Cold-Blooded Liar (The San Diego Case Files Book 1)
Cold-Blooded Liar: Chapter 10

Talk to me,” Kit muttered as she stared at the murder board she’d set up in the bullpen, at the photos of the known victims of their killer—and at the dozen new photos she’d posted during the night. They were possible victims—missing young women who fit the profile.

But the photos remained silent, of course. She normally didn’t talk to photos, but she was growing more desperate than she cared to admit.

“Kit?”

She looked over her shoulder to see Navarro standing behind her, looking concerned. “Yeah, boss?”

“I’ve been standing here for over a minute. You never knew I was here.”

Maybe it was because she was so absorbed in the faces of the victims. Maybe it was because she felt safe here in the station and didn’t have her guard up.

Or maybe it was because she was mentally exhausted.

The last one wouldn’t matter, even if it were true. She had a job to do, and so far she’d failed in a spectacular fashion.

Skyler Carville was dead because they hadn’t suspected the right man. Or because they had and he’d fooled them into thinking he was just a nice guy with a cute dog.

She’d gone back and forth during the night, watching the recordings of the two interviews she’d done with Sam Reeves. She still didn’t think he was guilty.

And she still didn’t trust her judgment because of it.

“Sorry,” she said quietly. “I’ve been busy.”

He pulled up a chair and pointed to it. “Sit down before you fall down. For God’s sake, McKittrick, you’d better not collapse on me, too.”

She rolled her eyes but sat in the chair. “I’m not a fifty-something-year-old man who’s been ignoring his doctor about eating better and reducing his stress,” she muttered.

That little factoid had been blurted out by Baz’s wife, Marian, after he’d been declared “out of the woods” by the cardiologist. Luckily it had only been Kit and Navarro standing in Baz’s room at the time. They’d keep it confidential, but Baz had been very upset that they’d heard to begin with.

“Still.” Navarro dropped into a chair next to her. “Who are all of these girls?” He pointed to the dozen new photos grouped to one side of the board.

“I went through the missing-person reports again last night and pulled out every petite blonde between fourteen and eighteen who attended high school in San Diego County and who’s gone missing and/or been declared a runaway in the past ten years.”

Navarro frowned at the dozen photos. “That’s all of them?”

“Oh, no. There are a lot more, but I narrowed it down to these twelve. They all either had ties to the drama department at their school or had expressed a wish to become an actress. I kept the ones I set aside in another file because they might also be drama students, but that wasn’t included in the report. I’ll go through them in depth later, and then tackle the reports from eleven to twenty years ago.”

“I’m getting you some help with that. I should be able to make the announcement by lunchtime. I do have good news for you right now, though.”

“Please. I need some good news today.”

He smiled. “I reopened the Maria Mendoza case last week after seeing the photos that Dr. Batra had intended to upload.”

Kit had nearly forgotten about Rita’s mother’s murder. “And?”

“And the mark against the victim’s cheek was the impression of a signet ring. And two years later, the suspect’s wife is ready to cooperate. Seems she’s tired of his cheating. She allowed us to search their home and guess what we found?”

Excitement had her leaning forward. “The ring?”

“Yep. Found it in his sock drawer. It was apparently an heirloom, so he didn’t want to get rid of it. He’d cleaned it, but there were traces of Maria Mendoza’s skin in the crevices. DNA came back yesterday and it’s hers. We’re going to arrest him today. That will allow us to take a DNA swab from him to compare to the child the victim was carrying.”

Kit drew a deep breath, her eyes suddenly burning. “Thank you. Hopefully this will allow my little foster sister to have some hope in the system. She’s too young to be so jaded.”

His smile was gentle. “Thank you for following it up. He might get a good lawyer, but the evidence is pretty damning.”

“Can I tell Rita?”

“Once we’ve arrested him, yes. I don’t know if the girl knows that her mother was pregnant, so tread softly there.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll go by Mom and Pop’s tonight after work.”

“Good.” Navarro pointed to her board. “Now, tell me what you’re going to do with these dozen possible victims.”

