Cold-Blooded Liar (The San Diego Case Files Book 1)
Cold-Blooded Liar: Chapter 16

Kit had brought a little work home. Just a little. She’d received both Dr. Reeves’s and Skyler Carville’s cell phone records in her email that afternoon, so she’d go through them tonight. She still had to check out the five bars in Little Italy to do her part of the recon, but she could do that after Joel and Sam left.

Because Joel and Sam were coming here. What in blue blazes had prompted her to suggest they meet her here? Why hadn’t she just demanded they tell her over the phone? She couldn’t think of a single reason why.

Sessions with Dr. Scott messed with her head. That had to be it.

She wasn’t going to overthink it. Sam would give her the information and then he and Joel would leave her alone.

Which was how she liked it.

Liar.

Shut up and work.

She’d just sent the cell phone records to her home printer when she heard the footsteps up on deck. She made sure there was enough paper in the printer tray, then smoothed her slacks nervously.

Which was stupid. She didn’t get nervous. Not about stuff like this.

Not about men.

Not about Joel, for sure. Telling him they’d only be friends hadn’t been a chore at all. But Sam? There had been something there the first time she’d seen his photo. Hell, the first time she’d heard his voice on that initial anonymous call.

He was so damn nice.

And he was here.

She opened the door and stepped back to let the two men through. Both had to duck their heads as the doorway was just shy of six feet. Joel had a football player’s bulk, much like Connor Robinson, but Sam Reeves had the lean build of a runner.

“Hi,” she said, wanting to wince. Awkward was an understatement.

“Hi.” Sam looked around, seeming both curious and ill at ease. But he said nothing in the way of explanation, so Kit let him be.

Joel handed her two covered plates. “Can you warm these? I ate hours ago, so Betsy made me one, too.”

She went to the microwave, grateful for something to do. “Sit, please. Did you not want any, Dr. Reeves?”

“Your mother fed me,” Sam said wryly. “I don’t think I had much of a choice.”

She laughed. “That’s my mom.”

She’d said all of that without turning around, busying herself in the galley kitchen, gathering bottles of water and cutlery while the food warmed. Finally, the microwave dinged a second time and she was forced to face them, plates in hand. Both men sat on her sofa, Sam still looking around as if he’d never seen the inside of a boat before.

Maybe he hadn’t.

“Is this your first time on a boat, Dr. Reeves?”

“Not on a boat, but in a cabin like this, yes. I’ve done a whale-watching cruise or two.”

And what he’d thought about the experience was plain on his face.

“Didn’t care for them?” she asked lightly, handing Joel his dinner.

Sam grimaced. “I never got sea legs. And there was a lot of water.”

She laughed again. “It is a boat. On the ocean. Gotta expect some water.”

Sam shuddered. “I like dry land. But this is nice. Cozy. I’ve never met anyone with their own boat before. I grew up in the desert.”

“My older brother’s boat,” she said, taking a bite of pot pie and suppressing a groan. She was starving. She’d taken a few bites of the sandwich Howard had brought her, then had forgotten to eat the rest. “Arthur’s in the navy and currently stationed on a ship in the South Pacific. I’m renting until he gets back.”

“That’s nice,” Sam said, his damn sincerity front and center.

“So. What brings you by? I saw your texts, Dr. Reeves. Sorry, I wasn’t in a place where I could answer my phone.” She hadn’t looked at her phone before heading into Dr. Scott’s office, not wanting to distract herself. She needed to be on guard when she saw the department shrink.

Sam’s a shrink, too. But somehow, she didn’t feel the need to be on guard. At least not for the same reason.

Sam rubbed his palms over his face. “Laura Letterman and I saw Veronica Gadd after we left the Epsteins’.”

Kit wasn’t surprised. He’d told her that was his next stop, but that he was here told her that, once again, he’d been more successful than she’d been with getting a witness to talk. “You must have found something.”

“Yeah, we did.”

She resumed eating her dinner as Sam related the events of his visit with Driscoll’s fourth wife, her eyes widening more with each detail he revealed. That Driscoll had beaten his young wife wasn’t a shock, although Kit was sad that Veronica hadn’t been comfortable sharing that with her as well.

