Judgment

by Carey Baldwin

  From her question, Spense understood that Caity had expected the other members of the task force to attend the meeting today. She’d accepted his invitation to help develop a profile for the shooter-­slasher-­poisoner, just like he’d known she eventually would. Now the determined looked on her face and her eager questions, signaled to Spense, she was in this for the long haul. Not surprising. After all, her father’s old friend had been murdered, and another man, criminal though he might have been, had died before her eyes. And Caity had been quick to note the killer’s signature, removing a piece of temporal bone, was the same for both Sally Cartwright and Darlene Dillinger—­the pharmacy tech. That had to have set the wheels in her head spinning. But the cherry on top, the bit that made Spense one hundred percent confident Caity’s change of heart would last, was that Judd Kramer had given her a personal gift, a mysterious clue whispered directly in her ear. Of course she wanted in on the investigation. A smile tugged at his mouth, but he suppressed it. At this point, if he hadn’t already invited her, Caity probably would’ve begged him to let her in on the case, and the prospect of working with her instead of against her pleased him more than a little.

  “Why won’t the others be joining us?” Her lips parted slightly, and he had to look away to keep his concentration on the topic at hand.

  Herrera leveled an intent look at Caity. “Because at this stage of the game we don’t want to contaminate the process. If you’re going to be part of this, your first lesson is that a good profiler starts from the crime and works backward, not from the suspect forward. If I bring a bunch of detectives in here, and they start jawing about who they like for the murders, that could skew your profile. And a bad profile could throw the investigation way off course.”

  “I think I see. We don’t want to come up with a profile to fit our suspect. We want to come up with a suspect who fits our profile.”

  “Exactly. However, once you’ve constructed a profile, we may throw the suspects at you and let you tell us who sticks, but first, we need that uncontaminated work product.”

  “I have to admit that in a warped kind of way I’m looking forward to this.” Caity’s voice contained a note of controlled enthusiasm.

  Spense sent Herrera an I-­told-­you-­so look. He enjoyed nothing more than solving a good puzzle, the tougher the better, and Caity—­she was cut from the same cloth whether she knew it or not.

  Herrera ignored his look, keeping her focus on Caity. “This isn’t going to be easy, Caitlin. You understand what we’re asking you to do?”

  Spense chimed in, “We’re asking you to put yourself inside the mind of a killer, and that can be a very dark place.” He warned her, because he knew Herrera expected him to, but he also knew Caity had placed herself inside the minds of killers before. From what he’d heard, in her quest to differentiate the innocent from the guilty, she’d talked to almost as many murderers as the entire group of FBI investigators assigned to the Serial Murder Study. She was driven to understand the criminal mind, and the reason wasn’t hard to figure—­at least not for Spense. Caity wanted to be able to recognize a killer by his psyche because she needed to be one hundred percent certain her father hadn’t been one. Unfortunately, Spense wasn’t at all sure that was the case.

  “I’m fully prepared to place myself in the killer’s head, to see the world from his perspective. I’ll eat breathe and sleep the UNSUB if it will help. In fact, I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to help catch this . . . bastard.” Even her expletives were uttered in a soft, collected voice.

  “Great. Then I just need to clear up one other matter before I give you two my blessing.”

  If Herrera hadn’t had his full attention before, she did now. “What other matter?”

  “Not to worry. Caitlin’s got her security clearance, and we’ve got the thumbs-­up to bring her in as an outside consultant. I can have the contracts ready to sign within the hour.”

  “Then what’s the problem?” he asked, impatience coming through in his tone. This was his boss’s call, not Herrera’s.

  “I hope there isn’t one.” Herrera spread her arms as if she were gathering them all together into a huddle. “The decision rests with your ASAC at the BAU, but if I’m going to recommend this partnership to him, I need to know the exact nature of your relationship.”

  “No relationship,” he and Caity said in unison.

  Herrera’s eyebrows inched up, and she sent them a dubiously tilted gaze. “Okay, then I need to know the exact nature of your nonrelationship.”

