“You can’t possibly understand, Lucy.”
The comment burned because Lucy understood Carina—she understood everyone in her family—far better than they gave her credit for. It’s why this was so hard for her, because she knew exactly what she was doing, and she knew it was going to hurt people she loved.
“I am sorry, Carina.”
“If you were sorry, you wouldn’t be doing this.”
“I’m not sorry for investigating Justin’s murder. I’m sorry I didn’t come to you from the beginning.”
Carina frowned, but didn’t comment.
“I was nine when you graduated from the police academy,” Lucy said. “I thought it was really cool that my big sister was going to be a police officer, just like Connor. Mom and Dad took me to your graduation. I didn’t understand then why they weren’t as excited as I was. Why they didn’t seem happy. Now I do. They thought you’d given up something to become a cop, rather than gained something. Dad said the same thing to me the other night. That he was sad I gave up my dreams for this life.
“Dreams change. My dreams disappeared after I was raped. I didn’t know if I would ever live for anything again. But I realized that even those dreams weren’t real. They were what I thought I should do, what I thought I should be. I think my path was set when Justin was taken from us. From all of us.” She paused. “But that doesn’t mean my life is less than it could have been, or that your life was ruined because you didn’t do whatever it was you thought you wanted when you were nineteen. We grow up, we change, dreams change.
“When you graduated, you put your arm around me and said something I have never forgotten. It wasn’t to me, it was to Dad, who was looking both proud and sad at the same time—I know that sounds weird, but that’s how I remember it. You said, ‘Dad, this is what I’m meant to do. Please don’t worry about me.’ And Dad said, ‘Cara, I will worry, and I will always love you. But I see it in your eyes. This is what you should be doing.’”
Lucy took a deep breath. “Dad has always supported us, except twice. When he disowned Jack, and when I decided to become an FBI agent.”
“Dad is proud of you.”
“No. He didn’t come to my graduation, not because he was getting over a cold, but because he was sad for me. I saw the truth the other night. He thinks I’m torturing myself, that I do this solely because of what happened nine years ago. But this is what I’m meant to do. Maybe I didn’t realize it until I was raped. What happened to me didn’t turn me into a cop. It showed me who I was and who I could be. I had the best role model in you—seventeen years ago, when you became a cop, there were a fraction of the women on the force as there are now. Then you became a detective, one of the few female detectives at the time. You closed tough cases, you were strong, you were brave, and you never turned your back on those who needed your help. Never. You risked your life then, you risk your life now, because it’s what you’re meant to do.
“If I’d come to you first,” Lucy continued, “I’m not saying I would have been able to convince you to join in this investigation. But I think I would have been better able to explain why I have to do this. Not just to solve Justin’s murder. Not solely to give justice to the other families who have been torn apart. But because there is a killer out there, and she will kill again, and I cannot stand by and wait for another little boy to die.”
They had reached the Justin Stanton Memorial Park. It was filled with mothers and fathers, children of all ages, because it was a cool but clear Saturday morning. A soccer game was about to begin on the field near the trees where Justin had been buried. The kids were so small—couldn’t have been more than six or seven.
Lucy was going to suggest they sit on a bench, then she looked at Carina and saw the tears.
“I’ve never taken J. P. here,” Carina said. “We go to Elm Street instead.”
“You used to bring Justin and me here all the time.”
“Mom made me.”
“I know.”
Carina turned and started walking back toward her house. Lucy took a last look at Justin’s park, then caught up with her.
“Did you really read all the Katella transcripts?” Carina asked.
“Yes.”
Carina rubbed her eyes. “Connor thinks you’re grasping at straws. He has always believed that Justin’s murder was isolated, a random act of violence.”
“It’s not.”
“You sound so sure.”
“I am.”
“Why?”
“I’m not going to tell you unless you want to hear the details. You’re a cop, Carina, and that’s all I saw the other night. I didn’t see you as an aunt, a sister, a mother. I am sorry—I never wanted anyone to be hurt because of what I’m doing. That was my own na?veté. I should have known.”
They again passed Dillon’s old house, and turned the corner to head back to Carina’s. Carina said, “I don’t know if I want the details. I’m not blind to what happened—I’ve read Justin’s files. But tell me this, why are you working with a reporter?”
“Max found the connection between Justin’s murder and at least two others. And we both know the police don’t have the resources to work these cold cases.”
“And your boss is letting you do this?”
Lucy hesitated. This was one of those areas she was getting nervous about, especially after the e-mail yesterday from her supervisor. “I’m doing this on my own time. When I have solid evidence—enough proof that I know it can’t be ignored—I’ll turn it over to the local office. It’s a multijurisdictional investigation and the FBI is better equipped to handle it, but I need to have proof. And by proof, I mean the ID of the killer.”
Carina stopped walking and turned to Lucy. “Do you actually think you can name the killer?”
“Yes.” She didn’t even hesitate. Maybe Max Revere’s confidence was rubbing off on her. “I have a working profile. I know who we’re looking for—at least, her general age, gender, background, and job. One of the best things about working with Max is her resources—she has a research staff that is truly amazing. They can crunch information much faster than a lone analyst at the FBI with a dozen cases on his desk. We’re pooling information from the three cases we’re confident are connected and one name will come to the surface.”
“You said there were four cases.”
“There may be four. There may be one or two cases we have yet to uncover.”
Carina continued toward her house. “I reacted on emotion the other night. I didn’t realize how much what happened to Justin still affected me.”
“It’s not just that, Carina. It’s what happened to you afterward. Andrew, Nelia, and you were all suspects. Intellectually, you understand that because you would have done the exact same thing if the same crime happened today. But emotionally, you were gutted. How could anyone think that you had anything to do with Justin’s murder? Even as an accident? It hurts. And that’s a pain that doesn’t ever really go away.”
Carina stopped at her walkway. “Would you like some coffee? See J. P.?”