“Wait. You think he buried something in the backyard?” she asked, interrupting when Sam got to that part.

“He had a shovel,” Sam said grimly. “Hit her with it, too. Then used a new outdoor living area as an apology gift.”

“And she saw a lot more hard drives in his safe than we saw on camera,” she murmured. “Okay, this changes my evening.”

“What will you do?” Joel asked.

“Get someone out there with a GPR. Ground-penetrating radar,” she added when Sam looked confused. “We’ll get a picture of what’s underground before we start digging.”

“She mentioned a movable firepit,” Sam said. “The whole outdoor area seems odd to me. He never mentioned entertaining and Veronica confirmed that he had no friends.”

“Except for whoever he went to see to let off steam.” That had been new information as well. “I need to get additional uniforms out to Driscoll’s house to cover the backyard. Just in case whoever cleaned his house replaces out there’s buried treasure out back.”

“Possibly,” Sam said nervously. “There may be nothing.”

She gave him her kindest smile, because she thought she understood the source of his concern. “Don’t worry, Doc. If we don’t replace anything, nobody’s going to blame you. Will Ms. Letterman be available to give a statement as well?”

Sam nodded. “That’s why she went with me. She and Joel didn’t want me caught without a reliable alibi again.”

“Yeah, not a bad plan unfortunately. Hopefully you’ll get your life back soon.”

Sam swallowed, his green eyes haunted. “I’d be satisfied knowing that Skyler’s parents don’t believe that I’m a murderer.”

Kit put her plate on the side table with a sigh. “I considered telling them that you weren’t a credible suspect, but then whoever really killed Skyler would replace out.”

“And maybe kill someone else,” Sam finished. “I thought of that. That’s why I’m not staying at my apartment. Her parents would confront me, and I’d feel compelled to defend myself. I don’t want her killer to know you’re looking at anyone other than me. I don’t want anyone else to die.”

Her heart squeezed. She had no trouble believing that he’d sacrificed his good name to save other people. He’d already done so before.

“When this is over, I’ll make sure the Carvilles know the truth.”

“But it won’t bring Skyler back,” Sam said thickly.

“No,” she murmured. “But we’ll prove who did it and get your friend the justice she deserves.”

Something settled in his eyes as he nodded. “I’m going to see the other ex-wife tomorrow. The one that still lives here in San Diego.”

“You’re going with Ms. Letterman?” Kit asked, wishing her dislike for the lawyer were only due to her chosen occupation. But she’d cheated on Sam and still expected to be a part of his life.

But that was Sam’s business. Not mine.

“When she’s finished with work, yes.”

She wasn’t going to bother telling him not to make the visit. “Please keep me up to speed, and I promise I’ll return your calls more promptly.”

“I will.” Sam looked at Joel. “Was that it?”

“It was,” Joel said. “We didn’t have Navarro’s number, or we would have told him straightaway. And I didn’t think Baz should be involved. He’s supposed to be recuperating.”

“Thank you for that,” Kit said. “Although he’s going to be pissed off that we didn’t involve him. Which doesn’t matter because I’m far more scared of Marian than I am of Baz.”

Joel chuckled and stood with his empty plate. “Smart. Where do I put this?”

“I’ll take it.” Scrambling to her feet, she took both plates, holding them in front of her like armor when Sam rose as well. Her living room was minuscule, and he was too close. “Um, Dr. Reeves, how did Rita look when you saw her?”

“Sad,” he said. “She’d been crying.”

“Harlan said it was because she found out that her mother had been pregnant,” Joel said darkly. “Some kid at school saw it online and made sure to tell her.”

“The punk bastard,” Sam growled. “Damned reporters make life hard for anyone associated with a victim. Rita’s had enough shocks in her life for a lifetime.”

That he was worried about Rita and not himself was not lost on Kit. “I know. We’ve protected your role in this, Sam. None of the damned reporters should replace out that you were our CI.” She hoped.

Sam shrugged. “I’ve told a few people that I’m a suspect, so it might get out on its own, without any of the reporters’ help.”

Kit almost dropped the plates. “You did what? We were trying to protect you by not letting that out and you just told people?” She looked at Joel. “Did you know about this?”

