on the sixteenth.”

  “You were home by what time?”

  He thought a moment. “Both nights, 10:00 p.m. No later.” Joe looked at her. “Do I need to get a lawyer, Kitt?”

  Riggio answered for her, quickly. A fact that once again proved the other woman didn’t trust her. “A lawyer is your right, of course. Only you know if you need one.”

  A trick used to make a suspect feel as if he was incriminating himself if he lawyered-up. She had certainly used it enough.

  So why did it feel so wrong now?

  M.C. stood. “I’m sorry, but could you give us a few minutes?”

  He looked at his watch, obviously frustrated. “How much longer do you think-”

  “Not much.”

  He looked at Kitt as if for reassurance. She longed to give it to him but couldn’t.

  “Could I have a word with you?” he asked her. “Alone?”

  “I’m sorry, Joe. That’s not possible. Not right now.”

  Something passed across his features. An understanding. Realization.

  Hurt.

  “I think I would like to call a lawyer,” he said stiffly. “As you said, it’s my right.”

  M.C. looked sharply at Kitt. “Of course. I’ll make a phone available to you right away.”

  “I’d also like to call my crew foreman, so he can get started.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem.” She motioned toward the door. “The hallway, Kitt. Now.”

  They exited the room and stepped away from the door. M.C. whirled to face her. “What the hell was that all about?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Did you signal him or something?”

  Now M.C. had pissed her off. “That’s insulting. I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer.”

  “One look at you, and he lawyered right up. What would you think?”

  “I’d think he was a bright guy. For God’s sake, M.C., he lived with a detective for twenty-five years. Do you think I never talked about interrogating suspects? That he doesn’t know the techniques we use?”

  M.C. opened her mouth as if to argue, but Kitt didn’t give her a chance. “If we’re going to partner, even if only for this one case, we have to trust each other. Can you do it?” she asked, throwing the other woman’s earlier question back at her.

  For a long moment, M.C. was silent. But instead of answering in the affirmative, as Kitt had, she murmured, “I’ll try. Right now, that’s the best I can do.”

  49

  Monday, March 20, 2006

  10:10 a.m.

  M.C. had decided to get someone out to question Valerie, ASAP. She hadn’t needed to tell Kitt she wanted to make certain Joe didn’t have the opportunity to give his fiancée a heads-up-and a chance to lie for him. Nor had she needed to tell Kitt that if Valerie Martin didn’t corroborate, she would recommend an arrest.

  In the end, M.C. had decided to call on Valerie herself. She had taken Detective White with her, leaving Kitt to oversee Joe’s meeting with his lawyer. Kitt supposed that displayed trust. Or not, thanks to the trusty video camera.

  Kitt was acutely aware of how Joe’s being a suspect had reversed their positions on the case. M.C. was calling the shots now. Though it was as it should be, Kitt couldn’t quite quell her feeling of resentment toward the other woman. M.C. would be certain the shadow of impropriety didn’t fall over her.

  Kitt glanced at her watch, wondering what was happening. If Valerie didn’t confirm Joe’s story about their spending the night of the ninth together, Joe was going to be in some very deep shit. Either way, M.C. would go for a search warrant. And Kitt didn’t see a problem with a judge granting it-even with the alibi, they had probable cause.

  Joe’s lawyer hadn’t arrived yet. While she waited, she’d decided to review the transcripts of her calls from “Peanut.” She scanned the first of the recorded calls, noting the way he put words together, his choice of words.

  Joe didn’t talk like this. Yes, a voice changer could alter a person’s voice. But not the way they spoke.

  She narrowed her eyes, considering the content next. He had known about Derrick Todd. How? He had claimed omnipotence. Had opened their conversation with a comment about her chasing her tail.

  Could “Peanut” be a cop?

  It would make sense. Her history wasn’t a secret around the force. Someone nosing around asking the right questions would learn some damn personal stuff about her.

  And, clearly, the SAK had understood crime-scene investigation. He had left the scenes nearly pristine; it had always seemed as if he knew what their next step would be.

  Of course, it wasn’t unusual for a serial killer to be a crime-or law-enforcement buff. Some had even been known to listen to police scanners.

  She switched to the second transcript. More generic. He had taunted her about the balloon. And about her mood.

  “After all I’ve done for you,” he’d said.

  “And what would that be? The wild-goose chase you sent me on? Thanks.”

  “It may have seemed that way to you. You have to have faith.”

  Have faith. In him? In the clue he had given her? Or both?

  “Kitt?” She turned. Sal stood in the doorway, expression grim. “My office.”

  She stood and followed him. “Close the door, please,” he said when they were inside. “Update me.”

  “As I’m sure you’re aware, M.C. brought Joe in for questioning. He’s requested a lawyer. He claims an alibi for the night of the ninth. M.C.’s checking that out now.”

  “I want you out of this. Immediately.”

  “Yes, sir. And if the lawyer arrives before M.C. returns-”

  “Sergeant Haas or I will sit in.” His expression softened. “I’m sorry, Kitt.”

