Kiss Me, Kill Me

may have held back her psychological profile in the report to Hans Vigo, but Suzanne would damn well get her to share her theory. Because if they couldn’t find the killer in the next six days, Suzanne feared that come next Sunday morning she’d be standing over another dead girl in the middle of another deserted lot next to one more abandoned building. And there were so many in the five boroughs of New York City, there was no freakin’ way the NYPD and the FBI could stake out every single one.

She was missing something, but damn if she could figure out what it was.

Vic Panetta looked as tired as she felt. “The group who found the body is sitting it out inside the building,” he said when he approached her.

“Where was the body found?” she asked.

He gestured to a temporary bright-orange shelter. “Though she was found quickly-we’re guessing less than an hour after she was killed-the storm saturated the area. There is an apparent head injury, like she hit her head on the bulldozer over by where she died, or a rock on the ground. Responding officers quickly put up a tarp and the crime scene team set up a larger tent.

“We also have several potential witnesses. Because of the weather, there were only about half as many people at this rave as at the last crime scene, and many were still here when officers arrived. We have thirty names, prints, and phone numbers to follow up on, but we let them leave.”

“Prints?”

“We had everyone sign a roster and assigned a different pen for each person, bagged and tagged them.”

“Smart-the pen isn’t too small to get a viable print?”

Panetta held up an example. It was a large, smooth plastic pen, like one that might be found in a souvenir shop. These were dark blue, with New York Police Department in white.

Suzanne smiled. “And who found the body?”

“They’re inside. Three of them. The girl is the roommate of the victim, identified her as Sierra Hinkle, nineteen. Name is Becca Johansen. She and Sierra both work as waitresses in Brooklyn, three subway stops away. One guy said he was with Becca for most of the night; the other guy stayed, he says, because he’d met the victim earlier in the evening. My guess? They had sex and he’s worried his DNA will be all over her and doesn’t want us to think he killed her.”

“He said that?”

“Just the hinky way he was acting.”

“Vic,” Suzanne said, keeping her voice low so none of the other cops could overhear, “I asked Lucy Kincaid to come out and walk through the scene. I’m going to walk through with her.”

“Fine by me. Any reason why?”

She handed him a copy of Lucy’s report. “She put together information for an FBI profile that I read last night and sent off to headquarters first thing this morning.”

“It’s pretty obvious that Wade Barnett isn’t our killer,” said Panetta, “unless she identified the likelihood of a partner. Which I’m not ruling out.”

“No partner. Lucy didn’t make any conclusions, but I did. The most important thing is that she kept referring to the killer as ‘he or she.’ ”

“A female killer?”

“It’s not out of the realm of possibility. She quoted statistics of suffocation in murder cases, and far more women choose that method than men.”

“Yeah, maybe-in mercy killings and child murders, maybe. But this is violent.” He gestured toward the orange tent.

“It’s something we should keep in mind as a possibility.”

“I’d look first at Barnett’s younger brother.”

Suzanne was surprised. “Why?”

“You said yourself that Dennis drove Barnett to the parties. He stayed in the car. He would have seen if someone wandered off. Took the opportunity to kill them, get back in the car, and wait for his brother.”

“Why?”

“Don’t know. Maybe that’s a question for your profiler, or Ms. Kincaid.”

Suzanne thought about Dennis Barnett as a murderer. She didn’t see it. Truth was, she’d let her emotions get involved during her interview with him. She liked him, thought he was genuine. She’d had a mentally retarded next- door neighbor in Eunice-if you could call three acres over “next door.” Bobby was her age and had been teased and bullied because he was slow; other kids called him Forrest Gump. So Suzanne had bought a video of the movie, using every dime she had, and watched it with Bobby. Told him that Forrest Gump was a hero, that he met two presidents of the United States, and was a championship runner.

Bobby never got out of the small town, and worked as a busboy in a diner. Probably still teased and bullied, but Suzanne hadn’t gone back.

Dennis reminded her of Bobby. She didn’t want him to be guilty, but she couldn’t discount the possibility.

She saw Sean Rogan drive up in his black GT. “That’s them,” she told Panetta. “Can you tell your guys to let them through?”

Panetta got on the radio and cleared them.

Suzanne watched the two approach. Sean had his arm around Lucy’s shoulder. It seemed casual, but protective at the same time. She’d thought something was going on between the two of them, but it was certainly obvious now.

Lucy was pale and wore no makeup, and her wavy hair was down and tucked behind her ears, making her look younger than she had last night. Sean held a large umbrella over both of them.

Sean spotted Suzanne and gave her a look that surprised her-he was angry.

She met them halfway. “Thank you for coming out.”

“You called at six in the morning.”

“Right after I got the call. Sorry to wake you up.”

“I was awake,” Sean said.

“It’s fine,” Lucy said. “Really, thank you for including us.”

“I stayed up late to read your report,” Suzanne said. “But you didn’t give a psych profile.”

“I’m not a profiler. I thought you wanted me to compile the evidence and statements for you to send to Hans.”

“Yes, but I guess I expected a conclusion. I have the wrong guy in prison. I missed something, and I need to find out what before someone else dies.”

“Same M.O.?”

“Appears so,” Suzanne said, leading the way to the tent. “I haven’t seen the body yet; the coroner just arrived. Nineteen, waitress here in Brooklyn, has no affiliation at all with Columbia University, either as an employee or as a student. Neither does her roommate, who found the body.”

Lucy followed Suzanne, listening to the facts of the case. She already suspected why Sierra Hinkle was murdered, she just didn’t know who killed her. But she’d keep her ideas to herself for now, because she needed facts. All she had was a theory.

“Who knew you had arrested Wade Barnett?” she asked.

“Everyone in the world,” Suzanne said sarcastically. “The Post reported that we had a suspect in custody early on, and then the six o’clock news broke the fact that the FBI had arrested Wade Barnett. Our statement that Barnett had not been arrested for murder didn’t mean squat to the press, who’d already found the same photo of Barnett and Alanna Andrews that you found. If they’d had that much interest in the dead girl, maybe we could have put the connection together earlier, but they didn’t care about her when she died. Not until a high-profile, wealthy real-estate investor was arrested.”

Suzanne was a hothead, Lucy realized. She’d seen a bit of it yesterday, but now it clearly showed. Suzanne reminded Lucy of her brother, Connor, a former cop who had a temper that had gotten him in trouble many times. It had taken marriage to calm him down some.

Suzanne entered the tent. “What do you have for me?” she asked the coroner.

Lucy and Sean were about to step inside, but the coroner barked out, “Two at a time only! This place is