night of March 6.”
“Actually,” he said, voice steady, “she’s lying now. We were together all night.”
“Can you prove it?”
He thought a moment. “No. But she’ll get over this. She’s angry. And hurt.”
“Because you broke your engagement?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you do that?”
“I’m still in love with Kitt.”
Joe had told her that himself, but hearing it spoken that way to Sal took her breath away.
“Tell me about Valerie. What she’s like?”
“She’s patient. A good mother. A real down-to-earth person.”
“That doesn’t sound like the kind of woman who would be vindictive. Or lie to the police.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Joe glanced down at his hands, then back up at Sal. “For her to do this…I must have really hurt her. I don’t know how else to explain it.”
“Kitt tells me Valerie’s daughter is deaf.”
“That’s right.”
“It must be tough to communicate with her?”
“Not really. She reads lips and signs. The casual observer wouldn’t even realize she was deaf.”
“What’s she like?”
“She’s a sweet kid. Shy, though. Because of her handicap, I guess.”
“Does she make her mother’s life difficult?”
“More than most kids? No. Though, before she could sign, she was wild. Flew into rages. Broke things, would hit Valerie.”
“That’s rather bizarre.”
“The doctors said the behavior was the result of frustration at not being able to communicate. I didn’t know either of them then.”
Sal sat silently, gaze on Joe, as if weighing what Joe had said. Judging its validity. Kitt knew it was an interrogation technique, used to undermine a suspect’s confidence, make them sweat a little.
“Here’s the problem, Joe. We link you to one of the victims. We link you to Buddy Brown. Now you have no alibi for the nights of any of the Copycat killings.”
Joe frowned. “In a couple of days, Valerie will have a change of heart and tell the truth. I know she will.”
“What if she doesn’t?”
For the first time, Joe looked uncomfortable.
Sal leaned slightly toward him. “Just tell me, Joe. Was it her plan?”
“What plan? Whose?”
“Valerie’s plan to kill the girls to cover up the murder of her own daughter?”
Joe stared at Sal, face the picture of shocked disbelief. Watching, Kitt thought he couldn’t feign that.
Or could he?
“That’s crazy! Valerie’s not a killer! She’s a good mother. She loves her daughter. This is-It’s outrageous.”
“Maybe she set you up, Joe. Have you thought about that? That this was her plan from the start? You taking the rap for her?”
Joe looked directly into the video camera, expression anguished. She could almost hear his thoughts: Kitt, how could you?
Kitt stared at him, her life-their life together-flashing before her eyes. Everything they had been in the past- and all that they still could have been.
What had she done?
“Well, Joe? What do you think? You going to take the rap for this?”
Joe looked directly at Sal. “I want my lawyer.”
“Of course.” He pushed away from the table and stood. “By the way, Joe. You heard about Brian Spillare?” When Joe nodded tersely, he asked, “I wonder, why did he call you last night?”
“He didn’t.”
Sal flipped open the file folder on the table in front of him and pulled out the call log. He slid it across to Joe. “This says he did.”
Joe stared at the log. Kitt saw the exact moment he saw his own number, because he went white. “I want my lawyer,” he said again. “I’m not going to say another word until then.”
Sal handed him his own cell phone. “You need a phone book?”
“No, I’ve got it.”
Kitt watched as he dialed. He was calling Kurt Petroski, his corporate lawyer and the man who’d supported him during the search warrant. She hoped Kurt had the good sense now to tell him he needed a criminal lawyer. A good one.
She continued to watch after Joe finished the call and Sal left him to wait for the attorney, something plucking at her.
She reviewed Sal’s questions and Joe’s responses.
Until she learned to sign…
She signs quite well…
What had Peanut told her the last time they spoke?
“The victims are talking to you.”
“My God,” Kitt said.
The sergeant looked at her sharply. “What?”
Kitt stood. “That’s it. The victim’s hands. They’re posed in sign language.”
66
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
5:05 p.m.
The department employed only one individual fluent in American Sign Language, or ASL-Jimmy Ye was an officer with the Community Service Unit.
He had agreed to come up to the VCB and take a look at the Copycat crime-scene photos to see if he could interpret them. ID had taken shots from every possible angle of the victims’ posed hands; Kitt spread the photos out for him as Sergeant Haas looked on. “What do you think, Jimmy? Could it be sign language?”
He studied the photos. “It could be.”
“Presuming it is, what’s he saying?”
“That’s a little tougher.” He picked up one of the close-up shots. “ASL is a visual-spacial language. Its grammatical system includes facial movements and the use of space surrounding the signer.”
“Which means what?”
“Without animation, we’re only getting part of the language. It’ll be difficult to assess the killer’s intent-I can only guess.”
“Disclaimer noted. Give it your best shot, then.”
He indicated the shot of Julie Entzel. “This girl has her right hand pointing to her chest, the left one outward. Very simply, she could be saying ‘I’ or ‘Me’ with her right-”
Kitt cut him off. “She’s not saying anything, Jimmy. It’s the killer who’s speaking to us. She was just the vehicle.”
He looked taken aback at being corrected. She supposed she could have let it pass, but felt it kept the focus correct-and honored the victim.
“Right. Sorry, Detective. The other hand is pointing outward. This is an example of using space around the
