THURSDAY
David left Santa Barbara at dawn for the three-hour drive to Corcoran State Prison. Rising early wasn’t a problem for him—he was up before 6:00 A.M. every morning. But he felt that this entire endeavor was an exercise in futility. While Max’s analysis was intriguing, when a man is convicted of killing his son, he is most likely guilty. Prisons are full of killers and most are there because they did the crime.
Adam Donovan had been convicted of murder without taking the stand in his own defense. There was no hard evidence against him—even the circumstantial evidence seemed thin when David read the trial transcript. The prosecution had gone for the lighter sentence—they claimed that Donovan had accidentally killed his son and in a panic buried his body only a few miles from their house. According to a conversation Max had had with the public defender who had represented Donovan, she’d urged him to take a plea deal of involuntary manslaughter and five years in prison. He refused.
Either the guy was truly innocent, or he thought he could beat the rap because the evidence was so shaky. His alibi was his mistress—the same alibi that Andrew Stanton used—but unlike the Stanton case, the police didn’t find Donovan’s mistress reliable. They completely discredited her on the stand, and while she didn’t waver from her claim that they’d been together the night that Chris Donovan had been killed, in the end, the jury hadn’t believed her.
It didn’t help Donovan’s case that he initially lied to police about where he was when his son was kidnapped. Only when the police seriously looked at him did he give up his mistress. It also didn’t help that Donovan had a prior record—he’d been arrested for assault when he was nineteen, given time served and community service, but the ding was on his record.
David didn’t think that information should have been given to the jury twelve years after the fact, because Donovan had kept his nose clean since. David had a couple of dings on his own record before he had enlisted in the army. He’d been an angry teenager, and was still angry much of the time—but he’d learned to temper his darker nature through exercise, working long hours, and his daughter. He didn’t want to give his ex-girlfriend any reason to prevent him from seeing Emma.
What seemed particularly odd to David was that the defense hadn’t even asked the judge to disallow the assault. After more than a decade? Before he was even married? It seemed like negligence or incompetence.
David didn’t have a lot of respect for the legal system. He’d had his own issues when he had to fight for the right to see his daughter. He paid child support, he wanted to be in her life, but because he’d never been married to her mother, he’d had an uphill battle and Brittney constantly held his visitation over his head like a fucking carrot.
Do what I say or you’ll never see Emma.
So he jumped through the hoops because there was nothing more important to him than his daughter.
Which is why he was having a difficult time with this investigation Max had launched. Adam Donovan had been convicted in a court of law of murdering his son. Even though the evidence was circumstantial, he had been convicted, he hadn’t filed an appeal, and statistics showed that he was most likely guilty. David wanted to punch him more than talk to him.
Not only that, but Max was far better at getting people to talk to her. Often because she irritated them so much, they couldn’t shut up. David wasn’t a reporter. He wasn’t a cop. His claim to fame had been ten years in the U.S. Army, eight of them as a Ranger. He had no college degree, and his only training outside of the military was when he went into private security.
“You’re a dad,” Max had said. “You’ll know what to say, and you’ll know if he’s guilty.”
He disagreed, but she didn’t budge. Max didn’t falter when she believed that she was right. Ever. It was enough to drive anyone crazy—especially since she was rarely wrong.
Maybe after his failed attempt to meet with the Porters yesterday, she would understand he wasn’t good at this. They wouldn’t talk to him and threatened to call the cops when he showed up at their house.
Try again, Max said. Maybe they’ll have a change of heart after sleeping on it, she said.
Right.
And that’s what Max didn’t understand. If David was in the same situation as Doug Porter, he would have done exactly the same thing. Well, not exactly. He wouldn’t have threatened to call the cops. He would have slugged the asshole wanting to talk about his dead kid.
But if anything happened to Emma like what happened to these little boys, David wouldn’t rest until the killer was dead. These dads, while they grieved, would never take the law into their own hands, which meant David didn’t completely understand them. He wasn’t like them just because he happened to be a father. Why didn’t Max see that?
