Erica Spindler - Copy Cat

“What others?” she asked again. “Tell me, damn you!”

“Sleep well, Kitten.”

He hung up. She swore, certain they didn’t get the tap. A moment later the officer monitoring her phone confirmed it.

She tossed the phone onto the bed.

Bloody hell.

Climbing out of bed, she strode to the bathroom. Her legs felt rubbery, her hands shook. After splashing cold water on her face, she headed to the kitchen. There, the half-empty bottle of vodka mocked her. She stared at it, furious. At herself for succumbing. At Joe. At this child-killing monster.

Fueled by her fury, she crossed to the sink and dumped the remainder of the alcohol, then rinsed the sink to remove its smell. They would not beat her. None of them.

While a pot of coffee brewed, Kitt paced. He’d claimed he’d killed others. Plural. Children? she wondered, then discarded the thought. No way could the murders of children have slipped past the RPD radar.

But if not children, who?

The coffee burbled. She crossed to the pot, needing the caffeine. She needed to chase away the last of the alcohol fog. Mug poured, sugar and milk added, she made herself a peanut-butter sandwich.

While she consumed both, she turned her thoughts to the other things he had said to her. He had been at the charity event. He claimed to be the clown who had given her the balloon. She worked to recall details of his appearance.

Tall, maybe six feet. Medium build. Caucasian. His features had been concealed by the clown getup: white face, big red nose, eyes made up to look wide and surprised. Blue, she thought. His eyes had definitely been blue. Hair color had been obscured by the neon-orange wig.

What to do? She glanced at the wall clock. Still well before midnight. If M.C. wasn’t still up, she should be.

This couldn’t wait until morning.

She returned to the bedroom and snatched up the portable phone. She dialed her partner’s cell number. She answered after the second ring, tone wary.

“You awake, partner?”

“Kitt?” The word came out half growl. “This better be good.”

“You decide. He contacted me again. Claimed other victims, ones we never linked to him.”

She heard the woman’s sharply indrawn breath, then what sounded like her climbing out of the bed. “You think he was telling the truth?”

“Don’t know. I’m going to headquarters now. Figured I’d get on the computer, see if I can find anything.”

“They’re not going anywhere, you know. It’ll wait till morning.”

“I know. But I won’t be able to sleep, anyway.” She cleared her throat. “There’s more. Apparently, he and I were face-to-face tonight.”

“You’ve got me now,” M.C. said. “I go right past your place on my way to the PSB. I’ll pick you up.”

Wednesday, March 15, 2006

12:05 a.m.

As the crow flew, Kitt didn’t live that far from her. M.C. parked in the driveway of Kitt’s cottage-style home, climbed out of her Explorer, crossed to the door and rang the bell.

It took several minutes for Kitt to come to the door. Her hair was wet, her face flushed.

“That was fast,” she said. “I didn’t expect you for at least fifteen minutes.”

“I should have warned you, I was still up and dressed.”

“No problem. I took a quick shower. Mind if I take a minute to dry my hair?”

“Go ahead. Is that coffee I smell?”

“A nearly full pot, help yourself. Kitchen’s dead ahead.”

M.C. found the kitchen, then the cabinet that held the mugs. A box of sweetener sat open on the counter. Obviously, Kitt had already had a cup. And, judging by the empty plate by the sink, something to eat.

Before she called? M.C. wondered. Or after?

M.C. filled a mug, sweetened it and sipped. From the other part of the house she heard the hum of a hair dryer.

She crossed to the refrigerator. A half-dozen photos, held in place by magnets, graced its front.

Sadie, she realized. And Joe.

She studied the images, one by one. Sadie had been a beautiful little girl. Blond and blue-eyed, with an endearing smile that included dimples. Joe, also fair-haired, was a handsome man. Strongly built, like someone whose job kept him active. She saw where Sadie had gotten her dimples.

M.C. sipped the coffee. But it was the pictures of Kitt that surprised her most. She almost didn’t recognize her, she looked so young in the photographs. So lighthearted.

What must it feel like to lose your family?

She had lost her father, and it had been awful. But losing your child? Then your marriage? She couldn’t imagine the pain.

“I see you found the coffee.”

M.C. whirled around. Some of her coffee sloshed over the rim of her cup, onto her hand and the floor.

Kitt crossed the kitchen, ripped off a paper towel and handed it to her. “Sorry I startled you.”

M.C. mopped up the mess, then turned back to Kitt. The other woman’s gaze was on the photographs, the yearning in her expression painful to see.

“She was a beautiful little girl.”

A smile touched Kitt’s mouth. “Inside and out.”

“I’m really sorry. It’s got to be…horrible.”

Kitt didn’t respond, but crossed to the sink and rinsed her plate and cup, then stuck them in the dishwasher. “You said you weren’t asleep. Out with the guy?”

“Working. Going over the storage-unit inventory list.”

“Anything jump out?”

“No. It’s a major mishmash of crap. Clothing, books, old calendars, the dressmaker’s dummy, an aluminum Christmas tree, old record albums. And that’s just the beginning. It reads like the contents of someone’s attic.”

“But whose?”

“My fear is, it’s no one’s. That your anonymous friend went to Goodwill or a few garage sales and assembled a bunch of junk to throw you off.” M.C. crossed to the sink, dumped the remainder of her coffee and rinsed her cup. “Garbage in here?” she asked, opening the cabinet located under the sink.

“No! I’ll do-”

M.C. saw what Kitt was trying to hide. An empty vodka bottle. A bottom-of-the-barrel brand.

The kind a drunk would buy. M.C. stared at the bottle, realizing what it meant. This was what she had feared when they’d been assigned to work together. Kitt had sworn she was rehabilitated. She had been fool enough to believe her.

Was this a first offense? Or had it been happening all along?

Did that even matter?

M.C. tossed the soiled paper towel into the trash, then retrieved the bottle. She turned to Kitt and held it up, furious. “What is this?”

Kitt stared at the bottle, expression devastated.

“Dammit, Kitt! You’ve been drinking.”

“I can explain.”

“No, you can’t. You’re an alcoholic. You can’t drink. Not ever.”

“I know.” She took a step toward her, hand out. “Just listen. Please.”

“I’ve got to go to Sal with this.”

“It won’t happen again. I promise.”

“You can’t promise that. And I can’t allow you to jeopardize this investigation.”

“He’ll suspend me. And I don’t have…being a cop is all I have left.”

“You should have thought of that before you knocked back a fifth.”

“It wasn’t like that…It-”

“This partnership is over, Kitt.”

“Joe’s remarrying!” she cried. “The woman has a daughter. Sadie’s age. He…I found out tonight. They’re going to be a family. They’re going to have-”

She bit the words back, but M.C. imagined they went something like “They’re going to have everything I lost.”

A lump formed in M.C.’s throat as she struggled with the pity she felt for the other woman. It was okay to feel bad for her, but she couldn’t allow Kitt to put the investigation at risk. Her responsibility was to the force, to the trust the public-and her superior officers-had in her.