Page 182 of Cold, Cold Bones
“The kid went willingly and Kramden didn’t hurt her,” Katy said.
“That drops the kidnapping from a Class C to a Class E felony.” I suspected Katy’s concern stemmed from knowing Kramden was a vet with mental issues. “That means he’s facing fifteen to sixty-three months. He’s out on bail, and could cop a plea, bringing his jail time even lower.”
“Here’s something that’s been bothering me,” Katy said. “Why did Charlie want to meet with you earlier than originally planned? You said he was adamant.”
“I don’t know. Maybe he’d uncovered the truth about Henry? Maybe he’d learned that she was buddying up to you? Maybe he’d managed to score tickets to a Hornet’s game? We may never know.”
“How did he cross paths with Henry?” Katy asked.
“Slidell’s team found an entry on Charlie’s office calendar for last February 3. The name Henry, D.”
Katy thought about that.
“So Henry knew who Charlie was well before seeing us together in that photo in your office. Maybe even met with him.”
I nodded.
“How did Henry know about Charlie’s peanut allergy? That would hardly come up during a legal consult.”
“Good point. Henry was a looker. And calculating. She probably came on to Charlie, they shared a meal, yadda, yadda.”
“Did you say ‘yadda, yadda’?”
“I did.”
Katy rolled her emerald greens.
“Charlie must have let her into his home that night. They ended up in his office, she slipped the peanut powder into his scotch, Charlie drank it, she didn’t—”
“Yadda, yadda.”
“You show promise,” I said.
“Thanks.”
A full minute passed until Katy spoke again.
“Another thing I don’t get. Why was Henry so goddam theatrical? I mean, why all the complicated mimicry? Why not just cap your ass and be done with it?”
I told her what Henry had said about depriving me of the two things I love most in life, my daughter and my work.
“So kill me, then destroy your reputation,” Katy said.
“I think that was her plan.”
“That seems like such friggin’ hard work.”
“My profiler friend, J.S., talked about violent repetitive offenders acting out of anger. About them developing fantasies, eventually rituals to express that anger. I think the copycat murders were Henry’s ritual.”
“Sick.”
I couldn’t disagree.
“Will you answermyone lingering question?” I asked.
Katy looked at me but said nothing.
“Who was the ‘creep’ stalking you?”
