Lucy only vaguely remembered Don Katella. He’d retired ten years after Justin’s murder and was now in his late sixties. She didn’t remember much about the investigation, except she’d seen Don at her house, talking to her parents, to Nelia, and to Carina.
“Both Max and I have read the files,” Lucy said, “but the reports are basic. I’d like your impression of the crime, your theory.”
“First, tell me why after nearly twenty years someone starts nosing around in that poor boy’s murder.”
Lucy was going to respond, but Max beat her to it. “I would tell you, but I don’t want to cloud your perception. Your gut reaction is more valuable to me.” She paused. “To both of us.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“I investigate cold cases.”
“I know who you are. Why Justin Stanton?”
Max hesitated, just a beat, then said, “I don’t believe his killer stopped with him.”
“Serial killer,” Don said flatly and shook his head.
“That’s why I didn’t want to cloud your judgment.”
Don turned to Lucy. “And your family is okay with this?”
“Justin is my family.”
“You’re a fed though, right? Andrew said you’re in the FBI, out of Texas.”
“Yes, San Antonio Field Office. I’m on my own time today. However, if I can prove anything that Max has already uncovered, I plan on opening a federal investigation.” She couldn’t do it herself, but she could make it happen. What was the benefit of having family in the FBI as well as friends in high places if she couldn’t use them to solve a two-decade-old murder? Especially when other lives were at stake.
“You read the reports,” Don said, leaning back in his chair. “There was little evidence.”
“Go back to the beginning,” Max said. “When you caught the case.”
“I wasn’t called in until after search and rescue found Justin’s body and it was clear he’d been murdered. I knew about his kidnapping—Andrew Stanton was a prosecutor, we all knew he was going places. So when a prosecutor’s kid goes missing, you automatically think it’s a perp getting revenge.”
“Yet you weren’t involved in the investigation until his body was found.”
“The scene was fucked up to begin with,” Don said. “Excuse the colorful language. Guess I’m still a cop at heart, though my wife would skin me alive for using such language in the house.”
Katella sipped his coffee as he collected his thoughts. “From the beginning, we knew someone had come in through the window and taken the kid. The screen was bent, but the suspect wore gloves—no prints. But if the killer left footprints, we couldn’t differentiate them from a dozen others—including Stanton, his wife, his sister-in-law—that would be your sister Carina, Lucy—and every other Kincaid and friend of the Kincaids and friends of Andrew and cops who came over to search for Justin. We don’t know if he was carried to the park or driven to the park. His body was buried in a shallow grave, wrapped in his own blanket, a stuffed giraffe tucked under his arm.”
Lucy leaned forward. “That wasn’t in the reports.”
“It was a detail we didn’t want getting out. I never forgot it. And I guess after all this time, it doesn’t matter if it’s leaked.”
“We’ll keep the information private until absolutely necessary,” Max said.
“Andrew sent me the full autopsy report, not the summary released to the press,” Lucy said. “Justin had a sedative in his system. Some sort of narcotic, though it wasn’t specified.”
“Correct. Possibly chloral hydrate, a children’s sedative, but the tests were inconclusive. The coroner indicated that he was either unconscious or lethargic when he was suffocated.”
“Fibers from his blanket were found in his lungs,” Lucy said. “Indicating that the killer put the blanket over his face before she suffocated him.”
Don leaned forward. “She? Do you have a suspect? Are you screwing with me?”
“No suspect. Just a theory.”
“You working with your brother? I heard Dr. Kincaid works for the feds now.”
“He’s a civilian consultant. But I haven’t talked to Dillon in depth about this.”
“We had no reason to believe the killer was a woman or a man. We didn’t know what to believe. We looked hard at Andrew and his wife. When a kid is killed … well, hell, you know this as well as I do. It’s almost always someone they know. Especially since there was no sexual assault. We’d considered Carina for a time … kills me now that she was a suspect. She’s a great cop.”
“Dillon told me. But she was ruled out.”
Max shot Lucy a glance, but she ignored it. Max had intended to go behind Lucy’s back and interview Katella alone, Lucy didn’t have any qualms about holding back her conversation with Dillon, at least initially. She was still trying to process everything Dillon had said and how she was going to convince Carina to help.
“I never publicized the theory, but there’s a transcript of my interview with her. Remember, she was practically a kid. Nineteen, I think. College student. I wondered if maybe it was an accident. Justin accidentally poisoned himself, she thought he was dead, panicked, buried him, and came up with the story that he had been kidnapped.”
Dillon had said nothing about the details of Carina as a suspect, but no wonder she was sensitive about Lucy looking into the murder. To have to relive that again … the interrogation, the accusations. She would have been terrified and horrified that anyone could consider that she would hurt her own nephew.
Lucy had once been suspected of a murder she didn’t commit. It had been hell going through the interview process—even though she knew she was innocent.
“Truthfully, until we got back the tox screens and determined that the narcotic in Justin’s bloodstream was not found in any medicines or chemicals in the house—either the Stanton house or the Kincaid house—Carina was the most logical suspect. Nelia had a solid alibi. She worked for a defense contractor, they have to sign in and out and the log and desk are manned by military security. Andrew’s was a little flimsier—with his mistress—but he never tried to hide that fact. His mistress was a prosecutor in Orange County with no reason to lie for him. And they were at a hotel where they were both seen on security cameras. But Carina was alone in the house with Justin.”