Carney stared at him for quite some time. David would have been nervous if he was guilty of something—a good tactic, he supposed.
“Tommy Porter was a difficult case for me,” Carney said. “I had young children back then—four kids, between the ages of five and sixteen—when Tommy was killed. Any case involving a child was always hard on me, hell, it’s hard on most cops, but Tommy stuck with me because it made no sense. Not then, not now. I was positive one of the parents must have killed him. I believed it for a long time, in fact, even after we verified and reverified their alibis. I interviewed them multiple times, and neither gave me any indication that they had the capacity to kill. I didn’t want to believe that this was another Polly Klaas, that a stranger can just walk into a person’s house and steal their child. Now you’re telling me that the killer wasn’t a stranger, that it’s someone I could have spoken with.”
“I’m not a psychologist, but I’ve read that criminals often return to the crime scene, sometimes trying to put themselves into the middle of the investigation.”
Carney nodded. “It happens. Not as often as it’s portrayed on television, but it happens. I caught a serial arsonist that way a few years back. Couldn’t stay away, wanted to see the results of his handiwork.”
“Max Revere already has the list of witnesses from the Justin Stanton homicide and the Chris Donovan homicide. Our staff is inputting them into a database in order to expedite any similarities between anyone involved, even on the periphery. It would help if we had your case files as well.”
“I need to talk to the chief about this,” Carney said. “Give me your contact information and I’ll get back to you.”
David didn’t know if this was Carney giving him the brush-off or if he was genuinely going to consider the idea. He pulled a business card out of his wallet and put it on Carney’s desk. “I appreciate your time. One more question: do you know if Tommy was on a baseball team? Or if he enjoyed baseball?”
“Why?”
“Max wants to know. I would have asked Grant when I met with him if I’d known she needed the information, and now he’s on duty.” He didn’t tell Carney why, but he would if pressed.
Carney looked skeptical, but nodded. “Played since T-ball when he was four. Was a good little player, apparently. He was nine when he died, but played up with the twelve-year-olds. The kids he played with—they were really shaken by what happened. They all came to his funeral in their uniforms. Broke my heart.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Did you say that the feds were involved? They can ask for any information without any problem. I don’t have a problem with the feds. I have a good rapport with the local ASAC, we have lunch once a month, keep each other in the loop.”
“Max is working with a federal agent, but it’s not an official investigation.”
“How does that work?”
“To be honest? I have no friggin’ idea.”
Chapter Twenty
Max and Lucy had a pleasant late lunch at a quaint restaurant close to the hotel. Lucy asked questions—smart questions—about Karen’s disappearance and some of the other cases Max had worked on over the years. So when they arrived back at Max’s hotel room, she was surprised when Lucy said she was going to her room to call her brother, the forensic psychiatrist.
“I’ll let you know if he has additional insight,” Lucy said as she was about to walk out.
Max had no intention of being shut out by little miss agent Lucy Kincaid, and that’s exactly what this felt like.
“This is one of the few times I think more heads are better,” Max said. “We should have a four-way conference call.”
“Four-way?”
“I have a forensic psychiatrist—retired FBI—who I often consult. I’ve already reached out to him and he has time tonight.”
Lucy didn’t say anything. It was quite obvious, to Max at any rate, that Lucy thought this was the one area where Max was a complete novice.
Lucy seemed to be a good cop, but she was still a cop. She would give Max the information she thought was important without the nuances that Max needed to put the whole story together.
It was clear that Lucy wanted to argue with her. It surprised Max that she relented—however reluctantly—without further comment. Max picked up the room phone.
“Who else are you calling?” Lucy asked.
“I’m going to have the hotel’s IT department set up a video conference.”
“I can do that.”
“It’s a tech thing.”
“It’s not a problem. I was tech-savvy even before I married a genius.”
Max hung up. She’d give Lucy a chance, though Max always believed that when you wanted something done right, you bring in an expert. She didn’t like delays, especially when trying to cut corners or because of incompetence.
“Arthur is in New York,” Max said. “He teaches at NYU and said to call after seven.” She glanced at her watch, adjusted for the time difference. “He should be home now; I’ll send him a message. Can your brother talk at five our time?”
“Yes.” Lucy typed on her laptop and opened up a video conferencing program that Max had never seen before. Then Lucy opened the cabinet to the large screen television and hooked up a cable. The program was reflected on the TV.
“My tech guys in New York have a similar setup in the conference room.”
“We’re ready to go.”
“That was fast.”
“It’s not difficult,” Lucy said. “I have to call my office, but I’ll be back before five.”
Max wondered if that was an excuse to talk to her brother alone first. But truth was, she had calls to make as well. She walked Lucy to the door, then pulled out her cell phone and called David.
“Have you heard back from Carney?”
“No.”
“We need those files.”
He didn’t comment. Of course he knew what she needed. “I sent you photos from the crime scene like you asked,” he said instead. “I don’t know what specifically you were looking for, so I took a little of everything.”
Max sat down at her own computer and pulled up her e-mail. She scanned through all the photos. “This is good. Did you find out about baseball?”
“Carney said Tommy played on a Little League team.”
“Do you know which one?”
“Is that important?”
“I don’t know yet. Just trying to piece together all the information I can before we talk to the shrinks.”
“I’m having coffee with Grant in the morning. I’ll ask him.”
“Why? Does he have more information?”
“I promised to keep him in the loop. He’s the one who got me the meeting with Carney in the first place.”
“Fine, just be cautious in what you reveal.”
“I’m not keeping secrets from the family.”
“Not secrets. I don’t want any of this leaked out.”
“You want the story.”