“No,” Richard said. “Ten minutes—I’m not entertaining them.”
“I do appreciate your time, Mr. Collins, so I’ll get to the point,” Max said. “I became interested in the Justin Stanton murder in San Diego when my staff uncovered two other similar cases. Justin was murdered nearly twenty years ago, when he was seven years old. He was taken from his bedroom while his parents were out, drugged, suffocated, and buried in a shallow grave a short distance from his house. He was found within twenty-four hours, but there was little to no evidence, and while the police looked at the parents and family members, no one fit.
“As my staff and I investigated, we realized there were several unusual similarities. But there’s one key fact that connects with your son’s death: in each of these cases, the fathers of the boys were having an affair.”
Max let that information sink in. Richard immediately understood what she was saying.
“It’s not the same,” he said, his voice scratchy with emotion.
“Justin’s father is the district attorney of San Diego, so we had assistance in putting together information that wasn’t available to the general public. And because these murders were all five or more years apart and in different California jurisdictions, the police didn’t make the connection.”
“How did you?” Patricia asked. Her hands were entwined with her husband’s, but she was far more in control. “Poor Matthew was killed in Florida.”
“Because Lucy’s brother is a forensic psychiatrist and was able to help us form a profile of sorts. When we had that, we went back to Stanton and he went through employee records looking for a woman who left employment shortly after Justin’s murder. We followed up with the other two connected cases. One woman worked with either the mother or father of each dead boy.”
“Then why aren’t the police here?”
“Because,” Lucy said, “we have no hard evidence. But we think you can help—you know this woman.”
“We? Are you a cop?”
Lucy showed her badge. “FBI. But I’m not here officially—I’m here because I’m Justin’s aunt.”
“I don’t understand,” Richard said. “What does this have to do with Matthew’s death?”
Patricia bristled. “You can’t think that Richard has anything to do with any of this.”
“Of course not,” Lucy said. “Have you been in contact with your ex-wife, Danielle Sharpe, at any time after you left Florida?”
Both Patricia and Richard stared at Lucy.
“Danielle?” Richard said.
Lucy said, “We have a theory, but no proof. We know that you were with your mistress the night Matthew was killed—”
Patricia jumped up. “I can’t believe you would do this to my husband! Hasn’t he suffered enough? First his son is molested and murdered, then his ex-wife makes his life a living hell, and now this? You have to bring it up again?”
“It’s okay,” Richard said, taking his wife’s hand.
“It’s not okay!”
“A living hell?” Max said, needing to take the emotion out of the room. “How so?”
“No, I’m not doing this again. Don’t, Richard.”
Richard stood up and said to Max and Lucy, “Can you excuse us for a minute?”
Max didn’t want to let them out of the room—there was something here, she could feel it buzzing around the room. But Lucy spoke before Max could stop them. “Take all the time you need,” she said.
They walked out.
“What are you doing?” Max said. “Did you hear them? Bet you a million bucks that Danielle has been tormenting him for years. ‘Living hell.’ And now they’re going to clam up and sanitize whatever they tell us. Maybe call a lawyer. Maybe he’s calling the police right now to have us removed.”
“You have a vivid imagination,” Lucy said.
“We were so close!” She cleared her throat to lower her voice. “You should never have let them walk out.”
“We are close, Max, and I’m definitely not taking your bet. He’s heard from his ex recently.”
“How do you know that?”
“His face when I mentioned her name. I don’t think he told his wife, but Danielle has reached out to him.”
“I don’t understand what you’re saying. They’re not—screwing around or something?”
“No. I think Patricia was right—Danielle tried to make Richard suffer. But Richard remarried, moved, was able to get on with his life. Danielle couldn’t. But there’s more here than hatred of her ex-husband. She blames herself as much—or more—than her ex.”
“How do you get that?”
“It’s everything, Max—it’s not just the husbands who are cheaters. The wives were all working. In a traditional household, the father works and the mother stays home with the kids.”
Max almost laughed. “It’s the twenty-first century—certainly not the status quo now.” And she couldn’t imagine not working. But something on Lucy’s face had her asking, “If you had kids, would you quit your job and raise them?”
“I can’t answer that question,” Lucy said.
“What I’m saying is, in this day and age there are many two-income households. It’s common. Sometimes because both parents want to work, and sometimes because both parents have to work. Either way, even twenty years ago no one batted an eye when a mother went back to work after having a kid.”
“It’s not about the mother working, it’s about the mother not being home when her son was in danger. It’s a primal instinct to protect our young. We talk anecdotally about mother bears and their cubs, but it’s based on observable truths. Danielle certainly blames Richard because he was with another woman when Matthew was killed. But she blames herself even more. There is an intense self-loathing, which she has projected onto other families.”
Max glanced up and saw Richard in the entry of the living room. Lucy had to have seen him when they were talking. Why had she continued? Did she want Richard to hear?
Patricia wasn’t there. “I need to talk to you without Patricia,” Richard said. His eyes were moist. “You think Danielle killed someone. A child.”
“Yes,” Lucy said. “Do you think she’s capable?”
“I don’t know.” He sat back down heavily on the couch. “What do you want to know?”
Max had a million questions, but she glanced at Lucy. Lucy was running this show. Maybe she had from the minute she stepped into the lounge at the US Grant on Thursday afternoon. Max’s control was only an illusion that Lucy wanted her to keep until they broke the case open.
“Let’s start at the beginning,” Lucy said. “You were young when you married.”
He nodded. “We were both in college. I was a senior, she was a freshman. Love at first sight, I suppose.”