Max and Lucy had a pleasant late lunch at a quaint restaurant close to the hotel. Lucy asked questions—smart questions—about Karen’s disappearance and some of the other cases Max had worked on over the years. So when they arrived back at Max’s hotel room, she was surprised when Lucy said she was going to her room to call her brother, the forensic psychiatrist.
“I’ll let you know if he has additional insight,” Lucy said as she was about to walk out.
Max had no intention of being shut out by little miss agent Lucy Kincaid, and that’s exactly what this felt like.
“This is one of the few times I think more heads are better,” Max said. “We should have a four-way conference call.”
“Four-way?”
“I have a forensic psychiatrist—retired FBI—who I often consult. I’ve already reached out to him and he has time tonight.”
Lucy didn’t say anything. It was quite obvious, to Max at any rate, that Lucy thought this was the one area where Max was a complete novice.
Lucy seemed to be a good cop, but she was still a cop. She would give Max the information she thought was important without the nuances that Max needed to put the whole story together.
It was clear that Lucy wanted to argue with her. It surprised Max that she relented—however reluctantly—without further comment. Max picked up the room phone.
“Who else are you calling?” Lucy asked.
“I’m going to have the hotel’s IT department set up a video conference.”
“I can do that.”
“It’s a tech thing.”
“It’s not a problem. I was tech-savvy even before I married a genius.”
Max hung up. She’d give Lucy a chance, though Max always believed that when you wanted something done right, you bring in an expert. She didn’t like delays, especially when trying to cut corners or because of incompetence.
“Arthur is in New York,” Max said. “He teaches at NYU and said to call after seven.” She glanced at her watch, adjusted for the time difference. “He should be home now; I’ll send him a message. Can your brother talk at five our time?”
“Yes.” Lucy typed on her laptop and opened up a video conferencing program that Max had never seen before. Then Lucy opened the cabinet to the large screen television and hooked up a cable. The program was reflected on the TV.
“My tech guys in New York have a similar setup in the conference room.”
“We’re ready to go.”
“That was fast.”
“It’s not difficult,” Lucy said. “I have to call my office, but I’ll be back before five.”
Max wondered if that was an excuse to talk to her brother alone first. But truth was, she had calls to make as well. She walked Lucy to the door, then pulled out her cell phone and called David.
“Have you heard back from Carney?”
“No.”
“We need those files.”
He didn’t comment. Of course he knew what she needed. “I sent you photos from the crime scene like you asked,” he said instead. “I don’t know what specifically you were looking for, so I took a little of everything.”
Max sat down at her own computer and pulled up her e-mail. She scanned through all the photos. “This is good. Did you find out about baseball?”
“Carney said Tommy played on a Little League team.”
“Do you know which one?”
“Is that important?”
“I don’t know yet. Just trying to piece together all the information I can before we talk to the shrinks.”
“I’m having coffee with Grant in the morning. I’ll ask him.”
“Why? Does he have more information?”
“I promised to keep him in the loop. He’s the one who got me the meeting with Carney in the first place.”
“Fine, just be cautious in what you reveal.”
“I’m not keeping secrets from the family.”
“Not secrets. I don’t want any of this leaked out.”
“You want the story.”
Max bristled. He made it sound like a sin. “Yes, I want the damn story. If a lesser reporter gets wind of this, they’ll blow it. The entire investigation. It’s happened to me before you joined my team. I’m not going to ruin this, not when it’s at a sensitive stage. What if Lucy is right and the killer is out there, looking for another victim? Right now we have time on our side. We don’t want to tip this woman off.”
“Hold on, I have a call coming in from the eight-oh-five area code.”
David put her on hold. She would have been angry, except 805 was Santa Barbara, and that could mean that Carney was giving him good—or bad—news.
She put her phone on speaker and read over her other messages. Her staff had come through with a rather short list of articles about Rogan Caruso Kincaid Protective Services, which she put aside to read tonight. Ben sent her an e-mail that RCK hadn’t responded to his inquiry, over and above the press packet, and did she want him to press. She told him to hold off for now, but that she might change her mind.
