Buch lesen: «Evidence Of Marriage»
Her heart stuttered.
She remembered every excruciating moment of the days and nights she’d lain tied in that dark cabin. The burn of the ropes against her wrists. The incredible thirst. The emptiness like a chasm inside her. She couldn’t push it out of her mind. She’d been worried about Reed then, too. The helplessness was the worst. It ate into her soul until there was nothing left but bitter darkness. She couldn’t sit here in the dark waiting for Reed. Or wait for the killer to find her.
Oh, God, please, don’t let this happen again.
Just then, Reed stepped around the corner and rushed to her side, holding her on her feet. Her body dissolved, as if the muscle holding her upright had turned to quivering goo. The way she was shaking she didn’t know if her legs would carry her.
Worse, she didn’t want to leave the protection of Reed’s arms….
Evidence of Marriage
Ann Voss Peterson
MILLS & BOON
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To my father, Gil Voss, who is nothing like Dryden Kane.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ever since she was a little girl making her own books out of construction paper, Ann Voss Peterson wanted to write. So when it came time to choose a major at the University of Wisconsin, creative writing was her only choice. Of course, writing wasn’t a practical choice—one needs to earn a living. So Ann found jobs ranging from proofreading legal transcripts, to working with quarter horses, to washing windows. But no matter how she earned her paycheck, she continued to write the type of stories that captured her heart and imagination—romantic suspense. Ann lives near Madison, Wisconsin, with her husband, her two young sons, her Border collie and her quarter horse mare. Ann loves to hear from readers. E-mail her at ann@annvosspeterson.com or visit her Web site at annvosspeterson.com.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Diana Gale—A victim most of her life, Diana has vowed to stand on her own two feet. Even if that means turning her back on the only man she’s ever loved and taking on her father–serial killer Dryden Kane.
Detective Reed McCaskey—Overprotective to a fault, Reed takes his vow to protect and serve seriously. Especially when it concerns Diana Gale. But when she takes on Dryden Kane, even he might not be able to protect the woman he loved and lost.
Dryden Kane—There’s a copycat killer loose on the streets, and notorious serial killer Dryden Kane is pulling the strings.
Detective Nikki Valducci—This cop might look like a cover girl, but she’s tough as nails. Will she be tough enough to help McCaskey get his man?
Detective Stan Perreth—The disagreeable detective is good at his job. But what are his priorities? Stopping a serial killer? Or stopping Reed McCaskey?
Louis Ingersoll—Diana’s neighbor wants only what’s best for her. And in his opinion, that would be him.
Meredith Unger—Dryden Kane’s attorney will go to great lengths to give her clients the representation they deserve. But does that include breaking the law?
Cordell “Cord” Turner—The ex-convict has a chip on his shoulder as complex as his tattoos. And as Dryden Kane’s son, is he also a chip off the old block?
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
Laundromats made good hunting grounds.
Alone, for now, he sat back to wait, listening to the empty rumble of the drier and the tinny radio tuned to the blues. He liked a little blues on a hunting trip. The music was gritty and real and full of pain. Like the sweetness of a dying scream.
He’d never guessed how invincible killing could make him feel. The godlike power of holding life and death in his hands. It had taken a mentor to teach him. To guide him. Until he’d become brave. Until he’d become strong. Stronger than he’d ever imagined he could be.
But it had been too long since he’d tasted that strength. Eight months of fantasizing. Eight months of lying low, waiting for warm weather, waiting for the police and press to grow bored, waiting for word.
Now he was hungry to feel his power.
The glass door swung open and for a moment the rush of traffic outside eclipsed the low thunk of the bass guitar. The door closed, and a blonde shouldering a duffel trudged past the vending machines and between rows of whirring washers.
He took a deep breath. The air smelled sweet with detergent and fabric softener. Not as sweet as her hair would smell. Not as sweet as the scent of her blood. He’d never understand why women who would never walk down a dark street alone would brave a night like this to wash their laundry. Clean clothes were damn important to some people. He smiled as she came closer.
He could see she was older than the three he’d done last fall. Delicate crow’s-feet touched the outer corners of her eyes. Her mouth held the pinched look of a woman who had to work hard to make ends meet. She was probably in her mid-thirties, maybe close to forty. He didn’t like older women. They were smarter, not as easily misled.
