“You have to,” Tommy said, his lip trembling.
“I will work hard to find out exactly what happened to Ivy,” Max said. “I promise you that. I will leave no stone unturned.”
“I don’t understand what that means,” Tommy said.
Austin rolled his eyes. “It means she’ll try her best but no promises.”
The sarcasm was lost on Tommy. “You will try your best?” he asked Max.
“Yes, and my best is better than most people.” She caught Austin’s eye. “I told you from the beginning that cold cases aren’t easy. There’s a reason the police couldn’t solve this murder fourteen months ago. There may not be enough evidence to arrest someone. There may not be enough evidence for the police to get a warrant. But I follow different rules. I can push and pull and talk to whomever I want. I don’t have to get a warrant to ask questions.”
“But you’re really saying don’t get our hopes up that you’ll be able to do anything,” Austin said.
“Don’t get your hopes up that my investigation will lead to the arrest and prosecution of Ivy’s killer.”
“I don’t care about that!” Austin exclaimed.
“I do,” Tommy said. “Bad people have to go to jail. They might hurt someone else.”
“That’s right, Tommy.”
Tommy seemed pleased that he’d said something she agreed with, and he began to eat.
Max watched the boys as she sipped her coffee. Austin pulled out an algebra book from his backpack and quickly did homework that should have been done the night before. He didn’t seem to stumble over the problems. As she watched, he purposefully erased three answers and wrote down the incorrect solution. Twenty problems, three wrong, gave him a B.
Why would he do that? Math wasn’t Max’s best subject in school, but she’d gone through pre-calculus with a B-plus. Austin had all the questions right the first time.
He caught her staring at him. He stuck his homework back into his backpack. It had taken him all of ten minutes to do the work.
He was a smart kid. Too smart.
“You don’t want to stand out,” she said.
“We gotta go, Tommy,” Austin said. He stood up and put his backpack over one shoulder.
Tommy looked at his watch. “Thank you for breakfast, Ms. Revere.”
“You are welcome. I told you to call me Max.”
He smiled as he slid out of the booth and carefully put his backpack over both shoulders. “If you can’t find out what happened, I don’t think anybody can. Thank you for trying.”
She watched them leave the restaurant. They unlocked their bikes and rode off together.
Dammit, she had to prove who killed Ivy Lake. They deserved to know the truth.
Tommy deserved a chance to get his life back.
* * *
On the drive from the restaurant to the police station, Max again attempted to reach Bailey Fairstein’s mother. It was eight in the morning and still the woman didn’t answer.
“After we talk to Grace, let’s pay Mrs. Fairstein a visit,” she said to David. “I don’t like when people avoid my calls.”
They walked into the police station at eight fifteen. Detective Grace Martin had evidently just arrived in the building—Max caught her in the lobby with an oversized purse, gym bag, and file folders. Grace gave her a narrow glance, acting far less conciliatory than she had on Monday. Max introduced David, then asked, “Do you have a few minutes?”
At first she thought Grace was going to decline, then the cop motioned for them to follow her to her cubicle. “My boss is not keen on bringing in an outside forensics team.” Grace dumped her stuff on her desk and motioned them to the same conference room that she and Max had used before. “You can do what you want, but I can’t share anything that hasn’t already been made public.” She closed the door and stood, hands on her hips.
“Yesterday, you indicated that—”
“Obviously, things change,” Grace snapped.
Max wasn’t going to be deterred. “NCFI has an exemplary reputation.”
“You, however, do not. The chief is not a fan of yours, to say the least.”
Max bit back a comment that wouldn’t have helped her or Grace resolve this. Graham was doing her a huge favor shifting things around so he could be here this afternoon. His insight would be invaluable, and being an outsider might bring another perspective. “Graham will expect to speak with you,” she said coolly. “I hope that won’t be a problem.”
“So they are coming?”
“Graham and probably one of his techs,” Max said. “He wants to look at the autopsy report, photographs, and the evidence log.”
“The autopsy report is public information—I’ll send you a copy. Photographs—that’s not going to happen.”
“How do we make it happen?”
“You’re talking about our case files. It’s an open investigation and therefore some of the information we don’t release publicly. I shouldn’t have to tell you that.”
“This isn’t public. I won’t use anything without explicit permission.”
David raised an eyebrow. Yes, Max was desperate. She would make any promise to get Graham the information he needed.
“I’ll see what I can do, but don’t hold your breath, especially now that you’re working with Lorenzo. I was already raked over the coals for talking to you on Monday, especially in light of what that creep wrote.”
Max froze. “What did Lorenzo write?”
“On his blog, posted first thing this morning.” Now Max could just about see the steam coming out of Grace’s ears. “I was unlucky enough to see it before my first cup of coffee.”
David already had his phone out. He pulled up Lorenzo’s blog and handed the phone to Max.
CONTROVERSIAL REPORTER MAXINE REVERE IN CORTE MADERA
Television personality, author of four true crime books, Revere seeks to find a “killer” in fourteen-month-old Ivy Lake death investigation
Sixteen-year-old Ivy Lake died when she fell from a cliff at the preserve off the main fire road in the hills of Corte Madera in the early morning hours of July 4 last year. Though there were no obvious signs of murder or a struggle at the scene, and the coroner listed the death as “undetermined,” the CMPA consider Lake’s death a homicide and have kept the case open.