  “For taking me off the case?” The bitter edge in her voice didn’t surprise her. The sudden lump in her throat did.

  “No, for the reason I’m taking you off the case.”

  “He’s not involved, Sal.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “Absolutely. And not just because of my personal relationship with him.”

  For a long moment, he held her gaze. Then he nodded slightly, as if in acknowledgment of her feelings. “If Joe’s cleared, you’re back in charge. I have zero choice in this.”

  “Understood.” She turned and walked to the door. There, she stopped and looked back. “Request permission to follow up on evidence unrelated to Joe. Specifically to go through the contents of the storage locker.”

  “Seems like a good use of your time. And, Kitt, for what it’s worth, I hope you’re right about Joe.”

  She thanked him and returned to her desk. She gazed at the transcript, feeling suddenly lost. In need of a friend.

  Brian, she thought. If anyone would understand, it’d be him.

  Kitt headed for his office. When she reached it, she found the door closed. She lifted her hand to knock on his door, then froze as she heard M.C.’s voice. “Enough! Stop following me.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Bullshit. I saw you
roll by my house the other night. You were tailing me earlier that same night. I don’t want to have to go to the chief with this.”

  “I bet you don’t.” Brian snickered. “Don’t want anyone to know you slept your way into the VCB.”

  Kitt heard M.C.’s sharply drawn breath. “That’s a lie, you prick.”

  “You know how fast news travels in the RPD. Speed of light, babe.”

  Clearly the two had had a sexual relationship. When? Had Brian used his influence to get M.C. assigned to the Violent Crimes Bureau?

  “Try it,” M.C. said, “and you’ll regret it, I promise you that.”

  “Are you threatening me, Detective?”

  “Whatever you want to call it. Back off.”

  The last was delivered in a voice akin to a growl. Kitt dropped her hand and took a step backward. She had heard enough. Her respect for both colleagues had plummeted.

  She took another step; Brian’s door flew open. M.C. stormed out, stopping short when she saw her.

  “Kitt!” she exclaimed, face red. “What a coincidence, I was just coming to find you.” She glanced toward Brian’s door, then back at Kitt. “Joe’s alibi checked out.”

  “I thought it would.”

  “Doesn’t mean he’s not guilty.”

  “You’re getting a search warrant.”

  It wasn’t a question; she answered, anyway. “Yes. Should have it within the hour.”

  “Sal took me off the case. Temporarily.” M.C. nodded. Obviously, if she hadn’t already known, she had expected it. “I’ll keep you posted on our progress.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  Kitt watched her go, then tapped on Brian’s door casing. He was on the phone; he waved her in.

  “So call me,” he said. “I miss you. Okay?”

  He hung up, the picture of misery.

  “What’s up, Brian? You look like you lost your best friend.”

  “Ivy and I have split up. Her idea.”

  Brian was a good cop and had been a wonderful partner and friend. But no way would she want to be married to the man. He had a serious case of Peter Pan syndrome.

  “Sorry to hear that. Anything I can do?”

  He dragged his hands through his hair. Kitt saw that they shook. She noticed how much of his red mane had been replaced by gray. When the heck had that happened?

  “I wish. This time I…I think she means it.”

  Because of an affair with the much younger M.C.? Or something-someone-else?

  He jumped to his feet, visibly shaking off his mood. “That partner of yours was just in here.”

  Kitt cocked an eyebrow at his choice of words. “I saw that.”

  “She told me about Joe.”

  Did she? Odd. “What did she say, exactly?”

  “That he was a suspect. A good suspect. And that you’re off the case.”

  “Temporarily,” she corrected. “Until Joe’s cleared.”

  “I’m sorry, Kitt. It really sucks.”

  “He’s not a part of this. I know he’s not.”

  He began to pace, as if agitated. “She was almost gloating about it. I found that curious. I thought you two were getting along?”

  Kitt frowned. The part of the conversation she’d overheard had nothing to do with Joe, but why would Brian lie to her?

  “We’re tolerating each other pretty well.”

  Or at least, she had thought so until this morning.

  He stopped, turned and faced her. “Can I give you some advice?”

  “Always, Brian.”

  “With that one, watch your back. She’s ambitious…and she’ll do anything, to anyone, to get what she wants.”

  With that off his chest, he seemed to relax. He settled onto the corner of his desk and folded his arms across his chest. “Did you come down here just to shoot the shit, or was there something specific you needed?”

  “Wanted to pass something by you.”

  “Go for it.”

  “I was reviewing the transcripts of my calls with Peanut. Could the SAK be a cop?”

  “A cop?” he repeated. “Geez, Kitt, how could you even think that?”

  “The way he talks. That he knew about Derrick Todd. Think about it.” She leaned forward. “He knows the process. That’s how he’s gotten away with it.”

  “Yeah, sure. But why?”

