As M.C. was leaving the Walton B. Johnson Center for the second time that day, her cell phone rang. The foundation’s headquarters in Chicago housed all records over a year old; they had been contacted and would begin a search. It would take longer than M.C. would have liked, because they didn’t know exactly who they were looking for or the date the check had been written.
“Riggio here,” she answered, certain it would be Kitt on the other end.
Not Kitt. Lance. “I need to talk to you,” he said, tone urgent. “It’s important.”
She frowned. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes…no. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. About how much you mean to me.”
“From where I’m standing, that sounds like a good thing.” She darted across the parking lot to her SUV.
“There are things you need to know about me. My past. They may affect the way you feel about me.”
He had her full attention now. “What kind of things?”
“About my family. How I grew up.”
“I doubt your family could change the way I feel about you.”
“That’s because you never met them.”
The way he said it made her laugh. “Well, you haven’t met mine yet, either.” She unlocked her vehicle and slipped inside. “This is a really bad time, Lance. The investigation-”
“Ten minutes,” he said. “Fifteen, tops.”
She glanced at her watch. She hadn’t eaten yet and was getting a headache. “I have to grab a bite, maybe we could-”
“Come here,” he said. “I’ll have a sandwich ready for you. And I make a pretty mean ham and cheese.”
“Mayo and lettuce?” she teased.
“Absolutely. Although, I’m warning you up-front that my story might ruin your appetite. My family’s pretty weird.”
“Weird families are right up my alley. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
63
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
2:20 p.m.
It took a moment for Kitt to process what Joe was saying. Tami was deaf?
How could she not have known? Kitt replayed the times she had been in the girl’s company. At the leukemia fair, Kitt had been reeling over discovering the girl’s existence. She had been in her presence only moments before hurrying off. At Valerie’s home, Kitt had been taken with how quietly Tami played, been impressed by the absence of TV. She hadn’t commented as theirs hadn’t been a social call.
It made sense. It-
The calendars, she realized. The ones that M.C. had left on her desk that morning, from the Society for the Deaf. Peanut hadn’t been lying-there had been a clue for them in the storage unit. They just hadn’t dug deep enough until now.
“Kitt?” Joe was looking at her strangely. “What’s wrong?”
“I have to bring you in. I believe you. But if it looks like I covered this up or behaved inappropriately it’ll be worse-for both of us. You have to trust me.”
He didn’t hesitate. “I do. Let me give my lead guy some direction.”
They both climbed out of the truck. Kitt watched as he jogged across the site to one of his workmen, then turned and jogged back.
“Shall I follow you?” he asked.
“Leave your truck. I’ll drive.”
He nodded, expression tight. “Don’t want me to try to make a run for it, right?”
She caught his hand, laced her fingers through his. “I know that’s not going to happen. I’m acting with an abundance of caution.”
They crossed to her Taurus and climbed in. Kitt started it up, thoughts racing. She had heard some of the divorcees in the RPD discussing how hard it was to find a guy when you had kids. She imagined it would be doubly hard if you were the mother of a handicapped child.
Could Valerie have created this elaborate scheme to get away with murdering her own child?
The idea was sickening. Repugnant. As it would be to any sane person. But, as her years on the force had proved, human behavior often proved anything but “sane.”
Valerie had a connection to both Buddy Brown and the pediatric ward where Julie Entzel had visited her cousin. Kitt had thought from the beginning that the contents of the storage unit had either belonged to a woman or been assembled by one.
And now, Valerie had a motive-freedom.
“Tell me more about Tami,” Kitt said as she headed toward the PSB.
“What’s this all about, Kitt?”
“I can’t say.” She glanced at him, then back at the road. “Just trust me, okay?”
He nodded tersely and began. “She’s been deaf since birth, though they didn’t realize it until she was about two. She goes to a school for the deaf and reads lips and signs. She’s very well adjusted and an all-around good kid.”
“What about Valerie? What’s her story in all this?”
“It’s been really hard on her. Her husband left her when they learned Tami was deaf. He ‘just couldn’t handle having a handicapped kid.’ His words.”
“Before you, did she date much?”
“She tried. But when men found out she had a handicapped child, they never called again.”
“Except for you.”
“Yeah. Except for me.”
Kind Joe. Patient and loving. In a way, Sadie’s disease had been a handicap. She certainly hadn’t had what the world would call a “normal” first ten years.
Kitt tightened her fingers on the steering wheel. The clown who’d given her the balloon was her caller, the original SAK. And Valerie was the Copycat.
How the hell did they meet? And were they in cahoots? Or adversaries?
Perhaps they were lovers?
She stopped on that.
Lovers. In cahoots.
She glanced at Joe, an uncomfortable sensation creeping over her. From living with her, Joe knew police procedure. He knew everything about her-her fears and dreams. Her nightmares. He knew about her letting the SAK escape because she’d been drunk.
Peanut’s knowledge of that incident had been the cornerstone of her belief in his being the SAK.
Brian had called Joe, just hours before he died. Joe had hired Buddy Brown.
But the clown had given her the balloon. He’d called and-
M.C. had pointed out the faulty thinking in that already. Joe had seen the clown hand her the balloon and used it as a way of proving himself innocent.
She struggled to think clearly, to separate fact from fear. What she was considering was insane. Impossible. She had known this man most of his life. Even with a voice-altering device, she would recognize his voice patterns and-
That was bullshit. A sophisticated voice-changer could make an old voice young, a male voice female-or vice versa-and all manner of adjustments in between.
But if her caller was the original SAK…
Maybe the original SAK had never been involved. They wouldn’t even have needed him. It could be wholly
