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

Kit was supposed to be having Sunday family dinner with Mom and Pop and all the others, but a call from Navarro had sent her speeding toward another park. A teenager with a metal detector had found a human hand. A female’s hand, her nails neatly trimmed.

The teen had called 911 right away and Navarro had been informed.

Now she and Baz stood shoulder to shoulder under the tent CSU had erected to keep reporters with long-range lenses from spying on their recovery effort. They waited silently, watching as CSU patiently removed dirt from the body.

Just don’t have pink handcuffs. Please.

CSU’s Sergeant Ryland was working on the victim’s midsection while his assistant removed dirt from her face. Sergeant Ryland would brush the dirt away from the young female victim’s joined hands any minute now.

Kit gripped the little cat-bird in her pocket while she watched, holding her breath. And then . . . No.

Sparkly pink handcuffs.

“No,” Baz whispered, the one word filled with anger and devastation in equal parts.

“Yes,” Kit whispered back, horrified.

Another one.

Kit gave herself a shake. Get your head in the game. Details. Notice them.

This victim was blond but appeared to be older than the others by a few years. A little taller, too, if the length of her torso was any indication. Maybe five-five or five-six.

She hadn’t been in the ground long at all. Days, if that long.

Ryland looked up at Kit, his eyes filled with the same despair she felt. He turned to his assistant. “Call the ME.”

Wide-eyed, the woman nodded and walked a few feet away, making the call.

“I’ve got to call Navarro,” Kit said, because Baz seemed frozen in place.

“Not yet,” Ryland said. “Give me one minute. She’s got a medical alert necklace.”

Kit sucked in a breath. “He left an ID on her?”

Baz just shook his head and said nothing.

“No name,” Ryland said, “but she’s given an ICE name and a number.”

Her contact in case of emergency. That was nearly as good as her own name.

Kit opened the Notes app on her phone. “Ready.”

“Joe slash Denise, 619-555-2540,” Ryland read. “I took a photo of the ID and sent it to your phones.”

Kit’s phone dinged with the incoming photo. The victim had a peanut allergy and carried an EpiPen. “Does she have ligature marks on her throat?”

“Yeah,” Ryland said bitterly. “She does.”

“Thanks.” Kit patted Baz’s arm. “I’ll call Navarro.”

He nodded, still silent.

Shoving her worry for her partner aside, Kit dialed Navarro. “Pink handcuffs,” she said when he answered.

“Mother of God,” he whispered. “And we’re no closer to finding out who killed Driscoll.”

It was true. Kit and Baz had interviewed every neighbor, but none of them had been of any real help. They’d even returned twice to interview Maureen Epstein and her mother. Maureen continued to claim she knew nothing. The same was true of Driscoll’s coworkers and his four ex-wives.

They’d dug through his financials and his phone records.

Nothing.

“This time he left her medical alert necklace on. No name, but it’s got ICE names and number listed.” She ran a reverse lookup on the number. “Joe and Denise Carville. Can you check the missing-person data—” She froze, her stomach in free fall. “What the hell?” she whispered, unable to draw enough breath to say the words at a normal volume.

“What?” Navarro demanded.

“Their address. It’s Dr. Reeves’s building. His floor. They’re his neighbors.”

Navarro was silent.

“Did you hear me?” she asked.

“I heard you,” he said, his tone clipped. “The parents filed a missing-person report this morning. Their daughter Skyler was last seen Friday night. She went to work and never came home.”

“What do you want us to do?” Kit asked, unable to keep her voice from shaking. Not a coincidence. But . . . not Dr. Reeves. She still couldn’t believe it.

She didn’t want to believe it.

Dammit, Doc. What have you done?

“Should we do the notification now?” she asked when Navarro didn’t answer. “Or wait until we get the body fully uncovered?”

“I just sent you the missing-person report along with the photo the parents included. Do a visual ID for now.”

Her phone dinged again with the young woman’s photo and her knees wobbled. It was her.

