A man had rented the storage locker. An assumed man, she corrected. With a stolen ID. A man they didn’t have a photo of; just the vague recollection of the storage-facility salesperson.

Could she be right? Was the Copycat a woman?

“I heard you were down here, Lundgren. Working hard, I see.”

She turned and smiled at Scott Snowe, choosing to ignore his sarcasm. “Detective Snowe? What brings you out of the ID cave?”

He sauntered in, grinning. “I have a present for you. Analysis of fibers retrieved from the Entzel and Vest scenes.”

He held out the report, looking very pleased with himself. She took it.

“Tyvek,” he said. “Consistent with a Hazmat suit.”

Kitt scanned the analysis. Crime-scene techs wore “clean” suits mostly for protection. The Tyvek was disposable, durable and fluid repellant. Some techs and law-enforcement professionals wore them to protect the scene from contamination, as well. Most were coverall style, some with booties and hood. In addition to the hood, a mask with a breathing apparatus was also worn anytime the threat of airborne contaminants existed.

“Gray,” Kitt said. “Not as common as the white. Which will help to narrow down the source.”

The RPD used white, the standard. She had seen the gray, however. One of the city’s emergency management teams used them.

“True, though I’ve seen white with gray booties.”

She nodded, then murmured, “It makes sense. He wears the clean suit. It reduces the possibility of his leaving trace behind.”

“Exactly. Thought you’d want to know, ASAP.”

“Thanks.” She looked back up at him. “Has M.C. seen this?”

“Not yet. You want to do the honors?”

“Maybe not.” She held the report out. “I’m off the case.”

“I heard. And in my not-so-humble opinion, it’s all bullshit.” He slid his hands into his pockets. “You do it.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “You done for the day?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s Miller time.”

As he turned to leave, she called after him. “Thanks, Scott. I appreciate this.”

He waved off her thanks and disappeared through the evidence room door. For long moments she gazed at the now-empty doorway, thoughts on the evidence report. Tyvek. An unexpected turn. And one that certainly lent credence to her “SAK as cop” theory.

This was one smart SOB.

She let out a weary breath, the elation she had felt before Snowe’s visit gone. She was tired, hungry and intellectually spent. She flat didn’t have the energy for the puzzle right now.

She thought of Snowe, leaving for the night. Meeting his buddies for a drink. Didn’t a beer sound like heaven about now? Along with a big, greasy burger. Or even a couple of slices of an artery-clogging, all-meat pizza.

The closest she was going to get was a bag of snack crackers and a Diet Coke.

Kitt unclipped her cell phone from her belt. She saw she had a message waiting and frowned. She hadn’t heard it ring. She flipped the device open and saw why-no signal.

She stood and exited the evidence room. Once again she had a signal and she dialed M.C.’s cell, making a mental note to check her messages later. The other woman picked up almost immediately.

Kitt hadn’t spoken to M.C. since that morning, and at the sound of her voice, she recalled the things Brian had said.

“She told me about Joe. She was almost gloating.”

“She’s ambitious…and she’ll do anything, to anyone, to get what she wants.”

Like go behind a partner’s back. Get them removed from a case. “M.C.,” she said stiffly. “It’s Kitt. How’s it going?”

“As well as can be expected,” M.C. responded, tone guarded. “Sifting through some pretty boring stuff.”

Joe’s stuff. “White abandoned you?”

“Sent him home. His wife called, he heard the baby crying and the other two kids fighting in the background. She sounded three-quarters of the way toward a breakdown.”

Kitt couldn’t help wondering if she had sent him home because she was all heart, or because she wanted all the glory?

She hated thinking that way. She wanted to trust M.C. Until this morning, she had begun to-and begun to think that growing trust had been a two-way street.

“You in the building?” she asked.

“On two. You?”

“I’m in the basement. I’m coming up. I’ve got some interesting information to share.”

When she made the VCB, she discovered that M.C. had ordered a pizza. Extra-large. Extra-cheese. Extra-everything. Seeing it was after hours, she had also scored a six-pack of beer.

“That’s a mighty big pizza, Detective. PMS week?”

A smile touched her mouth. “My brothers’ idea of a joke. I order a small, they deliver this. Join me?”

“And here I was prepared to beg.”

Kitt dragged a chair to the other woman’s desk. “You’ve been here all evening?”

“Almost. Had an errand to run earlier.”

Kitt simultaneously handed the fiber analysis report to M.C. and reached for a slice of the pie. “I must be psychic, I was just thinking about pizza.”

“Great minds and all that. What is this?”

“Fiber analysis from the Entzel and Vest scenes.” She popped the tab on the Diet Coke she had brought up with her. “Take a look.”

She did and a moment later, straightened. “Tyvek? Holy crap.”

Kitt cocked an eyebrow at the saying. “Not quite my sentiment, but close.”

After a moment, M.C. laid the report aside. “Interesting. Do you think he wears the coverall to the scene or puts it on there? Let’s say, outside the girl’s bedroom window?”

“My guess, wears it there. Puts the hood up outside her window.”

“Then, afterward, he destroys the garment. And any evidence on it that might link him to the crime.”

“Him,” Kitt agreed. “Or her.” M.C. straightened. “Excuse me?”

“I believe there’s a strong chance the Copycat is female.” Kitt shared her theory with the other woman, starting with her observations of the locker’s contents and finishing by recalling the traditional profile of a female serial killer.

M.C. sat back in her chair, bringing her beer with her. She took a long swallow, then rolled the can between her palms. “The Copycat a woman? Interesting.”

Kitt leaned forward. “I want to run one additional thought by you. Could the original SAK have been a cop?”

“You’re joking, right?”

“I wish I was. I reviewed the transcript of my recorded conversations with Peanut. He knew about Todd. How? Who else knew he was a suspect?”

“Outside the department, damn few. ZZ. Sydney Dale. ZZ’s wife.”

“Exactly. Of course, since I’m not officially on the case, take it for what you think it’s worth.”

“You’re back on.”

“First I’ve heard of it.”

“Limited involvement until I’ve finished going through all this.” She motioned with her hand to her desktop and computer. “I’m doing my best to plow through it tonight.”

Kitt cocked an eyebrow. “That come from Sal?”

“My recommendation to Sal was for full reinstatement. He added the caveat.”

“You want me to thank you?”

The edgy question landed between them. M.C. leaned forward, expression earnest. “I screwed up, Kitt. I’m sorry.”

“Because the search of Joe’s turned up nothing?”

“No, because we’re partners. It wouldn’t matter if we had found a journal detailing the crimes, I would still be apologizing. This isn’t about Joe. Or the case. It’s about how you deserved to be treated.”

“And the search?”

“Let’s just say, I don’t believe Joe’s as strong a suspect as I did.”

Kitt nodded, slightly mollified but unconvinced. She couldn’t dismiss the things Brian had said about M.C. They had been friends a long time; he had earned her trust. Why would he lie to her?

“So, what do you think, Kitt? Can you work with me?”

She avoided the question with one of her own. “A better question might be, can you trust me?”

“I’ll do my damnedest. How’s that for honesty?”

“Not bad. Now it’s my turn. I overheard your argument with Brian.”