“You read it?” While driving?
“I read fast. I can just tell at the beginning that they were being too general, thinking I could use this with anyone other than Gillogley, but I know lawyers, and if this guy has a stick up his ass, he’ll bark just because he can. Text Richardson all the vitals—name, address, yada yada.”
Lucy typed on his phone, happy to do it so Ken didn’t take his eyes off the road.
“So you think your reporter buddy was right about this other victim? What’s-his-name?”
“Jonah. I haven’t read her evidence yet. But she wouldn’t have sent it if she wasn’t certain. The babysitter was shot and killed, she wanted me to be careful because that changes Danielle’s MO. She’s willing to kill whoever tries to stop her from taking the kid.”
“Do we need backup?”
“The chance that she has a gun with her at her place of employment is slim—we need to be cautious. I don’t want us to tip our hand. We ask to see her, we don’t tell anyone why, and we arrest her immediately.”
“Works for me. The L.A. office has been alerted.”
“If she’s not at the office, we call in backup for her house.”
“Why wouldn’t she be? It’s Monday afternoon.”
“You heard her on the phone—she’s cracking. I suspect this is part of the cycle—her ex-husband said her calls were emotional, ranging from calm reminiscing to verbal attacks. In fact, we should get Glendale PD to take her into custody while we find out who she’s targeting. The more information we have when we interrogate her, the better.”
“Fine by me. This is your show, Kincaid.”
“It’s really not.”
“Hey, you’re the one who ID’d Danielle. We’re lucky Revere didn’t swoop in for an interview with the killer before we had a chance to nab her.”
“That’s not her style.”
“I haven’t had many—okay, I haven’t had any good experiences with a reporter, and I’ve been in the FBI for … thirteen? Fourteen? Wow, fifteen years this June. Damn. I’m going to be forty in July.”
Lucy had never had a case partner who chatted or jumped around the conversation as much as Ken, but it was informative to know that he’d been in the FBI since he was twenty-five. Most agents these days started the FBI as a second career and were already over thirty when they entered Quantico, including half her graduating class. Many came from the military.
“This is it,” Ken said as he pulled in front of a high-rise in downtown Glendale, a city northeast of Los Angeles. He popped an official duty placard in the dashboard so he could park in the loading zone. “My favorite part of the job,” he said with a wink.
Lucy almost laughed.
They got out and went into the building. “Eighteenth floor,” Ken said to the guard and flashed his badge, “and don’t alert the tenants.” He showed the guard a photo of Danielle Sharpe. “If this woman attempts to leave the building, please detain her and call me.” He dropped his card on the desk.
Ken didn’t wait for an argument, he simply passed the desk and hit the elevator button. “Sometimes,” he said when they stepped into the elevator, “they want to argue with you or flex some muscle, pretend they’re real cops or some such nonsense. Some of them are cool beans, some have been on the job, I can usually tell by looking. That skinny kid was a rent-a-cop.”
Lucy ignored most of Ken’s commentary, mentally preparing herself for the interview with Danielle Sharpe. How to approach the woman, how to get her to confess. It went back to the eyes—Danielle couldn’t face her victims. She couldn’t watch as she killed the children because she had to distance herself—and that was going to be Lucy’s in. Photos of the crime scenes, photos of the autopsies.
Lucy’s stomach twisted in knots. She would have to look at them, too. She would have to steel herself against the pain and rage she would feel looking at the young lives cut short. At looking at Justin in death.
They exited the elevator into a small lobby. Double glass doors led to the pricey law offices. Two receptionists had large desks in front of a stunning view of Los Angeles to the south. Stunning, Lucy supposed, because she expected to see a layer of smog, but today was crystal clear blue.
They walked in through the doors and approached the first receptionist, who was clearly surprised at the visitors. “You need to check in with the guard downstairs,” she said formally.
Ken flashed his badge, then showed the warrant which was on his phone. “Danielle Sharpe’s office—don’t call her, just lead us to her desk.”
“Ms. Sharpe isn’t in today.”
“Who’s her direct supervisor?”
“Uh, Nina. Nina Fieldstone is the office manager—she supervises all paralegals and legal secretaries.”
“Contact her and Archie Frank.”
“Mr. Frank?”
“Just do it.”
The receptionist immediately got on the phone. “Nina, there are two FBI agents here asking to see Danielle. They’d like to speak with you and Mr. Frank.” She didn’t say anything for a long minute. “Yes, ma’am.”
She hung up and said, “Nina will find Mr. Frank and she asked me to bring you to a conference room.”
“Actually, we’ll check out Danielle Sharpe’s desk first. It’s covered under the warrant.”
“I can’t allow that,” the receptionist said. “We have privileged information—”
“Don’t care, it’s covered.”
“Mr. Frank will want to read the warrant.”
The stately young receptionist was nervous, but Lucy had to admire the way she stood up for her employer and protocols.
“Sharpe’s desk,” Ken said. “Now.”
The receptionist got back on the phone. It took longer to reach Nina this time, and when she did, she said, “They want to go to Danielle’s desk. They have a warrant.”
She hung up and less than fifteen seconds later, a tall, burly man with a shocking head of white hair reminiscent of Albert Einstein came through an almost hidden set of doors on the far side of the lobby. Immediately behind him was a willowy brunette in impossibly tall spike heels.
“I’m Archie Frank,” he said in a deep voice.
Ken and Lucy showed their ID, the warrant, and explained that they needed to speak with Danielle Sharpe.
“I’m Nina Fieldstone, Danielle’s supervisor. What’s this about?”
Ken was about to speak, but Lucy was painfully aware of the two receptionists listening to the entire conversation. “Is there someplace we can go in private?” Lucy said.
Frank turned and walked back through the doors. They followed. The first door on the left was a small conference room with the same stunning view. “I don’t appreciate the FBI coming in unannounced and terrorizing my staff.”
“An overstatement,” Ken said. “Danielle Sharpe is wanted for questioning in a homicide investigation.”
“Murder?” Nina said. “Danielle?”
Frank shot her a look that said to shut up, and he said, “Warrant.”
Ken handed him his phone. “We drove up from San Diego, I didn’t have time to print it.”
Frank scrolled through. “This is vague.”
“Not for me.”