“It means we were friends. We ended up having sex because we were spending so much time studying together and liked each other’s company. It just happened. But it wasn’t a passionate love. It was comfortable. We dated because, well, we were too busy to even think about having a relationship with anyone outside of our circle of friends. So when we learned she was pregnant, we thought marriage. We liked each other, love would come. It doesn’t work that way. At least, it didn’t for us.” He paused. “I don’t know why I told you all that.”
He was scared she’d spill it for the world. Sometimes she enjoyed having a conversation where people didn’t think she was going to blab on the news.
“Everything we say and do in this room is off-limits, okay?”
He was obviously relieved. He stopped for a moment and looked at her. “That bothers you, doesn’t it?”
Of course it did. Did people think she didn’t care at all?
“I’m not a bad guy,” she said. “I don’t screw people for the joy of screwing them. If you lie to me, all bets are off—I really detest liars. But I work these cases because I need to solve the unsolvable. I don’t know why I can’t just put Karen’s death behind me and lead a normal life, at least what’s normal for an intelligent, independently wealthy woman. This is me, and I don’t justify it to anyone.”
“I respect that.”
She hadn’t expected a comment, or his respect, but she appreciated it.
Now how did she turn the conversation back to Lucy?
She said, “It seems that those of us who faced tragedy when we were younger turn to a version of law enforcement. I’m not a cop, but after Karen’s murder I couldn’t think of anything but exposing the bastard who killed her. I use the power of words. I found out I was good at it.”
“I researched you after you first contacted me. You have a solid track record.”
“I have a great track record.” She smiled, went through the last of the files Andrew handed her. He boxed up the extras and picked up the last of the boxes. “You were already a prosecutor, but I looked into the Kincaids. Carina dropped out of college to go to the police academy, Dillon had been in medical school specializing in sports medicine, and went an extra year to change his focus to forensic psychiatry. Patrick became a cybercop. And Lucy joined the FBI.”
“Lucy had other reasons for joining the FBI. She used to want to study international relations.”
“Diplomacy? I can see that.” What other reasons did Lucy have for joining the FBI? “Did she lose someone else to violence? After Justin?”
“You’ll have to talk to her about it. But let me give you some advice: don’t ask.”
Now Max was even more curious. She itched to talk to Marco about Lucy—he could access her FBI records. But Sean Rogan’s threat weighed heavily on her. She didn’t want to blow this working relationship, and right now it was working.
They finished the last of the boxes and had a stack of eighteen women who had been between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-five whose last year of employment was within a year of Justin’s murder.
“Eighteen is manageable,” Max said.
“Hold that thought,” Andrew said. He picked up his cell phone. Max hadn’t heard it ring.
“Stanton.… Hello, Harry, thank you for returning my call on the weekend. How’s Donna?… Great.… A grandson? Really? Well, congrats, Grandpa.” Andrew laughed, but Max could see that this was an act for him. He might genuinely be interested in this Harry and Donna, but he was going through the motions.
Andrew continued, “I’m going to be upfront with you, Harry. I need a favor. The answer may both solve a cold case for me and help you with a pending trial.… Blair Caldwell.… Really. Well, it’s a very cold case. The Justin Stanton murder. My son.” Andrew pressed his fingers to his forehead, then straightened his spine as he listened. “I know you, Harry. You don’t gamble at trial. But I may be able to offer you an expert witness you wouldn’t be able to get otherwise.… Yes, I know you have your own experts.… I would consider this a personal favor. I only have one question.… All right. I understand.” He paused, listening for a long minute.
“Thank you,” Andrew said to Harry. “Was your victim, Peter Caldwell, buried with a stuffed animal or favorite toy?” He listened. “Interesting.… You have no doubts.… No, I wouldn’t either, but the defense can work around circumstantial evidence.… Yes, I promised, and he’s one of the best forensic psychiatrists in the country.… Dozens of expert testimonies, the defense won’t be able to discredit him.… I know they’re expensive, but it won’t cost you a thing. He’d already agreed to do it and a nonprofit is covering his expenses.… I need you to keep his name under wrap for a few days, okay?… Dr. Dillon Kincaid. When do you have to turn it over to the defense?… That’s fine. I’ll send you Dr. Kincaid’s contact information and tell him to expect your call next week. Thank you, Harry. I appreciate your help.” He hung up.
Max knew what he was going to say even before he said it.
“No toy.”
“Correct.”
“She’s guilty.” Max had an odd feeling of intense rage and deep sorrow. John was going to be destroyed. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she would have no choice. His wife was guilty of murder.
“Harry thinks their case is solid, but he jumped at the chance to get an expert of Dillon’s caliber. Tells me they have ample circumstantial evidence but no smoking gun. Max, you can’t share this information.”
Again, she was angry. “I said I wouldn’t. My focus is finding this killer.” She rested her hand on the stack of eighteen personnel files.
“John Caldwell is a friend of yours.”
“I’m not about to jeopardize the prosecution. That’s not my style. And if I told John, he wouldn’t be able to keep a poker face with Blair. He’d accuse her, give her a heads up, I don’t know, but he wouldn’t be able to sleep in the same bed as his wife. Once we find Justin’s killer, all bets are off. He deserves to know—whether she’s convicted or not—that his wife killed his son.” She shook her head. “Why, dammit? Why would she do such a horrific thing?”
“These are the crimes I don’t understand,” Andrew said quietly. “It makes no sense, none. But I’ll bet Lucy will have an idea.”
Chapter Twenty-six
Lucy didn’t say anything after Andrew shared the information about Blair Caldwell’s trial. They were sitting in Andrew’s office eating sandwiches that Lucy had brought in. She itched to look through the files, but didn’t want to cross into that dark gray area … she was already on the line as it was. Andrew was typing up the information that he could legally give Max through her FOIA request. That information—which included name, date of hire and separation, previous employment, and limited personal details—would hopefully lead to answers.
Lucy hadn’t been 100 percent positive that Andrew would be able to get the information from the Maricopa County DA, but Andrew had clout and respect among his peers and she’d hoped he’d be able to parlay that into valuable information.
This was valuable in more ways than one.
“Are you certain Dillon is going to be okay with this?” Andrew asked again.