Because Maxine Revere sees the world through her own glasses, and damn anyone who doesn’t get with the program.
So now David was here, at Corcoran State Prison, to interview a man convicted of murdering his son. It took more than thirty minutes before he was cleared through security and taken to the visiting area—a large room with several guards at the doors and along the perimeter watching the group of prisoners and visitors. Tables were set up on one side, a television area on another; toys and puzzles were in another corner. David watched as a burly, tattooed convict played dinosaurs with his daughter who couldn’t be more than four. A woman, who David presumed to be the child’s mother, sat to the side, tears in her eyes, watching them.
“Wait here,” the guard told David and led him to a table in the far corner.
It took several minutes before another guard brought in Adam Donovan. Donovan sat in the chair across from David and stared without comment.
The man had hardened, lost weight, gained muscle, and his dark hair had turned half gray in the span of five years since his conviction for the murder of his son. He was only thirty-six, but he looked closer to fifty. A long, jagged scar on his neck hadn’t been there in the last photo David had of him on the day he’d been sentenced.
“Mr. Donovan, I’m David Kane. I work for Maxine Revere, an investigative reporter with NET television.”
David had told Max he wouldn’t do well with a man who was convicted of killing his son. All David could think about was his own daughter. If anyone hurt her, he would see red. Anyone who did violence to a child deserved worse than prison.
Yet here David was, facing a convicted killer, because Max insisted.
“You don’t like me, so why are you here?” Adam said.
Perceptive.
“Because my partner is investigating a crime similar to your son’s murder. Dead boy. Only child. One or both parents a lawyer. Kidnapped from his bedroom and found less than two miles from his house.”
Adam didn’t look surprised, just sad.
David continued. “There are enough similarities to your son’s murder that we wanted to talk to you.”
“Well, fuck you. I didn’t kill that kid. I’ve been locked up for five years, three months, and ten days.”
“I wanted to talk about Chris.”
“The only reason I agreed to meet with you is to tell you to go to hell. I do not want my family to go through this shit again. My ex-wife … or my mom.” His voice cracked. “My brother and sister, they don’t deserve to be hounded by the fucking press like they were five years ago. No one does. So just—fuck off. Leave us alone.”
“You pled not guilty.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“You didn’t take the stand. Maxine’s attorney thinks your attorney was an incompetent idiot, but you haven’t filed an appeal. You would probably be granted a new trial for a half-dozen different reasons.”
“You just don’t get it. My son is dead.” Adam glared at him. “Someone took him from his bed, where he should have been safe, suffocated him, and buried him at the park down the street. Why? Hell if I know. Yet, my ex-wife thinks I killed him. She believes it deep down that I am not only capable of killing a child, of killing my own son, but that I actually did it. My life means nothing. I don’t care. Just—go away.”
“I have a daughter. I would be moving heaven and earth to find out who hurt her.”
“How? I have no money—used it all for the trial. I have no family. No one who believes me except my mother, yet she cries every time she visits. I told her to stop coming because it’s going to kill her. And my son is still dead. Finding the killer isn’t going to bring him back.”
“Let me ask these questions my boss prepared and I’ll let you get back to wallowing in self-pity.”
“Charmer, aren’t you.”
David opened his mouth, then closed it when he realized that he had sounded exactly like Max.
“Adam,” David said, putting aside all Max’s questions, “I’m not going to sit here and lie to you—I came in here believing the jury was right, that even though your trial was fucked, you are exactly where you belong. But when Maxine Revere gets an itch, it has to be satisfied, and if I didn’t talk to you in person, she would, and she doesn’t take excuses or bullshit. I personally don’t care. I don’t have a vested interest in this case or any case. I just do my job.”
That had begun to change, because David had begun to care about the work he did with Max, but David didn’t want to think too much about that right now. He’d only noticed that lately, Max had been … different. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but she’d put up this wall between them. Last year he would have been grateful to get the space. Now? Not so much.
