Jan Burke - Nine

“No, but-”

“And since Kit Logan was Naughton’s stepchild, you obviously aren’t arguing that he inherited some physical impairment from his stepfather-some brain dysfunction that would predispose him to violence.”

“No-I meant-”

“You meant that during his tender adolescent years, Kit Logan was both physically abused by Naughton and continually exposed to his stepfather’s obsessions, and that he can’t now be a normal man.”

“Something like that,” she said flatly.

“You may be right-it would be remarkable indeed if he survived that childhood without being damaged to some degree. But I don’t think that’s what’s going on here-too much in these crime scenes doesn’t fit.”

Ciara frowned. “What do you mean?”

“One always has to ask-why this victim?”

“If the killers are trying to look like heroes,” Alex said slowly, “the mimicking of Naughton doesn’t fit.”

“Exactly. There is a desire to be seen as heroes, or they wouldn’t be killing those on the FBI’s list-the victims would be different if you were truly trying to emulate Naughton. And Naughton was no hero to Kit Logan. I spoke to him often enough to feel confident that there was nothing about Naughton he wanted to emulate.”

“But isn’t it true that his history of abuse could have led to a sense of rage?” Ciara said.

“If he felt some sort of displaced rage, I would think Kit Logan would have chosen a target who reminded him of Naughton-a way of killing Naughton again and again. Or worst case, his mother, who failed to protect him. That would be more typical.”

“But didn’t he get to be a hero when he killed Naughton?” John asked.

“His grandmother made sure he stayed out of the spotlight,” Wilder said. “But I have to say, John, you make a good point. Maybe he felt as if he was a hero, even if he didn’t get attention for it.”

“And law enforcement failed to protect him, too,” Alex said.

“Yes. In fact, Kit did say to me that for a time, he hoped the police would catch Naughton and that he would be rescued. By the time he killed Naughton, he had stopped believing it was going to happen.” Wilder began coughing again. “As I said, I need more time. But frankly, I still think it would be foolish to focus on Kit Logan. Look for this other young man, the one who posed as Eric Grady.”

As they were going toward the front door, Alex felt Wilder take hold of his arm. “Let me lean on you a little,” Wilder said. Alex slowed his pace.

“You miss J.D.,” Wilder said.

“Yes.”

“So do I. It will get easier, Alex.”

“I know.”

When Ciara and John were some distance ahead of them, he said, “Do you climb these cliff faces alone or with a climbing partner?”

“I have a partner-a teacher, really. He introduced me to climbing. He’s a much better climber than I am.”

“You aren’t bothered by the difference in your skill level?”

“No, we’re friends, and it’s more a matter of attitude, I guess. It’s cooperative, not competitive, between us. Besides, even if I learned everything I could, because of my work schedule, I couldn’t get in as much time with him as his other partner can.”

Wilder held up one of Alex’s bruised hands. “You’ve climbed recently?”

“Last weekend.”

“Good, so you got a climb in before all of this happened. I have a feeling it may be a while before you get time to do so again.”

“You’re probably right.”

“You should ask among your other friends who climb-try to discover if anyone has been asking about you lately.”

“I appreciate the concern,” Alex said.

“But you don’t believe me. Do you think that a killer careful enough to take three FBI fugitives in hand-careful enough to vacuum an attic-left pieces of a rappelling rope at each scene by chance? Or that it’s a fluke that he is bringing his trophies to the sheriff’s department?”

“I wondered about that. Not in Lakewood, of course. But Catalina Island…”

“Yes. Too much trouble to leave a body there unless one has a message to deliver with it. When are you going to get the message, Alex?”

“Are you so certain it’s addressed to me and not the sheriff?”

Wilder sighed and shook his head. “Where’s your climbing partner now?”

“Majorca. He and his wife left on Sunday night.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Wilder said.

“Why?”

“Perhaps he will be safer there.”

“Safer?”

But Wilder only said, “Your uncle is already at the car. Ask him to come back to say good-bye. I find I’m quite worn out.”

On the way back to the homicide bureau, Ciara wrinkled her nose and said, “You’ll have to take that suit to the dry cleaner, Smoky.”

“And take a long shower, too. But I’m glad you talked him into meeting with us.”

“Thank John for that,” she said.

But John, uncharacteristically, was sitting quietly in the backseat, staring out the window, not involving himself in their conversation.

“Knee bothering you?” Alex asked him.

“What?”

Alex repeated the question.

“Oh, no. Not the knee.”

Alex’s cell phone rang. He answered and heard Lieutenant Hogan say, “I’ve got some interesting news for you. We just got a call from the FBI.”

“They’re claiming jurisdiction?”

“No, although they keep threatening it,” Hogan said. “But they were admitting something that I’m sure they hated to tell us.”

“What?”

“The press conference got national coverage, right?”

“That’s what I’ve heard. They tell me our phones have been ringing off the hooks.”

“They have been,” Hogan said sourly. “Mostly people telling us we should be hiring these killers to work for the department. And the FBI has been getting those, too. But they’ve also heard from a few people who saw our Catalina duo. Not together, but in the places where they lived-when they were still alive.”

“People who knew Valerie Perry and Harold Denihan?”

“Not both. But who knew one or the other. It seems Perry has been in California for the last month or so. Up north, in Placer County. Denihan has been in El Monte. So guess what that means?”

“No easy way to claim federal jurisdiction.”

“Right,” Hogan said. “To the best of our knowledge, the people who are killing these criminals haven’t broken any federal laws so far. These are L.A. County homicides and only L.A. County homicides, as far as we’re concerned. The FBI might have pending investigations involving the victims, but these homicide cases are ours. Apparently the director of the FBI has been calling Sheriff Dwyer all afternoon. The Feds hate how this looks for them.”

“I’m sure they do. But I’m not so sure it looks all that great for us.”

“That depends on you and your team, doesn’t it? Any luck with Wilder?”

“He needs some time. We’re on the way back now. He didn’t have much to tell us yet. I can fill you in tomorrow morning.”

“Okay. See you then.”

“One other thing, Lieutenant. The Los Angeles Times knows more than it should-one of their reporters has been leaving messages for me asking me to verify that anticoagulants were used on the victims.”

“A leak? Already?”

“The Times will have worked harder to have sources in the department than most, but I’d hate to start seeing every detail of the investigation in the morning paper.”

Hogan wholeheartedly agreed and promised to look into the matter.

Alex no sooner disconnected than the phone rang again.

“Brandon,” he answered, fully expecting it to be Hogan again.

“Uncle Alex?”

He still wasn’t used to being called “uncle,” but oddly, he found himself pleased that the boy was making an effort to stay in touch. “Hello, Chase. What’s up?”