Page 4

Mission Valley, San Diego, California

Sunday, January 8, 9:00 a.m.

Sam winced as Kit brought the car to a stop in front of the apartment building where the owner of Jennifer’s Body Shop resided. He’d just finished reading the plot of the movie the body shop was named for. “This is horrible.”

“Duh,” Connor said. “It’s a horror movie. You haven’t seen it?”

“Ah, no. No horror movies for me. They give me nightmares.”

“Me too,” Kit said. “I figure I see enough on the job. I don’t need to be watching films about murder, too.”

Sam figured that was true enough. He’d already seen more death than he’d ever wanted to see, and that was before he’d become their criminal psychologist.

Sam looked up at the apartment building. “What do you know about Jennifer Porter?”

“She’s full owner of Jennifer’s Body Shop,” Connor said. “Forty-two, no criminal record, one registered handgun. She specializes in wraps but also rebuilds muscle cars. The photos on her website are amazing. If I had a hot car, I’d get her to wrap it.”

Sam twisted around to look back at Connor. He felt a little guilty for taking the front seat when Connor was so clearly uncomfortable in the back, but they’d done rock, paper, scissors, and everyone knew that was sacrosanct. No takebacks.

“Why don’t you have a hot car?” Sam asked. “You drive a Toyota, just like I do.”

“I had one,” Connor said morosely. “But CeCe said it was a death trap.”

“It was,” Kit inserted. “She was one hundred percent right.”

Connor huffed. “Maybe. So I sold it.”

“Poor baby,” Kit drawled. “What about the boyfriend? Bran? Did you find anything on him?”

“I did. Bran Reynolds is thirty-five and has a graphic arts degree. He has a website showing his designs and Norton Landscaping is one of them. He lives here with Jennifer.”

“Cozy,” Kit said. “Let’s see what they have to say about David Norton’s trailer.”

The elevator was broken, so they hauled themselves up four flights of stairs to Jennifer Porter’s apartment.

“We can skip leg day today,” Sam muttered.

Connor chuckled. “I never skip leg day.”

Sam just sighed. He knew that was true. He now played squash with Connor a few times a month. Connor was fast and strong. Sam was still skipping leg day.

Kit knocked briskly, then stepped back, pulling out her badge.

Jennifer opened the door and scowled. She had bright red hair with a line of dark roots. It shot out in all directions, probably not having seen a brush yet that morning. She was medium height, solidly built, her arm muscles defined and covered in tattoos.

“Not interested,” she said and started to close the door.

“Ma’am?” Kit interrupted. “We’re with SDPD. I’m Detective McKittrick. These are my colleagues, Detective Robinson and Dr.Reeves. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

Jennifer’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of questions?”

“About your business, ma’am.” Connor pulled the screenshot of the trailer from his pocket. “Did you make this trailer wrap?”

“Yes. Why? I do lots of wraps for David Norton. We finished that one this past week.”

“He says he didn’t order this one,” Kit said. “That it’s not his.”

Jennifer frowned. “Well, he’s lying. I saw his name on the invoice. What’s this about?”

“We believe the trailer was used in the commission of a crime,” Connor said. “We’re trying to track it down.”

Jennifer pulled her phone from her pocket and began to type. Eyes wide, she looked up at them. “McKittrick and Robinson. You’re Homicide.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Kit said. “I hope you can help us track down the customer of this wrap, if it wasn’t David Norton.”

“I know I saw his name on the invoice,” she said, clearly rattled. “Come in. I’ll check my records. Bran? The cops are here.”

A younger man stepped out of the kitchen. “What’s going on? Is it Shelley?”

“No. It’s about that wrap we did for Norton Landscaping. Please, Detectives. Sit down.” She left the room for a moment, returning with her laptop. She sat in a recliner, and Bran perched on the arm. “There has to be some mistake,” she said as she typed. “David Norton and I have been doing business for years.”

“Was this a new design?” Connor asked.

Bran nodded. “It was. He emailed me about it.”

“Did either of you talk to him?” Kit asked.

Jennifer shook her head. “Not recently. Bran set up online ordering and it’s made dealing with customers so much easier.”

“Everything’s in writing and the designs are approved online,” Bran explained. “Much less stressful than dealing with them face-to-face or on the phone. David approved this design himself. It was for a much larger trailer, so everything had to be resized.”

“Did you see David Norton when he picked up the finished trailer?” Connor asked.