Skyler Carville, twenty-one. According to the report she was a student at UC San Diego and worked at a bar. And walked dogs part time.

Kit remembered the conversation with Dr. Reeves in the interrogation room, right before she’d told him that they’d found a body. He’d said he had a dog walker, but she wouldn’t be awake yet. Because she worked late in a bar and slept in on Saturdays.

Skyler Carville was Sam Reeves’s dog walker.

“Well?” Navarro snapped. “Is it her?”

“Yes.” But the word came out raspy. Kit cleared her throat. “Yes,” she repeated. “It’s her. She walked Dr. Reeves’s dog.”

“Where is he?” Navarro growled.

“He went to stay with his parents in Scottsdale. They left on Tuesday. He texted that he’d be back tonight because he couldn’t take off any more work.”

“Then wait at his apartment and bring him in as soon as he arrives.”

“This . . .” Feels wrong. But she couldn’t make herself say the words. “Okay.”

Navarro made an impatient noise. “Speak, McKittrick.”

“It’s . . . convenient. It feels wrong. Another metal detector? A day after she goes missing?”

He sighed. “I agree. But we follow the evidence. If he can prove where he was every minute of this weekend . . . Well, we’ll see when you get him in here.”

“Driscoll’s killer put brand-new Top-Siders on his feet.”

“I know, Kit,” Navarro said, more gently than he’d spoken before. “It feels like someone is manipulating us. Let’s follow the evidence, okay?”

“Okay, sir. We’ll do the notification and wait for Dr. Reeves. But I won’t tell the girl’s parents that we plan to talk to him.”

“That’s wise. Tell Baz I said not to do so, either.”

“Baz just got to the point where he doesn’t hiss every time he says Reeves’s name.”

Navarro sighed again. “I know. Tell him to call me.”

Baz hadn’t moved. Not one inch. He looked like he was in shock. “I’m a little worried about him, boss. He’s really not okay right now.”

“Neither am I.”

“No. I mean he’s pale and sweating. He isn’t speaking, isn’t moving. He just keeps staring at the body.”

“He’ll be okay. Get him into a car and feed him. Let him rant and rage for a little while. He’ll be okay.”

“All right.” Kit ended the call, hoping that Navarro was right as she turned back to look at her partner.

But he’s not okay.

The thought barely registered through a fog of instant panic as her body began to move, running frantically toward Baz, whose knees were buckling, his body collapsing to the ground. His face was gray, his eyes terrified.

Kit? He mouthed the word, unable to even whisper.

She dialed 911 as she gripped his hand in hers, her pulse racing in fear because his eyes were now fluttering shut. “I’m here, Baz. Just hold on.”

San Diego, California

Sunday, April 17, 8:15 p.m.

Sam grimaced apologetically at the woman who stepped off the elevator on the floor below his. After camping for three days, he was dirty and he smelled awful, but nothing a shower couldn’t fix.

He’d stayed with his parents in Scottsdale for three days, wondering all that time if it was safe to come home. Finally, he’d had no choice. He needed to get back to work. Vivian and Angeline had been so good about rescheduling all of his clients after his impromptu escape from the city on Tuesday morning, but they couldn’t do that again. Not if it wasn’t an emergency.

His parents had stayed in Scottsdale, thankfully, and his apartment was now clean. It was time to come home.

But he’d needed some quiet time after all that anxiety. Needed to get his head back on straight. So, he’d left Scottsdale early on Friday for Joshua Tree National Park. He’d hiked with Siggy all day Friday, Saturday, and most of Sunday, and spent the nights staring up at the stars.

He felt better now. Not a hundred percent, but better.

He made his way to his apartment, Siggy panting happily. The place smelled good. Fresh. He did a slow turn, checking out his living room.

There was no sign of fingerprint dust and nothing was on the floor. His bathroom positively gleamed. Five stars to the cleaning company his mother had hired. His apartment was cleaner than it had ever been.