She still wanted to know about Lucy Kincaid and her husband, but decided that she’d stand down for the next day or two. She didn’t want to give Kincaid any reason to pull out her badge and assume authority. Though somehow, Max didn’t think she’d do that. There was something else going on with Lucy, and Max hadn’t quite figured it out.
Instead, she sent Ben a message.
I read the brief info you sent on Dillon Kincaid—I’m having a conference call with him in less than an hour, have you learned anything I need to know?
David said, “Max?”
“Still here.”
“Carney wants Agent Kincaid to request the files.”
“What? Doesn’t he know this isn’t a federal investigation?”
“He knows. His chief won’t give the witness statements to the press. It’s a back door he’s taking, Max. He wants to help, but is stuck. He’s already requested the files from archives—it’s a fifteen-year-old case, it may take a day or two.”
“Dammit,” she mumbled. “Fine. I’ll make it happen.” She hoped, because Lucy wasn’t here as an FBI agent. “Wait, it’s Friday afternoon. Do we have to wait until Monday?”
“Possibly, but Carney may have pull. The archive is attached to police headquarters, so he may be able to grant access over the weekend.”
“Road trip—not my favorite thing, but I suppose it wouldn’t save much time if we chartered a plane to Santa Barbara.”
“Driving through L.A. traffic?”
Max groaned. She hated traffic. “I’ll let you know. Thanks, David.” She ended the call and read a message that had just come in from Ben.
Max—I don’t have much on Dillon Kincaid. We’ve spread our research staff thin this week, piling on more assignments while they still have work on their desks. We have to prioritize, and this wasn’t a priority. He’s a forensic psychiatrist. He works from home, but doesn’t see patients there. He consults for the Federal Bureau of Prisons and has served as an expert witness in more than two dozen trials over the last eight years, when he opened his practice in D.C. Prior to that, he was in private practice in San Diego. He’s married to an FBI agent, Kate Donovan, who’s an instructor in cyberterrorism at the FBI Academy in Quantico. If you need more, you’re going to have to wait. I’m off to dinner with the Crossmans and some of our key investors. Don’t call me; I won’t answer.—Ben
Max was supposed to be at that dinner. She felt marginally guilty—the Crossmans gave her a lot of leeway in her position at NET and asked little in return. They had planned to show her off, in a way, let the money people pick her brain. Max didn’t care much for money people, perhaps because she was one of them and knew more than her fair share of philanthropists and sharks.
She sent Ben a text message—knowing he might not read his e-mail, but he would always read a text.
If you want me to do a call-in or video chat at the end of dinner, I should be done with Arthur by nine ET.
Ben responded with a dancing happy face emoji. She rolled her eyes.
It was close to five before Lucy returned. She’d showered and changed—Max supposed she should have taken the opportunity to relax, but she would relax with a bottle of wine in the Jacuzzi bathtub tonight or perhaps go down to the hotel’s spa and soak in the hot tub.
“You look refreshed,” Max said.
“I think better in the shower.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“What were you thinking about?”
Lucy was surprised by the question. “Well, I guess I was formulating my presentation.”
“What presentation?”
“To Dillon and Dr. Ullman. I know how they think, I want to present our case to them clearly.”
“You know Arthur?”
“No, but I know people like him. And I read your book.”
Max hadn’t considered that. “It’s eight on the East Coast, they should be waiting for us. I have some news.”
“Good, I hope.”
“Neutral. Carney from Santa Barbara said his boss will only give us the files if you request them.”
“Me? Why?”
“You’re FBI.”
“No. I can’t—I’m not here officially.”
“Carney is just covering his butt. We can go up there, you show your badge, and we get them. You can even go up without me.” Max was trying to make light of the situation, but Lucy looked more than a little nervous. Max didn’t understand why … and she became suspicious.
Was there something Lucy wasn’t telling her?
“Look, this may be the only way we can get the files because technically the Porter case is still open. If I were there, I’d get them—David plays too nice with cops. I don’t.”
“How would you get them?”
“The power of the press—no police chief wants me going on the air and stating that he or she refused to give me access to files that could bring a killer to justice. I remind them of that. I play hardball when necessary. David isn’t me.”
“And you usually get what you want?”
“Always.” She backtracked a bit. “Say, nine times out of ten. Last case I worked I wasn’t allowed to take the files from the police station, but I had full access to everything the police had, and in the end, that made the difference in solving two murders.”
