Erica Spindler - Copy Cat

A pall hung over the department. One of their own had been cut down.

M.C. hadn’t slept much, for a complicated set of reasons. Every time she’d closed her eyes, she’d relived the murder scene. She recalled Brian in life, that he had a family. She worried about her argument with him and what she should do. Go to her superiors, come clean about her and Brian’s history together and their argument, or hope they never became wise to it.

Brian’s murder had her spooked. If he had been killed because he’d asked a fellow officer the wrong question, that left both her and Kitt vulnerable. Particularly Kitt.

She had called her home and cell phone. The woman had answered neither. Again, weird.

M.C. drummed her fingers on her desktop, considering other scenarios. She could have fallen off the wagon and be home, sleeping it off.

After all, just a week ago Kitt had lapsed, blaming the emotional trauma of discovering Joe was going to be a stepfather. Last night Kitt’s good friend and former partner had been murdered. Kitt felt partly responsible. Enough emotional trauma to send even a teetotaler running for the bottle.

It beat the hell out of the first scenario-Kitt lying just inside her own doorway, shot twice in the chest.

Screw it, she decided, standing. She’d just take a little road trip over to Kitt’s to check on her.

She got no further than the decision when her cell phone buzzed. She answered without looking at the display, certain Kitt was calling.

“Riggio here.”

She learned immediately she was wrong. “I missed you last night,” Lance said.

She smiled. “I missed you, too.”

“I hoped you’d call. Waited until the wee hours.”

“Things took a turn for the worse here. I couldn’t get away.”

“What about today?”

“I don’t know, but it doesn’t look good.” Sergeant Haas appeared in the doorway. “I’ve got to go. I’ll call you.”

She hung up, then turned her attention to her superior. “What’s up, Sarge?”

“Sal wants to see you in his office. Now.”

M.C. didn’t like his tone. Too official. “Kitt’s not in yet.”

“We don’t need Kitt for this one.”

When they reached the deputy chief’s office, she saw why not. Sal wasn’t alone. A detective she recognized from Internal Affairs was with him.

The question about whether she should come clean about her argument with Brian had become moot. They already knew.

Another realization followed on the heels of that one:

Kitt had told them about it.

That’s why she was late this morning. Why she hadn’t answered her cell phone. She hadn’t wanted to face M.C. until after IA finished with her.

Bitterness mixed with betrayal. She supposed she deserved it, after the way she had gone behind Kitt’s back about Joe. She had been naive to believe they had worked through that.

“Come in, Detective Riggio. This is Detective Peters, from Internal Affairs.”

She nodded in greeting. “I recognize Detective Peters. We spoke during the Caldwell investigation.”

“That’s right,” the man agreed, the barest smile shaping his mouth. “Have a seat.”

She sat and folded her hands in her lap.

“Do you have any idea what this meeting might be about, Detective?”

Tell the truth and look paranoid or guilty? Or play it dumb and cool? Both came with advantages and risks.

She took the middle road. “One of the investigations I’m working on would be my best guess.”

“And they are?”

“The Copycat killings and Lieutenant Spillare’s murder.”

“A rather small caseload.”

“But intense.”

“Indeed.” The man steepled his fingers. “How would you categorize your relationship with Lieutenant Spillare?”

“Good. Until recently.”

“Until recently,” he repeated. “Could you tell us what happened to change your relationship?”

“The lieutenant began hitting on me. When I refused his advances, he began following me.”

“That would be sexual harassment.”

“I suppose it would.”

“Why didn’t you approach one of your superiors. Or us?”

“I thought I could handle it myself.”

His gaze sharpened. “And did you?”

“If you’re asking did I kill him, the answer is ‘hell no.’ We argued. Yesterday, in fact.”

Sal spoke up. “Why didn’t you come to me with this last night? You had to know how your argument would be overheard. And how it would look. It’s just plain stupid, Riggio!”

No joke.

As had been trusting Kitt.

Peters stood and crossed to stand directly before her. “I think Detective Riggio had her reasons. Isn’t that right, Detective?”

Rather than cock her head back to meet his eyes, she stood. They were nearly nose-to-nose. “That is right, Detective Peters. You’re very astute.”

If he noticed the edge in her voice, he didn’t comment. She turned toward her superiors. “Brian and I had an affair, years ago. I was a rookie, he was a detective. It was a mistake and didn’t last long. I really didn’t want to share that. I’m not proud of it. That’s why I didn’t come forward.”

For a moment the men were silent. Then Sal spoke. “You weren’t the first rookie to fall under Brian’s spell, nor were you the last.”

She nodded. “With all due respect, knowing others were as stupid as me doesn’t make me feel any better.”

Peters cleared his throat and redirected them. “Is it true that you threatened Lieutenant Spillare?”

“Actually, he threatened me. When I told him if he didn’t back off, I intended to report him, he said he would spread that I slept my way into the VCB.”

“And how did you respond?”

“I told him he had better not.”

“And that’s it?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t threaten to shoot him?”

“Absolutely not.”

“We’ll need your weapon for ballistics testing.”

She slipped the Glock.45 from the holster and handed it over. She knew the drill. Upon firing, every gun created a sort of “fingerprinted” bullet, marks on the metal caused by tiny imperfections in the gun’s barrel. And like human fingerprints, no two weapons left identical impressions on their bullets. Likewise, with cartridge casings.

To obtain the comparison casing or bullet, they would fire it into a box of thick gel, retrieve the bullet or casing, then compare it to any that had been recovered from the scene of Brian’s murder.

Sal accepted her weapon. “You’ll have it back this morning.”

“Thank you.” She moved her gaze between them. “Was there anything else?”

They said there wasn’t and she exited the office. Word of her being questioned by IA-and no doubt why-had traveled fast. A number of other officers milled around Sal’s office, hoping for some dish. A few of them had the decency to avert their gazes, but others openly stared at her.

This was just the kind of attention she had worked hard to avoid.

Recalling Kitt’s advice about going with the flow, she shook off her irritation and passed by them with her head high.

She found that Kitt had made it in and was at her desk. “Returning to the scene of the crime?” she asked from the doorway.

Kitt looked up. “Excuse me?”

“You made it in. Finally.”

“I heard about Internal Affairs. How was it?”

M.C. ignored her question and crossed to Kitt’s desk. “Where were you this morning?”

Kitt shifted her gaze slightly and M.C. frowned. “That’s what I thought. Thanks a lot.”

“I’m totally lost now. You want to clue me in?”

“You wanted to get back at me for Joe, didn’t you? I hope we’re square now, because I don’t think I’m up for another sneak attack.”