“He’s a grown-up, Kit, and a damn smart one at that. I figure that he knew the risk.”

“I don’t know if people would have talked to me otherwise,” Sam said. “Revealing the truth made me vulnerable and . . . people want to help other people in trouble.”

She blinked at him. “Are you for real? Like, you do work with criminals, right?”

Sam’s lips twitched up. “A lot of criminals. That’s my area of specialization, in fact. But I talk to a lot of victims, too. Sharing a vulnerability helps level the field. Helps them open up. It worked for me.”

She sighed, because it had. “What time are you going to see Driscoll’s third ex-wife?”

“Probably not until tomorrow night. We went by her place during the day today and she wasn’t home, so she must have been at work.”

“Call me. I might be able to join you.” She lifted a brow when he stiffened. “Unless you don’t want me to.”

“No,” he said slowly. “But . . . you’re a cop. Veronica was afraid you’d think she was involved with whatever Colton was doing. I think they talk to me because I’m not a cop.”

“He’s got a point, Kit,” Joel said.

Unfortunately, he did. “I’ll think on it. Hopefully we will have unearthed something in Colton’s backyard that will help us know the questions to ask.”

She followed them to the door, her gaze settling on Sam’s shoes. And she had absolutely not checked him out on her way down to his feet. “Wait. That is a brand-new pair of Top-Siders, Dr. Reeves. The shoes you wore to the park were also Top-Siders. Why did you pick that shoe if you don’t like boats? It’s a boating shoe.”

Joel snickered, nudging Sam with his elbow. “Tell her, Sammy.”

Sam’s sigh was aggrieved. “They were on clearance, so I bought several pairs. Unlike my friend here, I’m unwilling to spend a month’s salary on a pair of shoes. And I’ve broken in those Top-Siders you took, so they’re comfortable. I’d like to get them back someday.”

Because they’d held on to his shoes as evidence. “You will eventually. Thank you for coming all this way to tell me about Ms. Gadd.”

He turned to meet her eyes. So damn nice. “You’re welcome, Detective.”

She waited until their footsteps trailed up the dock before releasing the breath she’d been holding, then closed the door with her foot. Stepping back to the galley, she washed the dishes as she called Navarro.

His response was equally explosive. “Driscoll buried something in the backyard?”

“I think so. I should have looked.”

“We did a cursory check, but yeah. We should have had the GPR guys out already. Did you call them?”

“My next phone call. I’ll call Sergeant Ryland and have him set up spotlights so they can do their scans.” Finished with the dishes, she turned to her printer and scanned the pages, quickly replaceing what she’d already expected. “Also, I’ve just reviewed the cell phone records for both Dr. Reeves and Skyler Carville on the night she was killed. She got a text from Dr. Reeves’s phone number, but there was no outgoing text from Reeves’s cell. The killer spoofed Reeves’s number.”

“Sloppy on the killer’s part,” Navarro said.

“Maybe. I’m betting he didn’t think that Sam would give us access to his phone so readily.”

“Sam?” Navarro asked quietly.

Kit cursed silently. “Sorry. Dr. Reeves.”

“Are you going to shadow him on his next call? Because I’m guessing that asking him to stop talking to our witnesses isn’t going to work.”

“I said I would, but he’s worried they won’t open up to me.”

“Nonsense. People open up for you. That’s why you’re such a good closer.”

His confidence made her feel better. “Thank you. This case has me—” Doubting myself. She’d barely stopped herself from saying it. “Off balance.”

“I know. And I also know that I’ve been preaching at you not to burn the candle at both ends, but tonight is an exception. The sooner we replace out what Driscoll buried—if anything—the sooner we can put a killer down for good.” He hesitated. “Did you go to your appointment tonight?”

“I did. And it might have helped. A little.”

He snorted. “A glowing recommendation from you. All right. Call CSU. I’ll meet you over there in an hour or so. I’m not in the city right now.”

Not for the first time she wondered what Navarro got up to when he wasn’t in the office, but it wasn’t her place to ask. Maybe he was on a date.

The notion made her happy. Which was how Harlan must have felt tonight when he thought she’d been on a date.

