Chapter Nine
Max reluctantly rented a car at the San Diego airport. She hated the process and hassle and complete unfairness of how they treated her. They charged her triple the rates and she self-insured. Her minor accidents were rarely her fault—the last time she’d been legally parked when someone rear-ended her and stole a diary she’d uncovered that ultimately helped her solve a cold case. Yet they punished her? Ridiculous.
She read David’s notes from his conversation with both Adam Donovan and Donovan’s mistress while sitting in the rental car. She made a note to touch base with Stanton’s mistress—no assumptions, she told herself. Just because the police did due diligence twenty years ago didn’t mean that they didn’t miss something.
Once Max was done with her tablet—as well as checking her e-mail—she drove out of the rental lot. On the freeway, she called Stanton and confirmed the time and place of their meeting.
“I’ve asked my sister-in-law to meet us,” Stanton said.
“That’s great,” Max said. “The more support and information we can get from Justin’s family will help. I appreciate your cooperation.”
“I haven’t decided whether to cooperate, Ms. Revere. I talked to your producer at length. I grant you, your theory is interesting, but I still need more information.”
“Fair enough. I’m ready to answer all questions you and Detective Kincaid may have.”
He paused. “My sister-in-law Lucy is flying in from Texas. She’s an FBI agent and will likely be the only Kincaid willing to talk to you.”
“She’s coming in from Texas?” Max mentally ran through the Stanton case. The name Lucy Kincaid was familiar, but because she lived out of state and had been a child when Justin was murdered, Max hadn’t dug into her background. She didn’t think she’d be useful in the investigation. Yet she was an FBI agent? Max couldn’t remember that in her notes.
“You will need to convince Lucy of your theory, so bring your A game, Ms. Revere. I don’t appreciate being threatened, and I would suggest you avoid playing hardball with Lucy. I’ll see you at three.”
He hung up.
Max was not pleased with this new development. Not because Stanton was bringing in someone else—she had hoped to talk to Carina Kincaid, not only because she was related to the victim but because she had been a suspect for a brief time. She’d fallen asleep on the couch during the time frame that Justin had been kidnapped. Carina hadn’t heard or seen anything, according to her statement. Maybe the years—or different questions—could jog her memory.
But convincing a federal agent of her theory? What was with that? As if she had to ask for permission to work this case? What bullshit.
What did Lucy Kincaid know about the murder? Absolutely nothing. She’d never been interviewed, never been part of the investigation even in an ancillary way. And bringing in a federal agent to boot? What did Stanton hope to accomplish? Was he deliberately trying to sabotage Max’s investigation? Or perhaps wanting to listen to her theory then have the feds swoop in citing a multistate jurisdiction issue and tell her to back off, that they were reopening the case?
That would infuriate Max. While she’d want their resources, she knew after almost twenty years the FBI wouldn’t spend the time and money necessary to find the answers. If they got nothing actionable after a week or two, they’d shelve the case again until something new came up. Been there, done that. It had been one of the biggest recurring arguments in her relationship with her ex-boyfriend, Special Agent Marco Lopez.
Without Max stirring the pot, nothing new would rise to the surface.
She rolled her neck, willed herself to relax. She held all the cards here. Law enforcement wasn’t interested in an almost twenty-year-old cold case. She had the time and resources to pursue Justin Stanton’s murder, but even more important, people would talk to her because she wasn’t a cop.
Max called her producer, Ben Lawson. He put her immediately on hold—she hated that.
Max wondered if Lucy Kincaid really did hold that much sway with Stanton. Stanton was the district attorney, he could delay access to files that would normally be public. She already had all the files that had been archived online, and had read every press story and watched every archived news program. The one thing she needed was the one thing that Stanton might be able to screw with—access to the retired detective who had led the investigation.
Her research into Stanton told her that he was a hard-nosed prosecutor who first ran for DA ten years ago and won in a tight race. His last two elections had been landslides. He could run for a fourth term in two years—there were no term limits for the district attorney—but California political types said he was considering a bid for attorney general. There was a rumor—a deeply buried rumor, but Max had a good friend who worked on the Judiciary Committee in the U.S. Senate—that Stanton was on the short list for an opening on a federal bench. Was that why he wanted his son’s murder solved? Political expediency?
“Hello, Max,” Ben finally said.
She looked at the time on her phone. “You kept me on hold for three and a half minutes.”
“I’m surprised you waited that long.”
So was she.
“Stanton is bringing in his former sister-in-law and she apparently has veto power on his cooperation.”
“Which sister?”
“Lucy Kincaid. He said she’s an FBI agent.”
“I sent you information on the Kincaid family. She’s a rookie out of the San Antonio office—been there a year.”
“Just terrific,” she said. A rookie fed. “She was seven when Stanton’s son was killed. I don’t get it.”
“I’ll see what we have on her—if I recall, it’s not much. It’s difficult to get information out of the feds as you know.”
She could call Marco, she thought. He was now an SSA out of Miami. But she didn’t want to ask her ex-boyfriend for a favor. She’d spoken to him two or three times in the last six months, but she wanted to keep her distance while she tried to work things out with her current boyfriend. Though she hadn’t really been trying to work things out with Nick.
“I could call Marco instead,” Ben said.
“I didn’t say I was going to call him.” When had her producer started to read her mind?
“Let me see what I can find out without contacting any of your ex-lovers.”
“Don’t be crass. Tell me what you have so far.”
“On Agent Kincaid?” She heard him typing on a computer. “She was low priority because she was out of state. We have the basics—Lucia Kincaid, the youngest of seven children—by ten years—was born the same month as her nephew, Justin.”
“Geez, how old was her mother?”
“I don’t know, but there’s twenty-three years between the oldest—Justin Stanton’s mother Nelia—and Agent Kincaid.”