  He glanced at Caity and tried to telegraph that the ball was in her court. However she wanted to spin it, he’d go along.

  “Spense invited me to his bed, and I declined.” No blush colored Caity’s cheeks. No hesitation punctuated her words.

  Apparently, she didn’t want to spin it any way at all.

  “Under what circumstance? Are there unresolved issues between you?” Herrera asked.

  “It was four years ago. Spense and I happened to sit next to each other at a lecture at Johns Hopkins. The topic was spree killers versus mass murderers—­romantic, don’t you think? We introduced ourselves, exchanged a few polite comments, and learned we were both staying at the Belvedere, so we shared a cab back to the hotel.”

  Spense kicked back in his chair and stretched his legs, more than a little curious to hear Caity’s version of what he’d come to think of as the incident.

  “We had a drink in the bar—­and I’m sure you can figure the rest.”

  Caity hadn’t been drunk, but she had been sporting a buzz. She’d been relaxed and half-­giddy, and if he’d only known what a departure that was for her, he would’ve tried to appreciate it more. As he recalled, she’d laughed at his jokes—­all of them. Tugging at his collar, he forced himself not to stare at her hands, which were now folded on the tabletop, one little finger offering the occasional twitch. He doubted she was aware of that tiny tell of hers.

  “Later, it turned out we were both in town consulting on the same case. Discussing the matter further would’ve put us in an awkward situation, and I certainly wasn’t interested in pursuing a social relationship with Spense after that, so we simply agreed to put the matter behind us and proceed as if it never happened.”

  “We never agreed to anything. When I found out Caity and I were on the same case, I thought we should clear the air. But she wouldn’t take my calls. And yes, it’s affected our present relationship.” He turned to Caity. “You can’t hide from Herrera. She’s like a human lie detector.”

  “I’m not hiding anything.” Caity pushed to her feet, defiantly, if a little slowly. “I have the utmost respect for Agent Spenser. He saved my life, for goodness’ sake, and I’d be pleased to be part of the investigation. I see no reason why a personal incident that happened four years ago should prevent us from partnering up professionally. I have no hard feelings.”

  It was on the tip of his tongue to make a snappy comeback about how hard his feelings were, but he bit it back. “No problem on my part either. I’m eager to take advantage of Dr. Cassidy’s expertise.”

  “You’re going to be staying in the same apartment. Please, make sure that’s all you take advantage of. ­People talk, and I’d hate to find out after the fact that I made the stupid decision to recommend putting two ­people together who can’t keep things professional. So don’t make me look like an ass with the BAU, Spense. I’ve worked too hard to have you screw up my chances of making profiler because you can’t keep it in your pants.”

  “Thank you, Gretchen, but I don’t need you to admonish Spense on my behalf. I can look out for myself.”

  Herrera’s eyebrows didn’t inch up this time. They jumped to her hairline. “My mistake. I see that now. So, if you’re both certain, let’s get started.” She shoved several large manila envelopes across the table. “I’ve put together a set of comprehensive case materials. You’re going t
o need this to generate a profile for the task force. Inside, you’ll find a synopsis of the crime and the environment at the time of the crime, autopsy and forensics reports . . .”

  “What do you mean by a synopsis of the environment?” Caity’s interest seemed to have shifted entirely to the case and away from him.

  “Weather, the political and socioeconomic climate. There’s also in-­depth background information on all the victims, but we’re hoping you’ll fill in even more on Judd Kramer, based on your clinical interviews. And you’ll also have access to the medical examiner’s findings and conclusions. That should be enough to get you started. I’ll expect a preliminary profile by tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow. Sure, I don’t see why we can’t have everything analyzed by then.” Hands at her side, he saw Caity’s little finger jerk.

  Spense leaned over and offered a handshake to his new partner. “Welcome to the world of criminal investigative analysis, Caity.”

  Herrera said her good-­byes and was making her way toward the door, when she turned to send them a considered look. “And guys, try not to get too distracted by this Man in the Maze business. Just work the profile, the way you know how. Lives depend on you getting it right.”

