“There is, I’m certain.” She tossed the apple core into the trash can under her desk. “Because if there wasn’t a clue, he’d be cheating. What fun is that?”

M.C. arched her eyebrows, unconvinced.

“Think about it. He’s playing with me. He’s enjoying the game. He’s called it ‘fun.’ Cheating isn’t fun, there’s no satisfaction in winning an unfair game.”

“To you. You’re talking about a killer.” She took a bite of her own apple, chewed a moment before speaking again. “That’s a stretch, Lundgren. Sorry.”

“I know it is. But I have a feeling about this.”

“Do you really think you’re in a place to trust your gut right now?”

Kitt looked momentarily stricken. The moment offered M.C. a glimpse of how vulnerable her partner really was. How hesitant.

A very bad place for a cop to be.

M.C. let out a long breath, working to help herself make sense of all the pieces. “You have to question everything he says. Because it’s a game, you have to look at each statement through that filter. Ask yourself why. First question, why you, Kitt?”

“Because I was lead on the original SAK case,” she said quickly. “He thinks I’m a worthy opponent, a pushover or whatever. I don’t think that’s important.”

M.C. didn’t buy Kitt’s glib reasoning and she disagreed that targeting Kitt was insignificant. The reason the SAK was calling Kitt was of paramount importance.

“There’s a specific reason he’s involved you,” she insisted. “Think about it, he could have called me or anyone else on the force. But he chose you.”

Kitt made a sound of frustration. “What difference does it make why he chose me? I’m more interested in how he and the Copycat know each other.”

“Maybe they don’t. Or maybe they’re one and the same person. Or in cahoots with each other. Maybe this is a game they’re playing with each other?”

“And I’m simply a pawn?” Kitt brought the heels of her hands to her eyes. “Which brings us back to square one. Seven days and another girl dead, and we’re no closer to an answer than before.”

They both fell silent, M.C. lost in her own thoughts. After a moment, Kitt looked at her. “How do you think he knew about Derrick Todd?”

A good question. And one they hadn’t spent much time considering.

Yet.

“He could be following us,” M.C. offered. “He could be involved with the case.”

“A cop?”

“Unlikely. But we can’t rule anything out.” M.C. pursed her lips in thought. “Who knew about Todd?”

“For certain? You and me. The chief. ZZ. His wife. And Sydney Dale.”

M.C. nodded. “We both felt Dale was being evasive. The man recommended Todd, hired him without instituting the normal safeguards. Todd said Dale ‘owed’ him. Why?”

“I suggest we put the answer to that at the top of our list.”

“Speaking of lists,” Kitt murmured, motioning behind M.C. “Could we be so lucky?”

M.C. looked over her shoulder. Detective Snowe was striding toward them, a shit-eating grin spread across his face.

“Got your inventory,” he said when he reached them. He laid it carefully on the desk. “Sorenstein and I worked most of the night. We were as detailed as we could be, considering.”

M.C. thumbed through the list. Fifteen single-spaced, typed pages. “We owe you.”

“You sure as hell do. Buy me a drink some night.”

“You’ve got it.”

He started off, then stopped and glanced back at her. “Remember that comic from Buster’s?”

“Lance Castrogiovanni. What about him?”

“I saw him downstairs a few minutes ago. He was asking for you at the information desk. I’m thinking you have an admirer.”

Detective Allen peeked around his cubicle at them. “A boyfriend, Riggio? And here I thought you and Lundgren were an item.”

M.C. made a sound of disgust. “Grow up, boys.”

She exited the VCB and, five minutes later, crossed the lobby to where Lance sat, looking every bit the fish out of water.

“Are you lost?” she asked when she reached him.

He stood and smiled. “I was. Not anymore.”

Something in his tone left her feeling as if she had done something wonderful. “What brings you into the belly of the beast?” she asked.

“I was in the neighborhood…well, the general vicinity, and decided to look you up. Figured it’d be harder to turn me down in person.”

“Turn you down for what?” she asked, though she had a pretty good idea.

“A date.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“You and me, food and drink. A few laughs. Hopefully more than a few, considering.”

She laughed at that. “When?”

“I’ve got a gig every night this week but Wednesday.”

She would have to miss the family dinner. Her mother’s interrogation.

Lance Castrogiovanni had an excellent sense of timing. M.C. smiled. “Unless I get hung up here, you’re on.”

28

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

7:30 a.m.

The sounds of the busy coffeehouse swirled around him. He liked being out among people. Blending in, interacting.

No one had a clue. Who he was. What he was capable of.

No one suspected his secrets.

Even his Kitten. Or maybe, especially her.

He leaned back in his chair and sipped his espresso, smiling at a woman who glanced his way.

He often played this game: studying people-like that woman-and then imagining what she would do if he revealed himself to her. Imagined the fear creeping into her eyes, the noise she might make-a small squeak, like a terrified mouse.

He almost got hard just thinking about it.

The word Lundgren had called him-impotent-flew into his head, sucking the pleasure from the moment.

She had made him very angry.

But worse, she had known it. Until he had regained control, she’d had all the power.

He had been powerless.

It’d been a smart move on her part. She had surprised him and earned his admiration. But also his ire.

He couldn’t let her get away with it. She would have to pay. A small price this time, as it was her first offense. But not so small she didn’t feel its sting. A warning, of sorts, he decided, pleased with himself.

But what?

The woman at the next table caught his eyes and smiled again. Maybe he should ask her? “I need to scare the shit out of someone. A woman. As a warning. A punishment for bad behavior. What do you suggest?”

No, he didn’t suppose that would do at all, but it was fun to imagine. Taking his espresso with him, he crossed to the woman and introduced himself.

29

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

4:30 p.m.

Every spring, the local chapter of the Leukemia Society of America held a fair to benefit children stricken with the disease. Held at Rockford’s Discovery Center Museum, the fair included food and games, performances and a silent auction. Though it hurt, Kitt always attended. If she could help someone else’s child beat this disease, it was worth any amount of distress she might experience.

This year, for the first time, she was attending alone. The past two, although they had been divorced, she and Joe had gone together. They had clung to each other despite their personal differences.

This year, she supposed, he would be clinging to his fiancée.

She wondered if she would see him there. And if Valerie would be with him.

If he bothered to come. Maybe this was another piece of his past he’d chosen to let go.

Kitt strolled through the fair. She bought tickets for games she had no intention of playing, bid on several items she didn’t want and ate a piece of pizza she wasn’t hungry for.

Lastly, she purchased a luminaria for Sadie. Every year, the fair created a memorial garden to honor those who had been stricken by the disease. The luminarias consisted of a plain white paper bag-on which you wrote your loved one’s name, then decorated with markers-and a tea light to be placed inside.