Erica Spindler - Copy Cat

He spread his hands. “We came up empty.”

“Thanks, Brian. I’m going to be reviewing the case files, if I have any questions-”

“I’ll be here.” He smiled, but as Kitt exited his office, it occurred to her that something about the curving of his mouth seemed false.

Monday, March 20, 2006

3:30 p.m.

As M.C. had predicted, a judge granted the search warrant for Joe Lundgren’s home, vehicles and business. The language of a warrant had to be specific; law enforcement could not simply go on a fishing expedition. Each address and vehicle had to be specifically named in the warrant or it was off-limits. Likewise, a warrant that was too specific could hamstring investigators.

They had begun with the business office, for no other reason than his connection to Brown was through Lundgren Homes. There, they had pulled employment records; communication with the Illinois Parole Board, cell phone bills, bank statements, his computer.

M.C. hoped to find a payoff to Brown, receipts for the cell phones used to call Kitt, or something that would tie him to Kitt’s caller or Brown’s murder-or any of the others, for that matter.

From the business office, they moved to the man’s Highcrest Road residence. M.C. wondered if this was the house he and Kitt had shared when they were married. Something about the lived-in feeling of the California cottage-style home suggested that it was.

She stood in the living room, surveying the row of family photos on the fireplace mantel. They were all from the time before Sadie’s death, when they had been a family. Many of the photos included Kitt. A smiling, carefree-looking Kitt.

A wife and mother. Happy. Loved.

A visual record of Kitt’s loss.

M.C. shifted her thoughts away from her partner. How did Valerie feel about the photos? M.C. had seen ones similar to these in every room of the house. Did they make her feel threatened? Jealous?

“Detective?”

She turned. One of the officers assigned to search Lundgren’s truck stood in the doorway. “Find anything?” she asked.

“It was clean. You want me to have it impounded?”

“Do it.” Although they weren’t looking for biological evidence from the Copycat murders, Buddy Brown had been killed then transported to Anna Paige Park. “Detective White’s with Lundgren’s lawyer?”

“Yes. In the basement.”

The lawyer had followed them around while another uniform had kept a confused yet indignant Lundgren company just outside.

She turned back to the photos, frowning. Something about this didn’t feel right. Was Joe Lundgren as good a suspect as she’d originally thought? It had made sense to her, the idea that Joe was punishing Kitt. She had painted him as angry and jealous.

Would a man with so much anger toward his ex-wife keep photographs of her displayed this way?

If he was smart, yes. If he was a cool customer, acting with his intellect instead of his emotion.

Which brought her right back to her problem. She didn’t see him as that man. And it certainly didn’t fit her theory.

Nor had they found the proverbial “smoking gun.”

Her thoughts turned to her argument with Brian. Had Kitt overheard it? M.C. hoped not. Depending on what or how much she had heard, she could have a big-time wrong idea.

Now, unless she brought it up, she would never know. And Kitt could continue to have the wrong idea.

Should that bother her? Yes, she decided. For despite not fully trusting the woman or her methods, she had grown to admire her. And in a strange way, they didn’t make too bad a team.

It was almost five-thirty by the time M.C. made it back to the bureau. Sal looked up from the report on his desk. “How’d it go?”

“It’ll take a while to sift through the minutiae, but not great.”

“What now?”

“Put Kitt back on.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “You’re certain that’s wise?”

“Lundgren’s not our man.”

“That’s a big reversal from earlier today, Detective.”

“Yes, it is. But I’m standing by it.”

He sat quietly a moment, then nodded. “Limited role until all the ‘minutiae’ is studied. I can’t allow even a hint of impropriety here.”

“You’ve got it. I’m going to break for dinner, then begin picking through it.”

What M.C. hadn’t told Sal was that she didn’t plan on eating alone. Lance had been in her thoughts all day; she had decided seeing him was just what she needed.

She didn’t call, simply stopped at Wok to Go, then headed to his place. “Hey,” she said when he opened the door. She held up the take-out bag. “I brought Chinese.”

“My angel of mercy.”

She entered his apartment. The normally pin-neat living area looked as if a tornado had struck. She moved her gaze over the disaster. Books. Photos. Notebooks. Papers that had been crumpled and tossed. Empty coffee cups, soda cans, an extra-large pizza box and an overflowing ashtray.

She frowned. “You smoke?”

He grimaced. “A friend stopped by. He chain smokes.” He crossed to the couch and cleared a space for her, then collected the pizza box and a half-dozen cans and cups.

“Sorry about the mess. I’m working on some new material. It’s a painful process.”

“Apparently. Looks like you hosted a World Wrestling Federation event in here.”

“An apt analogy. Creation. Birth. Demon wrestling.”

“You want to pass anything by-”

“No. Thanks.”

Stung by his gruff reply, she didn’t comment.

Moments later, they were eating in silence. After a while, he set down his chopsticks. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“For what?”

“What I said…about my stuff. The process is so raw…I’m just not ready. Thanks, though, for offering to listen.”

She smiled, touched by the apology. “It’s okay.”

“I don’t think it is.”

Something in his eyes and voice told her he was no longer talking about his apology. “What is it, Lance?”

“I’m falling in love with you.”

Just like that, she thought. He laid the words between them. Gave form to whatever was growing between them.

What did she say to that? How did she feel? Elated. Terrified. Hopeful. Confident. Vulnerable.

“What are you thinking?”

“That you must be crazy.”

“To be falling in love with you? Or just in general?”

She smiled. “To be falling in love with me.”

“That makes you crazy.”

Was she? She thought yes. Definitely.

She laughed. “I might be falling in love with you, too.”

A smile pulled at his mouth. He stood, held out his hand. She took it and they went to the bedroom. And there they made love.

Afterward, they lay quietly, holding each other. M.C.’s thoughts whirled with the events of the day-Kitt’s response to her bringing Joe in for questioning and her temporary removal from the case. The evidence awaiting her at the bureau. Her argument with Brian, his threat.

Remembering it, a knot formed in her stomach. He would do it, too. She didn’t know why, after so long, he was behaving this way. It was as if Brian had become another person.

“What’s wrong?” Lance rubbed her back. “You’re tense.”

“Remember that guy from the bar? The one you saved me from?”

“The pushy creep?”

“Yeah, that one. He’s been following me.”

Lance propped himself up on an elbow, expression concerned. “When did this start?”

“A couple days ago. Last week he showed up at my house, drunk. He came on to me again. When I turned him down, he started following me.”

“What’s this asshole’s problem?”

“I don’t know, it’s weird. I cornered him today. Told him to back off.”