Erica Spindler: Copy Cat

Snowe didn’t seem to notice. “Who’s stupid now? We outsmarted them all, little bro. You and me.”

“But we didn’t,” Lance whispered. “They know who we are. What we did.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Mine.”

“That’s right. Stupid little shit. What was the first rule?”

“Never use the gun.”

“That’s right. But you did. And now we’re fucked.”

Lance hung his head. Kitt stepped in. If she was going to die, anyway, at least she would die having learned not just who had murdered the angels-but why as well.

“So you killed all those girls…and the three grandmothers, simply to prove you could? That you could outsmart us all with your so-called ‘perfect crimes’?”

“Glad to know you were listening.”

“Why girls? Why ten-year-olds?”

He shrugged. “Why not?”

“You just picked.”

“Yep. That’s the key, right? Randomness.”

She pressed a hand to her wound in an attempt to stem the flow of blood. “Why me?”

“That’s a rather complicated question and I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea. The Sleeping Angels were mine,” he said. “My idea, my perfect crimes. Every aspect of the planning and preparation.

“Lance here got the bright idea to resurrect the Sleeping Angel Killer. So you see, I was being honest, there was a Copycat. My brother and partner.”

It had been one of her and M.C.’s theories.

“I don’t know why he did, I guess he wanted to prove to me that he could pull it off on his own. That he was his own man.” There was no denying the disgust in his tone. He made no secret of the fact he had little respect for his younger brother. “He added his own twist to the murders.”

“The hands,” she said.

“The hands,” he agreed with a sneer. “Felt like he had to express himself. But we both know, when a killer starts expressing himself, it’s the beginning of the end.”

“Maybe he wanted to be caught,” Kitt said. “And be free of you?”

He ignored that. “So I decided to play along. Kick the competition up a notch.”

“By calling me.”

“Yes. He had nothing to do with that. He had nothing to do with the clues.”

“The storage locker and its contents. They were your mother’s things, weren’t they?”

“Yes.”

“And Buddy Brown?”

“That was me. My red herring. I’d busted him years ago, knew he’d gotten out. I paid him a little visit. All care and concern for his future.” He smiled. “Mentioned I heard Joe Lundgren hired ex-cons. That Valerie Martin’s little girl is deaf was sheer, beautiful serendipity.”

Kitt thought of how he had played her-how she had fit the pieces together just as he had expected her to. “And Joe’s number on Brian’s phone log?”

“Never there. I put the log together, simply added his number. Who was going to check up on me?”

She glanced at Joe again, sick with guilt. How could she have suspected him of this?

“Don’t feel too bad,” Snowe said softly, as if reading her mind. “You got the locker contents belonging to a woman right, that the SAK was a cop. So you scored a few rounds. Which, by the way, brings me to you.

“In our calls, I was honest with you. I chose you because we’re two of a kind. We’ve been hurt by those who should have loved us. We’re fighters. Fallen cops. And because, despite being broken, there’s so much strength in you.”

“You were in my house.”

“Several times.”

“You read my journal.”

It wasn’t a question, but he grinned and answered anyway. “Yes. Very enjoyable reading, by the way.” He lowered his voice, tone becoming almost tender. “This could have gone either way.”

“It went my way. It’s over for you.”

He shook his head. “I so admire your spunk. You’re going to die, Kitten. And so is Riggio and your beloved Joe. I’m sorry.”

Lance looked sick. “I don’t want us to hurt them, Scott.”

“Of course you don’t. Because you’re weak. I’ll take care of them. I’ll take care of us. The way I always have. It’s you and me, buddy. Like it’s always been.”

“But Mary Catherine-”

“You don’t love her. She used you-”

“That’s not true!” M.C. said, sounding desperate. “Don’t listen, Lance, he’s-”

“You, shut up!”

“She said she’d help me,” Lance said. “That she’d help us.”

“She’s a liar.” Snowe all but spat the words. “Did Mother ever help you? Did she ever help us?”

When Lance shook his head, he went on, “Who was the only one who ever helped you?”

“You, Scott. But-” He drew a deep breath, as if screwing up his courage. “We’re not going to kill them.”

“We’re not?”

“We’re going to let them go.”

Snowe narrowed his eyes. “And why would we do that? Don’t be such a pussy, Lance. Jesus, you disgust me.”

“Don’t let him talk to you that way!” M.C. cried. “You’re not stupid! Not worthless! I loved you.”

“It’s over, Scott. I’m going to free them.” He started toward M.C. “You can run if you wa-”

Snowe pulled Kitt’s gun from the waistband of his pants, aimed and shot Lance in the back.

His brother stopped dead and looked back at his brother. “Scott?” he said. “Sco-”

Then he went down.

Snowe stared at him a moment, blinking against tears. “You always needed my direction and I respected that. I took care of you. But since you don’t need me anymore…Too bad, little bro.”

They were next. Kitt looked at M.C. She was struggling against the duct tape. Joe stirred and moaned, and even as her heart leaped with joy that he was alive, she acknowledged the emotion would be short-lived.

Her only hope was that the sheriff’s deputy would swing by, realize something was amiss and investigate.

Every moment counted. If she could keep him talking, buy them some time, maybe they would live through this.

It was a slim chance, but it was the only one they had.

“You seem pretty cocky for someone who’s going to be arrested for serial murder.”

He grinned. “Now you’re talking crazy. Nobody besides the people in this room know I had anything to do with this. Lance was neck-deep in it, but not me.”

“The Smith amp; Wesson,” she reminded him. “Traced to you. Traced here-”

He cut her off with a laugh. “Traced to Lance. I was sent to a home for kids. I was fourteen, too old to be adopted. As soon as I was old enough, me and a buddy were emancipated. He came to an untimely end, very sad. I took his identity. It was no big deal. A couple of kids with no family to speak of.”

“I was wondering how-” she struggled to focus her scrambled thoughts “-how your family history had flown under the RPD…radar. No way they would have hired you if…known your old man was doing life for-”

“Whacking my mother. Exactly.”

“So what’s your plan?” M.C. asked.

“You all die. Lance takes the rap. It’s all sown up nice and neat.”

“What ab’t th’photos?” Kitt slurred the words and she wondered how much blood she had lost. How long before she lost consciousness.

“What about them?” he asked.

M.C. jumped in. “They have your signature all over them.”

“They go with me, of course. I couldn’t leave them, they’re my masterpieces.”

Visual trophies.

“The lock of hair,” Kitt asked, “was it from one of the angels?”

Snowe didn’t respond and she realized she hadn’t actually voiced the thought.

“Disobeying the chief’s direct order,” Snowe was saying, as if from a great distance. “Now you’re all going to die. What were you thinking?”

“I know why Lance did it,” M.C. said. “Why he resurrected the SAK.”