She glanced at him with narrowed eyes. As if she could see something in him that bothered her.
For a moment he considered walking out, checking the Laundromat down the street. The last thing he wanted was for her to figure him out and give his description to the police. He couldn’t afford to give them a gift they didn’t deserve.
She opened one of the small, top loaders and sorted whites into it. Bras. Lacy panties.
She was the one.
He looked at her again, more closely this time. If her hair were a little lighter in color, if her lips were set in a cruel smile, she would look like his mother. He liked that thought. It got his blood pumping. Maybe he could even dress her in the slutty miniskirts his mother used to wear. And one of those oversize shirts with big shoulder pads that had gone out in the eighties.
He shifted in his chair. If he went on fantasizing about what he was going to do, his growing arousal would tip her off for sure. Besides, after eight long months, he’d fantasized long enough. He wanted action.
Humming along with the radio, she pulled a small bottle of detergent from her duffel, measured it into the cap and poured it into the machine.
He stood up and crossed to one of the machines whose wash cycle had finished. Pulling out wet jeans, he threw them in a drier near the woman. He pasted his most innocent and pitiful expression on his face. “Excuse me.”
She glanced up at him, offering a stranger’s smile, brief and insincere.
“My girlfriend told me to get some of those drier sheets. She says she doesn’t like the smell of my clothes. If you don’t mind my asking, what kind do you use?”
She dipped a hand into her duffel and pulled out a pink box. “These are the best. They smell the best and do a great job controlling static. Do you want to try one?”
Crossing the aisle, he reached into his pocket. He had to be fast. He couldn’t let her catch on. Not until he had her where he wanted her. He tilted his head at the pink box, as if he really gave a damn about fabric softener. “Oh, I’ve seen commercials for that kind.” He reached out as if he intended to take a closer look at the package. Instead, he grabbed her arm.
Her eyes flew wide. She pulled back, trying to free herself, trying to fight.
He whipped his hand out of his pocket and stabbed the syringe into her arm. He held her as she fought. Finally the drug took effect, and she swayed and stumbled into him.
Moving quickly, before anyone else wandered into the Laundromat, he pulled his laundry bag over her head. When he’d pulled it down past her waist, he positioned her swaying body next to a laundry cart and flopped her over. Lifting her by the hips, he heaved her into the cart.
A tinge of pain shot through his back. They were always heavier when they were deadweight. Once he let her loose in the forest, once she was fighting for her life, he wouldn’t have to worry about back strain. Then the pain would all be hers.
He stuffed her feet into the oversize bag, pulled the drawstring closed and tied it. Smiling to himself, he wheeled the cart to the exit and his waiting van outside.
Yes, Laundromats were great for hunting. And he’d just bagged himself some prey.
Chapter Two
Diana Gale had done everything she could think of to make her twin sister’s post-wedding gift opening a memory to cherish. She’d decorated her apartment with purple irises and white streamers. She’d poured mimosas and coffee for Sylvie’s handful of out-of-town friends. And, not much of a cook herself, she’d made brunch reservations at one of Madison’s best restaurants. But as Sylvie sat on the couch next to her groom and tore open the card attached to the last silver-and-white package, Diana knew something was wrong.
Sylvie’s face blanched. Clutching at the gift, she looked to her new groom with stricken eyes. “Bryce.”
“What is it?”
Sylvie spread the wedding card before Bryce Walker. She looked up at Diana.
She didn’t have to say who the gift was from. Diana knew by the alarm shining in her sister’s blue eyes—eyes identical to hers. And his.
A tremor crept up Diana’s spine, raising the hair on the back of her neck. She hadn’t spoken to their birth father in months, neither had Sylvie, but a day hadn’t passed that they didn’t think about him. Now the door of communication she’d thrown open would never be able to fully close.
“Who is it from?” One of Sylvie’s friends who’d traveled up from Chicago for the wedding eyed Sylvie with a curious smile.
Diana plastered a smile to her own lips. Lisa might have been one of Sylvie’s workmates from her previous life, but there was something about the woman Diana didn’t trust. It was as if she were constantly on the prowl for a wisp of gossip to provide herself with excitement, even at someone else’s expense. The last thing either Sylvie or Diana needed was for Lisa and Sylvie’s other friends at the morning gift opening to learn who had given this particular gift. “Just someone we know.”
