David was waiting for the detective who had been in charge of the Tommy Porter homicide investigation—who was now the assistant chief of police—when he received a message from Max.
Find out if Tommy played baseball. Plus, the print newspaper archives are not available online. Staff put in a request for print-outs, they’ll be ready for you at the paper before five.
No please. No thank you. Par for the course when dealing with Max, but he’d thought they’d gotten beyond the employer-employee relationship. They’d become friends. But ever since they’d returned from investigating the Ivy Lake cold case in Corte Madera, Max hadn’t shared much with him. Four months? Yeah, four months and he had the distinct impression she was giving him the cold shoulder.
A year ago he dreaded her opinion—because Max had an opinion on everything—now, he missed her commentary. Because while Max might lack tact—especially when irritated—her perception of human nature and behavior was both sharp and insightful. Her producer Ben often called her a human lie detector.
David wasn’t one for talking, especially about anything personal, but he might have to deal with this Max situation because something had happened, and he had the distinct impression she was angry with him. Which was odd, because when Max was mad, she never held back. Maybe he was wrong. But he didn’t think so.
A young female officer approached him. “Mr. Kane? Chief Carney can see you now.”
David followed the officer through a security door, then through the bullpen. He’d been in enough cop shops to recognize the buzz, though this building was nicer than most he’d been in.
Carney motioned for David to have a seat, then closed the door to his office. He was a large man with a shiny black scalp. David knew his record—Carney was fifty-three, had been a cop for thirty years after serving three years in the marines and completing two years of community college with his AA in business administration. He started as a beat cop in South Central L.A.—a dangerous territory even thirty years ago. He moved to Santa Barbara five years after, also as an officer, took his detective exam at the age of thirty, and was a detective for twenty years until the assistant chief retired and Carney was appointed.
Behind him were photos of family—lots of family. It appeared that he had four or five kids and at least one of them was married with children.
“You don’t look much like a reporter,” Carney said bluntly.
“I’m not. I just work for one.”
Carney grunted a laugh. “I wasn’t going to talk to you, but Officer McKnight called me direct. Said you were on the up-and-up and that he wanted to help if he could. Which means me talking about the Porter boy.”
“Yes, sir. Did Grant give you the details?”
“He did. The words ‘serial killer’ were used.”
David didn’t blame him for sounding skeptical.
“Do you know Andrew Stanton, the district attorney of San Diego?”
“Not personally, but I know of him.” He paused, as if accessing his memories. “He lost his son as well.”
“Yes, five years before Tommy Porter. There are more than a few similarities. Grant confirmed that Tommy was found with a stuffed animal.”
“He was.”
“So was Justin Stanton and at least one other victim we’re looking at. Max is working with the detective who investigated the Stanton case. He’s reviewing witness statements and interviews. I was hoping I could get a copy of the statements and interviews from the Porter case.”
“All public information has been released to the media. I checked with our PIO, and she indicated that NET had already received requested information.”
“Yes, the public information. The press packets. But the witness statements are key and those aren’t public. Max and a federal agent she’s working with believe that the killer knew her victims, either through the parents or through the victim. They also believe that she may have been interviewed because she lived near the victims or worked with one of the parents.”
“She. What evidence do you have that Tommy’s killer is a woman?”
“None.”
“Then—?”
“I’m going off what Max told me last night. We’re working different angles of the case, but the federal agent surmised that because of the manner of death—the victims were all drugged and unconscious prior to being suffocated while wrapped in a blanket; they were not sexually assaulted; they were buried with their favorite stuffed animal; and they were buried in a place close to home—that the killer is a woman.”
“A federal agent is working with a reporter?”
“I’m as surprised as you, sir.” More than a little surprised, but Max wanted this investigation and working with Agent Kincaid was the only way she was getting the access.
Carney stared at him for quite some time. David would have been nervous if he was guilty of something—a good tactic, he supposed.
“Tommy Porter was a difficult case for me,” Carney said. “I had young children back then—four kids, between the ages of five and sixteen—when Tommy was killed. Any case involving a child was always hard on me, hell, it’s hard on most cops, but Tommy stuck with me because it made no sense. Not then, not now. I was positive one of the parents must have killed him. I believed it for a long time, in fact, even after we verified and reverified their alibis. I interviewed them multiple times, and neither gave me any indication that they had the capacity to kill. I didn’t want to believe that this was another Polly Klaas, that a stranger can just walk into a person’s house and steal their child. Now you’re telling me that the killer wasn’t a stranger, that it’s someone I could have spoken with.”
“I’m not a psychologist, but I’ve read that criminals often return to the crime scene, sometimes trying to put themselves into the middle of the investigation.”
Carney nodded. “It happens. Not as often as it’s portrayed on television, but it happens. I caught a serial arsonist that way a few years back. Couldn’t stay away, wanted to see the results of his handiwork.”
“Max Revere already has the list of witnesses from the Justin Stanton homicide and the Chris Donovan homicide. Our staff is inputting them into a database in order to expedite any similarities between anyone involved, even on the periphery. It would help if we had your case files as well.”
“I need to talk to the chief about this,” Carney said. “Give me your contact information and I’ll get back to you.”
David didn’t know if this was Carney giving him the brush-off or if he was genuinely going to consider the idea. He pulled a business card out of his wallet and put it on Carney’s desk. “I appreciate your time. One more question: do you know if Tommy was on a baseball team? Or if he enjoyed baseball?”
“Why?”
“Max wants to know. I would have asked Grant when I met with him if I’d known she needed the information, and now he’s on duty.” He didn’t tell Carney why, but he would if pressed.
Carney looked skeptical, but nodded. “Played since T-ball when he was four. Was a good little player, apparently. He was nine when he died, but played up with the twelve-year-olds. The kids he played with—they were really shaken by what happened. They all came to his funeral in their uniforms. Broke my heart.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Did you say that the feds were involved? They can ask for any information without any problem. I don’t have a problem with the feds. I have a good rapport with the local ASAC, we have lunch once a month, keep each other in the loop.”
“Max is working with a federal agent, but it’s not an official investigation.”
“How does that work?”
“To be honest? I have no friggin’ idea.”