Wanda leaned forward. “They’re not all like that, you know. Some are cantankerous. Some bitter. They miss the independent lives they used to have, they don’t feel well or they’re just grieving having gotten old.” She smiled. “I loved them all, even the crabby ones.”
“You really liked your job.”
“I did. Very much.”
“Why’d you retire?”
“After Rose…I felt I should step down. Let someone younger take over.” Her eyes grew bright. “I felt, perhaps, if I had been more observant or more forward-thinking about security, it wouldn’t have happened.”
Another of violent crime’s victims-those left behind who blamed themselves.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she said softly. “There was nothing you could have done.”
“I tell myself that but…You know how it goes.”
She did, indeed. “How did the murderer get into the building? I noticed you had a keypad and call-box system. The main doors are kept locked twenty-four hours a day. Was anything different at the time of the murder?”
“We’ve added video surveillance, but that’s it.” She shook her head. “We believe a resident let him in. They would do that, see some ‘nice person’ at the door and buzz them in. We warned them not to…but they’re so trusting.”
“And now?” M.C. sneezed.
“Bless you. Can’t say. After Rose…died, we cracked down. Things may have become more lax. Time dims the memory.”
But not hers, obviously. Not about this.
M.C. thanked her and sneezed again. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m allergic to cats.”
Wanda handed her a box of tissues. “What a shame. You’re a dog person, then?”
She had never thought about it. “I guess I am.”
“Without my four-footed friends, I don’t know what I’d do.”
M.C. redirected her. “Who found Miss Rose?”
“I did, Detective.” She buried her fingers in the cat’s long fur. “We hadn’t heard from her that morning, so we called her apartment. When we didn’t get an answer, I offered to go check on her. That was, and still is, I believe, standard procedure. Her door was unlocked and…”
Her mouth trembled. “I’m sorry, Detective, must I go on?”
M.C. didn’t need her to paint a picture-she had seen the photos. “Can you tell me anything about the days leading up to Rose McGuire’s death? Was there anything special that you remember? Anything different?”
She thought a moment. “We’d had the birthday party for the center just a few days before. I remember so clearly because Miss Rose was dancing. Believe me, some of those oldsters, as I called them, could really cut a rug.”
A birthday party? The back of M.C.’s neck prickled. Julie Entzel and Marianne Vest had also attended birthday parties before they were killed.
“Not like people from your generation,” Wanda Watkins continued, “just standing there and swaying. No offense, of course.”
“No offense taken.” M.C. sneezed twice, then grabbed a tissue. “The party was held at the center?”
“That’s right. Other than Christmas, it was our biggest event of the year.”
“Tell me about it.”
“It was different every year, of course. But there was always some sort of show. Music and dancing. A special meal. Even a champagne fountain. Sparkling grape juice.” She leaned toward M.C. “Even though it was nonalcoholic, some of the residents still got tipsy.”
“That year, what was the entertainment? Do you remember?”
She screwed her face up in thought. “A clown. He was quite good.”
A clown.
Holy shit. Kitt had been right.
M.C. straightened. “Did you share this with the officers investigating at the time?”
“I’m sure I didn’t. It never came up.”
“What was the clown’s name?”
“I don’t recall. It’s been years.”
“Did you use a service?”
She shook her head. “We got a recommendation from someone.” She frowned in thought. “Who was that? The relative of one of the residents. But…I can’t remember who.”
“Has the center used him since?”
“We tried the next year, but the number was no longer in service and we couldn’t find a listing.”
“Could the name still be on file at the center? Or can you think of anyone who might recall his name? It could be important.”
Wanda would have had to be deaf to miss the urgency in M.C.’s voice. She looked stricken. “You don’t think…surely that nice clown-”
M.C. cut her off. “Is there a chance the man’s name is still on file at the center?”
“Probably not. When we couldn’t reach him the next year, I’m sure we took his name out of the Rolodex. Keeping up-to-date records was an obsession of mine.”
“What about a record of payment?” M.C. asked, knowing that most businesses kept their financial records a minimum of seven years, if not indefinitely
She nodded. “I bet there would be. We weren’t allowed to pay anyone cash.”
M.C. stood, excited. This could very well be nothing. But it didn’t feel that way. It felt like a big something.
She thanked Mrs. Watkins and handed her one of her cards. “If you even get a glimmer of a recollection as to this clown’s name, call. No matter the time. On my cell.”
The woman said she would and trailed her to the door. M.C. could tell she had questions, ones she knew better than to ask.
M.C. wouldn’t answer, of course.
She hurried out into the bright day. She had to call Kitt. They had checked the Fun Zone’s employees, but they hadn’t asked the victims’ parents if their children had been entertained by a performer from outside the Fun Zone. They also had to check with the Olsen and Lindz families to find out if they had also been entertained by a clown.
She dialed Kitt; got her message service. “Kitt, it’s M.C. I think we’ve got him. A clown performed at a party at Rose McGuire’s assisted-living community. I’m going to contact the other families, see if they remember a clown. I’ll keep in touch.”
61
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
1:00 p.m.
Kitt 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 exceptio
n 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.”
62
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
1:40 p.m.
As 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.”
63
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
2:20 p.m.
It 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.
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