Leaning the gift against the side of the couch where she and Bryce sat, Sylvie pushed to her feet. “You’ll have to excuse me. I’m not feeling so well.” She darted from the room and down the hall toward Diana’s bathroom.
Bryce handed the card to Diana and started after his bride.
She gripped the card with trembling hands. Opening it, her eyes flew to the simple message scrawled beneath the wedding verse. A message from their father, serial killer Dryden Kane.
A father should have the privilege of walking his daughter down the aisle. I miss my girls. I look forward to your visit.
A newspaper clipping lay between the tissue folds inside the card. Several months old, the newspaper article was dated October of the previous year.
Copycat Killer Claims Three
Cold filtered through her blood. She knew Dryden Kane’s silence wouldn’t last forever. She knew he’d find a way to contact them. She also knew in her bones that her hometown of Madison, Wisconsin, hadn’t heard the last of the killer who was copying Kane’s crimes—a man the police believed was carrying out the orders of Kane himself.
“Is Sylvie okay?” Lisa looked down the hall, eyes glowing with predatory interest.
“Maybe we should see if she needs anything,” another friend offered.
“What is in that card?” asked a third.
Waving off their questions, Diana eyed the gift that leaned against the side of the couch still shrouded in its silver-and-white wedding-bell paper. She had to think. She had to figure out what to do. She had to talk to Sylvie and Bryce. But in order to do any of those things, first she must deflect Sylvie’s friends and their curiosity.
She made a show of looking at her watch. “Why don’t you guys head down to the restaurant?”
“The restaurant? Now?” Lisa shook her head. “I think we should help Sylvie.”
“Bryce is helping her.”
“There’s only so much a man can do.” Lisa stood up from her chair and plopped her hands on her hips. “I’ve been friends with Sylvie longer than any of you. It’s my duty to help her through this.”
Diana tried to tamp down her annoyance. Lisa might have known Sylvie the longest, but she had no clue about what they were dealing with. “Making sure the restaurant doesn’t give away our table will be the most help, Lisa. Really.”
Lisa frowned. Apparently she wanted more excitement than securing a spot for brunch would provide.
“Lisa, please.” Diana offered her best pleading smile, praying the woman had the sense to stop pushing. “It would really help out.”
Reluctantly, Lisa nodded. “All right. But if the three of you don’t join us soon, I’ll be back to check on you.” She gathered her posse and headed out of Diana’s apartment.
As soon as the door shut behind them, Diana set the card on the counter and rushed to check on Sylvie. She tapped on the bathroom door.
Bryce stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind him.
“How is she?”
“Sick. I’m sure all of us feel that way to some extent.”
Diana couldn’t agree more. But Diana’s nausea was mixed with a heavy dose of guilt. “Is she going to be okay?”
Bryce paused, studying Diana’s face. “We were going to wait to tell people, but you might as well know now.”
“Know what?”
“Sylvie’s pregnant.”
“Oh, Bryce! That’s wonderful. I know how much you both want kids. Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” Bryce smiled despite the concern still cloaking his brow. “But I’m worried about her. Especially with all this.”
“You’re leaving on your honeymoon tomorrow. She won’t have to worry about it. At least not for a few weeks.”
“If I can convince her to go.”
“She has to go.”
He shrugged. “You know Sylvie. She’s worried about you.”
Diana shook her head. Her sister’s concern for her would be touching, if Diana weren’t guilty of bringing this evil into Sylvie’s life in the first place. “I’ll be fine.”
He gave a shallow nod, as if he wasn’t so sure.
“Trust me. I can take care of myself this time. You and Sylvie have a baby to think about.”
He nodded, but again, his agreement wasn’t convincing.
She knew he was remembering last October, when he and Sylvie had saved her from becoming the victim of a grief-stricken man’s revenge. But that wasn’t all that had happened during that time. There had been more. Far more. “You’re thinking of your brother.”
“I promised him… I promised myself that I’d find his killer. Kane waving this Copycat Killer in our faces is a little hard to take.”
