He went white. Sweat beaded his upper lips. “I want a lawyer.”

“I’ll just bet you do, Mr. Todd.” M.C. straightened. “Come on, Kitt, let’s get Mr. Innocence here an attorney. Obviously, he needs one.”

“I didn’t do anything!”

Kitt took the motherly role. “Derrick, this looks bad. You know that. I want to help you. I want to catch whoever is hurting these girls. If you didn’t do this-”

“I didn’t, I swear! I never even saw those girls at the Fun Zone. There are birthdays there all the time!”

“So, why are you working at the Fun Zone? What are we supposed to think?”

“I needed a job!” he cried. “Dale owed me. That’s all!”

“Dale owed you? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I know my rights! I’m not saying another fucking word until-”

“You get your lawyer,” M.C. finished for him, and stood.

24

Sunday, March 12, 2006

9:20 a.m.

Out of breath and sweating, Kitt slowed her pace. She had kept the promise she’d made to herself to get back in shape. On the couple of days she had wanted to sleep in, she pictured the much younger Mary Catherine Riggio and suddenly found the energy to get her forty-eight-year-old butt up and moving.

She knew it was ridiculous to try to compete with the other woman, but she couldn’t help herself. She looked at Riggio and saw the detective she had been twenty years ago. Confident. Her entire career ahead of her. Her entire life ahead of her.

Kitt had been acutely aware of the differences between them during their interrogation of Todd. M.C. had insisted on charging forward. Taking control. Kitt had wanted to go slower, not push too hard.

Was that because it would have been the better approach? Or because she had been afraid of making a mistake?

Would she ever not feel as if she was groping around in the dark?

After their interrogation of Todd, the investigation had ground to a halt. He had been booked for violating the state’s sex offender registration law. The search of his apartment and vehicle had turned up nothing to connect him to the Entzel and Vest murders.

She hadn’t been totally surprised by that. On paper the kid looked like a good suspect, but her instincts, such as they were, told her he wasn’t their guy.

For one, he hadn’t gone for the bait. And two, if he had been guilty, he would have been on better behavior from the get-go.

Besides, the kid had been convicted of exposing himself to a minor. Fondling himself while he did. A logical next step might be sexually assaulting a child. But the SAK and Copycat victims hadn’t been molested.

Her bungalow came into view. Someone sat on the front porch, waiting. As she drew closer, she saw it was Danny. Reading the paper and sipping from a Starbucks Venti-size cup.

“Hey you,” she said when she reached him.

He looked up and smiled. “I was just about to give up. Thirty minutes was my limit.”

She sat next to him. “I’m glad you didn’t. Is that for me?” She indicated a second Starbucks cup.

“It is. Vanilla latte.” He handed it to her. “I guess I should have made it a sugar-free skinny?”

“I would have been pissed if you had. I’m exercising to keep up with the competition, not to lose weight.”

She sipped, making a sound of pleasure as the sweet, barely warm beverage flowed over her tongue.

“Your partner?”

“Mmm. Mary Catherine Riggio.”

“You say the name like she’s a snake you’re afraid is going to bite you.”

Kitt leaned back on her elbows. “I think she already has.”

He pursed his lips. “Want to talk about it?”

“Maybe. That for me, too?”

He handed her the pastry bag. “What’s left of it. I got hungry waiting.”

She peered into the bag at the half-eaten muffin. “Not that I don’t appreciate the thought, Danny, but I think I’ll pass.”

“No problemo.” He grinned and helped himself to the last of the muffin.

“So, what’s up?” she asked, eyeing him.

“Wanted to check on you. See how you’re doing.”

“I haven’t melted down, if that’s what you’re asking.” She winced at the defensive edge that had crept into her voice.

“I’m not waiting for you to fail, Kitt. I’m not expecting you to.”

“Just want to be here when I do, right?”

“No,” he chided gently at her sarcasm, “just want to be here if you need me. You know me better than that.”

She did. Damn. “Sorry. So I guess the stress is getting to me.”

“Or the partner.”

The partner. Right. Kitt took a swallow of the coffee. “She’s young. And smart.”

“Attractive?”

“Yeah, that, too.”

“And this bothers you why?”

“I would think the reasons are quite obvious.”

“Not to me.”

“Be serious.”

“You’re smart, Kitt. And, if I may say so, damn attractive.”

“You’re my friend, you have to say that. And-” She held up a hand, stopping him. “I’m not young.”

“But you are wise.”

He delivered that with a grin. She groaned. Great. The wise, grandmotherly one. “I’m a screwup.”

“Now you’re just feeling sorry for yourself.”

Kitt was quiet a moment, acknowledging that he was right. “I suppose the thing is, she makes it look effortless.”

“The work?”

“No. Believing in herself.”

He didn’t comment, simply gave her a quick hug. “I need to go.”

She followed him to his feet. “So soon?”

“I promised a friend I’d help him move.”

She watched him walk away, then turned and crossed to her door. And found it unlocked.

She frowned. Surely she hadn’t left it that way.

Had she?

She searched her memory, retracing her steps. She couldn’t clearly remember locking it-but it was one of those things she did automatically. She was a cop, after all.

She examined the door and casing. There weren’t any signs of the lock being jimmied or forced. Could she have been so distracted she’d forgotten?

She could have, Kitt realized, dismayed. She had better pull herself together.

She let herself in, pointedly locking the door behind her. A shower, then a good breakfast, she decided. The latte would hold her until then.

She peeled off her damp T-shirt as she entered the bedroom. She tossed it at the hamper, then froze, the hair at the back of her neck standing on end.

Her nightstand drawer stood partly open. The drawer she kept her gun in.

The blood began to pound in her head. An officer always carried a weapon. When she ran, she wore a fanny pack or an ankle holster. Today it was a fanny pack.

Still, she knew she had not left that drawer open.

Kitt crossed to the nightstand and slid the drawer the rest of the way open. Her journal. A pen. Several favorite photos of Sadie. The empty space where her Glock usually rested.

Someone had been in her house. Who? She pictured Danny, waiting on the front porch. Surely, not-

Peanut.

He knew where she lived. He was, obviously, adept at breaking and entering. He had decided to take his toying with her to a new level.

He could still be there.

She unzipped the fanny pack, removed the Glock and began a systematic search. In the end, she found nothing out of place save for the original drawer and her unlocked front door.

Was she imagining things? Had she left both the door unlocked and the nightstand drawer open?

Was she losing it? Again?

The hell of it was, she couldn’t be certain. She didn’t trust herself, her instincts. Which left her more uneasy than knowing a dozen monsters like the SAK had been in her home.