LUCY: The Complete Lucy Kendall Series with Bonus Content (The Lucy Kendall Series Book 5)

by Stacy Green

  “I’m more concerned with the Dale City angle,” Lennox said. “Mary went back there for a reason. That’s where she was born, assuming that part of the story is true. So why take Chris there? Show him his roots? Her first kill? Where his crazy grandpa first decided to snatch girls and teach her the trade?”

  I didn’t have a clue. “There’s no sign they’re using the Kent name right now?”

  “Nothing that matches. No credit cards or bank accounts, no major purchases in either state in the last twenty years. No rental property. Nothing traceable. Given our digital age, that’s damned tough. And when she lived as sweet baker lady Mary Beckett, she had a credit record. But it all stopped the night you guys made her.”

  “She’d been saving her money, and she went right back in hiding after years of moving freely and hasn’t made a single mistake,” I said. “You’d think she’d be out of practice and slip up.”

  “She will,” Lennox said. “Every criminal does, eventually.”

  He let the words sit between us, their impact as heavy as dropping a basket of food in front of a starving person.

  Lennox leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. He’d worn a power suit for the occasion, the charcoal blending quite nicely with the blue dress shirt and tie he’d chosen. “What’s your plan here? I know you’re a private investigator, and I know you’ve gotten results. You can deal with people. But this guy doesn’t talk. And he’s probably bitter as hell.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “He’s in prison because of her, but nothing is forcing his silence. He’s never admitted to her involvement–why? Is it loyalty? Did she con him into loving her so much he’s happy to waste his life so she can have hers? Does it make it worth it that she’s still out there doing her thing?”

  “That’s one of my theories,” Lennox said. “I think he’s happier in prison. Safer.”

  “From her. Or her father?” Lennox’s reaction to the kill line had been bugging me since last night. Or rather, his lack of reaction. He hadn’t expressed much shock or outrage that these killings had occurred and hadn’t been matched to Mary Weston after all this time. And he’d been hung up on the old man the moment he’d heard about him. I debated pumping him for information, but I knew he wouldn’t tell me. Not unless I produced something he could use.

  He looked out the window as the pilot announced our descent. “Good question. I hope you can get the answer.”

  23

  Shaped like a warped pentagon, State Correctional Institution Greene–or SCI Greene–sat on nearly 130 acres in Franklin Township, just outside of Waynesburg. As the state’s supermax, it housed all violent offenders. As our vehicle shuttered past the massive, interlocking gate, I turned to watch it glide shut, suddenly queasy.

  This is where I’d go if I were ever caught.

  Heavy-duty fences topped with spikey rolls of barbed wire surrounded the complex. The prison itself was a maze of interlocking buildings and pathways.

  Agent Lennox led us through the designated gate and then to the reception area. Outside, the cold morning had been bright and shimmering, with some brave birds who’d decided to weather the winter singing their song. Everything went silent once we crossed the prison’s threshold.

  As we checked in at reception, providing our credentials and consenting to the weapons check, the somberness gnawed a pit in my stomach. The atmosphere matched every funeral I’d attended, including my sister’s. Melancholy saturated the air and seeped its way into the staff. No one smiled, no one joked. Hysteria bubbled in me until I nearly turned and ran screaming toward the gate.

  A round man with a drooping, stern face greeted us. He shook Lennox’s hand first and then mine. “Superintendent Robinson. I’ve informed the prisoner he’ll be interviewed today. He said nothing, as usual.”

  I debated asking Robinson about Chris’s visit, but I didn’t want to cross any boundaries before I got the chance to speak with John Weston. Lennox would tell me if the prison’s records produced anything useful.

  We followed Robinson down a well-lit corridor, varying shades of neutrals and gray making me feel even more smothered by misery–probably exactly what the facility was designed to accomplish.

  “He’s in interview room number one,” Robinson said. “You know the protocol, Agent Lennox. He’s in restraints, so I won’t send an officer in with you, but he’ll be right outside the locked door. The entire interview will be recorded.” His eyes slid to me. “You sure you want to do this?”

  I stood taller, reminding myself I’d faced the worst of the worst and came out on top. Fear did nothing for me now. “I’ll be fine.”

