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“I’m assuming so at this point.” Kit nibbled on a cupcake. “Which makes me wonder about the ones who did tell.”
Connor made an impatient gesture. “And?”
“There had to be some who told their friends,” she said. “He wanted them to keep it secret, but not every girl would have done that. I woke up wondering what happened when they told their friends.”
“You woke up wondering that?” Connor asked, his tone the tiniest bit mocking. “I’d be pissed if my girlfriend woke up next to me thinking about work.” His lips quirked. “Not that she ever would be. Thinking about work, that is.”
Kit stared at him. Connor Robinson was a handsome guy and always had a girlfriend. Kit had met a few of them, and they’d seemed nice. Which was why they usually left him.
“Do you mind?” she asked.
At the same time Howard hissed, “Can it, Connor.”
“Sorry, sorry.” Connor lifted his hands in a conciliatory way, but Kit didn’t buy it. He’d wanted to get a reaction from them, and he’d succeeded.
She pulled her mind back to the priority. Dead girls. “I wondered if the girls that told their friends still got an audition—along with all their friends—and none of them were killed? Or did he disappear? Make excuses? Did he actually choose someone for the part? Was there a production at all or was it all a ruse?”
“We could ask the drama teachers,” Howard said. “And, not to digress, but these are amazing cupcakes. Would your mom give me the recipe?”
“Probably. She taught me to make them. Or tried to. My sister Akiko took to the cooking. I just eat to survive.”
“That’s sad, Kit,” Howard said. He leaned back in his chair. “So... drama teachers. How do we want to divvy this up? We could make a list of the area high schools, split it three ways, and man the phones.”
“Then pay visits to the drama teachers who remember something,” Connor added.
“Sounds good. I have a list of other follow-up items.” She handed each of them the to-do lists she’d printed first thing that morning. “We need to ID any other potential victims from the missing and runaway lists, paying special attention to any girl that fits the profile.”
“Fifteen to seventeen, blond, petite, interested in drama,” Howard murmured.
“Was it always auditions, though?” Connor asked. “These recent victims have drama in common. Did he lure some of the others with something else?”
“That’s a good question,” Kit admitted, hoping she didn’t sound too begrudging. From Connor’s smirk, she figured she’d been unsuccessful at hiding it. “I’ve already gone through the reports up to ten years ago and have been putting anyone who fits the physical profile but without the drama connection into a separate pile.”
“I’ll take the older reports,” Howard said. “How far back? Twenty years?”
Kit nodded. “For now. We don’t know that the first victim we found was his first.”
“That’s upbeat,” Connor muttered. “I’ll take the reports you’ve set aside. Fresh eyes and all.”
Kit handed him the stack. “Thanks. Next on my list is checking with the high schools attended by our most recent victims to see if there was anyone who fits the killer’s profile hanging around. Fortyish, physically fit, gray hair and glasses, in an occupation that inspires trust—doctors, nurses, teachers, clergy. We should focus on Jaelyn Watts, Cecilia Sheppard, and Naomi Beckham. Let’s each take a school.”
They decided who would go where and Kit went on.
“We need to find Skyler Carville’s car. It may be impounded if she parked on the street Friday night into Saturday morning.”
“I’ll take that one,” Howard offered.
“Thanks. I requested Skyler’s cell phone records and should have them today. Someone lured her somewhere after her shift Friday night. It was probably a burner or a spoofed number, but we might get lucky.”
“Doubt it,” Connor said.
Kit shrugged. “Me too, but we need to at least check it out. Next, we need to canvass the bars around the interstate entrance in Little Italy with Skyler’s photo. That’s where she was headed when the street cams lost her car. She had Rohypnol in her system. If she was lured to a bar thinking she was getting a drink with Dr.Reeves, she got roofied by someone. Now that we know that Naomi got into a car with a man with graying hair and glasses, we can ask about him, too.”
“There are only dozens of bars in Little Italy,” Connor grumbled. “A few are open for lunch, but most of them don’t open until later this afternoon, like three or four.”
“I’ll make a list,” Howard said. “We can split them up and cover them quicker that way.”
“Good idea.” Kit started to feel some of her tension melt away. The tasks were manageable when divvied up.