“Ask,” Adam said through clenched teeth.
“Your alibi was your mistress. Two of the other victims we’re looking at also had cheating fathers. How long had you been involved with Amy Lovell?”
“Nearly a year.”
“She was discredited on the stand.”
“Fucking prosecutor.”
“You initially lied to police.”
“Because I didn’t know what happened to Chris, I didn’t know he’d been killed … I don’t know what I thought, only I never once thought that he was dead.” He took a deep breath. “I cheated on my wife. I’m not proud of it, but it wasn’t like we had a perfect marriage. We went through a rough patch and Cindy didn’t want a divorce.”
“You did?”
“You read the transcript. Don’t ask stupid questions.”
David bristled. “I’m trying to wrap my head around the fact that if you are innocent, why you’re not exercising your right to appeal.”
“Because my son is still dead! Back then, I was a borderline alcoholic. I’m clean in here. Not much else good about the place, but I’m sober, and I’m doing my time and trying not to think about anything else.”
It was clear that all Adam Donovan thought about was the past.
“Did anyone know about your affair?”
“No.”
“No?”
“Cindy didn’t know, if that’s what you mean.”
“Cheating spouses always think that.”
“If she’d known, she wouldn’t have been so vindictive on the stand. She really believes I killed my son so that I could run off with Amy. Yes, I wanted a divorce because Cindy and I argued every fucking day about every fucking thing. That wasn’t good for Chris. I drank too much because I didn’t know what else to do. Amy was a distraction and she didn’t scream at me. We talked more than we screwed. Cindy wasn’t a bad person, she loved Chris, just like I did. Her parents had divorced when she was twelve and she had it in her head that we had to make it work for Chris. We tried … God, we tried. We even went to marriage counseling. But it had been a mistake from the beginning. We were just too young and stupid to see it.”
“So you and Amy discreetly had an affair for a year.”
“Yes.”
“You worked together.”
“We both worked for the same software company, I was in IT and she was in human resources.”
An idea came to David, but he filed it away to follow up on later.
“It came out in the trial that Chris was drugged prior to being suffocated.”
Adam flinched, then nodded.
“He was buried in his blanket with one of his stuffed animals.”
Adam nodded again, but didn’t say anything.
“According to the transcript, the stuffed dinosaur was his favorite animal.”
“He had many favorites—Chris couldn’t go to the zoo or mall without coming back with another stuffed animal—but he slept with the dinosaur every night.” Adam looked down, then whispered, “He said the T. rex would protect him when he slept.”
“Who else might have known which was his favorite?”
“Who cares?”
“It might go to motive.”
Donovan slammed his fist on the table. “There is no fucking motive!”
The guard closest to them came over. “First and only warning, Donovan.”
Donovan’s jaw tightened. “What do you want from me, Kane?”
“Max wanted me to tell her whether you are guilty or innocent.”
Donovan laughed out loud. “You a fucking psychic? Oh, that’s good. You come in here, spend thirty minutes talking to me and you can tell if I killed my son? That’s rich.”
“I told Max I wouldn’t be able to do it. She has an uncanny way of reading people. Not a psychic—more like an astute observer of human behavior and emotion.”
“So this has been a waste of time. You dragged me in here to talk about my son for no fucking reason. Unbelievable. Leave me alone, Kane. I don’t need this. I just want to do my time.”
“Don’t you want to know who killed Chris?”
“The world knows. The world believes I killed my son. Nothing else matters. I don’t live in a fantasy world. Every guy in this joint is guilty, but they’ll lie through their teeth to anyone on the outside that they’re innocent, then laugh all the way to the yard that they pulled one over on their girlfriend or attorney or the parole board. I’m not getting out of here. And if I appealed, got out on a technicality, the only people in the world I care about will still think I’m guilty. My life is over. Don’t come back.”