“I need to figure out how he’s targeting these girls. The more recent ones have the drama connection, but that doesn’t tell us where they crossed paths with him. Or Driscoll. Or both. I’ve talked to everyone associated with Driscoll and none of them had anything useful other than ‘He was a creep. I’m glad he’s dead.’ I couldn’t replace a single person with anything nice to say about him, but all the negative stuff was a big zero in terms of leads. So I went back to the victims.” She turned back to the board. “I need to develop a better profile of this killer. I’ve made an appointment with Dr. Levinson for one o’clock this afternoon. He’s been helpful in the past and he developed the original profile on this case.”

The criminal psychologist was very good at developing personality profiles and suggesting defining characteristics that had been instrumental in catching other killers.

“He’s good,” Navarro agreed. “Is he coming here?”

“He is. I’ve got a meeting room reserved for one o’clock.”

“Then we can meet with him together. Since I investigated the earlier victims, I might end up remembering something useful. What else?”

She sighed. “I still think the Epstein kid knows something she’s afraid to tell.”

“Should we bring her in?”

“No. I think that would make things worse. I’ve popped back a few times in the last week. I plan to try again this afternoon when she gets home from school. Although her parents are starting to get aggravated with me. I’m also going to visit the families of these dozen girls. I want to know everything about them.”

“Watch out for that Tamsin Kavanaugh,” Navarro warned. “I don’t want her focusing on any more families of the victims.”

“I’ve been watching my rearview mirror for the past week. Caught her following once, but Baz lost her.” Her throat tightened at the thought of her partner lying in a hospital bed. He’d looked so gray. Old. And tired. “He’s good at losing pursuers.”

“He’ll come back,” Navarro said and it sounded like a vow. “I’m not ready to see him retire just yet. He’s younger than I am.”

She had to push the thought of Baz’s retirement from her mind because she wasn’t ready for that, either. “I hope so. This case has me feeling a little . . . desperate.”

“How so?”

“I think he killed Skyler Carville to make Dr. Reeves look guilty. So if we don’t arrest Dr. Reeves, how many more girls will the killer murder to continue making him look guilty?”

“A valid question. What about the boy who found the body with his metal detector? Are we buying that?”

“It’s damn good timing,” she said, looking at the photo of Skyler Carville. “Kid’s name is Daryl Chesney. He claimed he got the metal detector for his birthday.”

“Kind of an odd present for a teenager. How old is he?”

“Fifteen. I asked him how he picked that site to search with his metal detector. He said it looked ‘dug up.’ He thought maybe someone had buried something useful.”

“Like?”

“ ‘Stuff.’ ” She used air quotes. “Baz was like, ‘What stuff, kid?’ He became uncooperative when we pressed that question. I thought he might have been looking for drugs or guns, but he denied that with gusto.”

“Was the area dug up?”

“It was. I mean, Skyler had been buried there less than forty-eight hours before. The question I have is why her killer picked that spot. Was it already dug up? I’ve got a call in to the park’s groundskeeper to ask if they’d been doing any digging there before. This killer—or killers—is picking parks and he’s never been caught burying any of his victims.”

“He knows it’s safe to dig wherever he’s digging, then,” Navarro said, sitting up straighter. “That could be key.”

“I know. I made a few calls to park people after we found Jaelyn two weeks ago, but it was the weekend and no one was in. Then Driscoll happened and I haven’t followed up. I will, though. But back to the kid. He didn’t act guilty. He was . . .” She closed her eyes, trying to remember everything that had transpired when she and Baz had first arrived at the crime scene. Before Baz collapsed. “Preening. Like he’d done something important. I mean, he’s fifteen, so replaceing a buried hand is a big deal. Watching CSU erect a tent around the scene had him practically buzzing. I had one of the uniforms take him home so he wouldn’t be underfoot. He was filming with his phone.”

Navarro grimaced. “Wonderful.”

“So I didn’t talk to him again after that because Baz . . .” She gave herself a shake. “I’ll follow up with the kid today.”

