Page 26 of Dead Man's List

“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. Shespecializes 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 mediumheight, 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?”

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