  Chapter Seven

  Thursday, September 12

  Tuscan Meadows

  Phoenix, Arizona

  A PARTIALLY OPENED door and the strains of Taylor Swift welcomed Dizzy Leonard to the party. Filling her lungs with a deep breath of courage, she pushed her shoulder against the ornately carved wood and dared step foot inside Lila Busby’s home.

  She invited you.

  That’s what Mom’d said, and Mom wouldn’t lie. Her mother’s happy face had told her it was true. This wasn’t some mean-­girl gag. She’d really and truly been invited to Lila’s sixteenth birthday. And now here she was with the ceramic kitten she’d bought with money she’d earned pooper-­scooping Mrs. Grogan’s yard, wrapped in shiny red paper and tied with blue ribbon. The blue ribbon would distract from the Christmas paper, and though Dizzy had worried the gift might be too juvenile, she’d heard from Andy Bower that Lila loved ceramic kittens. Lila had an entire collection of porcelain felines according to him. The thought that Andy would lie was as inconceivable to Dizzy as the thought of Mom lying. He just wouldn’t, that’s all.

  She smoothed back her short hair, glad she’d taken the time to straighten it for once. Remembering how its usual mousy brown had gleamed in the mirror when she was done, she resolved to keep up her appearance better from now on. The nervous, fluttery feeling that had taken over her stomach when Mom let her out of the car was still there, but this was a case of mind over matter. Mom wanted her to have friends. She wanted to have friends. And now, for the first time since she’d taken those pills, the girls at school were giving her a chance. She bent the stiff corners of her mouth into a smile, raised her chin, and walked straight into the most beautiful living room she’d ever seen—­except in a magazine, of course.

  Columns had been painted onto the walls, creating the illusion they held up the high ceilings. The marble coffee table had fancy claw legs, and there were big, colored urns everywhere. Dizzy had never seen so many urns . . . and the window coverings . . . Dizzy put a hand on her heart.

  Real drapes.

  At home, the curtains were so thin you could see right through them, and Dizzy had to hide in the bathroom to change clothes. Lila Busby’s family was rich. Lila was as pretty and popular as Dizzy was . . . not. Lila had fake columns and real drapes. But what really gave Dizzy that less-­than feeling was the fact that Lila Busby had Andy Bower. Their names even sounded good together. Dizzy’s smile tightened. That was okay. She just wanted to have friends, so Mom would stop worrying. And Andy wasn’t exactly within her reach anyway.

  As she psyched herself up to walk through the room toward the sounds of voices and music, she felt a hand on the small of her back and jumped, nearly dropping her gift.

  “Is that the kitten?” Andy took the box from her hand and turned it around, examining it.

  Breathless, Dizzy nodded. She tried not to, but she couldn’t help staring at the long black lashes that framed Andy’s ice blue eyes. His face was manly enough for the longest lashes. He could wear fake ones and still not look like a sissy. Andy gave the box a shake, and she reached out, not wanting him to break the kitten.

  “Don’t worry, Diz. She’s gonna love it. C’mon. The party’s this way.” He tweaked her nose, set the gift on a table crowded with boxes and bows, and tugged on her hand.

  She barely remembered the short walk to the kitchen. Andy had her by the hand, and she could feel her palm sweating, her arm trembling all the way to her shoulder. Taylor Swift was still on, and it was almost like she was singing to them.

  Almost.

  As soon as Andy caught sight of Lila, standing over by the chips and dip, he jerked his hand away from Dizzy and went to slip his arm around Lila’s waist. The house was big, but it seemed the whole party had crowded into the kitchen, and the conversation buzzed loudly in her ears. Between that and the music, she couldn’t make out what Andy said to Lila. Then her body went stiff, and her throat constricted. She could hear what Lila was saying, shouting really, just fine.

  “What the fuck is she doing in my house?” Lila had a big piece of cake on a small paper plate in her hand. She stuck a plastic fork in the cake and headed straight over to Dizzy. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Lila repeated.

  “I-­I . . . Happy birthday, Lila.” She pointed to the gift table in the living room. “I brought you a present.”

