the second floor. It’d been a busy weekend. Roselli had performed the autopsy and determined that Brown had, indeed, been dead two weeks, give or take a few days. That excluded him from the Copycat killings and the calls to her.
The man’s neck had been broken. It had taken both strength and skill on the part of the killer. Since the autopsy hadn’t turned up any defensive wounds, he had taken Brown by surprise.
Which suggested Brown had known his murderer.
Kitt felt strongly that the two men had met in prison, that Buddy Brown had been killed by her caller, who was, indeed, the Sleeping Angel Killer.
The SAK had taken up residence with Buddy Brown, either before or after he had killed him. ID had sent the lip gloss to the lab for comparison to the samples taken from the SAK and Copycat victims, and ID was dusting the clippings for prints.
Kitt yawned widely as she exited the elevator. They had done a search for inmates who had served time with Brown and were now free. She and M.C. had spent much of Sunday tracking the men down.
She reached the bureau, greeted Nan and headed for the coffeepot.
Nan returned the greeting. “Detective Riggio’s in Interrogation Number One. They’ve just begun.”
Kitt looked over her shoulder at the woman. “Who’s just begun what?”
“Questioning the suspect. Sergeant Haas and Detective Riggio.”
“The suspect? In what case?”
The secretary looked at her as if she had lost her mind. “The Copycat killings.”
The case they were working nearly round the clock.
Who the hell had Riggio brought in?
Kitt finished doctoring her coffee and started that way. “Thanks, Nan.”
“Oh, Detective?”
She glanced back. The receptionist held up several message slips. “Shall I hold on to these?”
“No, I’ll take them. Thanks.” She crossed back, took the messages and stuffed them into her jacket pocket. “I’ll be in Interrogation. If anyone needs me, I’ve got my cell.”
All five of the Violent Crimes interrogation rooms were located on the same hallway. In addition to a table and chairs, a door with a window, room one was fitted with a ceiling-mounted video recorder.
Kitt reached room one and peered through the window. M.C. was standing, blocking her view of the suspect. The sarge was sitting, expression impassive.
She lifted her hand to tap on the glass; M.C. moved. Kitt’s breath caught.
Joe. They were questioning Joe.
Disoriented, she stared through the window at her ex-husband. It couldn’t be Joe sitting in that chair. Not steady, even-tempered, kind Joe. Not her Joe.
Kitt shifted her gaze to the other woman. When had M.C. decided to do this? And did she really think she was going to let her get away with going behind her back this way?
She tapped on the window, struggling to stem her sudden rush of anger. The three looked her way. So angry she shook, Kitt kept her gaze trained on her partner. She didn’t think she could meet Joe’s eyes without losing it.
She motioned for M.C. to come outside. As soon as the door closed behind her, Kitt drew her away from it.
“You made it,” M.C. said. “I had Sergeant Haas sit in until you got here.”
“Cut the bullshit. What the hell’s going on?”
“I brought Joe in for questioning.”
“Without consulting me. We’re partners. I’m lead on this. That’s unacceptable.”
“I felt the element of surprise would work best.”
She felt herself flush. “My surprise? Or Joe’s?”
“Frankly? Both.” She lowered her voice. “When it comes to your ex, you have blinders on. You’ve made that pretty clear.”
“How do you figure?”
“Look at the facts, Kitt. Your ex-husband was Buddy Brown’s employer.”
“So that makes him a killer?”
M.C. ignored that. “While you two were married, your husband did not hire ex-cons. Your words.”
“I said I didn’t think so. He may have.”
“While you were married, magic tricks were simply a hobby. Now he entertains sick children with them.”
“Please! It was a logical next step. He saw how his magic helped kids while Sadie was in the hospital.”
“Highcrest Hospital rang a bell. So I spent some time digging through the case files. Three months ago, Julie Entzel’s cousin Sarah was a patient there. She spent a full week in the pediatric ward.”
“You think Joe’s the Copycat?” The utter disbelief in her voice would have been comical in another situation.
“And your caller. Yes.”
“But I know this man,” Kitt argued. “I grew up with him, was married to him for nearly twenty-five years. What you’re suggesting is simply not possible.”
M.C. leaned toward her. “Why, Kitt? That’s what I’ve wondered all along. Why involve you? This makes sense.”
“Not to me.” Kitt grabbed at straws, thoughts whirling. “What about the clown at the leukemia event? He gave me the balloon, called me later. But Joe was there. He couldn’t-”
“He saw the clown give you the balloon.” She held up a hand, stopping the denial. “And don’t ask about not recognizing his voice, we both know that anyone who can access a computer can buy a voice altering device online. And some of them are damn good.
“He’s punishing you,” she went on. “For leaving him. For focusing on the case instead of him. For caring about the little girls more than him or your marriage. Choose any one to fill in the blanks; they all work.”
Kitt spun away from the other woman. Joe knew everything about her. Her hopes and fears. He knew about her falling and hitting her head; that she had been drinking.
He knew everything about her.
No. This wasn’t possible.
“I called Julie Entzel’s mother.”
Kitt looked over her shoulder at M.C.
“They saw Joe’s magic show. Little Julie was quite taken with it.”
My God.
It couldn’t be how it looked.
“Can you do this?” M.C. asked. “Or shall I keep the sarge in?”
“I can do this, dammit. Give me a minute.” M.C. didn’t comment. Kitt heard the interrogation room door click shut. She closed her eyes. How did she get her arms around this? How did she even muster enough objectivity to go in there and ask the important questions?
How the hell did she look Joe in the eyes?
She flexed her fingers. Everything M.C. said was true. If the man sitting in that room was anyone else, she would have been in his face.
Kitt sorted through the points M.C. had presented to her. He was a physical link to Buddy Brown. And between her and Brown. Now there was a connection between him and one of the victims. M.C. had provided a plausible motivation for the calls to her.
He could have seen the clown as an opportunity to throw suspicion away from him.
When she’d warned him that Tami might be in danger, she’d told him about the clown. The balloon. The clown’s call.
He hadn’t said a word about having bought the child a balloon.
The truth of that rushed over her in a chilling wave. No, none of it made sense to her. None of it jibed with the man she knew-and loved.
But how often did family of the accused express shock, astonishment and disbelief over their loved ones’ actions?