“Maybe we won’t need them,” Lucy said.
“You don’t believe that.”
Lucy started typing on the computer and ignored Max. She fumed. She didn’t like being ignored, and she didn’t like not knowing what was going on. Lucy was keeping something from her, what? Why wouldn’t she want to get the files from Santa Barbara when she’d made a point that comparing the interview list in all four cases could be the key difference in finding her nephew’s killer?
It took Lucy less than five minutes to bring in both Dillon Kincaid and Arthur Ullman to the video conference. She spent a moment adjusting sound and settings, then sat back. “Thank you, Dillon, Dr. Ullman,” Lucy said.
“No formalities,” Arthur said. “Call me Arthur, please.”
“Agreed,” Dillon said. “Your reputation precedes you, Arthur, and I’m pleased we’re able to consult together on this case. Hans Vigo speaks highly of you.”
“You know Hans? I haven’t seen him since I retired—well, about two years after I retired he came to a seminar I was teaching at Quantico. We never worked together on a case, but he’s consulted with me from time to time.”
“Hans is a good friend,” Dillon said.
“Please give him my best when you see him.”
Max watched the exchange. Probably good that they were building rapport with each other, a sense of trust. She would much have preferred dealing with one shrink instead of two, but it had been a compromise. Something she didn’t particularly like, but did when necessary.
“Dillon, I’m Maxine Revere. Lucy probably told you I’m an investigative reporter with NET and host the show Maximum Exposure.”
“Yes,” he replied rather icily. “I’m aware.”
“And, Arthur, this is FBI Agent Lucy Kincaid. She’s out of the San Antonio Field Office, but she’s assisting on her own time. She has a personal stake in the case—as well as Dr. Kincaid. The first victim was their nephew.”
“I familiarized myself with the case after you e-mailed me yesterday,” Arthur said. “And I also reviewed your notes. I’m happy to help, though I don’t know that two of us will be any better than one.”
“Lucy trusts her brother, I trust you. Hopefully by the end of this conversation, we have a clear direction.” Max hesitated, then added, “I’ll admit, though I didn’t like the idea of working with a federal agent, Lucy has provided some interesting insight and a compelling profile of the killer, but I still don’t see the big picture.”
“We have additional information from our research today,” Lucy said. “We’ve confirmed that the second known victim, Tommy Porter, was also buried with his favorite stuffed animal. That’s three of the potential four known victims.”
“Known?” Arthur asked.
“Lucy modified my timeline. She put Victim Zero before Justin Stanton.”
Dillon said, “What makes you say that?”
“I put a question mark next to it,” Lucy clarified. “I don’t see at this point how or why Justin was the trigger. I think the trigger came before Justin, but again, I can’t be certain without more information.”
Arthur said, “You mentioned in your message, Max, that the killer is most likely female. Did you come to that conclusion, Dr. Kincaid?”
“No, that was Lucy,” Dillon said. “She has a master’s degree in criminal psychology from Georgetown and is well-versed in profiling. Don’t let her rookie status deceive you.”
Max glanced at Lucy. Was she actually blushing? That would be hard to fake. Max said, “Lucy, tell Arthur why you think the killer is a woman.”
“First,” Lucy said, “we should backtrack a bit. Did you familiarize yourself with the commonalities of each case?”
“Yes,” Arthur said, “though there are a few holes because of the pending trial of Mrs. Caldwell, correct?”
“I can’t access any of those records,” Max said. But after David’s conversation with Carney, she wondered if Lucy might have a better chance. In fact, if the FBI wanted to take a peek, would the DA say no? It was worth a shot, if Lucy was willing. And why wouldn’t she be? She wanted to solve these murders as much as Max. And Max didn’t say that lightly—she rarely found anyone as invested in any of her investigations as she was. Yet Lucy wanted answers, maybe even more than Max, and that was saying something.
“I filled Dillon in last night,” Lucy said, “so we’re all on the same page. The manner of death—it was set up as a mercy killing. No sexual assault, no violence, a quiet death. I suspect the boys were all unconscious from the sedatives in their system before they were suffocated. She also couldn’t look at them while they died—she wrapped them completely in their blankets. The other details are all similar. But the trigger eluded me until this afternoon when we visited the park where Justin was buried.”