Another shake of Jennifer’s head. “I didn’t.”

“Ask Shelley,” Bran said quietly.

Jennifer shot Bran a glare. “She’s not answering my calls or texts. You know that.”

Bran sighed. “I know. But I was hoping that she might be back from wherever she went by now.”

Jennifer pointed to her screen. “I don’t have to call her. There are special instructions on this order. He dropped off the trailer the night before we were due to start. It was picked up the same way—after hours. He was to call the office with his credit card to pay the balance before he picked it up since we’d be closed.” Her mouth fell open. “Wait a minute. He never paid for the wrap. Sonofabitch. Norton always pays his bills at the time of pickup.”

Bran made a frustrated sound. “That email address is one letter off his normal.”

Jennifer gasped softly. “You’re right.” She met Kit’s eyes. “Were we cheated?”

“We don’t know,” Kit said. “When was it dropped off and picked up?”

“Dropped off on Monday after hours and picked up Tuesday, also after hours. We never do pickups after hours unless the client has paid in full in advance. I need to talk to Shelley, because I didn’t authorize this. Norton is a good client, but I never would have let him take the finished trailer without paying for it.”

Sam believed her. It looked like Kit did, too.

“Miss Porter, wait,” Kit said when the woman started to dial a number on her cell phone. “Tell me about Shelley. How well do you know her?”

“She’s my sister’s kid,” Jennifer said, visibly upset. “She’s nineteen and kind of a screw-up, but she’s really trying to get her life back on track. She’s an addict but she went to rehab and she’s been clean.”

“For two weeks,” Bran muttered.

Jennifer gave him a warning glare. “I gave Shelley a job several months ago. Before she went into rehab. She did steal some money before rehab, but she’s been okay since she came back. I don’t know what happened here.”

“Don’t call her yet,” Connor said. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. Where does she live?”

Sam didn’t have a good feeling about Jennifer’s niece. From the look in Connor’s eyes, neither did he.

“Fifteen minutes away, with my sister. But I haven’t seen her since Tuesday afternoon. She sent me a text on Tuesday night, said she was taking off the rest of the week. That she’d be back on Monday. I wasn’t happy about it, but there wasn’t anything I could do. She never answered my calls or texts. I’m going to read her the riot act when she comes in tomorrow. But if she met the guy who ordered that wrap…You said he killed someone?”

“We don’t know for sure,” Connor said. “But it looks like it.”

Jennifer wrung her hands. “If he hurt her…”

“Give us her address and we’ll go check on her,” Kit promised.

Jennifer’s chin lifted. “I’m going to follow you in my car. Bran?”

“You know I’ll come with you. Let me put away the eggs and we can go.”

Kit wanted to argue with them. Sam could almost see the words she wanted to say. But in the end, she only nodded. “Of course.”

Wordlessly they descended the four flights of stairs, the three of them getting into the department car. The mood was heavy as they drove to Jennifer’s sister’s small house, Jennifer and Bran following behind.

Kit stopped Jennifer and Bran when they started to accompany them up to the house. “Wait here on the sidewalk. Please.”

“Fuck,” Connor muttered as he, Sam, and Kit approached the house, and Sam knew exactly what they’d find inside. The stench of death was unmistakable.

Kit gave the house a visual once-over. “How come nobody reported this? They had to have smelled it.”

The neighborhood wasn’t great. Sam imagined that most people minded their own business here.

Connor pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and covered his nose and mouth. “You might want to wait outside, Sam.”

“I’m with you,” Sam said, even though he thought he’d throw up any moment.

Kit shrugged. “Your call. It won’t be pretty.”

Sam looked over his shoulder at Jennifer, who stood with Bran at the bottom of the driveway, a hand clasped over her mouth and horrified tears running down her cheeks. It appeared that they understood the significance of Connor’s handkerchief. “Let’s get this over with. She’s going to need support.”

Kit pulled on a pair of disposable gloves and twisted the door handle. It opened with no resistance, and Sam gagged.

“Fuck,” Connor said once again.

Fuck indeed.

Because lying on the living room floor was a young woman of about nineteen and an older woman who bore a resemblance to Jennifer Porter. Both had their throats slit, just like Brooks Munro.

“He killed them, too,” Connor said. “Goddammit.”

“I’ll call it in,” Kit said heavily. “Connor, let’s check the house. Whoever did this is probably long gone, but we need to be sure.”