Time to fix that. He tossed his dirty clothes into the hamper and stepped into the shower, washing off three days of grime and sweat. It hadn’t been terribly hot in the park, but the sun had been direct and he’d hiked as hard as he’d dared. There’d been Siggy to think of, of course. His dog was young but there were limits, and Sam had needed to make sure they stopped often so that Siggy could drink water and rest.

Clean and dressed in a worn pair of sweats, he fed Siggy and opened his freezer. Then sighed. It was empty and too late he remembered why. The cleaning company had told his mother that the freezer door had been left open and everything was spoiled. His mother had instructed them to throw everything away, so he didn’t have a speck of food to his name.

Delivery it was. He picked up his phone to order something and paused. He had a new text. From McKittrick.

You get home okay?

It made him wary and happy, all at once, because he wasn’t sure what had motivated her to ask. More questions, maybe.

Or maybe she just cares. And that was thinking that would get him into trouble.

Just got home, he texted back. All okay?

There was no reply, so he ordered from the Chinese restaurant down the street and sat down to wait. Five minutes later, there was a sharp knock on his door and he frowned.

There was no way that was the delivery guy.

Dread crept up his spine as he checked his peephole.

McKittrick. Only McKittrick, her sidekick nowhere to be seen. She looked grim.

For a moment he debated not opening his door, but she knew he was home.

Fell right into that one.

Cursing his own stupidity, he opened the door a sliver. “Yes, Detective?”

She threw a look over her shoulder, then met his eyes. “Dr. Reeves. I need to talk to you. May I come in?”

“Do I have a choice?” he asked, proud that his voice didn’t waver.

She lifted one slim shoulder. “Sure. But that means I’d have to bring you down to the station to talk. It’s important.”

“Do I need my attorney?”

She hesitated. “Not right now.”

The dread settled in his gut like a lump of lead, but he opened the door. “I’ve got to be the stupidest man alive,” he muttered.

She exhaled quietly. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t ask her to sit, choosing to stand in front of her, fists on his hips. It forced her to look up at him, and he needed that small symbol of control, as empty as it was. She held all the power in this situation.

Because you let her in without calling Laura to represent you.

“For what?” he asked tightly.

“Skyler Carville is dead.”

Sam took a step back, shocked. “What?” he whispered.

Skyler . . . dead? And McKittrick was here so that meant . . . homicide.

He covered his mouth, trying to keep his roiling gut from churning up and out.

“We found her body in a park this afternoon,” McKittrick said in a tone barely louder than his had been. “Not the one where you found Jaelyn. The mode of death is consistent with the other victims.”

Sam looked around frantically for the nearest place to sit, but the sofa and chairs were too far away. “No.” He reached for the nearest wall and slid to the floor, hanging his head. “No.”

She crouched beside him. “Where were you this weekend? We need to document your location from Saturday morning at midnight to Sunday morning at dawn.”

He opened his mouth but no words came out.

She remained beside him, her face expressionless. But her eyes were worried and that scared him to death.

“I need to call my lawyer.”

She nodded but made no move to stand. “Okay. Will you come to the station with me?”

“No. I’ll meet you there. I’m calling my attorney first.” He closed his eyes, trying to think. “Did he hurt her? Rape her?” He opened his eyes when she said nothing, and he could see the truth in her eyes.

He had. Whoever had killed Skyler had raped her before ending her life.

His eyes burned and he didn’t even try to stop his tears. “She was so sweet. Why would anyone target her?” Then realization hit. “Because of me? Was this because of me?”

“I don’t know,” McKittrick said. “That’s the truth. Can you document your whereabouts this weekend?”

He pursed his lips. “I was camping. In Joshua Tree. From Friday until five o’clock today. Alone.”

She exhaled slowly. “Okay. Call Ms. Letterman. Have her pick you up. I’ll wait downstairs in the lobby and escort the two of you into the station.”

“Meaning you don’t trust me not to run,” he said bitterly.

Once again she said nothing, but she didn’t need to speak.

