Erica Spindler - Copy Cat

“Here’s the problem, Joe. We link you to one of the victims. We link you to Buddy Brown. Now you have no alibi for the nights of any of the Copycat killings.”

Joe frowned. “In a couple of days, Valerie will have a change of heart and tell the truth. I know she will.”

“What if she doesn’t?”

For the first time, Joe looked uncomfortable.

Sal leaned slightly toward him. “Just tell me, Joe. Was it her plan?”

“What plan? Whose?”

“Valerie’s plan to kill the girls to cover up the murder of her own daughter?”

Joe stared at Sal, face the picture of shocked disbelief. Watching, Kitt thought he couldn’t feign that.

Or could he?

“That’s crazy! Valerie’s not a killer! She’s a good mother. She loves her daughter. This is-It’s outrageous.”

“Maybe she set you up, Joe. Have you thought about that? That this was her plan from the start? You taking the rap for her?”

Joe looked directly into the video camera, expression anguished. She could almost hear his thoughts: Kitt, how could you?

Kitt stared at him, her life-their life together-flashing before her eyes. Everything they had been in the past-and all that they still could have been.

What had she done?

“Well, Joe? What do you think? You going to take the rap for this?”

Joe looked directly at Sal. “I want my lawyer.”

“Of course.” He pushed away from the table and stood. “By the way, Joe. You heard about Brian Spillare?” When Joe nodded tersely, he asked, “I wonder, why did he call you last night?”

“He didn’t.”

Sal flipped open the file folder on the table in front of him and pulled out the call log. He slid it across to Joe. “This says he did.”

Joe stared at the log. Kitt saw the exact moment he saw his own number, because he went white. “I want my lawyer,” he said again. “I’m not going to say another word until then.”

Sal handed him his own cell phone. “You need a phone book?”

“No, I’ve got it.”

Kitt watched as he dialed. He was calling Kurt Petroski, his corporate lawyer and the man who’d supported him during the search warrant. She hoped Kurt had the good sense now to tell him he needed a criminal lawyer. A good one.

She continued to watch after Joe finished the call and Sal left him to wait for the attorney, something plucking at her.

She reviewed Sal’s questions and Joe’s responses.

Until she learned to sign…

She signs quite well…

What had Peanut told her the last time they spoke?

“The victims are talking to you.”

“My God,” Kitt said.

The sergeant looked at her sharply. “What?”

Kitt stood. “That’s it. The victim’s hands. They’re posed in sign language.”

Tuesday, March 21, 2006

5:05 p.m.

The department employed only one individual fluent in American Sign Language, or ASL-Jimmy Ye was an officer with the Community Service Unit.

He had agreed to come up to the VCB and take a look at the Copycat crime-scene photos to see if he could interpret them. ID had taken shots from every possible angle of the victims’ posed hands; Kitt spread the photos out for him as Sergeant Haas looked on. “What do you think, Jimmy? Could it be sign language?”

He studied the photos. “It could be.”

“Presuming it is, what’s he saying?”

“That’s a little tougher.” He picked up one of the close-up shots. “ASL is a visual-spacial language. Its grammatical system includes facial movements and the use of space surrounding the signer.”

“Which means what?”

“Without animation, we’re only getting part of the language. It’ll be difficult to assess the killer’s intent-I can only guess.”

“Disclaimer noted. Give it your best shot, then.”

He indicated the shot of Julie Entzel. “This girl has her right hand pointing to her chest, the left one outward. Very simply, she could be saying ‘I’ or ‘Me’ with her right-”

Kitt cut him off. “She’s not saying anything, Jimmy. It’s the killer who’s speaking to us. She was just the vehicle.”

He looked taken aback at being corrected. She supposed she could have let it pass, but felt it kept the focus correct-and honored the victim.

“Right. Sorry, Detective. The other hand is pointing outward. This is an example of using space around the signer to describe a person or thing not present.”

Kitt wasn’t blown away. “Me, you. Me and you.”

“Not necessarily. It could also mean ‘He,’ ‘She’ or ‘It.’ You can’t apply the rules of English grammatical structure to American Sign Language. ASL has a topic-comment syntax.”

“Plain English, please,” Sergeant Haas said, sounding irritated.

“As verbal communicators, we express ourselves, our ideas and emotions, in pieces of sentences. In single words spoken with emotion. In phrases and ways that butcher the traditional subject-object-verb structure. And in response to the topic.”

Jimmy laid the photo down. “So he may be trying to say me and you. Or she and I. Or I am he. We don’t-”

“I am he,” Kitt said, trying it out, running it through her head. “He’s telling us who he is. The one. The SAK.”

The sergeant nodded. “It could be. Let’s move on to Marianne Vest.”

Jimmy hesitated. “I don’t know. I-”

“Best guess.”

For long moments, he studied the photos. “Okay, what I think he’s signing is individual letters here. A W and an E. Her right hand is posed with the three middle fingers up and spread and the thumb and pinkie folded across the palm-a W. The left is in a loose fist, palm facing out. An E.”

“Couldn’t the right mean three?” Kitt asked. “Like the number?”

“A way of telling us there would be a third victim?” Haas offered.

“It could be. But not if this guy is using ASL. The number three is signed with the thumb and first two fingers, back of the hand out.”

He signed both for them and Kitt immediately understood. “I am he,” Kitt murmured. “Now ‘We.’ What about the Webber girl?”

JimmyYe seemed to be settling into the task. He selected several of the photographs and looked them over. Each of Catherine Webber’s hands had been molded into what appeared to Kitt to be a number one-the index finger straight up, the others folded into the palm, forming a fist.

But the positioning of each in space was very different. The left, back of the hand out, the right positioned centrally, finger near the mouth, palm facing left.

“The left hand is signing the number one, right?” Sergeant Haas said.

“Yes. The right hand’s a bit more difficult. It’s in the D position, but I’m thinking it’s the word ‘Be.’”

“Why?”

“Watch.” Jimmy signed it for them-hand in the D position, then he moved his hand straight out, away from his mouth.

“If we’re meant to read it from right to left, it’s saying what? To be one?” Kitt looked at Jonathan Haas. “With the victim?”

Sal arrived and crossed to them. “Joe’s with his lawyer. What’ve you got so far?”

Kitt explained. When she had finished, Jimmy Ye jumped in. “As I explained, these interpretations are best guesses.”

“Noted.” He moved his gaze over the photos. “I am he. Or me and you.”

“Or read the Vest and Webber scene together,” Jimmy said. “We are one.”

Sergeant Haas’s cell phone buzzed. He excused himself to answer.

Kitt watched him go, then turned to Sal. “That works for me. Jimmy?”

He nodded. “Could be. Of course, I can’t prom-”

She cut him off before he could provide another disclaimer. “One last question. Is it logical to assume that since the killer is using ASL, he’s either deaf or has a family member who’s deaf?”