signer to describe a person or thing not present.”
Kitt wasn’t blown away. “Me, you. Me and you.”
“Not necessarily. It could also mean ‘He,’ ‘She’ or ‘It.’ You can’t apply the rules of English grammatical structure to American Sign Language. ASL has a topic-comment syntax.”
“Plain English, please,” Sergeant Haas said, sounding irritated.
“As verbal communicators, we express ourselves, our ideas and emotions, in pieces of sentences. In single words spoken with emotion. In phrases and ways that butcher the traditional subject-object-verb structure. And in response to the topic.”
Jimmy laid the photo down. “So he may be trying to say me and you. Or she and I. Or I am he. We don’t-”
“I am he,” Kitt said, trying it out, running it through her head. “He’s telling us who he is. The one. The SAK.”
The sergeant nodded. “It could be. Let’s move on to Marianne Vest.”
Jimmy hesitated. “I don’t know. I-”
“Best guess.”
For long moments, he studied the photos. “Okay, what I think he’s signing is individual letters here. A W and an E. Her right hand is posed with the three middle fingers up and spread and the thumb and pinkie folded across the palm-a W. The left is in a loose fist, palm facing out. An E.”
“Couldn’t the right mean three?” Kitt asked. “Like the number?”
“A way of telling us there would be a third victim?” Haas offered.
“It could be. But not if this guy is using ASL. The number three is signed with the thumb and first two fingers, back of the hand out.”
He signed both for them and Kitt immediately understood. “I am he,” Kitt murmured. “Now ‘We.’ What about the Webber girl?”
JimmyYe seemed to be settling into the task. He selected several of the photographs and looked them over. Each of Catherine Webber’s hands had been molded into what appeared to Kitt to be a number one-the index finger straight up, the others folded into the palm, forming a fist.
But the positioning of each in space was very different. The left, back of the hand out, the right positioned centrally, finger near the mouth, palm facing left.
“The left hand is signing the number one, right?” Sergeant Haas said.
“Yes. The right hand’s a bit more difficult. It’s in the D position, but I’m thinking it’s the word ‘Be.’”
“Why?”
“Watch.” Jimmy signed it for them-hand in the D position, then he moved his hand straight out, away from his mouth.
“If we’re meant to read it from right to left, it’s saying what? To be one?” Kitt looked at Jonathan Haas. “With the victim?”
Sal arrived and crossed to them. “Joe’s with his lawyer. What’ve you got so far?”
Kitt explained. When she had finished, Jimmy Ye jumped in. “As I explained, these interpretations are best guesses.”
“Noted.” He moved his gaze over the photos. “I am he. Or me and you.”
“Or read the Vest and Webber scene together,” Jimmy said. “We are one.”
Sergeant Haas’s cell phone buzzed. He excused himself to answer.
Kitt watched him go, then turned to Sal. “That works for me. Jimmy?”
He nodded. “Could be. Of course, I can’t prom-”
She cut him off before he could provide another disclaimer. “One last question. Is it logical to assume that since the killer is using ASL, he’s either deaf or has a family member who’s deaf?”
“Not necessarily. Yes, ASL’s the native language of deaf Americans as well as some hearing children born into deaf families. However, courses exist to learn ASL. As do immersion-study programs.”
Kitt didn’t hide her disappointment. She had liked the scenario as it would dramatically narrow the field of suspects, a field that would include Valerie Martin. “How did you learn?”
“My wife’s deaf. She taught me.” He paused. “Here’s another option. Your guy’s not familiar with ASL, but simply looking up English words in an English-ASL dictionary. They have them online. There’s one that’s actually animated. I could e-mail you the URL, if you want.”
“That’d be great, thanks.”
Sergeant Haas returned as Jimmy walked away. Kitt saw from his expression that the call hadn’t pleased him. “Valerie Martin didn’t return to work after lunch. The house was closed up tight, no vehicle in the garage. A neighbor directed them to the daughter’s school. There, they learned her mother had checked her out just after lunch.”
Sal’s expression turned grim. “Let’s put out an all-radio bulletin for the woman and her daughter.”
“What about Joe?” Kitt asked.
“We keep him until his lawyer starts squealing. Then we’ll have to book him or let him go.”
“He might have an idea where Valerie headed. I’m worried about Tami. If Valerie is guilty and doesn’t suspect we’re onto her, the girl could be in danger.”
“You want to talk to him?” Sal asked.
“I’ll try. I don’t think he’ll be so happy to talk to me.” Her cell rang and she answered. “Lundgren, here.”
“It’s Sorenstein. Good news. We’ve got us a match.”
67
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
5:40 p.m.
The gun used to kill Brian had also been used to kill a woman in Dekalb, a farming community about an hour southeast of Rockford. Dekalb had two claims to fame-it was the birthplace of supermodel Cindy Crawford and was home to the Northern Illinois University campus. Many locals would add “sweet corn” to the list as a third. In fact, the community sponsored the Cornfest every August, a big street party that hosted an annual two-hundred- thousand visitors who consumed seventy tons of sweet corn.
Kitt peered over Sorenstein’s shoulder at the NIBIN monitor. “It’s a good match,” he said. “Damn near perfect.”
Sure enough, the markings on the bullet taken from Brian’s body corresponded to those from the bullet of a 1989 murder.
“While I waited for you, I took the liberty of accessing LEDS.”
LEDS was the state’s Law Enforcement Data System. “So, what’s the story?”
“A man named Frank Ballard killed his wife in 1989. He shot her between the eyes. He was arrested, tried and convicted, but the gun was never recovered. It was believed said weapon was the man’s service revolver. Same make and model. Standard issue,.45 caliber Smith amp; Wesson.
“He was law enforcement?”
“That’s right. Dekalb County sheriff’s office deputy.”
Kitt’s thoughts raced. Law enforcement. How had that weapon, used in a murder seventeen years ago, shown up here? Now?
And what, if anything, did it have to do with the SAK and Copycat investigations?
“Anything else?” she asked.
“That’s about it. Here’s a printout. Figured I’d leave the rest of the detecting up to you.” He grinned up at her. “Seems to me, I’ve earned a beer.”
“You did, Sorenstein. Thanks.”
His grin faded. “Brian was a friend. More than a friend. I want to nail the son of a bitch who did this.”
Kitt headed back up to the VCB. She found Sal and filled him in. “I’m going to talk to Joe, see if he has any