“Fucking hell,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” she whispered back. “I’ll wait downstairs. Please don’t make me chase you. I’m supposed to bring you in—in cuffs if I have to—but I don’t want to have to do that.”

Sam remained on the floor as she let herself out. He wasn’t sure how many minutes passed, but he finally fished his phone from his pocket to call Laura.

He hesitated, though, calling Joel first. The phone rang and rang, but Joel finally answered. “Hey, man. What’s up?”

“McKittrick was here.”

“Oh? Why?”

“To tell me that my neighbor was murdered this weekend in a way that is consistent with the other murders. And I was camping all weekend, Joel.” His voice hitched, tinged with a note of hysteria. Which was fair, because his heart was beating like a jackhammer. “I have no alibi this time. Why is this happening?”

“For fuck’s sake,” Joel growled. “Surely they don’t think . . . Hell, who knows what they’re thinking? Do you have proof that you were camping?”

“I posted a photo to Facebook, just like I always do when I go camping. For my folks, so they know I’m okay.” He’d considered not posting the photo, but the detectives had told him that he was no longer a suspect. He wanted to get on with his life, and resuming his normal habits seemed a good way to do that. I guess I was wrong.

Joel’s brief silence screamed that a Facebook photo wasn’t going to be enough. “Are you still at your place?”

“Yes. She’s waiting in the lobby for me to come down. I said I wasn’t coming down without my lawyer.”

“Good. I’m coming over. You want me to call you a lawyer? Or do you want to call Laura again?”

Sam bit the inside of his cheek. “Laura knows the background. And she’s good. I trust her. In this, anyway.”

“She is good,” Joel admitted. “I hate going up against her in court. Call her. And do not leave your apartment until I get there. What about Siggy?”

“I don’t know.” His breath hitched again. “My folks are back in Scottsdale.” And he didn’t have anyone else to call.

“Call Vivian. She knows Siggy. She’ll come.”

“She’s in a leg cast, but her husband might be able to take him. Why would SDPD think I did this?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll try to find out.”

“McKittrick and Constantine think that Colton didn’t kill himself.”

Joel was quiet for a moment. “They told you that?”

So he knew, too. It made sense that he would. “No. I figured it out myself. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were relaxing with your parents.”

Sam snorted derisively. “No, I was worried sick the whole time. That’s why I went back with my folks.”

“I thought it was to avoid the media.”

“That was McKittrick’s idea, to keep my parents from worrying.”

Joel sighed. “Sounds like her. How did she seem?”

Sam frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Constantine is in the hospital. He had a heart attack. He’ll be okay, but he’s out of commission for a while.”

That was why she was alone. Sam hadn’t even wondered, too filled with fear. Justified fear, he reminded himself. “She seemed sad,” he said. “And worried. About me, I think.”

“Well, that’s not at all upsetting.”

“Are you coming over or not?” Sam snapped.

“Already in my car. Figured you might need to keep talking so you don’t freak out.”

Joel knew him well.

“I need to call Laura.”

“Fine. If she doesn’t answer right away, I’ll get you someone else.”

“Thanks, Joel.”

“We’ll figure this out, Sammy.”

Sam ended the call, hoping that Joel was right.

SDPD, San Diego, California

Sunday, April 17, 9:15 p.m.

Kit was unsurprised to see Joel Haley leaning against the wall outside the interview room in which Sam Reeves waited with his attorney.

“Joel.”

He nodded once. “I tried to call you but got your voice mail.”

She’d known why he was calling and had purposely let it go to voice mail. “I’ve been a little busy.”

He lifted an auburn eyebrow. “Please. If you don’t want to talk to me, just say so.”

She dropped her chin for a moment, trusting him enough to let him see her looking less than strong. Not weak, but not terribly strong right now.

“I heard about Constantine,” he murmured. “He’ll be okay, right?”

She glanced up, found his expression a mix of compassion and anxiety. Which made sense, considering his friend was in interview again. “Yeah, Baz’ll be okay. It was a little scary for a while, though.”