Lake was the subject of a civil suit brought by the family of Heather Brock, who committed suicide six months previous after being bullied for months online and in person by Lake. Lake posted humiliating and embarrassing photos and information about Brock on her blog and in social media, where their high school peers joined in the harassment. For details on the civil suit, which was dropped by the Brock family shortly after Lake’s death, go to the blog archives.
The police interviewed more than a dozen people as possible suspects in Lake’s death, but never charged anyone with a crime. It has long been the opinion of this reporter that Lake accidentally fell to her death, but the police refused to back down after they used extensive resources to track down an alleged killer. Ivy Lake was a privileged girl from a wealthy family who have the contacts and resources to make the police jump when they say jump. If Lake was from Greenbrae, would CMPA have responded with the same resources? Little evidence, no obvious sign of foul play, and no official determination of homicide?
Maxine Revere, the host of a monthly crime show on the cable station NET, arrived in Corte Madera Monday. According to sources at CMPA, Revere spent more than an hour with Grace Martin, the lead detective in the Ivy Lake investigation. Revere said, “I’m confident of the CMPA’s opinion that Ivy Lake was murdered, and I hope to give the family closure by finding out who killed Ivy.”
Which makes me wonder, did CMPA share information with Ms. Revere that wasn’t made public? If it wasn’t made public, why not?
According to high school history teacher George Fong, Ms. Revere spoke to Ivy’s intellectually disabled stepbrother, Tommy Wallace, yesterday afternoon. “Ms. Revere has a r
eputation for being a bully and I worried that she would push Tommy to say something that could then be taken out of context. Who’s protecting his rights?”
When Fong went to approach them, he saw Tommy leaving with his brother and Revere leaving with an unidentified girl.
“I had Ivy in my freshman geography class,” Fong said. “I’m heartbroken she died, but I question the integrity of any reporter who would exploit a family’s pain simply because events prior to her death seem scandalous.” Revere indicated that she would be talking to everyone the police spoke to, in the hopes of retracing Ivy’s steps the night she died. “There are nearly three hours missing in the timeline,” Revere said. “Where was she? What was she doing? These are questions that need to be answered because they could very well lead to her killer.”
Three hours missing? That’s news. Why didn’t the police investigate where Lake was prior to her death? What haven’t they told the public? Could they be covering up their own mistakes—like spending scarce resources on a wild-goose chase?
Only time—and money—will tell. And apparently, Maxine Revere has plenty of both.
Max’s hand was shaking as she handed David back his phone.
She would destroy Lance Lorenzo.
“Now you see what I’m dealing with?” Grace said. “Why the hell did you talk to him? I told you he was an asshole.”
“I didn’t say any of that. Not in those words,” Max added.
“A taste of your own medicine?” Grace said.
Max glared at the cop. “This is not how I work. If you read any of my books or articles you’d know that.”
Grace didn’t apologize, but said, “The chief called me at five this morning about Lorenzo. I’ve been dealing with it ever since.”
With San Francisco in view of Corte Madera, Max had felt she was in a bigger place but clearly she wasn’t. Small town, small-town politics. She had to remember that she was an outsider.
Lorenzo’s bias was clear: the police protected the wealthy. And maybe Ivy Lake deserved to die. It wasn’t what Lorenzo wrote, but the sentiment was between the lines.
Max didn’t care if this case took weeks—or months—to solve. She would remain in Corte Madera as long as necessary. Lorenzo had called her out. And she was not going to back down from a bully who used the Internet as a weapon.…
“Maxine,” David said, his voice low.
She glanced his way.
“I know what you’re thinking.”
“You do not.”
Lorenzo was the same as Ivy Lake, only he was older and should know better. Worse, he used his position as a reporter—someone who was supposed to be fair and unbiased—as a crutch to say whatever he damn well pleased.
Grace said, “I can’t help you anymore. I’m sorry. I wish I could, I like to think I was right about you, but I can’t help—not when Lorenzo is looking for any reason to cause problems in our department.”
“Why is he doing it?” Max asked. “Reporters don’t generally stir the pot unless there’s a reason.”
“Because he’s an asshole? Because he hates cops? He joined the paper two years ago and our department has been on edge ever since. This was shortly after the Police Authority was created, and while most people in the community believe combining three small police forces into one larger, better-funded police force was beneficial—both in saving resources and adding benefits—some people have agitated that we don’t treat all areas of Central Marin the same. Which is BS, but people will believe what they want, regardless of the evidence in front of them. At least in my experience.”
David asked, “Is it true that the coroner’s report ruled Ivy’s death as suspicious and not a homicide?”
“Yes, the evidence was inconclusive. Death from jumping or falling or being pushed is hard to determine. But we still believe she was murdered. Someone else was there in the preserve with Ivy—why would she be out there alone in the middle of the night? And why would that person not come forward? She had cuts on her arms not caused by the fall. That’s the information I didn’t give Lorenzo, and if you had spilled that to him I really would have been raked over the coals. Any less seniority and I could have already been relegated to desk duty. That’s how pissed my chief is.”
