“When children are murdered more than eighty percent are killed by someone they know. Most often, that is a family member or a family friend. When children are murdered, they are more likely to be sexually assaulted. It’s also extremely rare that a child is kidnapped from their own home—from their bedroom. That’s why cases like Polly Klaas and Danielle van Dam make headlines. And those cases were more than fifteen years ago. Both females, both sexually assaulted, but still, these type of kidnappings are rare.
“Once I can confirm the facts of each case, I will produce a detailed report. Prior to airing the report, I will contact the FBI media relations office and present the information to them and ask for their comments. Two of the three times I’ve done this, the FBI has reopened cases that resulted in an arrest. I have a good rapport with that particular office. I don’t withhold evidence from law enforcement. However, when a case is more than a year old, I’ve found that it disappears into cold case hell—unless someone like me shines a light. I am good at what I do. I wouldn’t be here upsetting the victim’s family if I didn’t believe that I can find answers. But it starts with Justin. If he’s the first victim—the answers are in his investigation. I have the staff and resources to take that information and compare it to the other cases I’m looking at. There will be another common factor we can’t see right now—a person, a vehicle, something that will lead to the killer. No one has looked at Justin’s murder as anything but an isolated tragedy.”
Lucy turned to Andrew. “Is that true?”
“Mostly. For the first few years after Justin was killed, anytime a child was found dead, SDPD looked at the evidence in Justin’s case to see if there were any similarities. There never were—and eventually those inquiries stopped. When Carina first made detective ten years ago, she looked at Justin’s case files—it went nowhere. Because no other boy in San Diego or the surrounding counties had been kidnapped and killed under the same circumstances. I tried to open it again eight years ago and also got nowhere. Partly because I didn’t want to upset your family, Lucy.”
Lucy looked at her husband. It was like they were telepathically speaking. Though brief, the silence felt weighty.
Then Sean nodded.
Lucy turned to Max. “I’d like to see your timeline. You said you had a visual chart upstairs.”
“I do. Why?”
“You want my help.”
“No-o-o,” Max said slowly. “Andrew said that if I convinced you that there was merit to these murders being the work of the same killer, that he would cooperate and help me get the information that the ME and the police department are holding back in Justin’s death.”
“Yes,” Andrew said, “but I also said you needed the Kincaids’ cooperation. I can get the files, but you won’t have access to people, the lead detective—anyone—without Lucy.”
Max froze. He could not be saying what she thought he was saying.
“Ms. Revere,” Lucy said, “I am curious. I want to verify what you’ve told me, because on the surface it is extremely compelling. But I will not have my family relive this nightmare unless I am positive these crimes were committed by the same person and there is a chance that we can identify the killer.”
We. She said we.
Max was going to explode. That she didn’t was a testament to the patience she had learned from her assistant, David.
“I’m a reporter,” Max said bluntly. “I interview cops, I don’t work with them.”
“There’s an exception to everything,” Lucy said. “If I’m going to talk to my family, I have to tell them I’m intimately involved in the investigation.”
“Lucy—” Andrew began.
“That’s not going to work for me,” Max said.
“Fine,” Lucy said. “You found this information, so can I. I’ll look at the cases on my own.”
The conversation had gone from bad to worse. “I’m not backing down from this,” Max said. “You care about Justin’s murder, I care about all of the murders.”
A flash of anger crossed Lucy’s expression—it was the first real, unfiltered emotion Max had seen since the fed sat down.
“Do not presume that you know what I care about,” Lucy said coolly.
“I have resources that you do not,” Max said. “Time and money at the top of the list.”
“I have two things you do not. I am a Kincaid and I have experience.”
“Your FBI training last year? Four months at Quantico and a year in the field is what you’re going with? I’ve been investigating cold cases since you were in high school.” Truth was, Lucy was only five years younger than Max … but she had just graduated from the academy. Hardly enough time to amass a huge level of experience hunting down killers and deciphering old clues, subtle nuances, and faulty memories that were the backbone of working cold cases.
Sean pushed his chair back. “We’re done.”
How had Max lost control of this meeting? After the initial tension with Sean, she’d had them completely engaged … then lost it because Lucy wanted to partner with her.
“I’m not backing down,” Max said. “This is my story. It’s more than a story. This is about a killer—or two. If Blair Caldwell killed her son, I might be able to prove it if I can prove Peter wasn’t killed by the same killer as these other boys.”
“That’s a stretch,” Andrew said.
“No, it’s not,” Max insisted. She noticed that Sean didn’t get up—he was still ready to stand, but he was listening. “John believes in his heart that Blair is innocent, but I think a tiny part of his brain is suspicious. It’s why he didn’t want to wait until after the trial to ask for my help—I think he’s scared, based on the fact that his wife has an amazing criminal defense lawyer, that she will be exonerated. Yet, being proven not guilty is not the same as being proven innocent. And if I can’t prove that Peter was killed by the same man who killed Justin, Tommy, and Chris, John will never really believe his wife is innocent. Because this specific type of murder is extremely rare.”
Lucy said, “Ms. Revere, I will work with you on this. You should accept my help. If you don’t, I will learn everything you have and investigate it myself. That’s not my first choice. You’ve done the work, it would take me weeks to duplicate it. And while I’m willing to give up all my free time to find out who killed my nephew—my best friend—I still have a job. You’re right about one thing—time is not on my side. But if we do this together, we can find the answers faster. And if that’s the case, we can save the next victim.”
Max stared at her. She didn’t know what to think. There was something in Lucy’s personality that she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but part of it was definitely obsession. Max was very familiar with the feeling. She’d had it when she investigated Karen’s disappearance more than ten years ago. That she had to find the truth at all cost. Max believed every word Lucy said. That Lucy would pursue the case, with or without her. Max had never found herself in this position. She was always in the driver’s seat, she always had control in any situation. When she gave up control—even a tiny bit of control—it was a strategic move.
She hated being forced into anything.