The image of her partner’s knees buckling as he collapsed to the ground had been on constant replay in her mind.

“I bet it was.” Joel was quiet for a few beats. “He’s innocent, you know. Sam. He’s a good guy. He’d never hurt anyone.”

She drew in a breath, let it out. Decided to be straightforward with the prosecutor, because Joel was a good guy, too. “I know. At least I believe.” She shrugged. “I want to believe. But I have to follow the evidence.”

“What evidence do you have?”

She pursed her lips, debating. But Joel would find out one way or another. “Skyler’s parents got a text from her late Friday night. Said she was meeting Dr. Reeves for a drink after work.”

Joel winced. “That’s . . . not good. But it’s a setup, Kit. You have to know that.”

“Like I said, I want to believe. That’s the best I can give you right now. I have to be thorough. I owe it to those girls.”

He nodded, his jaw gone tight. “Can I observe?”

She shrugged. “If Navarro says it’s okay, I don’t have a problem with it. He’s back there.”

“I’ll ask him. Just . . . dammit, Kit. He’s my best friend and he’s scared to death. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

Kit sighed. “I need to get in there.”

Joel stepped back. “Tell Constantine that I hope he’s back on the job being a pain in my ass soon.”

“I will.” She started to go into the interview room but stopped. “Hey, Joel? What’s the deal with you two and the defense attorney?”

Joel barked out a harsh laugh. “She cheated on Sam. With me. That’s how we met.”

Kit’s mouth fell open. “What the fuck?”

“Right? I was pissed off because I didn’t know about Sam and he clearly didn’t know about me. His first look at me was my bare ass. But . . . he’s a good guy, Kit. He didn’t hold anything against me. He supported me, even though he was devastated. They’d been together for four years. I was only a repeat hookup, but all he could think of was how it had impacted me.”

“He called her when he needed an attorney.”

“He did. He has a great capacity for forgiveness.”

Kit hoped that was true, because she had the feeling that she’d be asking him to forgive her for what was to come. “Thanks for telling me.”

He nodded once and, gathering her wits about her, she walked into the interview room. Sam Reeves sat at the table in the same chair he’d used the last time they’d brought him in.

Laura Letterman was glaring daggers at Kit. “Can we get this started? You’re causing my client undue distress.”

Kit could see that. Sam had looked almost relaxed when he’d first opened his door that evening. Wary, but not defeated. Now he looked devastated.

His eyes were red and puffy. He’d been crying.

About Skyler? Or about his own predicament? Or was it a clever ruse?

She sat across from Sam, ignoring his attorney’s continued glare. “So . . . can you prove your whereabouts this weekend or not?”

She’d meant the question to come out harsh and snappish, but her voice did not obey her wishes. She sounded soft and concerned.

Navarro was going to lose his shit if she didn’t get hers together.

Laura Letterman leaned forward, her gaze as sharp as Kit had intended her words to be. “My client was camping all weekend. Alone. Given enough time, he can find witnesses to corroborate. He spoke with a park ranger several times over the weekend.”

“I’ll need the ranger’s name,” Kit said, then turned her attention to Sam. “If you camped in the park, you’ll be on the park’s registration list. Right?”

He winced. “I didn’t camp in the park. The campgrounds were filled, but I never use them anyway. I have a friend with property bordering the park. He Airbnbs his house but lets his friends camp on the land, away from the house.”

Kit wanted to sigh, because that was more bad news for him. “You posted a photo to Facebook on Friday night.” It was a selfie with his dog, his tent in the background. He’d looked at peace in the photo.

He nodded, his eyes haunted. “Yeah. I did.”

“Was that in the park or on your friend’s land?”

“My friend’s land. I left the park at five on Friday afternoon. There was a ranger at the gate, so there should be a record of that.”

That was even worse. It meant he’d had opportunity. Still, she found herself trying to help him. “Do you protect your Facebook settings?” she asked.