Max was watching Dillon Kincaid closely. He was much older than Lucy, almost old enough to be her father. His expression was more than a little protective and he had a tense jaw. It was clear he hadn’t known she’d gone to the park. Was he worried about her? Or angry? Why?
“Justin was buried in a park where he often played—in fact, it was a favorite spot of his. Max’s assistant followed up with the Porter family—Tommy was also buried in a park. But he was buried at the edge of the baseball field, and he loved the sport—he was on a Little League team. Max asked her assistant to find out if Chris Donovan spent time in the nature preserve where he was found—I suspect yes, he did. I suspect it was a favorite spot.”
“Excuse my interruption,” Arthur said, “but weren’t all these locations close to the victim’s home? Possibly chosen because of proximity?”
“That was part of it, she didn’t want to be with the dead child long. But there was a playground closer to the Donovan house than the nature preserve. It was only two miles away, but the park was much closer. Alone, this information may not seem important, but in context it is absolutely imperative that we understand she buried her victims in these locations on purpose.
“The context is this: the killer knew that the father was having an affair. The killer knew where the family lived. She knew where the children played. She knew when the parents were not home and what bedroom the child slept in. She stalked the families for weeks, if not months. She had intimate knowledge of their lives. How? That is the question we need to answer. How did she know that the fathers were having an affair? We know Nelia was privy to Andrew’s affair, but it wasn’t discussed between them. Andrew claimed that no one else knew, other than his mistress. But cheaters often think that they are being discreet when, in fact, those closest to them know the truth. Adam Donovan told Max’s assistant that he ‘almost wanted’ his wife to find out so that she would divorce him. That tells me he wasn’t being discreet. Porter was a repeat cheater. But still, while adultery doesn’t have the stigma that it once did, people don’t generally talk about their affairs openly.”
“You think that the killer followed the husbands,” Dillon said.
How the hell did he come to that conclusion? Max wondered if having a sibling made you somehow psychic.
“Yes, I do,” Lucy said. “Maybe she overheard something or saw something, I don’t know, but she followed the husband until she confirmed that he was having an affair. That was the trigger. That’s what told her that he didn’t deserve a family.”
Arthur said, “That’s a big leap. Why not kill the cheater? Or the mistress?”
“Because she doesn’t view death as punishment. She views suffering as punishment. And what better way to make someone suffer than to take away the one thing they love more than anything else?”
Max felt ill. She’d heard and seen a lot—mostly by choice in her profession—but she couldn’t begin to understand what would make a person kill a child to punish a parent. And Lucy … she was so matter-of-fact about it. As if she had conversations like this every day.
Maybe she did. What had Dillon said earlier? Don’t let her rookie status fool you.
There was far, far more to Lucy Kincaid Rogan than met the eye.
Lucy continued. “It’s clear she didn’t want the boys to suffer. That’s why they were drugged and suffocated. She also didn’t want them to suffer in the afterlife, which is why she buried them in a place they had been happy in while alive, it’s why she buried them with a stuffed animal.”
“And in their own bedding,” Dillon said.
“Perhaps not,” Arthur said. “Perhaps she couldn’t look at them, as Lucy said earlier.”
Lucy nodded. “Exactly, she couldn’t watch them die. She covered their faces—they were all suffocated with their own bedding, and I suspect she didn’t remove it when she buried them. She couldn’t watch them die, she couldn’t look at them after she killed them. My guess is that when she came into their bedroom, she injected them.”
“And they didn’t wake up?” Dillon said.
“We know there were no drugs found in any of the houses that matched the drugs found during autopsy. She must have brought them with her. The only autopsy that showed an injection site was on Chris Donovan—it was a huge problem with the prosecution of Chris’s father because no syringe or drugs were found at his house, his office, his car, his mistress. The prosecution claimed he threw everything away and the defense didn’t counter.”
Lucy must have spent all night reading the transcript Max had given her, because they hadn’t even discussed the case.
“It’s still odd that none of these children cried out after being stung by a needle,” Arthur said. “But it does sound more like a mercy killing.”
