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That left her feeling... sad.
Stop. Stop liking him. Stop wanting him to be innocent.
She slid her notebook into her pocket. “Sit tight, Dr.Reeves. I’ll be back.”
San Diego, California
Saturday, April 9, 7:20 a.m.
“What’s wrong with you?” Baz asked as he pulled away from the department lot. Their boss had sent a small army of officers to back them up. They’d surround Colton Driscoll’s house before knocking on his door.
This was the closest they’d come to solving a decades-old string of serial murders, and Lieutenant Navarro was unwilling to allow Driscoll to get away.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Baz snorted. “Don’t try that with me. I’ve known you too long. We’re about to take down a notorious killer and you’re all mopey. What’s wrong?”
Kit should feel elated. They were about to take a monster off the streets.
But she just felt... off. “I want Colton Driscoll to be the killer.”
“Because you want the doctor to be telling the truth,” Baz observed, not unkindly.
She didn’t answer because she didn’t want to admit it out loud, because it was true. But she also refused to be a victim of a shrink’s manipulation, no matter how goddamn sincere Reeves appeared to be.
“Driscoll is a more logical choice than Reeves,” she said quietly. “He’s the right age and he has a history of violence.” She thumbed through the man’s rap sheet displayed on her phone. “His neighbor wasn’t the first person he assaulted. He’s been convicted of four additional misdemeanors—two bar fights and two counts of domestic violence with his first two wives. But he’s never done a day of time. He’s lived in San Diego since high school, at least, and he’s worked in the mail room in the Ruby Building for five years. He was an IT professional before that.”
“So what feels wrong? About Driscoll, I mean.”
He’d left her reaction to Reeves unacknowledged, allowing her to focus on the man they were on their way to see. “That a man with that history of violence—impulsive violence—has managed to stay under our radar for twenty years.”
“He’s not stupid,” Baz said. “He worked in IT.”
“For a lot of different companies. Never held a job for more than a few years. His temper kept getting him fired. He’s supposed to be charming, though. Makes women fall for him. He’s been married four times.”
“Where did you read that?”
“In his probation file.”
“Maybe you should be the one to question him, then. Pretend to fall under his charms when we get him into interview.”
“We’ll see,” she said doubtfully.
Baz blew out an exasperated breath. “Look a little more alive, will you? We’re about to bag a serial killer. This will be a feather in both our caps.”
Kit straightened her spine. Baz was right. She needed her head in the game. “More alive, coming up.”
They spent the rest of the drive going over Driscoll’s file.
Kit frowned, her mind sorting through the data. “He lured four barely legal wives into marriage. He’d certainly be able to charm a teenage girl with stars in her eyes. But how is he finding them? Did he lie and tell them that he was a talent scout or a producer?”
“That’d be my guess. We’ll search him and his house and see what we find.”
Baz stopped the car in front of a dilapidated two-story house matching the address on Driscoll’s police report. The house looked like it hadn’t been touched in a decade, with peeling paint and sagging doorframes. The lawn was patchy and taken over by weeds.
The other houses nearby, in contrast, were well kept. Not new, but maintained with pride by their owners. It was still early enough that only one person was out on the street—a jogger who eyed them curiously as he passed.
“The probation file says that none of his neighbors like him,” Kit said. “I mean, beating someone up aside, I can see why.”