  “Could it be someone who feels slighted? Someone passed over for promotion? Fired or dressed down in some way?” This time it was she who stood, who started pacing. As she did, she fitted the pieces together, thinking aloud. “He’s arrogant. Proud of his ‘perfect’ crimes. He’s made a big deal about how we’ve all been chasing our tails.”

  He nodded slowly. “Theoretically, it makes some sense. But a cop? Cops might take a couple dollars under the table here or there, accept a favor or a free cup of coffee, but serial murder?”

  She refused to back off. “A cop with an ax to grind.”

  “Why involve you?”

  “He wanted to boast. This Copycat came along, it pissed him off. Or maybe I’m a symbol of the fallen cop. The total screwup.”

  “Maybe.” He rubbed his jaw. Kitt noticed that he hadn’t shaved. At the same moment, she noticed he looked as if he’d slept in his clothes.

  “Any names come to mind?” she asked.

  He thought a moment, then shook his head. “Have you mentioned this to Sal?”

  “Not yet. I wanted to run it by somebody first.” She smiled. “I picked my old friend.”

  “I appreciate that vote of confidence.” He smiled and stood. “I tell you what, before you say anything to Sal, let me put my thinking cap on. Look through some records, see if I can come up with a name or two.”

  She thanked him and headed for the door. There, she remembered the three women the SAK claimed were his. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about three cases you and Sergeant Haas worked on, back in ’98 and ’99.”

  “Ask away.”

  “Three elderly women, all beaten to death. Duct tape applied to their mouths postmortem. You remember them?”

  He made a face. “How could I forget? What do you need to know?”

  “Ever find a link between the three women?”

  “Never. We knew the same UNSUB killed all three, but that’s as far as we got.”

  “The SAK claims they’re his.”

  Now she had him. “MO’s completely different.”

  “True. But that’s the point.” Kitt explained how she had found the three cases and her “ying and yang” theory. “I confronted him, he said they were his.”

  Brian nodded. “Plus, there were three. And the scenes were strangely evidence-free.”

  “Exactly.”

  “During the SAK investigation, I never even considered them related. Boy, do I feel like an idiot.”

  “Who would have? If he hadn’t teased me with his claim of having ‘done’ others, I never would have gone looking.”

  “How can I help?”

  “Can you recall anything that stuck out as particularly odd about any of the witnesses? Any suspicions that you followed up on but led to nothing? Do you remember anyone you questioned being vague or uncommunicative?”

  He was quiet, as if running through the case, refamiliarizing himself with it. He shook his head. “It was a horrendous case to work. Everyone was stunned by the brutality. Jonathan and I spent the most time trying to find the link between the women, thinking it might lead us to the killer.”

  He spread his hands. “We came up empty.”

  “Thanks, Brian. I’m going to be reviewing the case files, if I have any questions-”

  “I’ll be here.” He smiled, but as Kitt exited his office, it occurred to her that something about the curving of his mouth seemed false.

  50

  Monday, March 20, 2006

  3:30 p.m.

  As M.C. had predicted, a judge granted the search warrant for Joe Lundgren’s home, vehicles and business. The language of a warrant had to be specifi
c; law enforcement could not simply go on a fishing expedition. Each address and vehicle had to be specifically named in the warrant or it was off-limits. Likewise, a warrant that was too specific could hamstring investigators.

  They had begun with the business office, for no other reason than his connection to Brown was through Lundgren Homes. There, they had pulled employment records; communication with the Illinois Parole Board, cell phone bills, bank statements, his computer.

  M.C. hoped to find a payoff to Brown, receipts for the cell phones used to call Kitt, or something that would tie him to Kitt’s caller or Brown’s murder-or any of the others, for that matter.

  From the business office, they moved to the man’s Highcrest Road residence. M.C. wondered if this was the house he and Kitt had shared when they were married. Something about the lived-in feeling of the California cottage-style home suggested that it was.

  She stood in the living room, surveying the row of family photos on the fireplace mantel. They were all from the time before Sadie’s death, when they had been a family. Many of the photos included Kitt. A smiling, carefree-looking Kitt.

  A wife and mother. Happy. Loved.

  A visual record of Kitt’s loss.

  M.C. shifted her thoughts away from her partner. How did Valerie feel about the photos? M.C. had seen ones similar to these in every room of the house. Did they make her feel threatened? Jealous?

  “Detective?”

  She turned. One of the officers assigned to search Lundgren’s truck stood in the doorway. “Find anything?” she asked.

  “It was clean. You want me to have it impounded?”

  “Do it.” Although they weren’t looking for biological evidence from the Copycat murders, Buddy Brown had been killed then transported to Anna Paige Park. “Detective White’s with Lundgren’s lawyer?”

  “Yes. In the basement.”

  The lawyer had followed them around while another uniform had kept a confused yet indignant Lundgren company just outside.

  She turned back to the photos, frowning. Something about this didn’t feel right. Was Joe Lundgren as good a suspect as she’d originally thought? It had made sense to her, the idea that Joe was punishing Kitt. She had painted him as angry and jealous.