Page 49 of The Perfect Poise

“Give us a moment,” she said to Kingman before motioning for Ryan to join her just outside the office. Once there, she spoke in a whisper.

“We can’t afford to waste time going through all the back and forth with criminal lawyers, especially considering how obstinate he is,” she said. “If he’s like this now, it’s only going to get worse once his attorney arrives. Meanwhile, if he’s not our guy, the real killer could be out there doing damage while we’re stuck in an interrogation room.”

“What are you suggesting we do?” Ryan asked irritably. “Give the guy a free pass because he’s difficult to deal with?”

“Of course not,” she replied, fighting off her own irritation. “But maybe we try a different tack. If he didn’t do this, he won’t want to be arrested. No matter how things ultimately play out, it’s a bad look for him with current and potential future clients. So let’s find a way to get what we need without offending his delicate sensibilities.”

“I’m open to anything that gets us answers,” he told her. “Go for it.”

They returned to the office, where Kingman didn’t look like he’d moved a muscle in their absence.

"Mr. Kingman, as I said, we're trying to solve three murders," she told him, keeping her tone as conversational as possible under the circumstances. "If you weren't involved, we'd like to make that determination as quickly as possible so that we can move on to other suspects. I assume that if you're innocent, you'd also prefer that this not become an ugly, protracted process."

“That would be my preference, yes,” he said, softening ever so slightly, “as long as I’m not asked to violate any professional standards.”

“Okay,” she replied, feeling like they might finally be getting somewhere. “Would it violate your professional standards to share your whereabouts at the times of the three murders, and provide relevant phone and vehicle GPS data for those periods, as well as contact information for people you interacted with?’

Kingman thought about it for a moment. “Assuming that none of those requests conflict with attorney-client privilege, I don’t think that would be a problem.”

“All right then,” she said. “Detective Hernandez is going to give you the windows of death for all three victims, and you can check your records for where you were, sound good?”

Kingman nodded, and Ryan stepped forward. As the men began bouncing times back and forth, Jessie stopped listening. However the particulars worked out, she already suspected that she knew the ultimate outcome of this interview.

Something about Douglas Kingman’s cool confidence and his quiet stoicism in the face of the allegations he was facing told her all she needed to know. Either this man, in the middle of his busy workday, had twice stripped out of his fancy suit and into all-black clothing to murder two women just today, or he wasn’t their killer. The latter seemed infinitely more likely.

That meant that someone else had slaughtered three women in less than a day. And she had a bad feeling that they weren’t done yet.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

Kat was surprisingly nervous.

As she sat on the couch in her downtown apartment, Dr. Janice Lemmon puttered about in the kitchen, making tea for them both. The psychiatrist had called earlier and asked if she could stop by for an informal house call.

Kat said yes, even though her Spidey sense immediately began to tingle. Lemmon had never offered to come by before, even though her office, also downtown, was less than a ten-minute drive from here. And a visit at 6:15 at night seemed unusual. The doctor had claimed that she just wanted to check in on her, but Kat felt certain that there was more to it than that.

“Did I freak you out so badly at our session this morning that you felt like you had to make a ‘proof of life’ visit?” she called out to Lemmon from the living room.

“I think you’re actually doing pretty well, all things considered,” Lemmon said as she carefully shuffled over with a tray that had a teapot, mugs, cream, sugar, and spoons. Without her cane for support, she had to take it extra slow. “Haven’t you ever had a mental health professional stop by just to say ‘hi’?”

“Sure,” Kat said, “After I got blown up by that IED and everyone else in my Humvee died, I had shrinks stopping by my hospital bed every day for weeks. But none of them made me tea.”

“I guess you’re leveling up,” Lemmon said warmly, placing the tray on the coffee table. “Do you feel as troubled these days as you did after your fellow Army Rangers died?”

Kat shrugged. “It’s different. I didn’t just get blown up that day in Afghanistan. My whole world did. But at least I knew it wasn’t my fault. This time around, there’s no way to avoid the fact that Mitch would be alive and well if he’d never met me.”

“He was a law enforcement officer, Kat,” Lemmon reminded her. “something could have happened to him in the line of duty every time he left the house.”

Kat had multiple comebacks for that but sensed that the doctor was stalling.

“Why are you really here, Dr. Lemmon?” she asked. “Is it to tell me you’ve decided not to go see Ash Pierce? Or that they wouldn’t let you? Just give it to me straight.”

Lemmon poured tea into both mugs, picked up one of them and took a sip. Kat grabbed hers too and was about to pour some cream into it when Lemmon spoke.

“Actually, I spoke to her earlier today,” she said. “That’s the ‘real’ reason I’m here. I wanted to tell you how it went.”

Kat’s hand suddenly started shaking and she quickly put her mug back down on the tray. She forced herself to take two deep breaths, then looked up at Lemmon.

“I’m all ears,” she said.

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