“It is,” Dillon agreed. “Each step of the killer’s process suggests mercy killing. Except that she’s not putting the child out of suffering from an illness, she’s creating misery.”
“She’s methodical,” Lucy said. “She has to know the families—maybe not well, but well enough that she can get all the information she needs. She’s either a neighbor or a colleague.”
“Colleague?” Dillon asked. “Wouldn’t that be easy to confirm?”
Max spoke up. “I’m going with colleague here. One or both parents are lawyers. While lawyers may be a dime a dozen, it seems too coincidental. That makes me think that the killer is a lawyer or works with lawyers—legal secretary, paralegal, something like that. My staff is doing the research on employees who worked with each parent, but it hasn’t been easy. First, Adam Donovan was convicted for his son’s murder and the police only interviewed his direct supervisor and his mistress. We have been trying to get an employee list out of the company and they cite privacy records. Donovan’s wife worked at a small law firm and they haven’t cooperated at all. The Porters, though initially opposed to helping, have been persuaded to assist us. My associate is in Santa Barbara working with them, and the police are cooperating as well, so I hope we’ll get a list of witnesses as well as colleagues. The Porters themselves may be able to give us names. Neighbors for both cases were easier because they are part of the official record—the neighborhoods were canvassed and everyone who was interviewed documented. So far, no name has been duplicated. I e-mailed Andrew Stanton and he’s creating a list of every female employee he worked with and I’d like to do the same with his ex-wife.”
“Absolutely not,” Dillon said.
“Dillon,” Lucy began, but Max interrupted.
“It’s the single best lead we have.”
“It’s not a lead. It’s fishing and I’m not putting my sister through that.”
“That’s not your call,” Max said.
Lucy said, “Dillon, we can talk about this later—”
“You told me last night that you would leave Nelia alone.”
“And you said,” Lucy added, “that if we needed it, you would talk to her.”
“You don’t need it.”
“What about my profile is off?”
“It’s not a profile,” Dillon said.
Lucy frowned. “I wasn’t finished.”
“Well?”
Lucy was flustered, maybe because her brother was being a jerk. What was it with these Kincaids? Did they really not care who killed Justin? Max said, “Lucy already concluded that the killer is a woman, and neither of you objected.”
“Identifying the gender of the killer isn’t a profile,” Dillon snapped.
Lucy raised her voice, “No, it’s not.” She cleared her throat. “The killer was a mother. She lost her only son to violence, and her husband was having an affair—not only having an affair, but he was with his mistress when their son was kidnapped or killed. I also think she wasn’t home, most likely working late. She never forgave him, she never forgave herself, and she cracked. She left her husband, moved as far away from him as possible because she hates him and blames him for her son’s death. He should have been there with his son, not with another woman. She also harbors intense guilt, because she also wasn’t there. Possibly she worked, or was at a book club, or somewhere other than in her house. She’d left her son with a babysitter to do something for herself or her family and when she got home, he was dead. And through the investigation into her son’s death, she learned about her husband’s affair.”
Little impressed Max, but Lucy impressed her. She’d talked loosely about the killer, the victims, the situation—but hearing it laid out as if Lucy had actually spoken to the killer was a little unnerving.
No one spoke, but Max had a hundred questions. “Why do you think she moved far from her husband?”
“Because she can’t fathom being near him or anywhere near where her son lived or played. It’s a guess, but they probably lived east of the Mississippi.”
“Lucy,” Arthur said, “I am very intrigued by your profile. Yet if you’re right and the killer lost her own son, how would she justify to herself to take another woman’s child?”
“They don’t deserve a child. They were all working mothers. All in professional jobs. They weren’t home when they should be, they don’t deserve him any more than their cheating husbands.”
Max shot Lucy a glance. She was tense, not a little bit angry, but she held it back far better than Max would have been able to. Yet part of the anger wasn’t directed at her brother—though honestly, Max felt he deserved it after that last exchange—but almost as if it was directed inward. Or as if Lucy was projecting the emotions of the killer herself.
Max understood the importance of understanding the motives of the killer, as well as victimology. It was crucial in any criminal investigation, but doubly important—and harder to understand—in a cold case, where time and distance created a layer of distorted memories.