She hated disappointing the man she loved most in the world, but Harlan was going to have to wait for her to date. She had far too much to accomplish first.

Starting with digging up Colton Driscoll’s backyard.

SDPD, San Diego, California

Wednesday, April 20, 3:15 a.m.

“Is he almost done?” Navarro muttered.

Sergeant Ryland glared at them over his shoulder as he processed the evidence they’d found in Colton Driscoll’s backyard. The GPR had found the mother lode—thirty hard drives buried in a small vault under the firepit. When CSU had moved the firepit aside, the GPR had given them a readout of dozens of bricklike items.

Kit shushed Navarro. “He’ll go slower if he’s stressed out.”

“I can hear you,” Ryland snapped. “Go get some coffee. I’m not rushing this.”

“I’ve had way too much caffeine,” Kit said. “I’ll bust out of my skin if I have another cup of coffee.”

“Sounds like a you problem,” Ryland snarked.

“Very much so,” Kit murmured. She was tired, but her brain was far too wired to even attempt to rest. Reaching in her pants pocket, she stroked her thumb over the cat-bird carving, hoping she wasn’t rubbing off the detail. Carefully she pulled it out and held it up to the light.

It was unblemished. Harlan must have treated it so that she couldn’t hurt it. He knew her too well, after all.

“What’s that?” Navarro asked.

“Pop made it.” She held out her hand, the cat-bird nestled in her palm.

“I don’t know how Harlan gets them so detailed.”

“He’s a master. He made a heart for Baz,” she added, thinking about the affection on Baz’s face as he’d held it in his hand when she’d visited him in the hospital hours before. “An anatomically correct heart.”

Navarro chuckled. “I like your father.”

She returned the cat-bird to her pocket. “Everybody does.”

“Okay,” Ryland called. “I’ve got the first hard drive copied. No booby traps and no encryption, which surprises me.”

Kit’s jitters returned. “He probably figured he’d never get caught. What’s on it?”

“Videos,” Ryland said. “It’s crammed full of movie files.”

Kit stood next to Navarro behind Ryland’s chair, trying not to beg the man to hurry. Ryland was notoriously methodical. Evidence he processed usually held up in court, so Kit didn’t complain.

Ryland tapped his keyboard and a video file filled his monitor.

Kit sucked in a harsh breath. The camera had captured a sofa from the back. A teenage girl sat on the sofa in a nicely decorated living room—not Driscoll’s living room. There was a wingback chair to the side of the sofa. The walls were decorated with several framed posters from Broadway musicals, including West Side Story, Wicked, and Phantom of the Opera.

“He likes musical theater,” Navarro murmured. “There’s the connection.”

Then the girl on the sofa turned around to look at the camera, her smile nervous.

Oh my God. “That’s Jaelyn Watts,” Kit rasped out.

Navarro was vibrating like a plucked string. “And a man. Not Driscoll.”

“Not built the same,” Kit agreed. Her heart was pounding, because the man had just walked in front of the camera, his back filling the frame. But then he was moving again, away from the camera. He was leaner than Driscoll and not as tall. Maybe five-eight, five-nine. Driscoll was six feet tall.

“Driscoll’s killer?” Navarro whispered.

“Same body type as the guy in Maureen’s video,” Kit whispered back. A sharp pain in her hand made her realize that she was gripping the cat-bird again. She withdrew her hand from her pocket, crossing her arms over her chest.

They’d see the man’s face any minute. Any second now.

The man walked toward the sofa, a glass tumbler in one hand. He sat next to Jaelyn, then turned his face toward the camera.

Kit leaned forward, shocked. “What the fuck?”

Because the face was Colton Driscoll’s.

“That’s . . .” Navarro sputtered. “What is this? His body type is all wrong.”

But the face was Driscoll’s, and the voice was Driscoll’s, too. He was smiling as he gave Jaelyn a glass of something dark and carbonated.

Kit had to remember to breathe. “What do you wanna bet he’s just roofied her?”

“Sucker bet,” Navarro said grimly.

The video rolled on and Jaelyn’s eyes drooped, then closed, her head lolling on the sofa’s back cushion.