“You’ve got a full day planned. Make a list of all the things that need to be followed up on. You and your support can divvy it up.”

She saluted. “Yes, sir.”

“And no more sleeping at your desk, McKittrick.”

She winced because she’d taken pains to make it look like she hadn’t spent all night at her desk, even changing into the spare clothes she kept in her locker. “Who narced on me?”

“Housekeeping. None of us got our trash cans emptied because they didn’t want to wake you up. Said you were sleeping like an angel.”

“I’m no angel,” she muttered.

His chuckle held a note of unmistakable affection. “Ain’t that the truth? Work today and then go home. Get some real sleep.”

She sighed. “Fine.”

He gave her a look that was both stern and kind. “I’m worried about you. You’ve been working on this case nonstop and before that, you worked the last case nonstop and the one before that. Baz’s heart attack was a wake-up call for all of us. If you don’t take some downtime on your own—at least to sleep—I’ll have to force you to take some leave. Or order you to see Dr. Scott more than once a week.”

Kit’s eyes widened in genuine horror. “You wouldn’t.”

Dr. Levinson helped them catch criminals and was completely approachable. Dr. Scott asked them about their feelings and Kit hated sessions with him.

“Yes, I would. And Scott’s not that bad.”

She shuddered. “He really is. He looks at you with those eyes of his.” Dark, piercing eyes that saw far too much.

Navarro’s lips twitched. “Most people have eyes, Kit.”

“But he sees things,” she murmured. Dr. Scott was far too good at ferreting out what she most wanted to keep hidden.

Navarro’s expression softened. “Kit. This job will wring you dry if you let it. Allowing someone to see things can help you stay sane.”

Something in his tone caught her attention. “Do you talk to him?” she asked, then immediately winced. “I’m sorry, sir. That was personal.”

“It’s all right. I brought it up. Yes. I do talk to him from time to time when things get overwhelming. He’s helped me keep my sanity more than once over the years. Helped me maintain my sobriety, too.”

She was stunned. She hadn’t known that Navarro had chemical dependency issues. That did put Scott in a far different light. “You trust him?”

Navarro nodded. “I do. We’re lucky to have him on call.”

Kit sighed, having heard this before. “I know. He could be making a lot more money doing LawTV.” Scott had gotten network attention as an expert witness in a murder several years before and had gone on to have a modest side career appearing as an expert on LawTV specials. He had a good face for television.

“He could,” Navarro agreed. “But cops are his calling. See him. Let him see you. Or I will order you to.”

“But not if I sleep.”

“Not making any promises. Try the sleeping thing first. You’re fraying at the edges and I don’t want it to become worse. You’re too good a detective for me to lose, and I’ll do what I have to so that doesn’t happen.” He stood, taking a final look at the new photos. “I’ll see you at one with Dr. Levinson.”

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.”

Relief washed over Kit, her shoulders relaxing. She hadn’t realized she’d stiffened, but she’d been holding her breath, hoping she’d been right about Sam.

“What about his boss?” Navarro asked. “Vivian Carlisle? We cleared him based on her corroboration of his story.”

“I know Vivian very well. We went to college together at UCLA and we both came back to the city to practice when we got licensed. We’re friends.” He lifted his brows. “I’m her daughter’s godfather. If Viv says Sam is telling the truth, you can take that to the bank.”

“That’s something of a relief,” Navarro said. “Thank you.”

“Glad I could put your minds at ease. Sounds like poor Sam was caught between a rock and a hard place that we psychologists hope to never encounter. Vivian should have come to me. I would have made sure the information was passed to you all in a way that didn’t endanger anyone’s career.”

“The trouble is,” Kit said, “we can’t prove that Reeves didn’t kill his dog walker. We can potentially show that his phone was in Joshua Tree all weekend, but he had opportunity.”

“I see that,” Levinson said grimly. “So . . . you were saying something about another victim.”