Yet Lucy took profiling—which was exactly what she was doing, Max realized—to another level. She personalized it, which couldn’t be easy considering that one of the victims was her nephew. She compartmentalized as well as any cop Max had met. Maybe too well. Is that why she’d seemed so cool and distant? Even after they’d spent the day together, Lucy hadn’t warmed up. She was polite, professional, cordial, but Max knew the only way she’d ever understand Lucy was to observe her. She certainly wasn’t someone who shared much about herself. Max could get anyone to talk—either because they wanted to or became so irritated with Max that they talked just to make Max go away. Few people were as close-lipped as Lucy Kincaid. The closest she’d come to was her assistant, David, but even he wasn’t this complex.
Interesting.
Arthur said, “Agent Kincaid, it sounds like you have a good foundation on a profile. You certainly don’t need my input. I would concur with your assessment, but I have one thing to add. Did you note that all of the mothers were in the legal profession? Two were lawyers—Nelia Stanton and the most recent, Blair Caldwell; Mrs. Porter was a court reporter and Mrs. Donovan was a paralegal.”
“I didn’t quite make that connection,” Lucy said. “We knew that one or both parents were lawyers.”
Dillon spoke. “Arthur, are you thinking that the killer is also in the legal profession?”
“I’m connecting the dots that Lucy already put on the map. I concur that the killer has some connection to each family, and probably the strongest connection to the first victim, Justin Stanton. I don’t know that he wasn’t the first victim, however—if there was another three to five years before him, you’re looking at a woman who could easily be in her sixties. Justin may have been the first after the loss of her own son, so it took her time to build up to it—and in taking that time, with her own professional background, she was able to come up with a plan that protected her. Victim Zero, for example, may simply be her own son, the trigger of her psychotic break.”
“I see what you mean,” Lucy said. “And if she has the intelligence coupled with the psychosis, she could plan out the entire murder, beginning to end.”
“Psychotic?” Max said. “What exactly do you mean, Arthur? How can someone this looney tunes function in a professional job for the last two decades and continue to commit such cold-blooded murder?”
“Psychology is not a hard science,” Arthur said. “It’s more complex because while we have certain standards and rules, we don’t have absolutes like in physics or chemistry. What we have is a wealth of information and experience from life, and an analysis of like crimes. When dealing with a female killer, we have a more finite set of data because females historically don’t become serial killers. Females are passion killers. A cheating spouse. A boyfriend who left them. Mercy killings. Poison is the primary method because it separates the killer from the murder.”
Arthur took a sip from his coffee mug, then cleared his throat, and continued. “Severe depression plays a bigger part in the makeup of lone female killers—meaning those who do not have a killing partner—especially those who target their family, like Andrea Yates. Women also tend to focus in the world they know. A nurse who thinks she’s saving someone a lifetime of pain and suffering—that is her justification—but in fact her psychosis is often much darker than that. She justifies it to herself—that she is noble or doing society a great service or ending the pain of another—but that’s her logical answer to her darker need to take a human life as punishment and the sense of power it gives her. A sense of … playing God. The killer we’re looking at has completely separated herself from the act of murder. She’s only looking at the outcome—making the family suffer—not the act itself. I suspect she takes so long between crimes for two reasons. First and foremost, she needs to relocate. She has a powerful self-preservation drive, and knows that the longer she stays, the more likely someone will look to her for murder—possibly because of her own guilt and obsession and inability to stay out of the investigation. Essentially, she doesn’t completely trust herself. Second, she doesn’t have a specific target initially. It takes time to develop this pattern. To find a cheating spouse who has one son and fits the profile of her own past.”
Dillon said, “Do you think that the killer was working with my sister Nelia—she was a lawyer for a defense contractor, she didn’t work in a law office—or with my brother-in-law, Stanton? Stanton was a prosecutor at the time, he had many more colleagues. Nelia worked for the legal counsel, who was a man and much older. I may be able to find out if there was anyone else with a legal background at her company, but it’ll be difficult.”
“I couldn’t say,” Arthur said. “I suppose I would be inclined to think that she’d work with the wife, only because she has some sympathy toward the female in the partnership, but the Stanton case is unusual because both parents were lawyers.”