“I’ll see to Jennifer,” Sam said. It was what he knew best. Comfort and support. Jennifer Porter was going to need a lot of both.

San Diego, California

Sunday, January 8, 12:30 p.m.

“Lunch delivery,” Kit said as she dropped the sandwich on Alicia’s desk.

Dr.Alicia Batra looked up at Kit. “You’re turning into your mother, always feeding me.”

Kit grinned, even though her heart hurt. The sound of Jennifer Porter’s sobs still echoed in her mind. She’d heard those sobs before. Sometimes out of her own mouth.

It was a shock, losing someone to a violent murder.

Luckily, Sam had been there. The man had said and done all the right things, making sure that Jennifer and Bran had gotten home safely.

“If I grow up to be Betsy McKittrick, I’ll die happy.”

Unwrapping the sandwich, Alicia gestured to the chair next to her desk. “Where’s Connor?”

“He’ll be up. We were trying to interview the security guard from Munro’s community about the trailer when you called. He wasn’t home, so we have to go back later, plus a million other interviews. Connor’s calling his girlfriend to let her know he won’t be coming home for dinner.”

“Neither am I,” Alicia said dryly. “I now have two more bodies in my morgue. And don’t ask me for their time of death because I haven’t started their exams. I just finished Brooks Munro’s, which was why I called you in.” She paused, frowning. “You okay, hon?”

Kit gave herself a shake, unable to erase the memory of Jennifer’s sobs. “The victims’ relative followed us to the scene. She was…well, you know.”

“I know,” Alicia murmured. “It’s hard when the families come in to identify bodies. I guess I’m lucky in that it doesn’t happen with every exam I have to do.”

“Sam was with us. He was so good with the victims’ family. It left me free to do my job.”

“That’s sweet. So…what did you find at this newest scene?”

“A lot of blood. Signs of a struggle. The younger victim—Shelley—had sent a text to her aunt at eight p.m. on Tuesday night, so she was probably alive then. If her killer didn’t send the text himself later. Knowing the actual time of death will be helpful.”

“I’ll get you TOD as soon as I can, but it’s not going to be as precise as you want it to be. I can only give you facts about Munro for now. His killer used a sharp, thin blade. But only on his throat and legs.”

Kit narrowed her eyes. “What does that mean?”

“Yeah,” Connor said, closing Alicia’s office door as he entered the room. “What does that mean?”

“Come and see.” Alicia led them into the exam area, where Munro’s body still lay on the steel table. A sheet was draped over the lower half of his body.

“I always think they’re going to look better after you’ve cleaned them up,” Connor murmured. “But they don’t.”

“Not my job, thankfully,” Alicia said. “I leave that to the morticians. Although Munro’s going to have a closed casket. Y’know. His face. Plus, his head.”

Kit had expected the ravaged face— thanks, cute desert creatures —but there was damage to his head that hadn’t been apparent when she and Sam had found him.

The sides of his head were dented in.

“Holy shit,” Kit said. “What did his killer do to him?”

“Smashed the hell out of his head,” Alicia said. “The wounds on either side of his head are similar in area and depth. This wasn’t an assault with a blunt object. Constant and heavy pressure was applied.”

“A vise?” Connor asked.

“That was my guess,” Alicia said. “Someone tortured this victim.”

“I figured that from the slices in his skin,” Kit said.

“Let’s talk about those. He’s got twenty-five stab wounds in addition to the slit throat. Twenty in the chest and abdominal areas, two in the back, one on the back of each leg, and one in his groin. He’s missing all his fingers and toes. But the groin wound is grisly. Connor, prepare yourself.” She pulled the sheet back, and even Kit winced.

The man’s genitalia had been mutilated.

Connor cleared his throat. “Premortem or post?”

“Definitely premortem. This guy was alive for everything that was done to him. Whether he was conscious for all of it is another question, but he was conscious for at least part of it. The abrasions at his wrists and ankles indicate a struggle. But the abrasions are deep. He was tied tightly. But that’s not why I called you two in. Each of these wounds is different. Different size, depth, and angle. There appears to have been at least four weapons used.” She pointed to one of the shallower wounds. “The blade went deep enough to hurt, but not enough to cause real damage. The blade used was nonserrated and sharp. I’m thinking a box cutter or a utility knife. The cuts are uniformly deep.”