Still angry, Max tried to control her temper because ultimately, Lorenzo was to blame, not Grace. “Ivy’s last tweet was about revenge. A subtweet—directed at someone specific, but without naming them. But she said someone didn’t show when she expected them to. Do you know who that is?”
“How do you know about that? We pulled down all her social media accounts immediately after we learned about them.” Grace put her hand up. “No, don’t answer. I can’t help you anymore. Have NCFI contact my chief directly.”
“Grace,” Max said, “I promised you I wouldn’t write a word without talking to you first. But I am interviewing Paula Wallace this morning, and there will be a show tomorrow night aired nationwide about Ivy’s murder. I would very much like your cooperation.”
“Shit,” Grace muttered and ran her hands through her short hair. “I can’t—I really need to talk to the chief. He’s going to fucking bite my head off.”
She must be angry, because Max couldn’t remember Grace swearing during their conversation Monday evening.
“We don’t know who Ivy was talking about in that tweet,” Grace said after a moment. “My guess is that she thought she was meeting someone. That person never came forward, and we asked everyone we spoke to about that night. We have no way of knowing who she directed the tweet to, and no one responded to it. But the one thing I can point to is that we never told Lance Lorenzo about the three hours we can’t account for in Ivy’s last night. That came from you.”
“No, it didn’t.” Max thought back to what she’d said to Lorenzo, and to everyone else involved. There’s no reason Austin would talk to Lorenzo, but she would certainly ask the kid. Most likely … “It came from Travis Whitman.”
“Lorenzo didn’t mention Travis in the article.”
“No, but I talked to Travis, and we discussed that time block, as well as what Ivy called Travis about shortly before she sent that tweet. Grace, I know you’re angry, but we need to work together.” Max decided to go for it, what the hell. “I’d like to watch the police interview with Travis.”
“Shit, Max! I can’t—”
“I’ll watch it here, I won’t take notes, I won’t record anything. I need an impression of who he was last summer. When I spoke with Travis yesterday, he seemed to have a decent head on his shoulders. But you didn’t like him, and cops who’ve been doing this a while like yourself tend to have good instincts about people.” What Max said was true, and at the same time she hoped it would soothe Grace enough to give her access.
“I don’t know,” Grace said. “When is NCFI coming in?”
“This afternoon. I’d really like you there.”
“I’ll see. Text me the time and place, and I’ll talk to my chief. No promises.”
“Thank you, Grace.”
They left the police station before Grace could change her mind. David said, “I really didn’t think it remotely possible that she would give in.”
“She hasn’t.”
“She has. I guess sometimes you really do manage to charm people. She’s going to bat for you with her chief.”
“I don’t know.”
“I do. And if you were getting enough sleep at night, you would have seen it, too.”
“Don’t start.” She pointed to a drive-through Starbucks. “Coffee. Please.”
David pulled in. While waiting for the coffee, David brought up the directions to the Brock house and thankfully didn’t mention her insomnia again.
She looked up the name and number of Lance Lorenzo’s editor. She had a feeling that Lorenzo was freelance, but his blog was hosted by the newspaper servers, and they were responsible for ensuring that his information was accurate. He may claim his blog was simply his opinion, but he would be legally f
orced to remove the false quotes he’d created for her.
She called Ben on his cell.
“I’m sending you an article—”
“I’ve seen it.”
“You didn’t call me.”
“I didn’t feel like being yelled at this morning. I’m buried in work right now.”
“I don’t yell.”
“I didn’t want to be lectured this morning,” Ben said. “What?”
“I want a retraction.”
“Don’t call the editor,” said Ben.
“That’s why I’m calling you, sweetheart.”
“Dammit, Maxine, I don’t have time for this.”
“That jerk Lorenzo made up the quotes. I’m sending you a list of all inaccuracies. You’re the diplomat—go be diplomatic with his editor. I want this resolved. This is my reputation, Ben, and my reputation directly impacts NET.”
“Send me the bullet points. Laura will take care of it. If they don’t correct it, I’ll deal with it.”
“Thank you.”
“Anything else I should know about?”
“Not yet.”
Chapter Fifteen
The Brocks lived in the hills of Corte Madera, not far from where Tommy Wallace lived with his mother.
“Lorenzo doesn’t know what hornet’s nest he’s stepped in,” Max said in the passenger seat. She’d read the blog again and had grown even angrier.
“He’s not worth your attention,” David said. He glanced in the rearview mirror and then switched lanes.
“He’s causing problems in my investigation and that’s going to stop today,” said Max, glancing out the car window. “After Mrs. Brock, let’s go see him.”
“That’s not a good idea.”
“He put words in my mouth. He insulted me. He’s screwing with my ability to do my job.”
“And yet, you’ll do the job and find out exactly what happened to Ivy Lake in spite of anything Lance Lorenzo does or doesn’t do.”
“I appreciate your confidence.”
“It’s well placed. Let it go.”
“Jerks like Lorenzo don’t stop. He’ll get worse if I don’t do something. I want you to follow him.”
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