  The door slid open painfully slow, revealing a generic room with a table and chairs. A man faced us, his prison orange the only color in the room. John Weston’s salt and pepper hair was cut neatly, his beard only scruff. A thin scar ran from his eye to his chin, likely a result of a prison fight. He sat quietly, his cuffed hands folded on the table. Lennox allowed me to enter first, and as I walked toward the nearest seat, my shoes smacking the floor, my eyes caught his.

  They were a very familiar, crystalline blue.

  They shined with a glint of knowing, the way an infant reacts to another child without needing to be told he’s mingling with his peers. Or more appropriately, the way a predator sizes up competition.

  He knows what you are.

  His mouth ticked up in the slightest hint of a smirk that made me feel like running away. Instead I moved forward and took my seat. Weston watched every move, those hauntingly familiar eyes possessing the same power of Chris’s: instead of looking at me, it was as if John Weston lasered right through the pomp and femininity and saw my true heart. The heart of a killer, just like him.

  “Hello again, John.” Lennox spoke easily as he took the seat next to mine. “How are you doing?”

  “Fine.” The voice was soft, not at all the sort of thing you’d expect from a man convicted of multiple murders. Then again, we had that in common, didn’t we?

  “This is Lucy Kendall,” Agent Lennox said. “She’s a friend of your son’s, and a private investigator. Are you aware he’s missing?”

  “I am.” He gave nothing away, and our eyes locked, each trying to feel the other out. I didn’t smile, but looking away wasn’t an option. Let him see me, let him make his assumptions. I needed information.

  “We believe he located his mother, and either she or an accomplice wounded him,” Lennox said. “We’re operating under the assumption he’s still alive and being held against his will by her and whoever she’s with.” Lennox slid the photo from the convenience store across the table. “Do you recognize this old man?”

  John’s eyes barely flickered to the picture, his drumming fingers missing just a beat. “Nope.”

  Lennox looked at me and nodded. I’d been ordered not to mention the kill line or the Kent surname, but I could reference Mary’s father as much as I wanted. “Mr. Weston.”

  “Please, call me John.”

  “John, then. We really need you to help us. We know Chris communicated with his mother after finding out some disturbing information regarding custody of him as a child. He’s not in a good place, and he’s vulnerable to her.”

  John said nothing.

  Lennox leaned back in his chair. Sweat dampened my neck. I wished I’d worn my hair up. “I know how Mary operates.” My tongue felt grimy, coated with shame. “She makes you feel special. She looks at you like you’re the only person in the room, even though you see nothing special about yourself. She makes you feel like her light, as if she can’t push forward without you. This is how she gets your guard down. You open up and tell her about all the things you hate about your life.”

  John remained silent, looking at me with those eyes that seemed strong enough to slice through my skull.

  “She listens and understands. She’s got the innate ability to tell you everything you need to hear, and the next thing you know, she’s in control. But you’re all right with tha
t, because she makes you feel so important. And then you’ll do whatever she asks. And you did, right?”

  Sweat began to shine on his forehead. Bolstered, I continued. He might see me for who I really was, but I also saw him. Tit for tat. “It was always about Mary and her needs, wasn’t it John? And she let you take the fall. She set you up.”

  “Chris is in danger,” I said. “He’s in danger because he’s completely lost. He feels abandoned by his family, just like you did. And he’s physically injured. With Mary and her father talking in his ear about their family history. Is that what she did to you?”

  John’s jaw clenched as if he’d bitten into a rock solid walnut.

  “She’s going to do the same thing to Chris. This guy who put the demons of his childhood behind him, who helps people. He’s a paramedic, and he saves lives. Do you want your son to end up another one of her victims?”

  “Stop.”

  “Chris told me you used to taking him fishing,” I pressed. “He remembers you being a good father, the affectionate one when she was silent and cold. You’ve spent all these years in prison and allowing her to run free. Why, John?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  Lennox shifted beside me, and I prayed he’d stay silent. “Yes, it does. It matters for your son.” I leaned forward, feeling the snap of frustration. “You can’t tell me Mary Weston has such a hold over you that you’ve pined all these years. You took part in killing those women for her, but some part of you enjoyed it. You relished the control and the adrenaline rush.” My entire scalp felt soaked, as if I’d been running. “Those things made you feel powerful–something you craved. And Mary made you feel like that’s the only way you could be the man she needed. But she used the spoons, John. She took part. And then she let you rot in prison while she married another man and started over. Why John? Why are you silent?”

