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“If you see anyone meeting that description who looks suspicious or remember anything, please give me a call.” Kit set a business card on the woman’s desk, knowing that it would probably get lost in the stack of pink message slips. “Thank you for your time, ma’am.”
Mira Mesa, California
Tuesday, April 19, 3:30 p.m.
“Thank you,” Sam murmured as Laura Letterman parked on the curb outside the Epsteins’ home.
“You don’t have to keep thanking me, Sam,” Laura said, her tone firm yet somehow tentative at the same time. “You’re in trouble because you tried to do the right thing. I can help you, so I will.”
She’d rearranged her schedule to be free to drive him around town, although their time had been unproductive so far. Colton Driscoll’s ex-wives numbers three and four hadn’t been home when they’d knocked, probably at work. Ex-wife number two had moved to the East Coast and his first wife had died in a car accident while still in her twenties, a few years after their divorce.
Sam would have to return to the homes of ex-wives three and four later one evening. But not tonight, because he felt guilty using Laura this way. It had seemed so simple at first—he’d be giving her a chance to make amends. She’d jumped at the opportunity so hard that even Joel had been impressed. But now Sam wondered if he’d been fair.
“I appreciate it,” he said sincerely. “But I can’t expect this every day. You have a career and a life. I’ll make other arrangements.”
“Or,” she said with a wince, “and I hate that these words are even coming out of my mouth—you could trust McKittrick to do her job.”
Sam stared up at the house belonging to the man beaten by Colton Driscoll. It was a nice house with a tidy lawn and a whimsical mailbox built to look like a ship. After his medical discharge from the navy after being wounded in the line of duty, David Epstein now worked for a military contractor.
Epstein was just one of many who’d been hurt by Colton Driscoll, but at least he was still alive. There were at least eight young women who would never grow up thanks to Colton and his partner, the mysterious man with gray hair, glasses, and a black Mercedes.
Sam had considered backing away several times that day, but... he kept thinking about the victims. That small grave in Longview Park.
Nathan Beckham and his mother, their world torn utterly asunder.
About poor, sweet Skyler’s family, who thought that he’d lured her to her death.
“She called them ripples,” Sam murmured. “McKittrick. She called the victims’ families and friends ‘ripples.’ Consequences of the murder that went on and on. But they’re not ripples. They’re tsunamis.”
Laura sighed. “I don’t like McKittrick on principle, but she’s never made a wrong step. None of her cases get thrown out on a technicality or a bad search. She’s focused, dedicated, and a straight arrow. But she does care, too. I don’t think she meant that the ripples were small, gentle things. I think she meant that they spread, touching many other people. I think it’s because of her own loss.”
Sam turned to look at his ex with a frown. “What loss?”
Laura’s eyes widened. “You don’t know? I thought you researched her.”
“I did. I read about the cases she’s closed and watched a video interview. Why? What am I missing?”
“Oh. Well. You haven’t watched the right interviews. You knew she grew up in foster care?”
“Yes. She was adopted by the McKittricks.”
“Before that, her foster sister was murdered. They were fifteen.”
Sam stared in horror. “Oh my God.”
Are you stupid or just unfeeling? Never had he wished words back with such intensity.
“Yeah. From what I heard, it was awful. She and her foster father followed up leads for years. That’s how she met Baz Constantine. He was the lead detective on her sister’s case. I don’t think Constantine got over it, either. He helped her and Harlan McKittrick run down leads until the leads dried up. From what I heard, Kit practically lived in the precinct as a teen. Now understand, McKittrick and I are not besties, so all this came from the rumor mill, and the one interview where this topic was brought up, she walked out. But that’s why she became a cop—again, rumor mill. But it tracks. She’s a machine. Works all the time. Takes on other people’s cold cases on her own time. Closes them, too.”
“You admire her.”
“I do, as dirty as that makes me feel. She’s not rude, either. In court, I mean. A lot of the cops get vindictive and foul-mouthed to defense attorneys, blaming us for freeing the criminals they arrest, but I’ve never heard of McKittrick doing that. But she’s not soft. She will put you down like a rabid dog if she thinks you had anything to do with these murders. Joel knows that, too. That’s why he didn’t want you to leave yourself vulnerable.”
“I said something terrible to her last night,” Sam murmured.
“You don’t say terrible things to people, Sam. Not even when they deserve them.”
Like me, went unsaid. Sam had never yelled or cursed at her when he’d discovered her in bed with Joel. He’d simply turned and walked away.
