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“What does that mean?” Baz asked suspiciously.
Vivian’s glare was frosty. “It means that he has a huge heart and that he tends to invest too much personally in his clients. One has to maintain a professional distance to maintain good mental health in this field. Caring too much will eat you from the inside out.”
Something we have in common, Kit thought. “Did Dr.Reeves mention anything about lilac or lacrosse?”
“No, but he did have a session with Mr.Driscoll yesterday after our meeting. He was planning to dig deeper and hopefully find out more. I guess he did. I was supposed to check on the potential grave site myself today, but my husband and I were struck by a car full of teenagers last night and... Well, I’m not going to be walking through any parks anytime soon. I suppose Dr.Reeves found more information that was pertinent.”
“He did.” That was all Kit would say. “Is there anything else you’d like to add?”
“Only that he picked you especially, Detective. I asked him why he called you, in particular. He said he’d heard about you from a friend and that you seemed to care about victims who’d been forgotten. He admired that about you.”
Kit wasn’t sure what to say to that. She’d wondered why Reeves had chosen to call her. “I appreciate your candor.”
“I’ll also add that if he needs an attorney, I will provide one. Tell him to call the house phone. My cell was destroyed in the accident and I haven’t gotten a replacement yet.”
“He has an attorney,” Kit said, “but I’ll let him know. He was worried about you.”
“Tell him I’m okay. Can you see yourselves out?”
Kit and Baz walked in silence to their car. “Well?” she asked when they were both buckled in.
“Reeves was telling the truth,” Baz said and sounded so disappointed that Kit had to laugh.
“I’m so sorry.”
He tried to glare, but it ended up a sigh. “At least we have our killer.”
Five young women, not six. “Yeah.”
SDPD, San Diego, California
Saturday, April 9, 11:05 a.m.
Sam paused his pacing, staring at the interview room mirror. If there was anyone still back there, he couldn’t see them. “What is taking them so long?” He turned to Laura. “Is this good or bad?”
She lifted a shoulder in a very familiar shrug. He really hated that shrug, but he couldn’t say anything because she was here, representing him. She could have chosen not to come, but she had, and he could be grateful for that and still wish she weren’t here, in his space.
The scent of her perfume made his nose itch.
The sound of her voice made his ears want to bleed.
At one time, just the sight of her smile had been enough to make his heart pound with happiness. Now, he saw her smile for the cold, calculating thing that it was.
It had messed with his head for a long time, having been so wrong about her. Having trusted her.
It had been Joel who’d helped him see the truth—that people like Laura Letterman were experts at making you see what they wanted you to see.
He’d taken that experience and learned from it. It had made it easier for him to see similar characteristics in his clients.
So he guessed he could be grateful to her for that, too.
“It could be either, neither, or both good and bad,” she said. “If they brought Driscoll in and are questioning him, it might just be that they’re holding you here in case his interrogation raises questions you might be able to answer.”
He’d thought of that. He hoped that was all this delay was about.
“Has Joel texted you about Siggy?” he asked.
She tapped at her phone’s screen, then nodded. “About five minutes ago. He says Siggy is comfortable at his place. He’s on his way back here.”
