hadnât.
âYouâre going to have to prove yourself, Kitt. To Riggio. To Sal and the rest of the department. But most of all, youâre going to convince you. â
âI have to do this, donât I?â
âThatâs the way I see it.â He paused; when he spoke again, his tone was low, deep with emotion. âGo slow. Trust your instincts, but not blindly. Iâll be here for you. Anything you need.â
She thanked him and stood. She wasnât certain heâd given her the vote of confidence she longed for, but it would have to do.
In the end, the fact was, a killer had volunteered her for this game. She had no choice but to play.
13
Thursday, March 9, 2006
5:05 p.m.
H e sat at the bar, ice-cold draft in front of him, bowl of pretzels and his pack of smokes beside that. He had arrived before the after-work crowd, to get the best seat in the houseâdirectly in front of the TV that was mounted behind and above the bar.
He acknowledged excitement. Anxiety.
Would his Kitten come through for him this time?
He hoped so. He would be angry if she defied him again.
He lit a cigarette and sucked the smoke in. It had an instant calming effect on him. He smiled to himself, recalling watching her at her little daughterâs grave. Itâd been sad. And curiously sweet. He supposed he should feel bad, spying on her. Using what he learned against her.
But he didnât.
He was just that kind of guy.
Taking another drag on his cigarette, he glanced at his watch. It had been genius to ask her to call him Peanut. It had rattled her, big-time. As had calling on her cell phone. Both proved he meant business. That he knew his shit and wasnât afraid to play dirty to get what he wanted.
Genius. He liked the sound of that.
Damn but he liked being him.
The News at Five began in earnest. Top story of the day: âThe Return of the Sleeping Angel Killer.â
They showed a picture of Julie Entzel. Then of his Little Angels. Their narrative was over the top. Typical media.
They cut to a breaking press conference. And there she was, his Kitten. He hung on her few words. They were exploring every lead. Studying all the evidence. They had no proof they were even dealing with the same killer.
Blahâ¦blahâ¦blahâ¦
The other detective was with her, Mary Catherine Riggio. Taking a back seat. Standing quietly at his Kittenâs side. Expression set. Grim. Not a bit happy about this turn of events. About her sweet, career-making case being stolen out from under her nose. He almost laughed out loud.
Of course, not a word about a copycat. No mention of communication from someone claiming to be the SAK. No indeed.
She closed the brief conference by assuring the media that they would catch this monster, that he would not get away with this heinous murder.
But he already had.
He smiled to himself and stood. Good girl, Kitten. Stay tuned, thereâs lots more fun to come.
14
Thursday, March 9, 2006
7:30 p.m.
K itt had been attending Alcoholics Anonymous for eighteen months. The department shrink, and consequently her chief, had required her to complete a twelve-step program before they would allow her back on the job.
She truly hadnât thought she needed it. That attending had been nothing more than a hoop the department wanted her to jump through. She hadnât turned to alcohol until her life fell apart. Sheâd thought that made her different, not really an alcoholic.
Little by little, she had seen how wrong she was.
She had realized, too, she needed the support and understanding of fellow alcoholics. They had become a kind of surrogate family. They were privy to her most secret thoughts and feelings, the demons that chased her and the longings of her heart.
She had become particularly close to three of her fellow AA members: Wally, an unemployed machine-shop supervisor who lost his job and two fingers because of drinking on the job; Sandy, a homemaker
âYouâre going to have to prove yourself, Kitt. To Riggio. To Sal and the rest of the department. But most of all, youâre going to convince you. â
âI have to do this, donât I?â
âThatâs the way I see it.â He paused; when he spoke again, his tone was low, deep with emotion. âGo slow. Trust your instincts, but not blindly. Iâll be here for you. Anything you need.â
She thanked him and stood. She wasnât certain heâd given her the vote of confidence she longed for, but it would have to do.
In the end, the fact was, a killer had volunteered her for this game. She had no choice but to play.
13
Thursday, March 9, 2006
5:05 p.m.
H e sat at the bar, ice-cold draft in front of him, bowl of pretzels and his pack of smokes beside that. He had arrived before the after-work crowd, to get the best seat in the houseâdirectly in front of the TV that was mounted behind and above the bar.
He acknowledged excitement. Anxiety.
Would his Kitten come through for him this time?
He hoped so. He would be angry if she defied him again.
He lit a cigarette and sucked the smoke in. It had an instant calming effect on him. He smiled to himself, recalling watching her at her little daughterâs grave. Itâd been sad. And curiously sweet. He supposed he should feel bad, spying on her. Using what he learned against her.
But he didnât.
He was just that kind of guy.
Taking another drag on his cigarette, he glanced at his watch. It had been genius to ask her to call him Peanut. It had rattled her, big-time. As had calling on her cell phone. Both proved he meant business. That he knew his shit and wasnât afraid to play dirty to get what he wanted.
Genius. He liked the sound of that.
Damn but he liked being him.
The News at Five began in earnest. Top story of the day: âThe Return of the Sleeping Angel Killer.â
They showed a picture of Julie Entzel. Then of his Little Angels. Their narrative was over the top. Typical media.
They cut to a breaking press conference. And there she was, his Kitten. He hung on her few words. They were exploring every lead. Studying all the evidence. They had no proof they were even dealing with the same killer.
Blahâ¦blahâ¦blahâ¦
The other detective was with her, Mary Catherine Riggio. Taking a back seat. Standing quietly at his Kittenâs side. Expression set. Grim. Not a bit happy about this turn of events. About her sweet, career-making case being stolen out from under her nose. He almost laughed out loud.
Of course, not a word about a copycat. No mention of communication from someone claiming to be the SAK. No indeed.
She closed the brief conference by assuring the media that they would catch this monster, that he would not get away with this heinous murder.
But he already had.
He smiled to himself and stood. Good girl, Kitten. Stay tuned, thereâs lots more fun to come.
14
Thursday, March 9, 2006
7:30 p.m.
K itt had been attending Alcoholics Anonymous for eighteen months. The department shrink, and consequently her chief, had required her to complete a twelve-step program before they would allow her back on the job.
She truly hadnât thought she needed it. That attending had been nothing more than a hoop the department wanted her to jump through. She hadnât turned to alcohol until her life fell apart. Sheâd thought that made her different, not really an alcoholic.
Little by little, she had seen how wrong she was.
She had realized, too, she needed the support and understanding of fellow alcoholics. They had become a kind of surrogate family. They were privy to her most secret thoughts and feelings, the demons that chased her and the longings of her heart.
She had become particularly close to three of her fellow AA members: Wally, an unemployed machine-shop supervisor who lost his job and two fingers because of drinking on the job; Sandy, a homemaker
Similar Books
