M.C. nodded, navigating around a bus. “The Angel killings stopped because he ended up in the slammer.”

“There he met another inmate whom he confided in. One he told all his secrets to.”

“He’s arrogant. Proud of his accomplishments. Brags, big-time.”

“They’re both released. The confidant begins reenacting these ‘perfect’ crimes. Brown’s pissed. Wants him stopped.”

“But why not stop him himself?” M.C. asked. “One phone call is all it would take. Why involve you?”

Kitt frowned. “It doesn’t add up.”

“What if it’s all about you?”

“Excuse me?”

M.C. pulled into the PSB parking area reserved for police vehicles. She parked. They climbed out, slamming their doors in unison. “What if there is no copycat?” she said. “The new murders are also the SAK’s? What if Brown’s just a pawn?”

M.C. saw Kitt’s frustration. That she wanted to completely discount the theory, but couldn’t.

“Okay, I’ll bite. Why’s it all about me?”

“That, partner, seems to be the question of the hour.”

“You think Joe’s involved?”

“He’s a link between you and the caller, we know that for a fact. What it means is still speculative.”

They made their way into the building and up to the second floor. As they stepped off the elevator, Kitt stopped dead, causing the officer exiting behind her to spill his coffee.

“Son of a bitch!” he exclaimed.

Kitt apologized even as she drew M.C. to the side. “Tami,” she said. “That’s how ‘Peanut’ knew about her. Because of Joe.”

“Who?”

“Joe’s fiancée’s daughter. Remember, he threatened the little girls in my life. She’s the only one.”

She started for the bureau office, expression determined. “It’s either Brown or someone working with him. They know about Tami because Brown worked for Joe. They got my cell phone number the same way. My God, it would have been so easy! Most of the time Joe’s not in the office. His office manager, Flo, comes and goes. Joe’s so trusting. He wouldn’t think twice about letting one of his crew go into the office to use the phone, bathroom or whatever.”

She stopped again and swung to face M.C. “That’s how this bastard knows so much about me! A lot of those guys have worked for Joe forever. They knew Sadie. Her nickname. How her death devastated us. My drinking. Everything!”

She swung on her heel and started back toward the elevator.

“Where’re you going?” M.C. called, starting after her.

“To see Joe.” She looked back at M.C. “Brown’s free. He threatened Tami. And if he’s the man I’ve been communicating with, he’s going to see my tracing his call as a betrayal. I don’t want him to take that betrayal out on her.”

45

Friday, March 17, 2006

5:35 p.m.

They found Joe in his office, preparing to leave for the day. As he shuffled papers, he looked tired. Kitt would swear his hair had gone grayer, just since she had seen him last.

“Hello, Joe,” she said.

He paused midshuffle. “Kitt?” he said, obviously surprised to see her. His gaze moved from her to M.C. “What’s up?”

“This is my partner, Detective Riggio. We need to ask you a few questions about one of your employees.”

“My employees?” he repeated. “Who?”

“Former employee,” M.C. corrected. “Buddy Brown.”

His expression tightened. He waved them into the office. “What do you want to know?”

“How long did he work for you?”

“Three weeks.”

“You knew he was an ex-con?” M.C. asked.

“Yes. He had construction experience. He seemed pretty desperate for a fresh start.”

“Why’d you fire him?” M.C. asked.

“Didn’t show up for work two days in a row. I’m very clear with these guys, you’re here every day, ready to work. Or you’re gone. I need people I can count on.”

“You said ‘these guys.’ You hire ex-cons before?”

“I believe in giving people another chance.” He shifted his gaze back to Kitt. “What’s going on? What’d he do?”

“We have reason to believe he’s the man who’s been calling me, claiming to be the Sleeping Angel Killer.”

His expression went from blank to thunderstruck. “The Sleeping Angel Killer? Do you really think Buddy Brown’s…that he could be the one?”

“We’re fairly certain he’s the one who’s been calling me,” Kitt said. “Whether he’s the SAK or not, we don’t have enough proof, one way or the other.”

M.C. stepped in. “We believe your fiancée’s daughter may be in danger.”

“Tami…my God-” Joe looked at Kitt, his expression stricken. “I never called Valerie. I didn’t believe you. I thought you were losing it, like before. I never thought-”

He reached for the phone. She saw that his hand shook. “I’ll call her now.”

Kitt stopped him. “We’d like to speak with her first. It’s important we do it this way.”

He hesitated. She saw his conflict. “Trust me,” she said.

He nodded and jotted her phone number and address on a message, then handed it to her. “She’s a nurse. She should be off her shift now.”

“Thanks, Joe.” Kitt took the address. “If you hear anything from Brown, contact us immediately.”

“I will.” He looked slightly dazed. “Tell Valerie to call me, so I’ll know she’s okay. Tell her I…”

He didn’t finish the last, just let the words trail helplessly off. Kitt wondered what he had been about to ask. For her to pass along that he loved her?

She didn’t know for certain, but was honest enough to admit the thought bothered the hell out of her.

46

Friday, March 17, 2006

6:10 p.m.

Valerie Martin opened the door to her cottage-style home. It was located off Springbrook, near the junior college. Though still a well-respected area, it no longer had the cachet it once had. She wore her uniform, though she had changed into slippers. By her expression, M.C. suspected she recognized Kitt.

No doubt Kitt realized that as well, but she introduced herself, anyway. “Valerie, Kitt Lundgren. Joe’s ex-wife.”

“I remember. We met at the leukemia event.” She glanced at M.C., then returned her gaze to Kitt’s. “How can I help you?”

“This is my partner, Detective Riggio. We’re here in an official capacity. May we come in?”

“Official capacity?” she repeated, eyes widening. “Is Joe…has something happened to-”

“Joe’s fine,” Kitt said quickly. “May we come inside?”

“Of course.” Valerie stepped away from the door.

Kitt entered first; M.C. followed. The interior was homey and comfortable, with pretty feminine touches. Tami sat cross-legged on the floor, a box of markers and drawing pad on the coffee table in front of her. She didn’t look up at them.

“Do you mind?” She looked toward the kitchen, which they could see from where they stood. “I was getting dinner together.”

They said they didn’t and followed her to the other room. She had, indeed, been preparing dinner. Looked like leftover spaghetti and a salad. She crossed to her chopping board, picked up the knife and went back to work.

“You work at Hillcrest Hospital?” M.C. asked, though it wasn’t a question. She still wore her hospital name tag.

“Yes. The pediatric ward.”

“Been there long?”

“My whole career.”

Kitt cleared her throat. “You’re aware of the recent murders of three ten-year-old girls?”

The woman’s movements stopped. She looked up, fear creeping into her eyes. “Yes.”

“We have reason to believe Tami may be in danger.”

The knife slipped from her fingers and clattered against the board. Without a word, she crossed to the kitchen door and opened it. She peered out, as if to reassure herself her daughter was fine, then turned back to them.

“What makes you…Why do you think this?”

M.C. sidestepped the question with one of her own. “Have you noticed anyone out of the ordinary lately? Someone hanging around, a stranger, or strange vehicle, in the neighborhood?”