For a long moment, Riggio didn’t respond. When she did, her voice was tight. “I overreacted,” she said finally. “Being taken seriously is a big deal for me. I had to fight for it all my life.” She paused. “I shouldn’t have said those things to you.”

“Fact of the matter is, neither one of us was lying,” Kitt answered.

M.C. smiled suddenly. “If we ever need to speak in code, you’re ‘Going postal.’”

“And you’re ‘Taking a joke.’”

“But I still don’t trust you to watch my back.”

“Ditto.”

The remainder of the drive passed in silence. But a less prickly one this time, one Kitt used to assemble her questions for Sydney Dale.

Mr. Dale, they discovered, lived in a large, contemporary home. The house sat on a beautifully landscaped lot-two acres or more, Kitt guessed, with pool, cabana and natural pond with rock waterfall.

They parked in the circular drive, behind a white BMW convertible. They crossed to the door, but before they could ring the bell, it swung open. An attractive teenage girl ducked past them, blond ponytail swinging. She trotted to the BMW, slid inside and started it up.

As the engine roared to life, a man thundered out the door, nearly knocking Kitt down. “Sam!” he shouted. “I did not give you permission to-”

“Gotta go, Dad. I’m late!” The teen stepped on the gas and sped down the drive.

Kitt watched, part amused, part disgusted. Classic case of teen ruling the roost. When she was growing up, either of her parents would have chased her down, then soundly kicked her butt.

“Mr. Sydney Dale?” M.C. asked.

He looked at them then, as if just realizing they were there. “Yes?”

He was a big man, though not particularly attractive. His nose occupied too much of his face, and his pitted skin spoke of teenage years besieged by acne.

A problem his daughter did not have. Of course, these days well-heeled parents spared no expense on their spoiled children: facials, professional manicures and pedicures, salon styling Kitt couldn’t even afford. She had even heard about breast augmentation as high school graduation gifts.

Geez. Her Mom had given her a ten-karat-gold cross necklace.

Kitt showed him her shield. “Detective Lundgren, Rockford Police Department. My partner, Detective Riggio.”

M.C. flashed her badge; the man didn’t even glance at it. “I was wondering when you’d get here. And just to let you know up-front, I’ve already spoken to my lawyer about this matter.”

Typical rich asshole. “What matter is that?” Kitt asked.

“My employment of Derrick Todd, of course. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

“It is. I guess my confusion stems from why you’d think you’d need to consult a lawyer over a few questions about one of your employees.”

He frowned. “Don’t play games with me, Detective. We both know why a man like me would consult with his lawyer over this. I have a lot to lose from liars, scam artists or bad press.”

That was true, and she appreciated his candor. “And what did your lawyer advise you to do, Mr. Dale?”

“Answer your questions honestly and help you in any way I could, then send you on your way.”

“That sounds fine to us, Mr. Dale.”

He closed the door behind him. “My wife’s still sleeping.”

Lucky her. Kitt took out her spiral-bound notepad. “I understand you own the Fun Zone.”

“Yes. It’s one of my investments. I leave the running of it, including the hiring and firing, to my manager.”

“Mr. Zuba.”

“Yes.”

“You say you leave the ‘hiring and firing’ to your manager, but that’s not always true. Is that right?”

He hesitated, just slightly. “Once in a while I offer suggestions.”

“As you did with Derrick Todd?”

Again, he hesitated. “Yes.”

“Mr. Zuba told us you ‘highly recommended’ Mr. Todd.”

“I did. He was our yard and pool boy for several years. He did a good job, seemed like a nice kid. He quit when he went back to school.”

“Where’d he go?”

“RVC.”

Rock Valley College was a local junior college. Many a high school senior from the area attended “The Rock,” as they called it, before moving on to a four-year university. The school also drew older students, looking to better their chances in the work force.

“When was this?”

He thought a minute. “Four, four-and-a-half years ago.”

Kitt glanced at M.C. She was watching the man carefully, gauging his truthfulness by his body language and eye movement.

“Then what happened?”

“He approached me about a job. I promised I’d see if there was anything available at one of my business endeavors. The Fun Zone had an opening. I recommended Mr. Zuba consider him for it.”

“And that’s it?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t tell your manager to hire Mr. Todd on your recommendation alone?”

“Without a background or criminal check? That would be very stupid, don’t you think?”

“I do, Mr. Dale. But somehow that’s what happened.”

“I certainly don’t know how.” He glanced away, then back at her. “Some sort of communication foul-up, I suppose.”

Kitt’s hackles rose. He sounded almost bored. “That communication foul-up may have cost two young girls their lives.”

He blinked quickly, three times. She had hit a button with that one. Why? Guilt? Or fear?

“So, you had no idea that Derrick Todd had run afoul of the law after leaving your original employ?”

“Would I have recommended him if I had?”

He all but bristled with indignation. Kitt cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t know, Mr. Dale. Would you have?”

“I have nothing more to tell you, Detectives. If I could help you more, I would.”

Yeah, right. And pigs fly.

They thanked the man and headed for M.C.’s car. When they were buckled in and on their way, Kitt looked at M.C. “Did you notice he never commented on the reason we were investigating Todd? Never expressed regret, concern or denial?”

“Yeah, I noticed. He was too busy covering his own ass. Prick.”

Kitt nodded as they turned onto Riverside Drive. “If it turns out Todd is guilty of the Copycat murders, Dale’s making certain your friend ZZ takes the fall.”

“He had his story down pat, no doubt about it. What a sweetheart.”

“Let’s run Mr. Dale through the computer, see if he’s as fine and upstanding as he’d like us to believe.”

M.C. nodded. “But first, let’s swing by the Fun Zone and have another chat with ZZ. Give him a little heads-up. See if his story changes.”

They arrived at the Fun Zone before the doors officially opened for the day. ZZ and his employees were busy readying themselves for the Saturday onslaught of screaming kids.

He looked anything but happy to see them.

“Could we have a word in private?”

He nodded. “Come on back.”

When they reached his office, M.C. didn’t mince words. “ZZ, we have a problem. Your boss insists he only recommended you look at Todd. Not that you hire him. And certainly not that you skip any of the screening process.”

ZZ blanched. “That’s not true. He told me quite clearly that he was ‘hired.’ That he could personally vouch for him.”

“That’s not his story. I’m sorry.”

Visibly upset, he ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know why he would say that.”

M.C. held his gaze. “ZZ, you gotta be straight with me here. ’Cause if Derrick Todd turns out to be a killer, it’s going to get ugly. Real ugly. If you’ve twisted the story to save your own ass, you’d better tell me now.”

“I didn’t. I swear.”

Kitt studied the man. Why would he lie? Besides, they had questioned him cold; Dale had been primed by ZZ. That had given him plenty of time to prepare his story.

“Thank you, ZZ. We’ll be in touch.”

“Wait!” The manager looked confused. “Why do you think Mr. Dale said that?”

“Maybe you should take that up with him?”

His expression changed, realization coming over him. He knew. His boss was setting him up, just in case.