He blinked, looking confused. “What?”

“Do you control who sees your posts?”

Sam shook his head slowly. “No. I mainly post the photos so my parents can see them. I also chat online with a few other hikers who do the desert parks.”

“So anyone could have known that he was there alone,” Laura said, swooping in on the detail.

“Yes. It’s possible. It’s also possible that he drove to San Diego after taking that photo and met up with Skyler Carville for drinks after her shift at the bar.” Kit kept her focus on Sam even though she spoke to his attorney.

He frowned. “Why would I do that?”

“Sam,” Letterman cautioned. “But that’s an excellent question, Detective. Please answer it.”

Kit tilted her head, still watching him. “Because Skyler texted her parents to say she’d be late getting home. Because Dr. Reeves had texted her, asking her to meet for a drink.”

Sam’s mouth fell open. “I didn’t.”

“Sam,” Letterman snapped. “Say nothing.”

He looked at Letterman. “But I didn’t. They can check my phone.”

“We’ve already initiated a warrant for your cell phone records, Dr. Reeves,” Kit said calmly, but she wanted to sigh with relief. He was telling the truth. She was sure of it. But you’d already made up your mind, hadn’t you? She ignored the little voice in her head and added, “But it would go a lot faster if you’d grant us access.”

“No,” Letterman barked. “Absolutely not.”

Sam looked frustrated. “Laura.”

Letterman leveled him with narrowed eyes. “Let me do my job, Sam.”

Kit didn’t blame the attorney. She was doing her job as well as Sam was allowing her.

Letterman turned on Kit. “Her killer could have sent that text to her parents, spoofing my client’s number. Or sent the text to Skyler. Or both. My client’s being set up.”

“Possibly,” Kit agreed. Probably, even. “We can eliminate Dr. Reeves as a suspect if he can prove he was where he says he was.” She held up a hand when the attorney started to say no once again. “Do you have location services on your phone turned on, Dr. Reeves?”

“I don’t know.” But there was a glint of hope in his eyes.

If Kit could get him to just let them check, they could settle this quickly and the man could go on with his life.

And I can start looking for the real killer.

Sam’s face was the picture of indecision. Maybe one more little push.

“It seems convenient that this happened the weekend you were alone with no alibi, Dr. Reeves,” Kit said softly. “We can make this go away with a quick check.”

“It’s not a quick check,” Letterman said with an angry glare at Kit. “They’ll need access to your phone. It’s not just letting the detective see your location. Her CSU team will have to check your whole phone.”

Sam’s shoulders slumped. “I can’t let you do that. I have a portal that accesses patient records on my phone.”

“We can have a court-appointed special master,” Kit said. “Someone who isn’t SDPD and who will keep your client files confidential.”

Sam looked at Letterman. “Is that true?”

“It is,” she conceded. “Although it will take some time.”

“I can call in some favors and speed it up,” Kit said. “Look, if this is a setup and Dr. Reeves is being framed in some way, I need to know immediately because that means there’s still a killer out there.”

Sam looked at Kit then, his gaze assessing. Whatever he saw must have satisfied him, because he nodded. “Do it. But this doesn’t make everything ‘go away.’ Skyler is still dead. And that is because someone wants to make me look like a killer. She was a good person. She had big dreams.” He swallowed hard. “Now she’s gone and I have to look her parents in the eye, knowing that she was targeted because of me, even if I didn’t do anything wrong. And even if you clear me—when you clear me—they might always have doubts about me. And that’s . . . well, that’s . . .”

Kit could feel his anguish. He was right. “Homicides are always terrible situations. The actions of a killer cause ripples that affect the lives of the people left behind. I can’t change that. But I can check your alibi. Also give me the name of that park ranger. I’ll contact him—or her?”

“Him,” Sam said. “His name is Herman Rymer. I don’t have his contact info, though.”

“I’ll find him,” Kit promised. “Probably not until tomorrow, though.”

