He hung up, the picture of misery.

“What’s up, Brian? You look like you lost your best friend.”

“Ivy and I have split up. Her idea.”

Brian was a good cop and had been a wonderful partner and friend. But no way would she want to be married to the man. He had a serious case of Peter Pan syndrome.

“Sorry to hear that. Anything I can do?”

He dragged his hands through his hair. Kitt saw that they shook. She noticed how much of his red mane had been replaced by gray. When the heck had that happened?

“I wish. This time I…I think she means it.”

Because of an affair with the much younger M.C.? Or something-someone-else?

He jumped to his feet, visibly shaking off his mood. “That partner of yours was just in here.”

Kitt cocked an eyebrow at his choice of words. “I saw that.”

“She told me about Joe.”

Did she? Odd. “What did she say, exactly?”

“That he was a suspect. A good suspect. And that you’re off the case.”

“Temporarily,” she corrected. “Until Joe’s cleared.”

“I’m sorry, Kitt. It really sucks.”

“He’s not a part of this. I know he’s not.”

He began to pace, as if agitated. “She was almost gloating about it. I found that curious. I thought you two were getting along?”

Kitt frowned. The part of the conversation she’d overheard had nothing to do with Joe, but why would Brian lie to her?

“We’re tolerating each other pretty well.”

Or at least, she had thought so until this morning.

He stopped, turned and faced her. “Can I give you some advice?”

“Always, Brian.”

“With that one, watch your back. She’s ambitious…and she’ll do anything, to anyone, to get what she wants.”

With that off his chest, he seemed to relax. He settled onto the corner of his desk and folded his arms across his chest. “Did you come down here just to shoot the shit, or was there something specific you needed?”

“Wanted to pass something by you.”

“Go for it.”

“I was reviewing the transcripts of my calls with Peanut. Could the SAK be a cop?”

“A cop?” he repeated. “Geez, Kitt, how could you even think that?”

“The way he talks. That he knew about Derrick Todd. Think about it.” She leaned forward. “He knows the process. That’s how he’s gotten away with it.”

“Yeah, sure. But why?”

“Could it be someone who feels slighted? Someone passed over for promotion? Fired or dressed down in some way?” This time it was she who stood, who started pacing. As she did, she fitted the pieces together, thinking aloud. “He’s arrogant. Proud of his ‘perfect’ crimes. He’s made a big deal about how we’ve all been chasing our tails.”

He nodded slowly. “Theoretically, it makes some sense. But a cop? Cops might take a couple dollars under the table here or there, accept a favor or a free cup of coffee, but serial murder?”

She refused to back off. “A cop with an ax to grind.”

“Why involve you?”

“He wanted to boast. This Copycat came along, it pissed him off. Or maybe I’m a symbol of the fallen cop. The total screwup.”

“Maybe.” He rubbed his jaw. Kitt noticed that he hadn’t shaved. At the same moment, she noticed he looked as if he’d slept in his clothes.

“Any names come to mind?” she asked.

He thought a moment, then shook his head. “Have you mentioned this to Sal?”

“Not yet. I wanted to run it by somebody first.” She smiled. “I picked my old friend.”

“I appreciate that vote of confidence.” He smiled and stood. “I tell you what, before you say anything to Sal, let me put my thinking cap on. Look through some records, see if I can come up with a name or two.”

She thanked him and headed for the door. There, she remembered the three women the SAK claimed were his. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about three cases you and Sergeant Haas worked on, back in ’98 and ’99.”

“Ask away.”

“Three elderly women, all beaten to death. Duct tape applied to their mouths postmortem. You remember them?”

He made a face. “How could I forget? What do you need to know?”

“Ever find a link between the three women?”

“Never. We knew the same UNSUB killed all three, but that’s as far as we got.”

“The SAK claims they’re his.”

Now she had him. “MO’s completely different.”

“True. But that’s the point.” Kitt explained how she had found the three cases and her “ying and yang” theory. “I confronted him, he said they were his.”

Brian nodded. “Plus, there were three. And the scenes were strangely evidence-free.”

“Exactly.”

“During the SAK investigation, I never even considered them related. Boy, do I feel like an idiot.”

“Who would have? If he hadn’t teased me with his claim of having ‘done’ others, I never would have gone looking.”

“How can I help?”

“Can you recall anything that stuck out as particularly odd about any of the witnesses? Any suspicions that you followed up on but led to nothing? Do you remember anyone you questioned being vague or uncommunicative?”

He was quiet, as if running through the case, refamiliarizing himself with it. He shook his head. “It was a horrendous case to work. Everyone was stunned by the brutality. Jonathan and I spent the most time trying to find the link between the women, thinking it might lead us to the killer.”

He spread his hands. “We came up empty.”

“Thanks, Brian. I’m going to be reviewing the case files, if I have any questions-”

“I’ll be here.” He smiled, but as Kitt exited his office, it occurred to her that something about the curving of his mouth seemed false.

50

Monday, March 20, 2006

3:30 p.m.

As M.C. had predicted, a judge granted the search warrant for Joe Lundgren’s home, vehicles and business. The language of a warrant had to be specific; law enforcement could not simply go on a fishing expedition. Each address and vehicle had to be specifically named in the warrant or it was off-limits. Likewise, a warrant that was too specific could hamstring investigators.

They had begun with the business office, for no other reason than his connection to Brown was through Lundgren Homes. There, they had pulled employment records; communication with the Illinois Parole Board, cell phone bills, bank statements, his computer.

M.C. hoped to find a payoff to Brown, receipts for the cell phones used to call Kitt, or something that would tie him to Kitt’s caller or Brown’s murder-or any of the others, for that matter.

From the business office, they moved to the man’s Highcrest Road residence. M.C. wondered if this was the house he and Kitt had shared when they were married. Something about the lived-in feeling of the California cottage-style home suggested that it was.

She stood in the living room, surveying the row of family photos on the fireplace mantel. They were all from the time before Sadie’s death, when they had been a family. Many of the photos included Kitt. A smiling, carefree-looking Kitt.

A wife and mother. Happy. Loved.

A visual record of Kitt’s loss.

M.C. shifted her thoughts away from her partner. How did Valerie feel about the photos? M.C. had seen ones similar to these in every room of the house. Did they make her feel threatened? Jealous?

“Detective?”

She turned. One of the officers assigned to search Lundgren’s truck stood in the doorway. “Find anything?” she asked.

“It was clean. You want me to have it impounded?”

“Do it.” Although they weren’t looking for biological evidence from the Copycat murders, Buddy Brown had been killed then transported to Anna Paige Park. “Detective White’s with Lundgren’s lawyer?”

“Yes. In the basement.”

The lawyer had followed them around while another uniform had kept a confused yet indignant Lundgren company just outside.

She turned back to the photos, frowning. Something about this didn’t feel right. Was Joe Lundgren as good a suspect as she’d originally thought? It had made sense to her, the idea that Joe was punishing Kitt. She had painted him as angry and jealous.