“I talked to him last night. Max has a nonprofit that can pay his expenses, which won’t be a conflict of interest. Expert witnesses are generally paid, and often by third parties. He’s willing to testify without renumeration—he was just as angry as I was that this woman may have used Justin’s murder as a blueprint for killing her own son.”
“Proving it is going to be next to impossible.”
“You’d be surprised, Andrew.”
“Nothing surprises me anymore, Lucy.”
“My guess is that she used her office computer for research because there are far stricter rules for law enforcement to obtain computers and computer records that are owned by a law office. She likely cleared her search history, and unless they were specifically looking for a connection, they wouldn’t have seen it. But what most people don’t know is that everything is archived somewhere. Her law firm probably automatically backs up all data at least nightly. They can’t afford to lose anything in the event of a computer crash. That information includes search histories. The biggest question is whether those backups are still around after nearly a year—longer, because I suspect she’s been thinking about this a long time.”
“Why?” Max asked. “I don’t disagree, but how can you be so certain?”
“Because she planned it. Everything she did was identical to Justin’s murder, except the detail that was withheld from the public. But we’ll be able to get forensics of any drugs in his system, if there were any. I suspect that Justin’s killer used the same drug for Tommy Porter and Chris Donovan. It worked once, it worked twice, it worked three times—maybe more. Why change? In fact she hasn’t changed anything about her MO and that troubles me more than anything.”
“Why?” Andrew asked. “That’s good—it makes a clearer connection for the jury.”
“Because I think we’re missing a victim between Tommy Porter and Chris Donovan. She may have had to improvise. She’s cyclical. It also means that she’s planning another murder. If we can’t identify her, there will be another victim.”
“She has to be older, at least in her fifties.”
“Most likely she’s between the ages of forty-five and fifty-five. She’s determined. An eight-year-old boy might weigh sixty to eighty pounds, certainly light enough for a physically fit woman to carry. She’s not going to stop until we stop her or she’s dead.”
Lucy’s phone rang. She grabbed it, thinking it was Sean, but it was an unfamiliar number.
“Lucy Kincaid.”
“Lucy, it’s Don Katella.”
“Hello, Don. I was going to touch base later today. Did you get the files from Andrew?” She knew he did, but they hadn’t spoken since Thursday.
“Yes, and I read everything twice. I don’t know that I have what you want, but I made a list of every female who was interviewed. Nothing struck me as off when I was reviewing my notes.”
“I’d like to see that list. Can Ms. Revere and I come to your house this afternoon?”
“I have to run an errand for my wife, I can swing by your hotel when I’m done. Around three?”
“That would be great. If you could bring your notes as well, I might have some questions once we look through the names.”
“I have everything in order. What hotel?”
“US Grant. Room Fourteen-oh-one.” She gave him Max’s room because of the timeline Max had on her wall—having a seasoned detective review their theories would be an added benefit.
“Snazzy place. I’ll be there by three.” He hung up.
“Katella?” Andrew asked.
“Yes, he didn’t see anything, but he has a list of names, and that’s going to help.”
Andrew printed the information he’d put into the spreadsheet. It pained Lucy to watch him type so slow, but she couldn’t very well offer to do it for him. “If a name pops up on Katella’s list, let me know and I’ll work on obtaining a warrant to use all the information in that specific personnel file.”
Max grabbed the papers off the printer. “Eighteen names. Do you really think one of these women is who we’re looking for?”
“Yes,” Lucy said without hesitation. She looked at Andrew. “She knew you were having an affair and she stalked you and Nelia for months, if not longer. How long were you having the affair? I never asked.”
“Eight months. Sheila wasn’t married, we were both busy—we got together once or twice a month. It didn’t even feel like that long … it had become routine. When Justin died, it was over.”
“Did you love her?” Lucy didn’t know why she asked—it wasn’t her business.
He shook his head. “I liked her. A lot. Maybe I could have fallen in love, but I never planned on my marriage ending in divorce.”
“I don’t think love is planned. Either you do or you don’t.”
“Then I didn’t. Because it was too easy to walk away after Justin. Maybe Justin was the only person I truly ever unconditionally loved,” Andrew said quietly. “And he’s gone. If you’re right, Lucy, and this woman killed Justin to punish my infidelity, it worked. There hasn’t been a day in the last nineteen and a half years that I haven’t missed my son.”
*
Lucy was surprised that Max was so quiet on the drive back to the hotel. No questions, no prying into her personal life, no discussion of the case. While Lucy was relieved on the one hand, she grew suspicious. One thing she’d learned quickly about Maxine Revere was that she was a sharp observer of human nature and intensely curious about everything. She didn’t stop. She didn’t slow down. She didn’t let up ever. The dinner conversation the night before had drained Lucy, and in the back of her mind she couldn’t help but think that Max wasn’t going to stop prying into her life. Asking her questions didn’t bother her—it was what Max might start doing without Lucy’s knowledge that had her worried.
They walked through the lobby and Max made an immediate detour toward a group of chairs near the window. Lucy followed.
“You said you weren’t coming down,” she said to a man seated facing the lobby.
“I was done,” he said and stood. “The drive wasn’t bad, and I can be of more use to you here than in Santa Barbara.”
“David, this is Agent Lucy Kincaid. Lucy, David Kane, my right hand.”
Lucy took his hand. He was neither short or tall—just topped six feet—but with the posture of a soldier and the eyes of a cop. He had a scar down half of his right cheek and close-cropped hair. He looked like half the mercenaries her brother Jack worked with.
“Pleasure, Agent Kincaid.”
“Lucy.”
He nodded. “David.”
“We’re meeting with the lead detective from the Stanton murder,” Max said, “I’ll get you a room, then we’ll head up to my suite.”
“Ben got me a room.”
“I might have something else for you to do.”
“Today?”
“We’ll talk about it. Let’s debrief before the detective arrives.”
Lucy wondered if Max was planning on going behind her back again. The reporter had been quiet ever since Lucy got back from talking to Carina. She hardly said more than two sentences in Andrew’s office while they ate lunch. Something was up and Lucy didn’t know what it was.
That made her very nervous.
Lucy got off on the floor before Max. “I’m going to call Sean, then I’ll be up.”
“You don’t mind if I fill David in on the plan?”
“Go ahead.”
Lucy let herself into her room and called Sean. He answered almost immediately.