Then the man with Driscoll’s face pulled a set of sparkly pink handcuffs from his back pocket. He snapped them on Jaelyn’s wrists and lowered her to the sofa.

Kit didn’t want to watch what happened next, but she kept her gaze on the screen as she bore witness to Jaelyn’s assault. So she won’t be alone, she thought, even though she knew that was foolish.

Tears burned Kit’s eyes and she blinked them away. Most of what was happening was being blocked by the back of the sofa, which was a small mercy. But they could see the man moving.

“Sonofabitch,” Navarro whispered, his voice breaking.

Kit nodded wordlessly, squeezing Ryland’s shoulder when the CSU leader shuddered out a ragged breath of his own.

The man arched his back as he finished, then shifted his body, sitting on the sofa at Jaelyn’s feet. Kit guessed he was zipping his pants back up from the way he moved. Leaving Jaelyn where she lay, he rose and approached the camera again, his body blocking the shot. Then he moved to the window, a martini glass in his hand.

The shot ended, abruptly shifting to the next clip. It was the same living room, but the shadows had changed. It was later in the day.

On the sofa, Jaelyn was stirring but appeared groggy and disoriented.

The man with Driscoll’s face reappeared, sitting on the sofa where he lifted Jaelyn so that she sat upright. He pulled the tie from his shirt collar and wrapped it around her throat while she struggled sluggishly.

Jaelyn was awake enough for him to see her fear, but not enough for her to have the strength to put up any kind of a fight. Not that she’d have been able to overpower the man. She was too small.

“Coward,” Kit whispered.

The man pulled the tie tight, holding until she finally stopped struggling.

He’d killed her.

Releasing the tie, he removed it from her neck and neatly retied it around his own, snugging up the knot. Driscoll’s face broke into a pleased grin that made Kit want to throw up.

She sat, breathing through the nausea. “Goddammit.”

He’d waited until Jaelyn had woken up to kill her. He could have done it while she was unconscious, but he hadn’t. He’d wanted to see her fear.

Ryland grabbed some tissues from the box on his desk and blew his nose before passing the box back to Kit. She wiped her own eyes and passed the box to Navarro, who did the same.

“What did we just watch?” she asked hoarsely. “It’s Driscoll’s face and voice, but that man is at least three inches shorter than Driscoll. Maybe four. Is the video faked?”

“I don’t know about all of it,” Ryland said, “but at least part of it—the man’s face—is definitely a deepfake.”

Shit. They were seeing “deepfakes” more and more frequently—videos in which one person’s face was superimposed on another person’s body. The technology was increasingly accurate, some of the fake videos nearly impossible to distinguish from the originals. The software was free and many deepfake producers needed only a fast computer and editing time to get the look they wanted.

The dangers presented by a well-done deepfake video could be disastrous. A husband seeing his wife having sex with another man? A politician saying something career-ending? A police official making a catastrophic announcement that was untrue? They could induce mass panic and violence.

It appeared that this deepfake was the commission of a real murder as well as an element of Driscoll’s fabricated life.

“How can you tell?” Navarro asked.

Ryland paused the video, the frame showing the fake Driscoll face. “Aside from the fact that this man is four inches shorter than Driscoll, the shadows on his face are all wrong. They don’t match the shadows in the room.”

Kit hadn’t even noticed. “But the rest?”

“I’d have to analyze it,” Ryland said. “The voice is dubbed, but the mouth movements match the words. I think the rest is real.”

“So Driscoll somehow obtained this video,” Kit said, “then superimposed his face on the killer’s and dubbed the audio?”

Ryland nodded. “That’d be my guess.”

“Can you see what’s underneath his face?” Navarro asked. “The real face?”

Ryland’s expression was both grim and full of regret. “No. We’d have to have the original, and this clearly isn’t it.”

Onscreen, the man with Driscoll’s face had hefted Jaelyn over his shoulder, her blond hair trailing down his back.

There were a few seconds of empty living room, then the video ended.

Kit pinched the bridge of her nose. “Driscoll used to be an IT person for a big firm in town before his temper got him fired. Could he have had the kind of expertise to do this?”