“Okay,” Kit said. “And the others?”

“Not so fast. These cuts are uniformly deep, but they are all angled differently, just like the deeper wounds. In addition to the utility knife, you’ve got a serrated blade, a super thin blade, like a stiletto, and finally a thick blade, like a survival knife. I’m estimating it was about a quarter inch thick, which is hefty for a knife. But all the wounds, no matter what blade was used, are all angled differently.”

“Different hands,” Kit murmured. Which was a complication. How many hands? How many doers?

“That’s what I think,” Alicia agreed. “There are also indications of hesitation on a few of the cuts. The slices on the legs were done with the stiletto-style blade that cut his throat. They severed the victim’s tendons. He couldn’t have run away, even if he hadn’t been tied.”

Kit fought a shudder. “I mean…we know people hated Munro, but…wow.”

“Yeah.” Alicia sighed. “I think his fingers and toes were removed with the thick blade. It would have been hefty enough to slice through bone and cartilage.”

“Fucking hell.” Connor cleared his throat again. “How many stabbers are we potentially talking about?”

“Could be up to twenty.”

Kit didn’t want to think about that. “Or one guy deliberately making it look like there were multiple hands.”

Alicia shrugged. “Maybe. I think, at a minimum, the same hand cut his throat and sliced the tendons in his calves. There was bandage residue around the deepest cuts. And the severed digits. He was given first aid, at least enough to keep him alive. The deepest wound in his gut had sand in the tissues, deep down. Like the sand was on the knife when he was stabbed.”

“So that wound was made at the scene of his death,” Connor said.

“I’d say so. That wound alone would have been enough to kill him, but the slit throat was the mechanism of death. None of the other wounds had sand at the deepest point, so I don’t believe they were done at the same time. The sand was nearer to the skin surface, probably blown in after his body was left behind.”

“Can you tell over what time period the stab wounds were made?” Connor asked.

Alicia shrugged. “At least a day. Maybe two. His fingers were first, I think. That’s all I got. The rest is your job.”

“Yay,” Kit said sarcastically. “So his killer arranges for a wrap to be made for a large trailer, kills the body shop assistant who was likely there when he picked up the trailer—”

“And her mother,” Connor interrupted.

“And her mother,” Kit confirmed. “He then drives to Munro’s neighborhood the next day posing as a landscaper, grabs Munro and his Ferrari, does some damage to Munro there in his garage, then…what? He takes him somewhere else where a mob goes all Murder on the Orient Express on him?”

“Don’t forget the money,” Connor said.

Kit nodded. “Munro took fifty Gs from the account he shared with his wife the same day that he was nabbed.”

“I have no idea how much it costs to wrap a trailer big enough to fit a car,” Alicia said, “but maybe Munro’s killers used the money he took out of his account to pay the body shop.”

“Nah,” Kit said. “They stiffed poor Jennifer.”

Alicia frowned. “Rude.”

Kit laughed. Outsiders might be offended, but this was how they dealt with the darker aspects of their job. “My point is, this was an elaborate setup. It took planning. If it was a mob, someone’s going to talk, sooner or later. They won’t be able to help themselves. Either they’ll want to confess or they’ll want to brag.”

Connor made a face. “Hope they break sooner versus later. We’re late for the deadline Navarro set for today’s update. He’s probably getting all kinds of questions from the higher-ups.”

Kit sighed. “I know. I’ve been putting it off, but it’s time to bite the bullet. Let’s go talk to the boss. Let us know if you find anything important when you autopsy the newest victims.”

“Will do.” Alicia waved. “Thanks for the sandwich.”

San Diego PD, San Diego, California

Sunday, January 8, 1:45 p.m.

“Where did he get the trailer to begin with?” Navarro asked.

Kit had a headache and was craving a quiet moment. “Good question. We need to check the reports of stolen vehicles. We also need subpoenas for Munro’s bank records. He transferred fifty grand from his and Wilhelmina’s joint account to one of his personal accounts on Wednesday. That was the last day he was seen alive. We need to know where that money went.”

Navarro frowned. “What do you think about Dr.Batra’s theory of more than one killer?”

Kit shrugged. “It’s certainly possible. We’ve already got a suspect list a mile long. A lot of people seemed to have loved him, according to the printed-out emails we found in his home office. Lots of fawning and gratitude for things he’d done for them. But a whole lot of people hated him, too. There were nearly as many threats as thank-yous. We’re assuming that if Munro was stabbed by multiple people, at least one person was in charge. Someone needed to plan for the trailer and for the stab fest, if there was one.”

