This was no happy reminiscing.
“We married because Danielle got pregnant. I loved her, and the baby. I wanted to do the right thing. We were happy, I thought. But Danielle was always clingy. Needy, I guess. I chalked it up to her being young and insecure about our marriage, but I tried. And Matthew, we loved him. After he was born, it was good, really good. I’d already graduated. She took a year off, then finished school. Juggled Matthew and classes. I was working for a major insurance company, nine-to-five mostly, but I was promoted when Matthew was five and started traveling. I told Danielle she didn’t need to work if she didn’t want to—I was making more money, and she really hated her job. She said she wanted to go to law school, and I supported that. She was working and going to school and I was traveling and she was always suspicious. Several times she’d show up at my hotel room. Said she wanted to surprise me, and the first time I was thrilled—it was fun and exciting. But then … it turned weird.”
“How so?”
“She would show up at work in the middle of the day. She would call at odd times. If I didn’t answer right away, she’d leave a long message. If I called her back she would accuse me of avoiding her. I wasn’t, but then I began to. It was awkward. She showed up at a company dinner with one of our biggest clients and made a scene. It was after that I suggested we separate … and she almost had a breakdown. I found out then that her mother had been married twice—and each time her father or stepfather had an affair and left her mom for another woman. Her mom and I never got along—the woman was bitter and manipulative and what is it called? Passive-aggressive? Say things to Danielle like, ‘Oh, I love your haircut, it covers your big forehead,’ or ‘That dress is amazing, it hides your fat ass beautifully.’ I’m sure growing up like that had to wear her down, and she was always self-critical and critical of me. But she begged me to forgive her, and we had Matthew—I loved that kid so much.”
“And yet you still had an affair.”
“I’m not proud of it. It just happened … and I didn’t know how to get out of it.”
“It wasn’t with Patricia.”
“God, no. Someone I worked with. She was married as well, neither of us were happy, it started innocuously … and then well, you can guess.”
“What happened the night Matthew was kidnapped?”
“I had a dinner meeting. Marlena and I stayed after for drinks. Her husband was out of town—he was a pilot and he took extra legs because their marriage was so bad. She knew he was having an affair, too, and I think she wanted to stick it to him by screwing me in their bed. I planned on being home by ten—we had a high school girl who babysat, and I knew Danielle had a late class and then would study until the library closed. But I fell asleep. Woke up when Danielle called at twelve thirty and said Matthew wasn’t in his bed. I—I lied to her at first, but when the police came everything came out, because I didn’t know what happened to my son and I wanted the police to find him.”
“We have the basics from the investigation,” Lucy said, “but no details.”
“He was found five days later in an open field, under a pile of construction garbage. But … the police said after the autopsy that he’d been only been dead for twenty-four hours. They arrested Paul Borell. Found Matthew’s clothes. His blanket … his favorite stuffed animal … in Borell’s basement. And blood. My little boy … he was hurt, then Borell killed him.”
“How did he die?” Lucy asked, her voice so soft Max almost couldn’t hear her.
“He was strangled.”
“And he was sexually assaulted.”
Richard’s voice cracked. “Y-yes.”
“Patricia said that Danielle made your life a living hell. How?”
“She blamed me. I blamed myself. I should have been home.”
“But she knew you were working late legitimately.”
“Yes. But I was supposed to be home by ten. And I wasn’t, and my son was kidnapped.”
“What about the babysitter?”
“She fell asleep on the couch. She was sixteen—she didn’t hear or see anything. Poor girl fell apart, too. Danielle was so cruel to her, and she got into drugs and drinking. I don’t know what happened—they moved away a year later.”
“And you?”
“I had to move. Danielle would show up at my house, she’d come to the office, she left awful messages on my door, on my phone. The police arrested her once when she attacked me, but I dropped the charges. I mean—I hated myself. So a year later, I moved here. I met Patricia at a grief support group through a community church. Her husband had died—he was young, it was a tragic highway accident—and it took a while, but I finally forgave myself.”
“Have you seen or heard from Danielle since you left Tallahassee?” Lucy asked.
“I haven’t seen her, but she calls me every once in a while. The first time—I talked about it in grief counseling, so Patricia knows about it. She was worried about me so I never told her that Danielle has called me many times over the years.”
“Define many?” Max said.
“At first she would call me on the anniversary of Matthew’s murder and yell at me, blame me. I took the calls because I wanted to be punished. But then it stopped. Years pass and I don’t hear from her, then she’ll call every day for a couple weeks. The first time she called after Patricia and I married, she was in the room and made me promise never to answer the phone again if it was Danielle.”
“But you did.”
“I had to—I mean, she was Matthew’s mother. She was grieving. And I suspected she called me after she was drinking or something, because she didn’t sound right. And it would stop. And then I’d almost forget, but it would start up again.”
“When was the last time you talked to her?”
“Wednesday.”
“Last week Wednesday?” Max asked. “What did she say?”
“That she hates me. That she wishes I’d died instead of Matthew. She always asks me if I’m cheating on my wife.” He sighed. “She left messages on my phone the next couple of days. I still have them.”
“I need to hear them,” Lucy said.
Richard looked pained, and he was confused. “I don’t understand. What’s going on? Is Danielle in trouble?”
Max had thought it was perfectly clear. Was Richard being deliberately obtuse? Or was he in denial?
“You ex-wife has killed at least three young boys,” Max said.
Lucy tensed. “We suspect,” Lucy clarified.
“You suspect, I know,” Max said. Before Lucy could backtrack into cop speak, Max said, “We have evidence that your wife worked with the parents of three specific victims at the time the boys were killed. Within a year, she moved to another town, in another job, found another adulterer, and stalked the family until she found the opportunity to kidnap their child in the middle of the night, drug and suffocate him, and bury him in a park with his favorite stuffed animal.”