“Can you elaborate?”
“She did her job well, she was meticulous—absolutely essential when working in tax law—but during crunch time, she became testy. We’re a small office and even my partner and I are irritable in April.”
“She indicated that she left to pursue another opportunity, but it’s unclear if it was voluntary or if she was asked to leave.”
“I would say it was mutual.”
“Can you elaborate?”
“Danielle was a good employee, and more competent and mature than most legal secretaries we’ve had over the years. But my partner went through a traumatic event early in 2013, and I felt Danielle was far too interested in her personal life. At first, she was very kind, even commiserated with my partner. But it turned a bit … well, let’s just say, too interested.”
“That’s a little vague. Would you say she was personally involved in your partner’s life? Perhaps to the point of being uncomfortable.”
Silence. Had David tipped his hand?
“That’s a pointed question.”
“I apologize—while Sterling is a civil law firm, I originally came from criminal law and tend to look at situations from that viewpoint.”
“I can say this. My partner lost her son in early 2013. Apparently, so did Danielle, years before. I suspect that Cindy’s loss triggered some deep emotions in Danielle and she felt the need to overshare details with Cindy, which caused my partner distress. I suggested that Danielle find someone else to talk to about it—it was clear to me she was deeply pained—and Danielle did not take my suggestion in the way I intended. We decided that it would be best if she leave. I assured her I would give her outstanding recommendations—because she did a good job for us—and I have been called twice for a reference, which I happily gave. In fact, two years ago one of my law school classmates hired Danielle into his law firm and thanked me for the referral.”
“What is his name?”
Again, silence. “If she didn’t list it on her resumé, perhaps they left on less than stellar terms.”
“It’s even more important that I speak with him.”
“Don’t hire her. If anyone lied on a resumé, they’d go into the trash bin. If there’s nothing else?”
“No, ma’am. Thank you for your time.”
David hung up.
“Sorry,” he said.
“Sorry?” Lucy said. “That was perfect. Any more and she would have become suspicious. But I need that name. Two years—she’s still there, I’m certain of it.”
“How do you find out?”
Max already was on it. She googled Sandra Gillogley. “She graduated in 1989 from Whittier Law School.” She typed in another search bar. “They average about seven hundred students in enrollment, full-and part-time.”
“I don’t suppose the Web site had a way to sort by graduates within two years of her,” Lucy said.
“No, but if he’s a member of the bar, my staff can track him down. Or, at least, a list of potentials.”
“She’s in California,” Lucy said. “Most likely she’s going to stick with what she’s familiar in, and working for fifteen years in the law in California between Andrew, Doug Porter, and Donovan means she’s not going to venture too far.”
“You’d be surprised how small the number could be,” Max said. “But it’s still going to take time.” She sent a message to Ben, then immediately shut down her e-mail so she didn’t have to read a rant. He wouldn’t be happy.
“We have exactly what we need.” Lucy walked over to Max’s timeline and wrote details about Danielle Sharpe’s employment. Max fought the urge to object—she never let anyone else write on her timeline. “I’ll bet Andrew can talk to human resources and find out if there were any inquires into Sharpe’s employment.” She made notes on a small pad. “Sandra said she suggested that Danielle talk to someone, probably a psychologist. That would set Danielle off. To her, there’s nothing wrong with her. It’s everyone else who has a problem. But I also suspect that deep down she has a fear that someone will be able to see through her, see what she’s done.” She continued writing.
Max hadn’t made the connection, but as soon as Lucy said it, it was obvious.
“Why hasn’t anyone seen through her?” Max wondered out loud.
“Because she has no friends. No one who can get close. That two-lawyer office was as close to friends as she had, but Sandra didn’t sound like the type of person would would get chummy with her support staff. And Danielle would have put up walls to ensure there was no personal connection. She has no close friends, everyone is superficial. If she stayed in any one place for a long time, people would notice, but they might not think much of it. Most people aren’t that observant.”
“Yet Katella said she was at the Stanton house helping with the search.”
“A criminal often goes back to the scene of their crime.”
“Why?”
“Different reasons. For arsonists it’s usually sexual, or a way to see their handiwork in full glory. For killers it’s more complicated. Either to absorb the pain of others, or to gloat, or to make sure no one suspects them. For Danielle? A combination of regret and gloating. She needed validation. She wanted Andrew’s affair to be revealed, she wanted him to suffer, and she wanted—needed—to see that.”
“But Andrew didn’t see her at the house.”
“That he remembers. She was there, at least once, and saw Nelia turn Andrew away. It validated her. Finally, the woman has some sense, sees the truth, too bad it took the death of her only son to notice her husband is a cheating asshole.”
Lucy stopped suddenly and looked from Max to David. “I-I didn’t mean that literally. I’m just thinking like the killer.”
“Why didn’t you go into BSU?” Max asked spontaneously. Lucy seemed surprised by the question. “I mean, you sound like Arthur Ullman, just more … intense. You understand these people.”
“It’s a gift and a curse,” Lucy said and averted her eyes.
“Still, it seems you would be a natural for that unit.”
“I’m starving,” David said.
Max wanted to throttle him. She was getting Lucy to open up—finally. It wouldn’t have taken much more prodding. She sensed Lucy was weakening, maybe because she was so emotionally involved with this case. There was something about her that drew Max in … and she would find the answers she was looking for.
“Let’s go downstairs. Lucy?” David asked her.
“Give me a minute, I want to take a few more notes.” She glanced at her phone. “And Dillon’s calling me.”
“We’ll meet you down there,” Max said. She grabbed her purse and walked out with David. “Why?” she demanded as soon as they closed the door.
“You were about to overstep, and I didn’t want you damaging your relationship with that girl.”
“I was not overstepping. It was a natural question to the situation. You heard her—she’s not like most feds we know.”
“Sometimes for the most observant person on the planet, you’re obtuse.”