Diana nodded. She knew Bryce believed the man who’d killed three women last fall was also responsible for his brother’s death. “Sylvie needs you. And she doesn’t need to be worrying about Dryden Kane.”
He held up a hand. “I know. Believe me, my priorities are in order.”
“What did the doctor say? You know, about her heart condition?” As a child, Sylvie had suffered from heart problems, the reason she had been left behind in the foster-care system while Diana had been adopted. In the year since they’d been reunited, Sylvie hadn’t had any health problems, but that didn’t mean the extra stress of dealing with Dryden Kane piled on top of her pregnancy wasn’t a recipe for disaster.
“He said she should avoid extra stress. And I aim to make sure she takes that advice.”
The bathroom door opened and Sylvie stepped out into the hall. Her cheeks looked flushed, her eyes a bit glassy. “If the two of you are done deciding my future, why don’t we see what is in that package?”
Bryce cupped her elbow gently in one hand and searched her face. “Are you sure you’re up to it?”
She shot him a resigned frown. “I’m pretty sure I’m not up to it. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to see what he sent. I’m sure my heart can take that much.”
“I didn’t mean anything by that.” God knew that of the two of them, Sylvie was the strong one. Diana had only to think back to that cabin in the woods for proof.
“I know. You’re just watching out for me. What families do, right?” Sylvie offered a smile. “I’m still getting used to that.”
“Yeah. What families do.” Diana took a deep breath, trying to quell the nervous fear fluttering through her chest and stomach. After all she’d been through in that cabin last fall, she’d sworn she would never be a victim again. She’d be more like her sister. Strong. Independent. And eight months later, she finally felt as if she were making some progress. She’d completed her master’s degree and had landed a job teaching English literature that would start in the fall. After a lifetime of depending on others, she’d learned a bit about standing on her own.
She sucked in another breath. If Sylvie was willing to face whatever was in the package, so was she. “Okay. Let’s open the thing.”
She led Bryce and Sylvie into the living room. Bryce and Sylvie took their places on the couch. Diana propped a hip on the couch’s arm. Grabbing the corner of the gift wrap, Sylvie tore a corner of the paper free and slid out a simple black frame holding a family portrait. A father, a mother and two little girls around three years old smiled for the camera. Soft blond hair curled around the girls’ nearly identical faces. One of the girls cradled a clown puppet. The other tangled her fingers together in her lap, her face chalky and frail-looking. The mother held her blond head high, her lips pressed into a commanding smile. The father stood behind the three, staring directly into the camera with ice-blue eyes.
The perfect family. The family of serial killer Dryden Kane.
“It’s us,” whispered Sylvie. “My God, it’s us.”
Diana stared at the portrait, a mixture of heat and nerves descending into her chest. “I’m so sorry, Sylvie.”
“For what?”
“For bringing him into your life.” She rubbed her forehead with shaking fingers. “What was I thinking? When I found out he was my father, why couldn’t I have just left well enough alone? Why did I have to see him in the first place?”
“Because you needed to know where you came from. You needed to understand who you were.”
“Which is what?” The daughter of a serial killer? Her mind shuddered at the thought.
“Which is my sister.” Sylvie touched her hand to Diana’s arm, her trembling fingers belying the steadiness in her voice. “Sometimes we just need to know. No matter what the consequences. I would have done the same thing, Diana. You know that.”
She did. But that didn’t make her feel any less responsible. “I have to stop him.”
Bryce looked from one sister to the other, worry heavy on his brow. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know yet. But I know who might.” She forced a breath into aching lungs. Although eight months had passed since she’d given him back his ring, the pain pulsing behind her eyes made it feel like yesterday. “I’m going to take the portrait and card to Reed.”
Sylvie thrust to her feet. “I’ll go with you.”
Diana held out a palm as if that would hold Sylvie in place. “You have a baby to worry about.”
“I’m pregnant, not crippled.”
“No, but you’re sick.”
She gave a shrug, as if morning sickness were nothing. But the pale sheen to her skin told the real story.
“And you don’t want that baby to get sick. Besides, you still have guests to deal with. The last thing we need is to have Lisa storming back, demanding answers.”
Sylvie opened her mouth to protest, but Bryce cut her off. “We’ll take care of Lisa. Tell Reed to call me.”
