They hadn’t even let her explain. Or maybe she didn’t explain it well enough. But her dad would understand. He was retired military. He would understand that she couldn’t do nothing.
Her father’s office wasn’t large. On one wall were family photos, dozens of framed portraits and favorite candid shots through the years. One of Lucy’s favorites was of her and Justin when they were six. They were each holding up a fish—their first catches. She remembered that camping trip—just bits and pieces, as often happens with favorite childhood memories—of her and Justin swimming in the lake, and her dad teaching them, together, how to fish. That Justin caught fish after fish, but Lucy couldn’t catch any. She’d been so upset, but Justin hadn’t teased her about it. Instead, they traded poles, and five minutes later she caught her first—and last—fish.
Another wall was Pat Kincaid’s military awards and commissions. He’d been a decorated U.S. Army colonel and served his country for forty years.
“Lucy, close the door, sit down,” he said.
She obeyed.
He sat behind his desk, not so much to take control—though it had that effect—but because his office was so small.
“Dad, I don’t want to upset you or Mom.”
“But you have. You knew this would upset everyone.”
“No, I mean, I know talking about Justin is difficult, which is why everyone has always avoided the subject. But I thought everyone would be relieved that we have a lead.”
“Who is this reporter?”
Of course he’d want to know. She should have led with that—eased into the investigation.
“Maxine Revere is an investigative reporter out of New York. She’s written several books, has a television show—I don’t watch much TV, so I haven’t seen it, but I read one of her books last night. She’s extremely respectful of the victims, smart, methodical. She primarily investigates cold cases, and has an impressive track record. But that’s not why I agreed to help. She laid out the information she’s found, and I’m in the process of verifying everything she’s uncovered. My gut tells me she’s onto something. I had her commit to working with me—so I will be privy to everything she knows. I’ll protect the family. This is hard, Dad, for both of us,” she added when he didn’t comment immediately. “I’ve never talked to you about my work, what I do every day. I always had a feeling I disappointed you when I became an FBI agent.”
“It’s hard for me as well, but you didn’t disappoint me, Lucy. I’ve always been proud of you. I was simply sad that you didn’t pursue your dream.”
It took Lucy a moment to realize that her dad was talking about her original career goals. In high school, because she had a knack for languages—especially after growing up in a bilingual home—she’d wanted to go to Georgetown and major in international relations. She wanted to be a diplomat, or work in an embassy. She loved different cultures, people, and traveling. At least, at one time that’s what she had wanted.
Her eyes drifted back to her dad’s wall of pictures. They settled on one of her in high school, standing with her mom after she won first place in the 500-meter swim competition. She’d loved swimming competitively. She still loved swimming. Water gave her peace that little else did.
Yet.
Everything ended—her idea of international relations, of competitive swimming—the day she was kidnapped and raped when she should have been graduating from high school. There was no going back to her childhood dreams. Just like there was no going back to being six and fishing with Justin. For her, solving crimes and finding justice for victims was the only way she could reclaim her life. Hard as it was at times, she couldn’t see herself doing anything else.
“Trust me, Dad.” She had one shot here. If her dad was on her side, Connor and Carina would follow, if reluctantly. She leaned forward. “Max has been researching Justin’s murder and that of three other young boys. There are several similarities, but two facts are particularly compelling. Statistically, when prepubescent boys are kidnapped and murdered, there’s a sexual component. There was no sexual crime in these cases. Secondly, they were each buried in a shallow grave less than five miles from their home, wrapped in a blanket from their bed. I speculate that law enforcement didn’t connect the murders because they were five or more years apart and in different counties, but when you look at them together, it’s a clear pattern. That means that one person—it’s most likely a lone individual—has killed multiple times and will continue to kill until she is stopped.”
The killer had begun to solidify in Lucy’s mind. She’d believed the killer was a woman as soon as she saw the facts together, now she was positive.
She still didn’t know why. But she would figure it out. It’s what she was good at.
Her father stared at her, his face long. “It took Nelia years to accept that her son was gone. She rarely comes home. Tom has been good for her, but she’ll never be fully healed. The loss of a child is overwhelming … for everyone. If you dredge this up … it’s going to hurt a lot of people. Nelia. Carina. Your mother. Even Andrew—he’s not thinking straight.”
“That’s why he left the decision to me,” Lucy said.
“Then you’re not thinking straight! There is no good that can come from this. Only sorrow and heartache.”
“But we can stop a killer. Save another little boy.”
“After nearly twenty years? You don’t have any proof—only some vague similarities—that the same person is responsible for these horrific crimes. The chances are slim to none you will identify and stop him, and you’re foolish to think otherwise. So you’re going to stir the pot, bring all this out in the press, bring other reporters here. To my family. To my home. Do you know that a week after Justin’s funeral, your mother was at the grocery store and accosted by a reporter? Asked how she felt about her grandson’s murder? Wanting to know if she thought her daughter could have killed her own son? Your mother is a strong woman, but Justin’s murder nearly destroyed her. You were a little girl, we protected you from the horrors of the time. And now, you want to bring those horrors back into our lives. And do you think you’re going to walk away unscathed? We’ve all done a good job protecting your privacy for the last eight years, Lucia. But someone could still dig up what happened to you. Do you want to live through that again? Do you want your mother to live through that again? Do you want all of us to remember how we almost lost you, too?”
Lucy was stunned into silence. Frozen, unable to move, unable to cry. Her chest tightened and she wasn’t breathing. How could her father bring up her rape? As if she would hide forever for fear someone would find out? It wasn’t a secret considering her kidnapper posted her rape—not just one, but multiple rapes—on the Internet. It had been her cross to bear, but she had overcome it. She had to or she would have imploded.