Kit nodded. “Right. When I was interviewing Dr. Reeves and mentioned the victim he believed was Driscoll’s newest target, he asked, ‘Did she like Avondale?’ It’s a TV show. Driscoll told Reeves that he and the young woman watched the show together. One of the runaways—Naomi Beckham—was last seen while wearing an Avondale T-shirt, according to her parents. I haven’t spoken to them yet, but they still live in the city. She disappeared three years ago, in February. She’s one of two victims to disappear in February, by the way. Jaelyn Watts is the other, of course. The other two we’ve ID’d disappeared in October—Ricki Emerson and Miranda Crisp. We have a potential third victim—Cecilia Sheppard—who disappeared in September.”

Navarro smiled with satisfaction. “Another pattern. Nice job, Detective.”

“Thank you, sir. That might go hand in hand with the park connection. Some of the planting happens then.”

“Then we need to follow up on the parks ASAP,” Navarro said.

“I will. Skyler Carville was killed in April, so not part of the pattern. I assume her murder was intended to frame Dr. Reeves.”

“Fair,” Levinson said.

“We have Cecilia Sheppard, who disappeared eight months ago; Jaelyn Watts, who disappeared fourteen months ago; Naomi Beckham three years ago; Miranda Crisp seven years ago; and Ricki Emerson ten years ago. We don’t have solid dates of disappearance for the two unidentified victims, but their time of death was estimated at seventeen to twenty years and fifteen years respectively. There are either a lot of victims we haven’t discovered yet, or he’s speeding up his frequency in recent years.”

“Lovely,” Levinson murmured. “What else?”

“Well,” Kit continued, “we know Driscoll knew about at least three of the victims, as he mentioned them indirectly to Dr. Reeves with references to Cecilia’s lacrosse, Jaelyn’s grave, and Naomi’s love of Avondale. Driscoll might not have killed them himself, but Dr. Reeves mentioned that he was making strangling motions with his hands while talking about one of the victims in their session.”

“So we don’t know in what way Driscoll was involved,” Levinson said.

Kit nodded. “Right. Driscoll’s killer either duplicated Driscoll’s MO or he had a hand in killing some or all the others, because Skyler Carville’s murder followed the same MO. If this is true, it means that Driscoll and his killer crossed paths at least three years ago because that was when Naomi disappeared. Maybe even before that.”

“Who do you think killed the women, Detective?” Levinson asked. “Driscoll or his partner?”

Kit had been thinking of very little but this question. “I think his partner did the murders. According to Dr. Reeves, Colton Driscoll was a pathological liar with an anger management issue. I’ve spoken with the man who Driscoll assaulted. Driscoll lost control and beat the man nearly senseless. It took two other neighbors to pull Driscoll off Mr. Epstein. Driscoll nearly hit Dr. Reeves in session as well. He held himself back because he knew that Reeves could have his probation revoked. The victims showed no sign of any kind of pummeling. They were raped and strangled. Every single one. I don’t think that Driscoll could have kept from hitting them if they fought back at all. He had the cuffs and spray paint in his house, but those could have been planted. Or he was the assistant. I don’t think he’s the main perp.”

“I agree,” Levinson said. “So let’s assume that the murders were all done by the partner. He’s been active for at least seventeen years, maybe twenty. I think it’s still correct to assume he’s male.”

“Because he sexually assaulted them,” Kit said. “But it could have been a woman. Using objects.”

Navarro shook his head. “Possibly, but the strength used to strangle them was more in line with a male.”

“And getting Driscoll into that noose would have required more strength,” Kit said thoughtfully.

“Exactly.” Navarro crossed his arms as he thought. “We figured he was educated or at least very smart. Probably white. When we found the first victim, we guessed he might have been twenty to thirty years old at the time of her murder.”

“Which put him at twenty-three to thirty-three years old at the time her body was discovered,” Levinson said, “so he’d be thirty-eight to forty-eight now. Add physically fit to the profile. He’s not young anymore, but he could still hoist Driscoll up.”

Kit noted it, then moved on to the next detail of the old profile. “You figured that the pink handcuffs were a snub to law enforcement. Is that still true?”

