I’m asking C. J. to dig into Kincaid’s husband, Sean Rogan. He’s a principal with Rogan Caruso Kincaid Protective Services, but everything we know is from their Web site and a few articles. And you’ll probably remember from the previous documentation that Jack Kincaid and Patrick Kincaid both work for RCK. It seems they stay well below the media radar. I’m going to reach out to the media contact there and see what I can learn.
If Stanton wants Lucy Kincaid’s blessing, it may not be for obvious reasons. Maybe he thinks she’s the only one he can convince to help—he made it clear during our conversation yesterday that the Kincaid family would put up a major roadblock in our investigation into Justin Stanton’s murder. Stanton’s reasons were vague. Emotion? Bad blood?
You never know who might be hiding what. You taught me that—so I’m reminding you to tread carefully. We’ll go back further and see what we can learn. I’m copying in David—since David was an Army Ranger, maybe he can get more information on Jack Kincaid. Their service didn’t overlap, but maybe David has some inside knowledge or knows where to get it. Hint, hint, David.
—Ben
Max didn’t have time to review any of the attached articles, but she appreciated Ben’s quick analysis and sent him a thank-you. The thank-you would also serve as a second apology for her comment about commercializing the murders of four boys. Ben did overstep the media angle on occasion, but he wasn’t an asshole, and he cared about the victims. It wasn’t fair of her to snap at him because he was thinking of her show and NET—that was his job.
She quickly changed out of her travel clothes then went downstairs a few minutes early. She wanted to assess the group when they walked in—body language and first impressions were important in how she would handle the conversation. Her goal was simple: she wanted Stanton’s help, and if Kincaid had any insight or information, she wanted her help; but she didn’t want them involved on the investigative level. Having a federal agent to consult was good; having a fed breathing down her neck was bad. Been there, done that.
When she stepped out of the elevator and into the lobby, she saw Andrew Stanton walking in through the main doors. He looked almost exactly like the photo on the DAs Web site, even wearing a similar gray suit.
But he was alone. Maybe Agent Kincaid couldn’t get away from San Antonio. That would be a relief.
Andrew recognized Max a moment later. “Ms. Revere,” he said.
“Max,” she said and took his hand. “Good to meet you, Counselor.”
Conservatively cut light brown hair, pale green eyes, and trim to the point of being on the thin side. But she was surprised he was so tall—at least six foot three—and though she knew he hadn’t been a cop or in the military, he had a cautious, suspicious manner about him.
But he’d come alone. Without Agent Kincaid, an assistant, or an entourage. That took guts, in her experience. Politicians didn’t like speaking to reporters without a witness or three. And even a DA, who was ostensibly law enforcement, was a politician at heart. She’d known enough of them.
“I wanted to talk to you before Lucy arrived. They’re driving in from the airport now, we have a few minutes.”
So Kincaid hadn’t backed out.
Max led the way into the lounge. Because it was the middle of the afternoon, they had their choice of tables. Max selected one in the far corner, where they would have privacy.
The bartender approached almost immediately. Max wanted wine, but asked instead for coffee. Andrew said, “For me as well, and keep it coming.”
When the bartender left, Andrew said, “You didn’t sound pleased over the phone when I told you I was bringing in Lucy.”
“Right to the point. I like that.”
He smiled briefly. “I need a Kincaid on board.”
“But I don’t.” She leaned back, assessed him. “I want your help, but I can and will investigate on my own. Just so we’re clear.”
“You won’t get anywhere.”
“You don’t know me.”
“I know your reputation.”
“If that were true, you would know I don’t back down. Ever.”
“I also know that you don’t investigate cold cases when the family doesn’t want you involved.”
So he had done a bit of research. “Usually. But this case is different. This isn’t one crime. This is four separate cases that may be linked.”
“Yet, you need my help.”
She raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything as the bartender brought over two cups of coffee, cream, and sugar. When he left, she doctored her coffee and said, “I’m quite resourceful, Counselor.”
“So I’ve heard. But you do not know the Kincaids like I do.”
“What, will they destroy evidence? Threaten witnesses?”
“Carina was babysitting the night Justin was taken.” Andrew paused, lost briefly in a memory. “She’s now a detective with SDPD, is well-liked and has many friends. If she doesn’t want you looking at reports, you won’t see them.”
“That’s where you come in.”
“The Kincaids don’t like me. Lucy is the only one who will talk to me outside of work. Carina has to work with me because I’m the DA, and her brother is married to one of my prosecutors, but it hasn’t been an easy nineteen years.”
“You’d think a cop family would love a DA in the fold.” She sipped her coffee. “What, they’re holding your affair against you?”
“You read the articles. I was with another woman the night my son was murdered.” He cleared his throat and stared into his coffee.
It bothered him, as well it should. “The police verified your alibi with your mistress, who was a prosecutor from Orange County, correct?”
Andrew nodded curtly. “What wasn’t publicized in the newspaper—but the Kincaids know—is that Nelia and I had an understanding. We married because Nell got pregnant. We knew it was a mistake, but we were in law school and were best friends and it just happened. We loved Justin. We didn’t love each other. We were friends. And marriage made everything … awkward. Nell knew I was seeing someone else. She didn’t ask for details, it wasn’t spoken, but she knew. And she blames herself as much as me for not being home that night.”
“Would being home have changed anything?” Max asked. “Couldn’t Justin have been taken while you were there sleeping?” Each of the cases that Max had on her list, the parents weren’t home when the child was taken. Another similarity, which suggested that the killer had knowledge of the family schedule.
“I don’t know.”
“Guilt is a useless emotion, Andrew,” Max said. “It clouds judgment, it fuels self-loathing, it makes good people do stupid things. Someone killed Justin. And if the research that my staff and I have done is any indication that individual killed four boys over nearly twenty years.”
“This is why I need Lucy. She has experience in complicated cases like this. I find it difficult to believe that one person can kill four children over such a length of time with such a long wait in between. Why did no one notice the pattern? I don’t want to be grasping at straws. I want answers, but I don’t want to live through this and come out with nothing.”
“You want the truth. That should be enough.”