“Of course.”
Sylvie pressed her lips together in a frown. Finally she nodded and gave Diana’s arm a squeeze. “We’re in this together, Diana. Remember that.”
Diana nodded. They were in this together. Whether Sylvie deserved to be or not. And now it was Diana’s turn to contribute—to bring what she’d started to an end.
“TELL ME THAT’S SYLVIE.”
Reed McCaskey glanced up from the reports scattering the table he and his partner Nikki Valducci had commandeered at the Easy Street Café.
A young woman pushed through the café door and scanned the worn Formica tables and coffee-sipping crowd. From her cascading blond hair and light blue eyes to the soft line of her cheeks that made him ache to protect her, she hadn’t changed. And although she and her sister were identical, there was no doubt in his mind which twin he was looking at. He could feel her presence in the churning of his blood. “It’s Diana.”
His day had started with being kicked out of his office in the City County Building after inmates in the sixth-floor jail had spent the night stuffing whatever they could find down the toilets until sewage had backed up in the first-floor police station. With the station so pungent it had brought tears to his eyes, he’d traded that smell for the burned-coffee-and-stale-grease aroma of the Easy Street Café. At least until the cleanup crew had a chance to do their thing. But as badly as his day had begun, it was about to get worse.
He dropped his gaze to the reports. “Why don’t you take this one?”
“Somehow I doubt she’s here to see me.” Nikki let out a pained sigh. “Aren’t you even curious about what she wants?”
“No.”
Another sigh.
Of course Nikki wouldn’t understand. She always had to stick her nose in everything. Especially things that were none of her business. A good characteristic for a detective—especially one as ambitious as Nikki—but not a trait he appreciated when the subject was him. “Go up to the counter and ask for some refills, will you?”
“Are you kidding? I’m not going to miss this show.” Nikki leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. Picking up her coffee cup, she took a long, leisurely sip.
So much for keeping his pain to himself.
“Reed?”
No matter how braced he thought he was, the sound of Diana’s voice hit him in the gut like a full-fledged ulcer. He kept his eyes riveted to the report in front of him. He didn’t need a close-up view. He still saw her face nearly every night in his dreams. And in his nightmares. “I’m busy here, Diana.”
“Dryden Kane contacted us.”
Kane. An extra shot of acid added to his misery. He looked up, searching her face. “When?”
“He sent Sylvie a wedding gift. A family portrait of us as children.”
“Nice.”
“She’s kind of upset.”
He could imagine. He knew Sylvie wouldn’t want his pity, but he couldn’t help giving it all the same. The poor girl had grown up in foster homes, dreamed of having a family, only to discover her father was notorious serial killer Dryden Kane. To get this “gift” the day after her wedding had to be a blow. “How did the portrait arrive? Delivery service?”
She shook her head. “It didn’t come in the mail either. The only thing I can figure is that he must have had someone drop it off at the reception last night.” She tensed her shoulders in a protective shiver.
Reed knew what she was thinking. The same thing he was. That someone who’d delivered the package might very well be the Copycat Killer, the serial murderer who had claimed three women’s lives the past fall using the same techniques as Dryden Kane. The killer they believed was being controlled by Kane himself. “Do you have the portrait with you?”
Nikki pulled the cup away from her lips. “Fingerprints?”
He nodded.
Diana gestured at the street outside the café. “It’s in my car.”
“Good. Nikki can take it over to the lab. They can lift the prints there. Maybe the frame will tell us something, too.”
“That’s not all.” She dipped her hand into her purse and pulled out a large plastic bag with a greeting card inside. She extended it to him.
“A card. I guess he must have read the etiquette books.” He opened the card a crack through the plastic-bag cover. Bold handwriting scrawled at the bottom of a wedding verse. A father should have the privilege of walking his daughter down the aisle. I miss my girls. I look forward to your visit.
“I’ll bet he does,” Reed muttered under his breath. The opportunity to emotionally torture his two beautiful adult daughters must be a dream come true for a sadist like Kane.
“There was a newspaper clipping about the Copycat Killer inside, too. It’s tucked in the envelope.”