“Even more so,” Levinson said. “It’s not an open taunt. He never intended anyone to see his victims. They’ve all been discovered more or less by accident, except for the body that Dr. Reeves reported.”

“And possibly Skyler Carville, Dr. Reeves’s dog walker,” Kit said. “I was going to pay the kid a visit at home after school to replace out why he was there at Balboa Park.”

“You think someone sent him?” Levinson asked.

She nodded. “The killer wanted her found. I think he wanted Sam Reeves to be a suspect. Which raises another point. He knew about Reeves. He knew that framing him would distract us.”

Both Levinson and Navarro stilled. “How did he know about him?” Navarro asked.

Kit shrugged. “Driscoll might have mentioned Reeves to his partner. Or Driscoll’s killer might have found out that we brought Dr. Reeves in for questioning. Or both those things. There would be a record of Reeves’s arrest for resisting, even though we dropped it.”

“Find out if anyone requested access to those records,” Navarro instructed.

Kit wrote it down on her growing to-do list. “Yes, sir. But going back to Skyler Carville, it was important that she be killed—and found—this past weekend because Reeves was camping alone with no alibi.”

Levinson nodded. “Okay. But the other victims were not meant to be found. The pink handcuffs could be his signature flourish. He is into theater, after all. He was setting a scene.”

“And giving a fuck-you to the cops,” Navarro murmured.

“But they were found,” Kit said with a frown. “Again, I’m assuming the man who’s been killing for twenty years killed Driscoll and left that ‘confession’ note. He said he’d killed five young women. So he knew we’d found others.”

“He could have been watching the news all this time,” Levinson suggested. “He knows where he’s buried them. When he sees an article about a body being discovered, he would note it. Or maybe he revisits the scenes to check. It seems like someone like him would keep track of his kills. He’s arrogant and confident.”

“Hopefully too confident,” Navarro muttered.

“Well, yeah,” Kit said, “but what I meant to say was that he’s known about us replaceing the first four bodies all this time. He knew we’d seen the handcuffs. Why didn’t he stop using them? Then we’d just have a Jane Doe in an unmarked grave. It’s the pink cuffs that tie them together. We’ve always thought that the three victims found with metal detectors were a coincidence, because they were spaced out over so many years. But what if they weren’t a coincidence?”

“You think he wanted them to be found?” Levinson asked.

“Maybe. At least some of them. We’d have to interview the people who found the first four victims, and at least one of them is dead. But this killer is definitely taunting us. He keeps burying them with their jewelry even though he has to know we could track it. Especially the class ring Jaelyn wore on a chain around her neck. We haven’t caught him yet, so he’s gotten even bolder.”

Levinson polished his glasses, lingering over each lens. “I think you’re right. It is a taunt. But he’s not crying for help. He might want us to replace a few victims, but he doesn’t want to be caught. He just doesn’t think we’re as smart as he is.”

“Then he’s going to be disappointed,” Kit said. “The other thing that the victims have in common is that none of them mentioned they were seeing a man. He would have been an older man, even when he killed the first victim twentyish years ago. Either he took them by surprise or he convinced them not to mention him to anyone. Not family, not best friends. No one.”

Levinson leaned forward. “This is new information. We’d only ID’d Ricki Emerson before Jaelyn was discovered. Her family said that she hadn’t mentioned a boyfriend, but that was a single point. This is important, Detective.” Then he frowned. “But you said that Driscoll claimed to spend time with the victims. They watched TV together. That seems to indicate a relationship with Driscoll, not with his partner.”

“He was a liar,” Navarro said. “He could have made all that up.”

“Or they could have worked together,” Kit added.

Levinson nodded. “Unfortunately, that’s true. None of the victims had any defensive wounds?”

“Nope,” Kit said. “Nothing to indicate that they’d been forcibly taken. He might have drugged them, though. Nothing was found in any of the victims before because they were found months or years after death. But Skyler was found less than forty-eight hours after she went missing. We could get lucky. Give me a minute.”