  For a moment, Lila looked like she might be glad to see Dizzy after all. “What is it?”

  “A kitten. For your collection.” Dizzy’s shoulders lowered from where they’d risen around her ears. Lila liked kittens. And she’d invited her. There was nothing to worry about.

  “O.M.G.” Lila looked around the room. “A toy kitten. Guys, Dumb Dizzy got me a fucking toy kitten.”

  Dizzy heard more buzzing in her ears. Andy was bent at the waist laughing. A lot of the kids were laughing, but not Lila. Lila was scowling and pointing to the door with one hand, her paper plate wobbling in the other. “Get the fuck out, loser!”

  Dizzy’s chin dropped, and she felt tears welling in her eyes. She started to go, but then hesitated and turned back to Lila, suddenly filled with the need to speak up for herself. “You invited me,” she whispered.

  Lila showed her teeth, like some wild angry animal. “I wouldn’t invite a loser who tags after my boyfriend . . . like a kitten. My mother sent that invitation because your mother told the principal you don’t have any friends.” Lila raised the hand that held her plate.

  A sick premonition of what Lila was about to do came over Dizzy, but she didn’t feel like standing up for herself anymore. So she didn’t. She just stood there and waited for Lila to smash the plate into her face.

  “Bye-­bye, Dizzy. I hope you enjoyed your cake.”

  Chapter Eight

  Thursday, September 12

  Rutherford Towers

  Phoenix, Arizona

  SPENSE HAD SETTLED Caitlin on his couch with a knit throw his mother had given him over her legs and three pillows behind her back. She would’ve argued it wasn’t necessary to make a fuss, but this was her first day out of the hospital, and she’d been on her feet most of the day. It really did feel good to take the weight off. The two-­bedroom apartment the Bureau had found for Spense was small but well suited for their needs.

  He hadn’t been kidding about the extra security. They’d not only had to swipe a pass card to enter, they’d had to stop and sign in with a guard on the first floor, then use a different card to access the elevator. Cameras scanned every inch of the building’s public areas. Were it not for the fact the killer had already proven his cunning at evading security, she would’ve felt quite at ease here. But as matters s
tood, until this UNSUB was in custody, she wouldn’t feel truly safe anywhere.

  Her eyes came to rest on her pistol, which she’d placed within reach on the coffee table. From the day her father had been designated as a person of interest in the Falconer murder, her family had started receiving death threats. Even before she was of legal age, her mother had given her a revolver. Caitlin had carried that revolver for a few years, then traded it in for a semiautomatic pistol—­and she’d never looked back. Her current defensive weapon of choice was an easy-­to-­conceal Ruger LCP. With a barrel length under three inches and a loaded weight of under a pound, it fit her hand and was small enough to stash in her purse with room left over for a lipstick—­or in her case, a Chapstick. She wasn’t a crack shot, and her subcompact pistol wasn’t going to drop a criminal from any distance, but up close and personal, she felt confident she could hit her mark. A heavy sigh lifted her chest, but she held on to it. Ironic that after all these years, her life was once again in danger over a crime she had no part in because yet another outraged citizen felt the need to take the law into his hands.

  Except . . . something about the vigilante theory didn’t feel right. Don’t get distracted by the Man in the Maze. That’s what Special Agent Gretchen Herrera had advised. But Caitlin’s mind kept returning to Kramer’s whispered words.

  Since she had absolutely no idea who or what the Man in the Maze could be, it wasn’t likely the profiling process would be contaminated merely by taking Kramer’s words into account. She wasn’t a criminal investigative analyst by trade, but she didn’t agree with Gretchen on this particular point. Judd Kramer had given them a clue that was intriguing enough to be straight out of one of Harry Bosch’s case files. Maybe Baskin and his crew hadn’t been as interested in this nugget as she thought they might have been, and maybe Herrera had warned them off the topic altogether for now, but she and Spense were about to brainstorm, and to Caitlin that meant every clue, every detail of the case was up for discussion. One thing she knew for certain about the brain: censoring ideas was the surest way to thwart insight and understanding.