There was far, far more to Lucy Kincaid Rogan than met the eye.
Lucy continued. “It’s clear she didn’t want the boys to suffer. That’s why they were drugged and suffocated. She also didn’t want them to suffer in the afterlife, which is why she buried them in a place they had been happy in while alive, it’s why she buried them with a stuffed animal.”
“And in their own bedding,” Dillon said.
“Perhaps not,” Arthur said. “Perhaps she couldn’t look at them, as Lucy said earlier.”
Lucy nodded. “Exactly, she couldn’t watch them die. She covered their faces—they were all suffocated with their own bedding, and I suspect she didn’t remove it when she buried them. She couldn’t watch them die, she couldn’t look at them after she killed them. My guess is that when she came into their bedroom, she injected them.”
“And they didn’t wake up?” Dillon said.
“We know there were no drugs found in any of the houses that matched the drugs found during autopsy. She must have brought them with her. The only autopsy that showed an injection site was on Chris Donovan—it was a huge problem with the prosecution of Chris’s father because no syringe or drugs were found at his house, his office, his car, his mistress. The prosecution claimed he threw everything away and the defense didn’t counter.”
Lucy must have spent all night reading the transcript Max had given her, because they hadn’t even discussed the case.
“It’s still odd that none of these children cried out after being stung by a needle,” Arthur said. “But it does sound more like a mercy killing.”
“It is,” Dillon agreed. “Each step of the killer’s process suggests mercy killing. Except that she’s not putting the child out of suffering from an illness, she’s creating misery.”
“She’s methodical,” Lucy said. “She has to know the families—maybe not well, but well enough that she can get all the information she needs. She’s either a neighbor or a colleague.”
“Colleague?” Dillon asked. “Wouldn’t that be easy to confirm?”
Max spoke up. “I’m going with colleague here. One or both parents are lawyers. While lawyers may be a dime a dozen, it seems too coincidental. That makes me think that the killer is a lawyer or works with lawyers—legal secretary, paralegal, something like that. My staff is doing the research on employees who worked with each parent, but it hasn’t been easy. First, Adam Donovan was convicted for his son’s murder and the police only interviewed his direct supervisor and his mistress. We have been trying to get an employee list out of the company and they cite privacy records. Donovan’s wife worked at a small law firm and they haven’t cooperated at all. The Porters, though initially opposed to helping, have been persuaded to assist us. My associate is in Santa Barbara working with them, and the police are cooperating as well, so I hope we’ll get a list of witnesses as well as colleagues. The Porters themselves may be able to give us names. Neighbors for both cases were easier because they are part of the official record—the neighborhoods were canvassed and everyone who was interviewed documented. So far, no name has been duplicated. I e-mailed Andrew Stanton and he’s creating a list of every female employee he worked with and I’d like to do the same with his ex-wife.”
“Absolutely not,” Dillon said.
“Dillon,” Lucy began, but Max interrupted.
“It’s the single best lead we have.”
“It’s not a lead. It’s fishing and I’m not putting my sister through that.”
“That’s not your call,” Max said.
Lucy said, “Dillon, we can talk about this later—”
“You told me last night that you would leave Nelia alone.”
“And you said,” Lucy added, “that if we needed it, you would talk to her.”
“You don’t need it.”
“What about my profile is off?”
“It’s not a profile,” Dillon said.
Lucy frowned. “I wasn’t finished.”
“Well?”
Lucy was flustered, maybe because her brother was being a jerk. What was it with these Kincaids? Did they really not care who killed Justin? Max said, “Lucy already concluded that the killer is a woman, and neither of you objected.”
“Identifying the gender of the killer isn’t a profile,” Dillon snapped.
Lucy raised her voice, “No, it’s not.” She cleared her throat. “The killer was a mother. She lost her only son to violence, and her husband was having an affair—not only having an affair, but he was with his mistress when their son was kidnapped or killed. I also think she wasn’t home, most likely working late. She never forgave him, she never forgave herself, and she cracked. She left her husband, moved as far away from him as possible because she hates him and blames him for her son’s death. He should have been there with his son, not with another woman. She also harbors intense guilt, because she also wasn’t there. Possibly she worked, or was at a book club, or somewhere other than in her house. She’d left her son with a babysitter to do something for herself or her family and when she got home, he was dead. And through the investigation into her son’s death, she learned about her husband’s affair.”
Little impressed Max, but Lucy impressed her. She’d talked loosely about the killer, the victims, the situation—but hearing it laid out as if Lucy had actually spoken to the killer was a little unnerving.
No one spoke, but Max had a hundred questions. “Why do you think she moved far from her husband?”
“Because she can’t fathom being near him or anywhere near where her son lived or played. It’s a guess, but they probably lived east of the Mississippi.”
“Lucy,” Arthur said, “I am very intrigued by your profile. Yet if you’re right and the killer lost her own son, how would she justify to herself to take another woman’s child?”
“They don’t deserve a child. They were all working mothers. All in professional jobs. They weren’t home when they should be, they don’t deserve him any more than their cheating husbands.”
Max shot Lucy a glance. She was tense, not a little bit angry, but she held it back far better than Max would have been able to. Yet part of the anger wasn’t directed at her brother—though honestly, Max felt he deserved it after that last exchange—but almost as if it was directed inward. Or as if Lucy was projecting the emotions of the killer herself.