Sam stiffened. “I don’t have to stay here all night, do I?”

“No,” Kit and Letterman said at the same time. “We will need to keep your phone, though,” Kit added. “It’s evidence now. But it’s locked and will remain so until we get the special master assigned.”

Sam pressed his fingertips to his temples. “But even if you establish that my phone was at Joshua Tree, it doesn’t mean that I was.”

Kit hid her wince, but just barely. He was right, but she’d hoped to allay his anxiety for a little while at least.

Letterman shook her head in consternation. “Sam.”

“It’s true, though,” he said to her. “Isn’t it?”

Letterman nodded reluctantly. “But it’s better than nothing.”

“That’s why I’ll also find the ranger,” Kit added.

“But it won’t completely clear me,” he said bitterly, closing his eyes. “You might be able to convince a jury, but people will always wonder.”

“Dr. Reeves, I want to put the right killer away so that he can never hurt anyone else. Clearing your name, if that’s where the evidence leads, will be a happy by-product. But my duty is to the victims. I won’t rest until they get justice.”

“I know.” But he still sounded defeated and Kit couldn’t fix that.

“Is my client free to go?” Letterman asked sharply.

Kit nodded. “Yes. Where will you go, Dr. Reeves?”

He didn’t open his eyes. “Not home. If the Carvilles think that I met Skyler for drinks after her shift, they’ll . . .” He opened his eyes and they were filled with such sadness that Kit’s heart hurt. “Well, I don’t know what they’ll do, but I don’t want to find out. I might go to a hotel.”

“You aren’t owed his location,” Letterman said to Kit. “I’m taking my client to wherever he wishes to go. Now.”

Kit forced her expression to blank because the slump of Sam’s shoulders was painful to witness. “I’ll contact you, Ms. Letterman, when the court has assigned a special master to review your client’s phone.”

Kit left without another word to Sam, finding Navarro standing in the observation room alone. Apparently, he’d said no to Joel Haley.

She waited for him to tell her that she’d been too soft on Sam Reeves, but he surprised her.

“He’s either very, very good or he’s not guilty,” Navarro said, watching Sam with his attorney through the glass. Letterman had her arm around his shoulders and was speaking close to his ear. It was an intimate pose, one that made sense after hearing that they’d been together for four years.

Sam Reeves did indeed have a great capacity for forgiveness.

“I agree,” she murmured.

Navarro turned to meet her eyes, his gaze piercing. “Find out which he is. Find out who killed Skyler Carville.”

“I will.”

“Work alone for now, but I’ll assign you a temporary partner as soon as I can. Until Baz comes back.”

Kit nodded, too tired to argue. She didn’t want another partner, even a temporary one. Baz would be coming back and that was all there was to it. “Yes, sir.”

Hillcrest, California

Monday, April 18, 7:30 a.m.

Sam locked his jaw and stared Joel down across Joel’s kitchen table. His best friend’s expression was one of shock mixed with disapproval.

“You’re going to do what?” Joel asked, squinting over his coffee mug.

Joel had insisted Sam stay with him after they’d picked up Siggy from Vivian’s house the night before. Joel’s home was a large Victorian on a busy residential street. He had plenty of room, and Sam had been too exhausted to argue. So here he was.

He was still exhausted, having not slept a wink, but he’d been turning this idea around in his mind all night long, and he was sure.

“I’m going to do my own investigation. I’ve got the time,” he added bitterly.

Because he and Vivian had—albeit reluctantly—agreed that he should take a leave of absence until SDPD cleared his name. Vivian had made sure he knew that it wasn’t about her trust in him. It was about the clinic’s liability and providing the best and least disruptive care for their clients.

So. Time. He had it, in abundance.

“That’s a bad idea, Sam.”

“I disagree. It’s my life. My livelihood. My freedom. And if I sit around with nothing to do, I’m going to go crazy.”

Joel sighed. “How do you plan to do the investigating?”