“You sound skeptical,” Navarro noted.

Kit shrugged again. “No, just…I’m afraid to pick a path this early. We don’t have enough information.” She glanced at Connor, who appeared deep in thought. “What?”

“Why Anza-Borrego? Why not leave him in the trailer and park it somewhere? He wasn’t worried about someone finding Shelley and her mother. Why try to hide Munro’s body? He couldn’t have believed we wouldn’t trace the trailer.”

“You’re right,” Kit said. “I don’t know.”

“Well, find out,” Navarro snapped. “And quickly.”

Kit had to bite back a retort. Navarro was their boss, after all. “We could use some help running down leads and shortening our suspect list. You said that you’d give us some help.”

“Marshall and Ashton just finished a case. They’re yours for now. Have them do the paperwork. Background checks of your lead suspects, subpoenas of Munro’s accounts, that kind of thing. I want you two interviewing witnesses. Figure out if it was one guy or a group. But quickly.”

“We got that part,” Kit muttered. “Can we get a subpoena of Wilhelmina’s finances, too? She had motive and means. She has more than enough money to hire this done.”

Navarro grimaced. “You’ll need to get more evidence, I think. She was the one who called it in.”

“Because—” Kit stopped, a thought popping into her mind. “Because she got that email about Munro overdrawing their joint account. What if he did that on purpose?”

Connor’s eyes narrowed as he nodded. “You could be right. Let’s say whoever entered his home on Wednesday wanted money. He could have forced Munro to move the funds.”

“And Munro chose their joint account, knowing his wife would raise a fuss,” Kit finished. “That suggests he was forced to move that money, and that his communication had somehow been cut off. No 911, no call to his admin, no shout for help. Not that any of his neighbors would have heard him. They’re all too far away. What if drawing Wilhelmina into this was his only way to call for help?”

“Or what if Wilhelmina planned it?” Connor squeezed his eyes shut. “We need to eliminate Wilhelmina as a suspect.”

Kit agreed. “Let’s go back to the Ferrari. It’s a big thing to steal and required a lot of preplanning. Why the Ferrari?”

“Did his killer take anything else?” Navarro asked.

“We asked Rafferty when he was showing us the garage,” Connor said. “So far, nothing obvious was taken, and Wilhelmina took her jewelry and valuables with her when she left him. We’ll have to figure out what else Munro owned that was valuable.”

Kit’s mind was still on the Ferrari and the logistics required to steal it. “I wonder what Munro’s killer offered Shelley in exchange for the trailer.”

Connor nodded. “Good point. She broke the rule by not getting the guy to pay for the trailer when he picked it up. She was an addict. Jennifer said she’d been clean, but Bran, the boyfriend, said that it had only been for a few weeks. Shelley could have been using without Jennifer knowing.”

“He might not have offered Shelley anything,” Navarro said. “He might have just taken the trailer at gunpoint.”

Kit shook her head. “But he killed her in her home. If he’d stolen the trailer at gunpoint, wouldn’t he have just killed her there at the shop? He let her go home.”

“He could have forced her at gunpoint or with his knife,” Navarro said, still playing devil’s advocate. “Could have made her go home and killed her there.”

“Maybe,” Kit allowed. “We’ll check it out. If he communicated with her beforehand, arranging for a pickup outside of the shop’s rules, we might be able to track him that way.”

“Whatever you do,” Navarro said, “do it—”

“Quickly,” Kit interrupted with a sigh. “We know, we know. We’ll add it to our list. That might be something Sam can find out for us. He developed a rapport with Jennifer and her boyfriend Bran while we were securing the scene.”

“Is the security guard on your list?” Navarro asked. “The one at the gate to Munro’s community?”

“He is,” Connor said. “His name is Marco Valdez. He and the other guards work a twelve-hour shift. He would have just arrived when the trailer passed through the gate, and he would have been off-duty fifteen minutes after its exit. So he was the only one who would have seen the trailer. He’s twenty-six years old and lives alone. We’d just knocked on his door when Dr.Batra called us to the morgue. He wasn’t home and his neighbors haven’t seen him in a few days, but he normally keeps to himself and they said that wasn’t unusual.”

