Erica Spindler - Copy Cat

They drove in silence for several blocks. As they slid through the light at Riverside and Mulford, Kitt murmured, “Your date last night, how was it?”

“That’s sort of personal.”

“It must have been very good, then.”

M.C. shot her an irritated glance. “Whatever.”

“Who was he? That Lance guy who came to the PSB to see you?”

“Yes. Satisfied?”

Clearly, she didn’t want to talk about it. Which, perversely, made Kitt want her to. “You went to bed with him, didn’t you?”

“Excuse me?”

Kitt smiled. “I’m multitalented. Both nosy and psychic.”

“More like multi-pain-in-the-ass.”

“Whatever,” she said, tossing M.C.’s indifferent word back at her.

They drove for several minutes in silence. Then, as they neared the PSB, M.C. made a sound of exasperation. “Okay, how did you know I slept with him?”

“Simple. When I walked into the squad room this morning, you were staring dreamily into space and smiling to yourself.”

“I was not!”

“It was one of those satisfied little grins that speaks volumes.”

M.C. opened her mouth as if to argue, then shut it.

Kitt laughed. “I think it’s sweet.”

“I’ve never aspired to sweet.”

“You like this guy.”

It wasn’t a question; M.C. answered her, anyway. “Yeah, I like this guy. But I’m only admitting it in the hopes you’ll shut up.” She glanced out the window, then back at Kitt. “Where do we go from here?”

“Personally, I think you should back off on the sex and get to know him better. But maybe that’s my age talking.”

“Thanks, Mom, but I was talking about where you and I should go. With this investigation.”

“Let’s talk to the chief. Fill him in on the latest.”

“Then what?”

“Hell, if I know.”

“Now, there’s a definitive answer.”

“You asked. Besides, I suspect the chief is going to have a strong opinion on what comes next. He always does.”

“He’s going to have your ass for what you did.”

Trying to turn the tables on “Peanut.” Calling without clearing it first.

Stepping outside the chain of command-again.

“He doesn’t have to know,” Kitt said.

“And how are you going to explain being certain Lindz, McGuire and Olsen were victims of the SAK?”

“I just will be.”

It took a second or two, Kitt saw, for her words to register. “You’re out of your mind if you think I’ll lie for you.”

“I won’t ask you to.”

“You screwed up, Kitt. Face the music and move on.”

“I don’t see it that way. A good cop follows her gut. Sometimes that means making a move that’s left of protocol.”

“Left of protocol? I don’t think so. I want my career to move forward, not the other way around. If I take part in that meeting and don’t reveal all I know-”

“Then don’t take part in the meeting.”

“That’s bullshit.” She cruised into the PSB garage, parked and shut off the engine. She turned to her. Kitt saw that she was angry. “You’re losing it, Detective. I suggest you take a big step back, before it’s too late.”

M.C. opened the car door. Kitt caught her arm, stopping her. “You think sleeping with that guy was smart?”

“That doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

“You followed your gut. Whether you regret it now or not, that’s what you did.”

“That was personal. This is work. There’s a difference.”

“No, there’s not. We go through our lives acting on our instincts, our gut feelings. About people. Choices that range from which job to accept to whom to trust. The good cop tunes into those instincts, follows them.”

“You are so full of shit, Kitt.” She shook off her hand. “For a while I wondered how such a good cop could have ended up the way you have. Now I know.”

Thursday, March 16, 2006

3:40 p.m.

He watched the girl play. She was perfect. A perfect angel. Carefree. Lovely. More perfect than any of the others had been.

Why? He cocked his head. She was blonde and blue-eyed and pretty. But the others had been also.

No, this one was special because of Kitt. He had made a threat. And a promise. A threat to the little girls around his Kitten.

And a promise to himself. To win. At all costs.

She cared about the girls. Hurt them and he hurt her. And this one she would blame herself for.

Funny, now that he had determined her punishment, and realized how utterly effective it would be-he wasn’t angry with her. Yes, she had defied him again. Challenged him again. But he saw it as fighting spirit. And truly appropriate.

He leaned against the park bench and let the sweet breeze flow over him. What a devastating blow it would be to her when this girl died. Poor Kitten. Would she be able to overcome it? Would it send her back to the bottle? Or maybe, this time, for her service weapon.

One shot to the head and all the pain would go away.

A part of him hoped she took that path. She had endured so much already. But another part was rooting for her to fight on.

Interesting how attached he had become. How connected to her struggles.

It was too bad this scenario could only have one outcome-Kitt Lundgren’s death.

Thursday, March 16, 2006

6:20 p.m.

M.C. stood at her kitchen window, leftovers Melody had dropped off earlier heating in the microwave. She and Benjamin had stayed for animal crackers and a chat. Ben, of course, had been more interested in the crackers than the talking. M.C. had learned that in her absence at the previous evening’s dinner she had been her mother’s main course.

The microwave chimed and she retrieved the cannelloni. She carried the plate to the table, sat but didn’t eat. Truth was, she wasn’t all that hungry. M.C. hated the position Kitt had put her in. She had overlooked Kitt’s lapse into the bottle. Now she expected her to overlook this. What next?

She had done as she’d threatened and boycotted Kitt’s meeting with the chief. A small thing, but one Sal would make note of. Even so, she wasn’t at all certain that move had been the right one.

Yes, Kitt had acted outside protocol. But it had been a ballsy move. The “no guts, no glory” kind that sometimes paid off big-time.

M.C. wasn’t a gambler. She couldn’t afford to be associated with risky behavior. Brash, ballsy cops weren’t the ones who became chief of detectives, let alone the chief of police. Because those big risks backfired as often as they paid off.

No, the cops who climbed the ladder were steady. They followed protocol, were brilliant strategists and excellent politicians. Admittedly, she had a ways to go in those areas, but she had time. If she kept her eyes on her goals, she would achieve them.

The doorbell rang and for a second she thought it was the microwave again. She made her way to the door, peeked out the sidelight. Brian Spillare stood on her porch, hands jammed into the pockets of his faded blue jeans.

She opened the door. “Brian? What are you doing here?”

“Can I come in?”

She hesitated, then opened the door wider. He stepped through and she closed the door behind him. “What’s up?”

“I needed someone to talk to. Someone I could trust.”

An epidemic, apparently. At this moment no one would be better to discuss Kitt with than Brian. After all, he had been her partner.

She smiled. “Coincidentally, so do I. How about a cup of coffee?”

“You have anything stronger?”

Typical Brian. “Beer?”

“Perfect.”

He followed her into the kitchen. His standing in the doorway that way brought back memories. Ones that weren’t unpleasant, but had no place in their present relationship.