* * *
Amy Lovell had never married. She’d visited Donovan only once in prison, the month after he’d been transferred to Corcoran, but never again. She’d moved from Santa Clarita to Pasadena. Not far as the crow flies, but a completely different city, friends, job. Maybe she’d had a difficult time after the trial, maybe she just needed a change. Whatever reason, it wasn’t difficult for David to track her down.
David didn’t want to believe that Adam Donovan was innocent … but he said he didn’t kill his son, and when faced with a reporter who could blast the news far and wide, David expected him to. All he had from the trial was the transcripts, and he couldn’t tell if Amy was lying based on the written words. He saw why the jury didn’t believe her—she hesitated, was asked to constantly repeat herself, and got trapped in a logic problem. Either she wasn’t bright, or she was flustered, or she didn’t understand what was going on.
“Thank you for meeting with me,” David said. Amy was several years younger than Donovan. She had once been pretty—but the years hadn’t been kind. Or maybe it was how Amy felt about herself. She was far too skinny to be healthy, her hair was severely styled, and she wore unflattering colors.
“I only agreed to tell you to your face that I will not let you drag me into this again. The press vilified me once, I won’t let it happen again.”
“I only have one question.”
“You drove all the way here to ask me one question?” Her distrust was evident.
“Was Adam Donovan with you the night his son was kidnapped and murdered?”
Tears welled in her eyes. “I don’t believe this,” she said. “I’m going to call the police. This is harassment. You can’t d-d-do this to me.”
David softened his tone—difficult for him, because he wasn’t a soft guy. Amy might look tough on the outside, but she was mush on the inside.
“Amy,” he said in an even tone, “I read the transcript. You became flustered on the stand and backtracked. You lost credibility in the eyes of the jury. I can just imagine how nervous you were.”
“I didn’t know what to expect—the questions about my life, about things I didn’t want to talk about … about sex.” She whispered the last word.
David was surprised that the defense hadn’t prepared Amy for questioning. It seemed pretty basic to David that you needed to prepare your witnesses, but this attorney was slipshod in many ways.
“The answer is important, Amy. There are three other boys who died in the same manner as Chris. If Adam is truly innocent, my employer is ready to fund an Innocence Project campaign on his behalf.” That was partly true. But Donovan would have to file an appeal first, and he didn’t seem to be inclined to do so.
“I told the court that Adam was with me that night. Through all my embarrassment, through the way the press dragged me through the mud as a slut, home-wrecker, and liar, I was with Adam that night. The prosecutor wanted the jury to believe that if I was telling the truth, I had fallen asleep and Adam snuck out. We were more than thirty minutes from his house. How could he have snuck out, killed his son, then snuck back into my bed where we woke up and made love again at five that morning?”
“One thing the jury had a problem with, according to exit interviews, was that Cindy Donovan was working late that night—she was a tax attorney preparing for a major audit. Why wasn’t Adam at home with his son?”
“That question haunted Adam. He won’t talk to me anymore—I tried. He doesn’t hate me. He doesn’t love me. He has no feelings at all. I’ve tried to move on with my life, tried not to blame myself, but I can’t help it. Adam hired a babysitter because he was angry with his wife for any number of things. I honestly think he wanted Cindy to find out about our affair because that would give her a reason to divorce him.” She rubbed her eyes and took a deep breath, but David didn’t interrupt her train of thought. “I didn’t have any illusions that Adam loved me, Mr. Kane. We were friends at work, we became lovers, and I cared about him. Yes, I fell in love with him. I wanted him to love me the same way, but I knew he couldn’t. Even then, I knew I was lying to myself. He was angry and hurt and frustrated with his marriage and girls like me always try to fix men who are broken. I’m not that girl anymore.
“There’s no cell in my body that believes Adam killed his son. Not one. I hate that I was so wishy-washy on the stand, that the jury thought I wasn’t credible, that I was a love-struck twenty-year-old sleeping with a man ten years older. But you know what I hate more? That Adam was convicted for murder and he didn’t do one thing to help himself. It’s like he wanted to be punished. Where’s the justice, Mr. Kane? Because neither Adam nor Chris Donovan has seen it.”