“Absolutely.”
As they hoped they would, they caught Stevens at work. He possessed one of those broad, honest-looking faces that didn’t mean squat.
“Is this about my wallet?” he asked, after they had introduced themselves.
“Your wallet?” Kitt asked.
He looked frustrated. “Was stolen. The day after Christmas. I reported it. Never heard a thing back.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Stevens. We’re here about your storage locker.”
“What storage locker?”
“Loves Park Self-Storage. Unit seven. You rented it on January 3.”
He stared at them a moment, frowning. “I didn’t rent a storage facility, my wallet was stolen. Can’t you guys get anything right?”
Nice. “I’m sorry you feel that way, sir.” Kitt handed him a copy of the rental agreement. “But according to this, you did.”
He scanned the document, frowning, then handed it back. “This isn’t me. It can’t be.”
“And why’s that?” M.C. asked.
“I was in San Francisco on January 3. On my honeymoon.”
27
Monday, March 13, 2006
3:00 p.m.
By three that afternoon, Kitt was mighty pissed off. M.C. watched the woman as she paced. “At this rate, you’re going to wear a hole in the floor. Or your shoes.”
“Screw ’ em both. Another dead end. Dammit!”
“Apple?” M.C. asked.
Kitt stopped pacing. “I’d rather have snack crackers.”
“No junk food.” M.C. tossed her the apple. “You’re already on edge.”
Kitt caught it. “He’s screwing with me. And it’s starting to piss me off.”
“I told you so.”
“Don’t you start with me now. One is most definitely enough.”
“You’ve got things backward,” M.C. said. “I’m the young, brash hothead. You’re the mature, seasoned veteran who’s counseling me. Remember? Lighten up? Go with the flow?”
Kitt took a bite of the apple. It was crunchy and tart, just the way she liked them. “I never said go with the flow.”
“Let’s pretend, then. Now, take your own advice.”
“Excuse me?”
M.C. stood. “Yeah, he’s screwing with you. And doing a damn fine job of it, don’t you think? Stop letting him get to you. Stop running in circles and being pissed off about it.”
“You irritate the hell out of me.” M.C. smiled, perversely pleased. “Better me than him.”
Kitt took another bite of her apple, never taking her gaze from M.C. “I still think there’s something there.”
“But what? It’s not Stevens. His story checked out. He reported his wallet stolen. He canceled all his credit cards and changed the locks on his doors. The airline confirmed Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Stevens traveled with them, the hotel confirmed the couple stayed at their San Francisco property for six nights, beginning January 2 and checking out January 8.”
“So our guy steals a wallet. Uses the ID to rent a storage locker. Pays a year in advance.”
“But which guy? The Copycat? Or Peanut?”
M.C. saw Kitt’s involuntary cringe at the nickname. This guy knew how to get to Kitt, no doubt about it. She made a mental note not to refer to him by the name again.
“I don’t know.” Kitt drew her eyebrows together in thought. “He didn’t tell me whose storage locker it was, so I assumed-”
“It was the Copycat’s. As he knew you would.”
“But instead, it’s part of his game.”
“It looked like a stage set, because it was one. He’s sent you on a kind of scavenger hunt.”
Kitt perched on the edge of the desk. M.C. could see that she had forgotten she was pissed off. “So, it’s up to me to find the clue hidden there.”
“Buried, you mean. Like a needle in a haystack. If there’s anything at all.”
“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
