“And after you received the drug analysis?”
“We looked at every criminal that Andrew Stanton put away. He’d only been a prosecutor for three, four years at the time, most everyone he convicted was still in prison. The few we did interview had alibis. No relative or accomplice seemed to have the means or opportunity. We exhausted everyone, even the most asinine possibilities. And none of them gave me the vibe. I considered that maybe Stanton or the wife hired someone to kill the kid, but that didn’t bear out in their financials. And except for the infidelity—which according to Nelia Stanton’s statement, she knew about, and Andrew’s statement said his wife knew about the affair as well—everyone we spoke to said they were great parents. Justin played soccer, they went to his games, socialized, his teacher said both parents were completely engaged in Justin’s schooling. They came together to parent-teacher conferences, they came together to school events. No one suspected they didn’t have a picture-perfect marriage.
“By this time, three weeks had passed. Twenty years ago forensics weren’t what they are today, but we had decent tools. We collected trace evidence, but found nothing that didn’t belong in the bedroom. No foreign DNA at the grave site, but he hadn’t been found for twenty-four hours and evidence could have been lost. No witnesses came forward. We canvassed every house between the Stanton’s house and the park where Justin’s body was found. We talked to every resident, many two or three times. Talked to everyone who knew the family. Teachers. Family. Friends. Colleagues. Dozens of people. The case haunted me … because there was next to nothing.”
Max said, “I have three cases almost identical to Justin’s murder. At least two of them have another common factor—the father was having an affair and was with his mistress the night his son was killed.”
Don stared at her. “Why haven’t I heard about this?”
“They’re all cold cases outside of San Diego.”
Lucy glanced over, wondering why Max didn’t share the other details—that one parent had been convicted of murder.
“My associate interviewed one of the families, and learned that their son was buried with his favorite stuffed animal. He’s working on the other case today.”
Lucy said, “I’m not a criminal profiler, but I have worked in the area. This profile is so clear to me, Don. These boys were all killed by a woman. Someone who knew that their fathers were having an affair.”
Don shook his head. “That makes no fucking sense. Why kill a kid?”
“I don’t know.”
Max glanced at her, but Lucy didn’t want to give too much away, not yet.
“Don,” Lucy said, “Justin is most likely the first of three or more like-crimes, spanning almost twenty years. That tells me that you most likely interviewed the killer, but didn’t know it … didn’t know what to ask because you had no idea why Justin was killed.”
“And you do? Because right now it sounds like you’re pulling a rabbit out of your ass on this.” Don shook his head. “This case was nearly twenty years ago. And while I remember it—I couldn’t forget if I wanted to—I don’t know what you’re looking for. I interviewed a lot of people. So did the beat cops.”
“Andrew is getting me a copy of the entire file, including all the notes from the interviews,” Lucy said. “What would help us most of all is if you could go through each interview you and your team conducted and look at it again, going under the assumption that the killer is a woman who knew of Andrew’s affair.”
“This makes no fucking sense,” Katella mumbled, then repeated, “Why kill a kid?”
“The killer is likely a high-functioning psychopath. To her, it makes complete sense. Maybe a punishment of sorts—”
As she spoke, Lucy realized she already had a working profile. It was still forming in her head, she was still fleshing out the details, but there seemed to be a retribution feeling to the murders, a way of punishing the family. Why kill the child? Because it would destroy the family. It would destroy the marriage. The pain of losing a child would never go away. Statistically, when a child was murdered, the family disintegrated. Did she kill to punish the father for the affair? The mistress for her culpability? The mother for her ignorance?
It was a direction to look, but Lucy was having a hard time grasping the why. Because the killer would still have to look a little boy in his eyes while she killed him.
Except she didn’t. She suffocated him with a blanket. Wrapped him tight when he was unconscious.
Max asked, “Why would punishing Justin hurt his parents?” She was looking at Lucy oddly. Had she been lost in her thoughts for too long?
“You’re looking at this wrong—the killer wasn’t punishing Justin, she was punishing Andrew. And, perhaps, Nelia. Or both.”
Don said, “That’s fucked, Kincaid. Totally and completely screwball.”
“To us, but not to the killer. It makes sense to her. We just have to figure out why, then we will find her. Did she lose a child? Or maybe she can’t have a child and doesn’t think that Andrew and Nelia deserved theirs?” Lucy hesitated … she understood the pain of being barren far too well. But to deny others happiness because of her own sorrow over not being about to conceive? That would never have crossed her mind.
Yet she understood the deep and complex feelings. If someone was psychotic, they might twist that around, punish those who didn’t appreciate what they had. A father cheating on his wife, not being home for the family … it would fit. But wouldn’t that also punish the mother? Except, the mothers were all out the same night. Working late. Not home with their child. Were these crimes also a form of self-loathing? That the killer wants to punish herself over and over through the pain and suffering of the mother who also lost a child?
Did the killer run away from the crime scene … or return to absorb the pain of those who suffered? Did that suffering sustain her for years before she felt the need to kill again? To punish again?
“Lucy,” Max said, snapping her fingers. “What are you thinking?”
“Nothing,” she said. The emotions and impressions were too raw right now for her to make sense of it. She, too, needed to read the transcripts, run background checks on all the women between the ages of twenty and forty—forty because if the same killer killed Justin and Peter Caldwell, that would put her at around sixty now … not impossible, but highly unlikely.
She also needed to find out if there were any other similarities among the Stantons, Porters, Donovans, and Caldwells. Was there something they weren’t seeing?
“If you think it’ll help,” Don Katella said slowly, “I’ll review the transcripts again.”
“Thank you,” Lucy said. “I’ll have Andrew send them over this morning. I’m going to read everything as well, and may call you if I have questions. We will solve Justin’s murder.”
“I sincerely hope you’re right. I don’t like unfinished business, and this case has bugged me from the beginning.”