Sam had thought this through as well, making notes during the night as new ideas occurred to him. “I figure that Colton either participated in the murders with his partner, who killed him, or Colton was the partner or even the hanger-on. The last one would be more consistent with what I saw in session. Colton was always inserting himself into the lives of other people, so him being the groupie of a murderer makes sense.”

“Okay. I’m with you so far. But what are you going to do specifically?”

“I’m going to look into Colton’s background to figure out where the two crossed paths and joined up. I’m going to start with his ex-wives.”

“The police already interviewed his wives.”

“I’m not the police. And not to toot my own horn, but people talk to me.”

“True. But if they say no, you have to walk away.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “I know that. I’m not going to get myself arrested.”

“Again.”

“Again,” Sam conceded. “I also want to know how many victims this guy has killed. The police only said ‘several.’ Do you know?”

Joel hesitated. “Yeah.” Then he shrugged. “Fuck it. This is your life we’re talking about. So far there are six, including Skyler Carville. Maybe seven if the girl with the lilac uniform was a victim and not just missing.”

“She was,” Sam said quietly.

Joel nodded. “I think so, too. So does McKittrick. The girl’s name was—”

“Cecilia Sheppard,” Sam interrupted. “It was a quick google, once I knew what to look for. A missing teenage girl from Tomlinson High School eight months ago. What about the others?”

“They’ve only ID’d two of the other four. Miranda Crisp and Ricki Emerson.”

Sam noted the names on his phone. The disposable phone Joel had picked up for him last night, since his had been taken by SDPD as evidence. “Are they sure that these are the only victims?”

“No. Considering all the victims except for Jaelyn Watts were found by accident, most people believe there are more still buried.”

“In unmarked graves,” Sam murmured, remembering Jaelyn’s small grave. “How were they found by accident?”

“Dudes with metal detectors mostly.”

Sam frowned. “Like the kid who found Skyler’s body?”

“Exactly.”

“That seems convenient.”

Joel nodded. “Extremely convenient, and McKittrick already agrees. That’s why she thinks you were set up. But she has to be able to prove it.”

“And that’s not possible right now. Not unless she finds who actually did it. How far back do the murders go?”

Joel stared into his mug, then sighed. “Nearly twenty years.”

Sam’s mouth fell open. “Twenty years?”

“The first victim was found fifteen years ago, but she’d been in the ground for a few years.”

“Oh my God.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes while Sam processed this information. Twenty years? No wonder Constantine had been so emotional that night in Sam’s SUV. He’d been chasing the killer for twenty years.

And wasn’t that depressing? The cops hadn’t been able to catch this guy in twenty years? And Sam was hoping that they’d clear him soon?

He respected McKittrick, but he wasn’t going to sit around for another twenty years while young women died and his own life was ruined. “Are the missing-person reports public information?”

“Not as a blanket download. You’d have to request specific reports. Why?”

“Because there have to be other victims, and finding out who they are may tell us where they crossed paths with this bastard. The victims so far have been petite blondes who liked theater.” The theater detail had been included in Tamsin Kavanaugh’s article about Jaelyn Watts’s murder. “There are other resources for missing kids if I can’t get the missing person reports. The National Center for Missing and Exploited Children or the California clearinghouse for runaways. Someone at New Horizons might even be able to help me.” He’d been volunteering at the teen shelter for four years. One of the shelter’s full-time staff would assist him.

Joel hesitated. “I can make a request for the reports, but they’ll probably say no since you’re my friend.”

“I don’t want you to even try. I won’t put you or your job in danger, Joel.”

“I know.” Joel clapped a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I have to run. I have court this morning. Text me if anything new comes up.”

“I will.” Sam locked the door behind Joel and went back to the kitchen to wash the breakfast dishes. At least he could be a good guest.

Then he opened his laptop and started searching for petite blondes who’d gone missing in the last twenty years.

There were so many. So many shattered lives. The victims and their families.

“So get to work,” Sam told himself and poured himself another cup of coffee.