Manipulating the bag, he opened the envelope. The slightly yellowed shadow of newsprint peeked from inside. He shook it out into the bag. The headline was more than six months old, originating from around the first time the press had officially named the Copycat Killer. The killer hadn’t killed since, at least not that they’d detected. But with summer here, Reed feared the total would start to rise.
The pain in his gut hardened to anger. Diana might not want him to take care of her anymore, but she’d have to accept certain precautions. “You and Sylvie need to move to a hotel for a few days. I’ll arrange for protection.” He braced himself for an argument.
Diana merely nodded. “I’m worried about Sylvie. She’s pregnant.”
Pregnant. So they couldn’t wait until the actual wedding to start their family. No surprise. Sylvie and Bryce were so in love and wanted a family so badly, he’d been amazed they’d put off marriage and babies for as long as they had.
The familiar ache bored into his stomach wall. Last October he would have bet the couple married and expecting would be him and Diana. How things had changed. “Aren’t they planning a honeymoon?”
“She won’t go. She says she doesn’t want to leave me alone with this.”
“And Bryce?”
“He wants to get his hands on the man who killed his brother, naturally. But he intends to do what’s best for Sylvie and the baby.”
“I’ll see what I can do to convince her. And I’ll have an officer assigned to you.” He handed the plastic bag to Nikki. “Have the lab check for prints ASAP, then I want it back. The portrait, too.”
Nikki set her coffee cup on the table and stood.
He glanced up at Diana, meeting her eyes for as long as he dared. “Is that all?”
“All Kane sent? Yes.”
“Then Nikki will go with you to get the portrait.”
Diana hesitated, watching him for a moment. “I need to talk to you.”
“Nikki can handle it.” He nodded to his partner, praying she’d help him out this time. He was at the end of his tolerance. He couldn’t stand looking at Diana one more second and pretend she didn’t mean anything to him, that he was just doing his job, working on a case like any other. “Go ahead.”
A knowing smile playing at the corner of her lips, Nikki made for the café door, her long, dark ponytail swinging down the middle of her back. “Save my seat.”
Diana paused a second longer before following. When she finally disappeared through the glass door, Reed lowered his head into his hands.
Even as an awkward teen with more pimples than confidence, he’d never found being near a woman this difficult. But then, it wasn’t every day he had to face the woman he’d loved for five years, the woman he’d finally convinced to say “I do,” the woman who’d turned around and kicked his guts out.
Minutes passed as he delved into his stack of reports. He’d just reached the bottom of the first pile when the bell on the café door jingled, and the ache returned in full force. And as much as he wanted to blame it on the battery-acid coffee, he knew without looking up Diana was once again heading for his table.
“We need to talk.”
“Didn’t Nikki take care of things for you?”
“I didn’t come here just to hand over the portrait and card.”
Of course she didn’t. She couldn’t let him off that easily, after all. “Why did you come?”
“I want to help.”
“Help?”
She pulled out a chair and slid into it, plunking her elbows on the table. “I want to go to the prison. I want to talk to Dryden Kane.”
“And who is that going to help?”
She tilted her head and looked at him as if he were an idiot. “In the card, he wrote that he wants to see us, talk to us, then he put in a news clipping about the killer.”
“So you think he wants to talk to you about the Copycat Killer?”
“Don’t you?”
“No.”
“Then why send the clipping?”
“You haven’t seen him for months. Maybe he thought you could use a little incentive. Or maybe…” An extra shot of acid added to the swirl of pain in his gut.
“Maybe what?”
“Maybe it’s a threat.”
He expected a reaction. She didn’t give him one.
And he knew why. “Of course, you’ve already thought of that, haven’t you? That’s why you didn’t object when I offered police protection.”
She averted her gaze, studying a crack in the Formica. “He sent the card to Sylvie. He wrote that bit about her wedding. I’m afraid for her.”
“You should be afraid for yourself, too.”
“I brought him into Sylvie’s life and my own. I have to deal with him.”
“By running to visit him? How do you think giving him exactly what he wants is dealing with him?”
“If I can get him to talk to me, to tell me something, anything about the Copycat Killer, maybe you can use it to find him before he kills more women.”
“And Kane?”
“If you can get evidence tying him to the copycat, maybe you could justify sending him back into solitary confinement, no matter what kind of lawsuit he won against the department of corrections.”
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