“What we should be looking for then,” Dillon said, “is a list of female lawyers, paralegals, court reporters—anyone who worked for the County of San Diego or for the defense contractor, who came from out of state and then left employment within a year of Justin’s murder.”
“And moved to Santa Barbara,” Max said. “Because the Porters lived in Santa Barbara.”
“Employee records are generally private,” Arthur said. “It may be difficult to get any viable list.”
“I’ll talk to Andrew,” Lucy said.
“You may need to consider turning this over to the local field office, Lucy,” Dillon said.
“No,” Max interrupted. “Absolutely not. While I appreciate Lucy’s help on this, I’ve worked with law enforcement on many cold cases over the last decade. If we don’t give them something solid, they will shelve the entire investigation. I can’t go to them with this theory and expect them to expend resources when one of the crimes is ostensibly solved—Donovan—and one of the crimes is currently pending trial. They’ll laugh as they slam the door in my face if I suggest a grieving mother is going around killing little boys to force other mothers to grieve. Oh, and I only have evidence of crimes committed more than fifteen years ago.”
“Max is right,” Lucy said. “Every FBI office is spread thin right now, and has been for years. Violent crimes goes to the bottom each and every time.”
“We have friends, Lucy,” Dillon said.
“And when I have something actionable, I will call in every favor. But we don’t have it now.”
The room was silent for a long minute. Max wondered if they’d lost the feed, and she said, “I can file a Freedom of Information Act request and Andrew can expedite it—I’ve done it before when I had someone working with me. It’s a way to cover all bases in case there’s a legal challenge later.”
Arthur said, “Max, Lucy, I’m happy to consult further if you need advice, but I think you’re on the right path here. I’ll review the evidence and timeline again, if I see anything we haven’t discussed or have additional insight, I’ll send you an e-mail.”
“I appreciate your time, Arthur,” Max said. “Dr. Kincaid? Anything else from you?”
It was clear he wanted to talk to Lucy alone, but before that happened, Max needed a conversation with her. They had to be on the same page before Lucy started making promises to her family.
“No,” Dillon said. “Just—um, Lucy, tread carefully.”
Lucy thanked Arthur and her brother, then shut down the conferencing program.
“That was enlightening,” Max said. “You earned Arthur’s respect. He’s a good man, one of the brightest in his field. It’s hard to impress him.”
“He reminds me of someone,” Lucy said.
She was off in her own thoughts, Max realized. Now would be the best time to get more information from her. Out of curiosity.
“Your friend Hans Vigo?”
Lucy nodded, but didn’t elaborate. Max wondered if there was more to the story—Lucy was a difficult woman to read, but Max was learning. There was definitely something here.
“I need to call Dillon,” Lucy said. “It’s personal,” she added quickly. “We have to work through how we’re going to contact Nelia. I’ll let you know what we decide. I’m not cutting you out, Max, I just need to handle this delicately.”
“Your family is overprotective of everyone.”
“They’re my family. I’ve already damaged my relationship, but I’m not going to let the family take sides on this. I’m not going to destroy their relationships with one another because they don’t like the path I’m on.”
“That would be their choice, not yours.”
“Max, you’re astute, and a good study of human behavior. It’s why you’ve been so successful in your career. But some things you can’t learn from observation. Some things you can only understand through living them. I love my family. They have been to hell and back, and not just what happened to Justin. Standing against them on something so fundamental to who we have all become is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. I understand their pain because I lived it. I don’t want to lose them, but I made my decision. I’ve made tough decisions before and lived with the consequences. But I will be damned before I allow any of my brothers or sisters to take sides and divide us or further damage their own relationships. So I’m going to talk to Dillon and tell him I appreciate his assistance but he needs to stand down, you work on the FOIA, then we’ll talk to Andrew and I’ll delineate exactly what we need and he’ll figure out if he can get it. I will tell you what we decide, and honestly, you’re just going to have to live with it.”
Lucy stood up and Max had a snide comeback, but something in Lucy’s expression stopped her from commenting.
“Fine,” Max said. “I’ll meet you at the restaurant downstairs at eight—you can tell me then what we’re going to do next.”
Lucy started to walk out. She then turned and said, “Is there any way you can find out if Peter Caldwell was buried with a stuffed animal?”
Max wasn’t certain John would even take her call. “I will most certainly try.”