“Sure.” Ryland grabbed a bottle of ibuprofen from his desk drawer. “It’s easy for anyone familiar with photo editing to do. Time consuming, but not difficult. This is an excellent execution, though. Excepting the shadows, the head looks right on the body.”

“How did Driscoll get this video?” Kit asked. “Did he plant the cameras? Did he steal them from the killer? Did the killer record his kills for kicks? Did Driscoll do any of the murders or did he just claim this guy’s kills?”

“Good questions,” Navarro said wearily. “Let’s replace out. Unfortunately, we’re going to have to watch the rest of the videos. Maybe some of them are originals.”

Ryland squared his shoulders. “Okay.”

Kit exhaled. It was going to be a very long night.

SDPD, San Diego, California

Wednesday, April 20, 8:45 a.m.

Kit looked up from her computer screen blearily as Connor Robinson sank into the chair beside her. He looked like shit. Just like everyone else looked after watching Colton Driscoll’s videos for nearly five hours.

“You okay?” she asked. She’d called Connor and Howard in to help sort through the video evidence and they’d divided the task with the CSU techs.

“Not really. This is some seriously sick shit.”

So far, they’d witnessed the rape and murder of seven teenage girls, all appearing to have been killed within the last five years. Cecilia Sheppard was the most recent, having gone missing eight months before. They’d identified Jaelyn Watts, of course, and Naomi Beckham as well. There were three victims between Jaelyn and Naomi, all tentatively identified using their photos in the missing-person reports.

The oldest video—so far—showed the assault and murder of Rochelle Hamilton, who’d gone missing five years ago. Miranda Crisp and Ricki Emerson, who’d disappeared seven and ten years before respectively, were not in any of the videos, nor were the two Jane Does discovered thirteen and fifteen years before. This led them to believe that Driscoll had begun recording the murders five years ago. Or, if the killer had made the recordings, Driscoll hadn’t gained access until five years ago.

Of the new victims they’d discovered this night, none had drama club included in their missing-person reports, but they’d follow up with the families to replace out. There were no bodies for these victims, though, and that meant that the families still wouldn’t have complete closure.

“I know,” Kit said, trying to shove the images she’d viewed into a box in her mind, but it was hard. They’d all been so young. So hopeful. Until they’d accepted a drink from their killer.

It broke her heart.

“I had to stop,” Connor said raggedly. “I’ll watch more later. Driscoll was one sick SOB.”

“Yeah.” Kit rubbed her sore eyes. She’d cried a lot, and she hadn’t been the only one. Connor had cried, too, which had softened the edges of his frat boy persona. “Where’s Howard?”

“He went home for a little while. Said he needed to recharge, but he’d be back soon to finish watching.”

Because although they’d reviewed seven of the hard drives, they still had the contents of eight hard drives to view. Half of the thirty they’d found were duplicates, and that had been a relief. Having to watch the suffering of seven victims had been devastating. Watching thirty . . . Kit didn’t want to think about it.

Colton hadn’t only spliced his own face onto the killer’s body. In the other videos on the hard drives they’d searched so far, he’d replaced the victims’ faces with those of his favorite celebrities.

He’d been able to watch himself doing unspeakable things to the famous people he’d bragged about knowing during his sessions with Sam Reeves.

Sam. He’d be wondering about what they’d found. Kit owed him an update. She’d replace time today to tell him.

“Do you want to head home for some sleep?” Kit asked Connor.

“No. I’m too wired to sleep. What’re you looking at?”

Kit returned her attention to her screen. “The Orion School’s website. I need to have my ducks in a row in case your friend isn’t able to tell us anything.”

“She texted me back,” Connor said. “Said she’d call me this morning. She wanted to check with the scholarship recipient to make sure it was okay to give me her number. Do you want to listen in on the call?”

“If I can, yes. If I’m not around, don’t wait for me.”

He nodded, rolling his chair sideways to see her screen. “What did you replace so far about Orion?”

“Nothing yet. I’d just clicked on it when you sat down.” She explored the menu, checking the admissions tab. “Auditions happen in front of a committee.” She noted the committee members’ names. “We’ll need to run background checks on them before we head to the school.” She glanced at him. “You up for a trip to high school?”

He grinned. “Hell yeah. This time the principal will have to listen to me and not the other way around.”