Taking out her phone, she texted Alicia Batra. Did you get tox screen back on Skyler Carville? Looking for something like Rohypnol.

She set her phone aside. “Okay, if he is drugging them, he has to get close enough to do so. The lack of defensive wounds still suggests they knew him and allowed him to get close.”

“Important,” Levinson murmured. “He’s someone they trust. Maybe someone in a position of authority.”

“Maybe someone who’s posing as an agent or producer,” Navarro said. “All of the victims expressed an interest in drama and acting.”

“Baz said the same thing,” Kit said. “That gives me another line of questioning for the victims’ close friends. If they were talking to a producer, one of them had to mention it to someone. These are sixteen-year-old girls we’re talking about, give or take a year. They tell their friends their secrets.”

“Did you?” Levinson asked, his brows lifted.

Kit shook her head. “No, but I didn’t have many friends then. The only one I would have trusted was murdered when I was fifteen.”

Levinson winced. “I’m sorry, Detective.”

“It’s fine,” she said automatically, even though it really wasn’t. “Next item. Why pink handcuffs? Is it simply because they’re girls? Or is it another swipe at the police?”

“He definitely holds us in contempt,” Levinson said. “Thinks he’s smarter than we are. He’s able to get his victims to trust him. Could he be in law enforcement?”

Navarro flinched. “God, I hope not. What other professions garner trust?”

Kit wrote Is he a cop? in her notes, hoping that wasn’t true. “Doctors, nurses, teachers.”

“Clergy,” Levinson suggested. “Or someone posing as one of these.”

Kit noted it. “I’ll check with the schools, too. See if anyone fitting that description was hanging around. I’ll focus on the schools attended by Cecilia and Jaelyn since they’re the most recent.”

“Have we tracked where Skyler went when she left the bar where she worked?” Navarro asked.

“I reviewed the security footage around her workplace last night,” Kit told him. “It’s in Little Italy and close to the interstate. She left at midnight when they closed, got in her car, and drove toward I-5, but the street cams lost her about a block from the on-ramp. I’ve asked IT to search the interstate cams, but I haven’t heard anything from them yet.”

“What’s in that area?” Levinson asked.

“Not her car,” Kit said. “We searched a four-block radius around the interstate entrance. But that was last night. Her parents said that she texted them at around one a.m. Saturday to say she was meeting Dr. Reeves for a drink. So either she thought she was meeting him, or the killer had her and her phone by then and sent the text himself. We’ve requested her cell phone records to see if she received any texts that evening, but we haven’t gotten them yet.”

“If she parked somewhere in that area, she would have been towed,” Navarro said, looking at the map on his phone. “Add checking impound for her car to your to-do list, Kit.”

She did so, then startled when her phone buzzed with an incoming text. Yes. “Batra says the urine screen came back positive for Rohypnol. That’s why there are no defensive wounds. He gets close enough to roofie them. Or at least he did with Skyler. The question is—where did he dose her?”

“Add to your list canvassing all the local bars open after midnight with her photo,” Navarro said.

“Done.” Kit had come to the end of her prepared questions. “To summarize, we’ve got a forty-something white male who’s in good shape. He’s smart and cocky and holds law enforcement in contempt. He kills and buries them on a pattern—early fall and late winter. He’s trustworthy to his victims—enough to be able to drug them and enough to get them not to tell a soul about him.”

“That’s a little more fleshed out than we had before,” Levinson said. “Good work, Detective.”

“Thanks, Doc. I’ve got a million things to do, so I’m heading out.”

“Wait,” Navarro said, looking up from his phone. “I just got confirmation that Cook and Robinson will be free to work with you starting tomorrow morning. They’re tying up loose ends on another homicide. They know to report to your desk in the morning, first thing.”

Her brows shot up. “Howard and Connor? Okay. Sounds good.” Half good, anyway. She liked Howard. Connor was kind of abrasive. “Will Howard bring more cake?”

Navarro chuckled. “I’ll mention it. Call me when you learn anything new.”

“Will do.”