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SDPD, San Diego, California
Monday, April 18, 1:00 p.m.
“Detective McKittrick. What a pleasure to see you again.”
Kit sat across from the criminal psychologist at the meeting room table. “Thank you for seeing us, sir.”
Dr.Alvin Levinson looked like a stereotypical professor. In his late sixties, he sported a neatly trimmed goatee that, along with his hair, was mostly salt with very little pepper remaining. He wore a tweed jacket with elbow patches, a bow tie, and round spectacles over eyes that always seemed to be happy. Unless he was talking about killers. Then he was very serious.
He turned to Navarro. “Reynaldo. It’s been a while.”
“Too long,” Navarro agreed.
“And Detective Constantine?” Levinson asked.
“Cranky,” Kit said. “I visited him at the hospital over lunch and he’s already trying to strong-arm the doctors into letting him go home.”
“That’s good to hear. Give him my best, will you?” Levinson tilted his head, his expression sobering. “So. We’re back to the pink handcuffs. Again.”
Navarro sighed. “Again.”
Kit had read the profiles of the killer who had eluded law enforcement for at least fifteen years. The details were sparse. Hopefully, they could fix that.
“I thought that we might be able to take a fresh look at the profile,” Kit said. “Since I’m new on the case.”
“Fresh look from fresh eyes,” Levinson agreed. “It’s your meeting, Detective.”
For a moment it hit her, how huge this was. A department full of seasoned detectives had worked on this case for fifteen years, and they were no closer to apprehending the killer. What could she add?
You know about Colton. And you know the identities of more of the victims than before.
Straightening her shoulders, Kit opened the folder she’d brought with her. “We don’t have any real leads as to the killer’s identity,” she said baldly. “Except that he either worked with or at least knew Colton Driscoll on some level. So I compiled a list of what we’ve learned from his victims.”
“How many do we have now?” Levinson asked.
“Six, maybe seven,” Navarro answered.
“Actually,” Kit said, “six, maybe eight. I combed through the runaway reports and came up with a dozen possibilities, but one stuck out.” She produced a photo from the folder and turned it so that the men could see. “Her name is—was—Naomi Beckham. When I was interviewing Dr.Reeves, he said—”
Levinson held up a hand. “Wait. Dr.Reeves?”
“Sorry. I got ahead of myself.” She explained about Sam Reeves, from his initial phone calls to their interview the day they’d discovered Skyler Carville’s body.
He nodded periodically as she spoke, then scratched at his goatee absently. “I know Sam Reeves. He’s dedicated to the community, especially its most underserved.”
Kit remembered Baz thinking that Reeves was covering up bad behavior with good works. “He volunteers with the elderly and with homeless teens.”
“Yes. We serve together on the board of New Horizons and we both do pro bono therapy for the teens there.”
“I know the place,” Kit murmured. She’d visited the teen homeless shelter several times over the years working cases, and every time she was yanked back to her own childhood. Had it not been for Harlan and Betsy McKittrick... I might have ended up there, too. “How long has Dr.Reeves volunteered at New Horizons?”
“Four years.”
So when he’d first come to the city. That spoke well of him. Unless Baz was right, but the more she learned about Sam Reeves, the more certain she was that she was right about him.
“Do you think he’s capable of being involved in this case in a way other than what he’s claimed?” Navarro asked.
Levinson blinked owlishly behind his glasses. “Are you asking if he’s capable of lying? Not about this. But again, I only know what I’ve seen. His actions speak of a principled individual. He’s... gentle. I don’t think he’s capable of hurting anyone, much less killing them.”