She chuckled. “I stayed far away from the principal’s office. Kept my head down. Just wanted to pass my classes and get out.” She moved from the admissions tab to the one labeled About Us. “These private schools have their own boards. This one has a board of trustees.” She clicked on it and gasped as one name stood out. “What the hell?”

“Oh,” Connor murmured. “That could be very good or very bad.”

Dr. Alvin Levinson. Their criminal profiler was on the board of the Orion School. “He never mentioned it when I talked to him Monday.”

“You didn’t know about Orion School on Monday.”

“True,” she said. “But if he knew about the drama world, he should have said something, shouldn’t he?”

Connor frowned. “You don’t seriously think he’s involved, do you?”

No. But the response was knee-jerk. Levinson’s one of us. He wouldn’t hurt anyone.

But was she sure about that? The man in the horrific videos with Driscoll’s face had the same build as Levinson. And he had gray hair and glasses. She swallowed hard, bile rising in her throat at the thought that he could be involved in any way. “No, I don’t think so,” she said uncertainly, “but I have to ask him what he knows about Orion scholarships.”

“Ask who about Orion scholarships?” Navarro asked, leaning on one corner of Kit’s desk. He’d been in the commander’s office for the past hour, updating the brass. They were going to have to do another press conference soon, admit that Colton Driscoll had been murdered and that he hadn’t acted alone. That a murderer was still out there, targeting young women. And that they had leads, but no suspects.

What they did have, though, was a mental health professional who had the same body type as their killer with a solid connection to the school at least one of their victims was so determined to attend.

Kit met her boss’s sharp gaze. “Dr. Levinson.”

Navarro’s brows nearly shot up off his forehead. “Al Levinson? What are you talking about?”

She pointed to her screen and Navarro came around to look, flinching in shock. “Why didn’t he mention he had a tie to a drama school on Monday?” he demanded.

“I don’t know,” Kit murmured. “But we’re going to ask.”

“You bet your ass we will. I’ve known Al for twenty years. There is no way he is involved in anything like this.”

“Same body type,” Kit said quietly.

Navarro shook his head. “He’s pushing seventy, Kit. There’s no way he’d have been able to get Colton Driscoll into that noose.”

“Driscoll’s killer created a pulley system with one of those ropes,” she pointed out reluctantly. “He didn’t need to bear Driscoll’s entire weight.”

“That’s ridiculous. There’s got to be a good reason he didn’t mention Orion,” Navarro said while dialing on his cell phone. “Hey, Al. Can you come into the office again this morning? It’s important.” He was quiet for a moment, then said, “See you then. We can meet in my office.” After saying goodbye, he slid his phone back into his pocket. “He’ll be here in half an hour. Run background checks on the rest of Orion’s board and the staff in the meantime.”

Kit hoped he was right. She liked Dr. Levinson. “Yes, sir.”

Navarro had started to walk away when Connor said, “Hey, boss. Wait.”

Navarro looked back at them, visibly bracing himself, because Connor’s tone was ominous. “Yes?”

Connor grimaced. “Another article by Tamsin Kavanaugh. She says that we’ve got a second killer and that Orion School is suspected of involvement in victim recruitment.”

“Motherfucker,” Navarro snarled. “Who’s her source?”

“Unnamed,” Connor said.

Kit took Connor’s phone and skimmed the article. “Her source could be Madison, the girl at Naomi Beckham’s school. She’s the one who wanted the audition for herself. She’s the only one who knows about the link between Naomi and the Orion School, other than the school principal and us.”

Navarro’s expression was one of tightly controlled fury. “Did Dr. Reeves know about Madison? Did he talk to her, too?”

Kit shook her head. “I’m sure I didn’t mention it. We only talked about Veronica Gadd, Driscoll’s fourth ex-wife.” And she’d asked him about Rita, but that wasn’t important to this conversation.

“Shit,” Connor hissed. “This is a disaster, boss. Orion’s never going to talk to us now. We’ll have to break through a wall of lawyers. We have to get in front of this.”

Navarro raked his hands through his hair. “You tried to call yesterday, right, Kit?”

“I did. Left a message with the front desk for the principal.”