“Still doesn’t sound good,” Navarro muttered. “Any sign of forced entry into his house?”

“Nope,” Kit said. “But on the bright side, we didn’t smell anything dead. He’s due back at work tomorrow morning, so hopefully he’ll show up.”

“Hopefully.” But Navarro sounded as grim as Kit felt because the guard was a loose end. “What else?”

“I’ve been thinking about how long that trailer was in front of Munro’s house,” she said. “He was there from six in the morning until almost six that evening. What did he do all that time? And why did he arrive so early?”

“Good questions. Figure it out. But do it—”

“Quickly,” Connor said with a sigh.

A knock on the door had the three of them turning. Sergeant Ryland of CSU stood at the door. Navarro motioned him in.

“Glad you’re all here,” Ryland said, taking a seat next to Navarro at the table. “We hit the jackpot at Munro’s house. Missing Persons didn’t know to look for recording equipment, but Munro had his office wired for audio and video.”

“Did he have bugs in other rooms?” Navarro asked. “Or just his home office?”

“Only the home office,” Ryland said. “And we did a very thorough check.”

“I wonder if Wilhelmina knew about the bugs?” Connor murmured.

Kit shook her head. “If she knew, I think she would have used that feed against Munro versus searching through his files for proof of his bribery. Did you find anything on the feed?” she asked Ryland.

“Oh yes. We made a copy of the recording from the day he disappeared. I uploaded it to the server. You’re going to want to see this.”

Navarro moved his laptop to the table and brought up the recording.

Munro was sitting at his massive desk, clearly inebriated, a half-full bottle of whiskey at his elbow. He was looking at his phone, frowning, when the office door flew open. Munro fumbled for the drawer, but a man in a hoodie and a Halloween hockey mask beat him to the punch, racing across the room to hold his gun to Munro’s head.

“Drop the phone,” the intruder said, his voice deep and raspy. He wore the mask they’d seen in Munro’s security footage.

Munro did as commanded, the phone clattering to the desk.

“Turn off the cameras,” the man demanded.

Munro’s jaw tightened. “And if I don’t?”

“I’ll kill you where you sit.”

“What do you want from me?”

“What you owe me, you sonofabitch. Fifty grand, for starters.”

Munro looked startled, then slurred, “Oh, I know who you are.”

“Shut the fuck up and turn off the cameras.”

Munro grabbed his phone, but the intruder took it from his hand. “I have to use the app,” Munro insisted.

The man held the phone in front of Munro’s face. The phone’s home screen must have unlocked because the intruder put it on the desk and began tapping.

The feed went dark.

“That’s all we got,” Ryland said. “But the time stamp on this recording is three minutes after the garage camera was painted over and twenty minutes before the trailer was captured leaving Munro’s neighborhood. It’s also consistent with how long the dried blood was on the garage floor.”

“Was anything else missing?” Connor asked.

Ryland nodded. “Munro wore a Rolex watch in this video, but it wasn’t on the body and it’s not in the house. Brand new it retails for forty grand.”

Connor looked at Kit. “Between the Rolex and the Ferrari, sounds like a job for Goddard.”

Detective Bruce Goddard was in the robbery division and had helped them in the past. “Let’s call him.”

Ryland rose. “I’m headed to the lab. We’ve got more video to review. Munro had multiple servers that appear to hold up to six months of footage.”

Connor followed Ryland to the door. “Kit?” he asked when Kit stayed seated.

“I’ll be out in a minute.” She waited until Connor had closed Navarro’s door. “They’re going to find Sam on Munro’s footage.”

Navarro’s brows went up. “What? When? Oh.” His face settled into its resting scowl. “He went to Munro’s for that presentation about New Horizons, didn’t he?”

“He did.”

“And he didn’t tell me because he’s still antsy about being a suspect.”

Kit nodded. “Exactly. Just wanted to give you a heads-up. He said he clearly said no to Munro, just in case he was being recorded, then reported the whole thing to Joel.”

“Thanks for telling me. Tell Dr.Reeves that he doesn’t need to worry about it.”

Kit had to admit to being relieved for Sam’s sake. “Thanks, boss.” She pushed away from the table. “We’ll work quickly, and I’ll call Sam right now and ask him to find out what he can about Shelley’s movements in the days before her death. Hopefully we can find out if she communicated with her killer about the trailer.”

“Thank you. Kit? Be safe.”

“Always.”