Copycat

“You’re going to have to prove yourself, Kitt. To Riggio. To Sal and the rest of the department. But most of all, you’re going to convince you.”

“I have to do this, don’t I?”

“That’s the way I see it.” He paused; when he spoke again, his tone was low, deep with emotion. “Go slow. Trust your instincts, but not blindly. I’ll be here for you. Anything you need.”

She thanked him and stood. She wasn’t certain he’d given her the vote of confidence she longed for, but it would have to do.

In the end, the fact was, a killer had volunteered her for this game. She had no choice but to play.

13

Thursday, March 9, 2006 5:05 p.m.

He sat at the bar, ice-cold draft in front of him, bowl of pretzels and his pack of smokes beside that. He had arrived before the after-work crowd, to get the best seat in the house—directly in front of the TV that was mounted behind and above the bar.

He acknowledged excitement. Anxiety.

Would his Kitten come through for him this time?

He hoped so. He would be angry if she defied him again.

He lit a cigarette and sucked the smoke in. It had an instant calming effect on him. He smiled to himself, recalling watching her at her little daughter’s grave. It’d been sad. And curiously sweet. He supposed he should feel bad, spying on her. Using what he learned against her.

But he didn’t.

He was just that kind of guy.

Taking another drag on his cigarette, he glanced at his watch. It had been genius to ask her to call him Peanut. It had rattled her, big-time. As had calling on her cell phone. Both proved he meant business. That he knew his shit and wasn’t afraid to play dirty to get what he wanted.

Genius. He liked the sound of that.

Damn but he liked being him.

The News at Five began in earnest. Top story of the day: “The Return of the Sleeping Angel Killer.”

They showed a picture of Julie Entzel. Then of his Little Angels. Their narrative was over the top.

Typical media.

They cut to a breaking press conference. And there she was, his Kitten. He hung on her few words. They were exploring every lead. Studying all the evidence. They had no proof they were even dealing with the same killer.

Blah … blah … blah …

The other detective was with her, Mary Catherine Riggio. Taking a back seat. Standing quietly at his Kitten’s side. Expression set. Grim. Not a bit happy about this turn of events. About her sweet, career-making case being stolen out from under her nose. He almost laughed out loud.

Of course, not a word about a copycat. No mention of communication from someone claiming to be the SAK. No indeed.

She closed the brief conference by assuring the media that they would catch this monster, that he would not get away with this heinous murder.

But he already had.

He smiled to himself and stood. Good girl, Kitten. Stay tuned, there’s lots more fun to come.

14

Thursday, March 9, 2006 7:30 p.m.

Kitt had been attending Alcoholics Anonymous for eighteen months. The department shrink, and consequently her chief, had required her to complete a twelve-step program before they would allow her back on the job.

She truly hadn’t thought she needed it. That attending had been nothing more than a hoop the department wanted her to jump through. She hadn’t turned to alcohol until her life fell apart. She’d thought that made her different, not really an alcoholic.

Little by little, she had seen how wrong she was.

She had realized, too, she needed the support and understanding of fellow alcoholics. They had become a kind of surrogate family. They were privy to her most secret thoughts and feelings, the demons that chased her and the longings of her heart.

She had become particularly close to three of her fellow AA members: Wally, an unemployed machine-shop supervisor who lost his job and two fingers because of drinking on the job; Sandy, a homemaker whose kids had been taken away because of her drinking; Danny, the youngest of them, who had woken up to his problem after an auto accident in which his best friend was killed. Danny had been the one behind the wheel.

They’d grown close because of the alcoholism—and because they understood loss.

“Hello, love,” Danny said, taking the seat next to hers and sending her a goofy, lopsided grin.

She returned the smile. “You’re chipper tonight.”

“Life is good.”

“Must’ve gotten lucky,” Wally said from her other side.

“Been sober one year tonight.”

Sandy squeezed his hand. “Way to go.”

They chatted quietly while they waited for the meeting to begin. Sandy, it turned out, had had a positive meeting with her lawyer about establishing visitation time with her kids and Wally had gotten a job.

As the group leader opened the meeting, Danny leaned toward her. “Want to get a cup of coffee after?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“Saw you on the news. Thought we should talk about it.”

From the tone of his voice, she knew he was concerned. Stand in line, my friend.

They didn’t speak about it again until they were sitting across from each other in a booth at a local eatery called Aunt Mary’s.

“I’m worried about you taking on that case, Kitt. You sure you’re ready?”

“Boy, that question’s getting old.”

“Maybe you should consider that people have a legitimate reason for asking it.” He leaned forward. “You know what your triggers are, Kitt. Don’t put yourself in that position.”