“Then we’ve attempted to get their statement. Let’s get Levinson’s take on the school before you head over there.”

“And talk to Connor’s old friend,” Kit added. “She’s supposed to call him soon.”

Navarro nodded. “Good. Let’s gather what information we can before we go in.” He pointed to the two of them. “You two go together.” Then he went into his office to deal with what was sure to be angry brass.

“Could Kavanaugh have followed you again?” Connor asked quietly. “Or put a tracking device on you?”

Kit shook her head. “I mean, it’s possible. But I checked a car out of the garage. It wasn’t my car. She’d have had to know which one I was taking, and I didn’t even know.” She rubbed her temples. “We don’t have time for her shit.”

“We have to make time,” Connor said grimly. “Because she keeps getting the jump on places you’ve been and people you’ve talked to.”

He was right. Dammit. “She had to have followed me to Naomi’s school, just like she followed me to Driscoll’s house. Tamsin would have put two and two together, knowing I was working on the serial killer case.”

“Your psychologist also knew about Driscoll.”

She blinked. “Dr. Scott?”

Connor shook his head impatiently. “Reeves,” he snapped. “He’s known about Driscoll from the beginning. He went to Naomi Beckham’s house after you left there. What if he’s following you? What if he followed you to Naomi Beckham’s school and asked questions there, then told the press?”

She started to say that Sam would have no reason to reveal the information as it spotlighted him as the confidential informant, but stopped herself. Sam had told people that he was a suspect. She didn’t think he cared if anyone knew at this point. “Yes, he knew about Driscoll and Naomi Beckham. I don’t believe he’d go to the press, though.”

“I’m not so sure. I don’t know him like you do.”

There was something accusatory in his tone, and Kit frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that you’ve trusted him with a lot of information, Kit.” He shook his head before she could comment. “Who else knew about Orion?”

“Principal Larkin was there when Madison was talking about the school, but I doubt she’d talk to a reporter, either. The more I think about it, the more I think that Madison called Tamsin Kavanaugh to get her fifteen minutes of fame.”

Connor’s scowl deepened. “You just did it again. You dismissed the possibility that your shrink is involved. That he could be orchestrating all of this.”

“Because it’s not true,” Kit snapped.

Connor’s expression grew smugly arrogant. “Whether you want to admit it or not, your shrink has come up with the evidence that has us where we are on this case. He’s the one who talked to Naomi’s family and found out about the secret audition. That led you to Naomi’s high school, which led you to Orion. Your shrink’s the one who talked to Maureen Epstein and got her to admit to spying on Driscoll. That gave us confirmation that Driscoll was murdered and that he had hard drives. Your shrink’s the one who talked to Driscoll’s ex-wife and told us that Driscoll buried something in his backyard. He’s given us practically all the information we have now.”

Kit swallowed, not wanting to admit that Connor had a point. But he did. “All that is true. It doesn’t make him guilty.”

Connor glared at her. “No, but it makes him a fucking suspect. What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing is wrong with me.”

He cocked his head. “Then why are you seeing Dr. Scott?”

Kit had to bite back so many swear words. “That is none of your business.”

He folded his arms over his chest. “You’re right. It’s not. I apologize for that. But Reeves got information out of all the people you’d already interviewed. He got blood from all the stones. And he could be legit. But he could be manipulating us every step of the way. Doesn’t that make you a little bit concerned?”

Yes. Yes, it did. That it was impossible to consider made her even more concerned. “Let’s run the background checks for Orion’s staff and board.”

Rolling his eyes, Connor returned to his desk. “Fine.”

Sam Reeves was not guilty. She was sure of that—and she really shouldn’t be.

“I’ll do backgrounds on the board of trustees,” she said stiffly, “if you’ll start on the staff.”

His nod was clipped. “Fine.”

But she couldn’t focus. All she could see was Sam Reeves with his green eyes and his sincerity. All she could hear were Connor’s very practical arguments.

She cleared her throat. “What would eliminate Dr. Reeves as a suspect in your mind?”

Connor’s expression softened from outright hostility to grudging respect. “I don’t know yet. Let me think about it.”

“Okay.” She opened the background check software and began her search.