  “You’re just like I pictured you.” John’s quiet words hit me with the force of a bullhorn.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Chris said you were strong. That you knew how to get things done–the right things.”

  My vision blurred. I blinked, all hope of keeping a poker face gone. I looked to Lennox for guidance; he sat stone faced, staring at John with an expression so carefully blank it told me everything I needed to know.

  Lennox knew Chris had spoken to his father. He’d kept the information from me.

  The shock eased, fury taking its place. This is why Lennox had given in to my interviewing Weston so easily. He’d played me like some stupid girl, and I’d fallen for it.

  Murderous rage flowed through me, as powerful as the force that drove me to kill. I wanted to stare daggers at Lennox and make him see exactly who he’d double-crossed, but I needed to gain back control of the interview if I had any hope of getting information from John.

  I forced myself to look back at the prisoner, and his smile drowned my frenzy. It reeked of self-righteous, all-knowing arrogance. “He said you liked to win. I guess you didn’t know he visited me.”

  “That doesn’t matter. What matters is–”

  “Don’t be mad at him for not telling you,” John said. “He was worried about you. Thought you were losing your edge.”

  “The visit was recent.” My voice sounded much more calm than I felt.

  “About a month ago,” John said. “You’d have to check the prison log. It’s easy to lose track of time in here.”

  “Did Chris talk about Mary at all?”

  John threaded his fingers together. “He remembers her as a woman who liked to be in control. She ran the house. I allowed it. She ran our lives. I allowed that too. She made the decisions, I followed. It was easier somehow, not having to think so much. And she knew more about life than me. Knew what kind of people existed in this world and how to take care of them.”

  “Is that why she chose innocent girls as her victims?” I couldn’t stop the sarcasm leaking.

  “They weren’t innocent,” John said. “Not in Mary’s mind.”

  “What did they do that deserved the torture and abuse you inflicted on them?”

  He shrugged. “I allowed her to make the judgment. As I said, she knew better than me.”

  “Or so she convinced you,” I said.

  His smile stretched from ear to ear, revealing two missing teeth. “You’re just like he said. You don’t pack any punches. Just like Mary. I liked that about her. Telling the truth meant something to her.”

  I felt sick all over again. But it was there, the weapon I needed. It was just a matter of wielding it properly. “You met your son. He’s a good man. A paramedic. He’s volunteered with troubled kids. He’s done a lot of things to fix the issues in his life, and all he wanted is answers. Mary has him now. Remember Chris?”

  I felt the momentum shifting. John leaned away from the table; I leaned forward. “He’s got your eyes. He sat across from you just like I am and tried to tell you about his life so that you’d tell him about yours. He tried to bond with you, didn’t he?”

  John said nothing, but I saw enough in the shadows that crossed his eyes.

  “And you failed him,” I said. “You let him walk out of here with nothing, and he turned to her. But you can fix that now. Tell us how we can find Chris.”

  John cleared his throat, the sound loud, as if he’d gone years without speaking. “I cared about my son. I still do. But before I say anything else, I want to know something about you.”

  Sweat trickled between my shoulder blades. Panic blazed in my chest. He was going to ask a question I couldn’t answer, not in front of Lennox. But my choices were nil. “Go ahead.”

  “Chris said you’re a good person. That you understand right from wrong when it counts, and you do the right thing no matter how hard it is. Is that true?”

  What had Chris told his father?

  “He never said your name, you know.” John read my expression. “Just that a woman he knew had the right idea about things, that he’d worked hard to become a part of her life. He said she understood the torment he’d gone through.”

  The room twisted as if we’d been dropped into the middle of a cyclone. I barely managed to answer. “Yes.”

  “So, is Chris right about you?”

  Whatever Chris said to him would have been recorded. He’d have spoken in code, hoping his father would decipher. Or maybe he was just referring to his hope that I could save him from being a sociopath, an idea he’d voiced when we’d first met. Either way, he’d admitted to his father he’d worked to be a part of my life. I couldn’t allow myself to think about that right now. “Yes.”

  John stared at me for several long seconds. I gave it right back, even as Lennox shifted anxiously in his chair. Keeping silent had to be infuriating for him. Good. Served him right for this stunt.

  Whatever John wanted to see, he must have been satisfied, because he nodded. “Alan’s crazy. He warned me that if we ever got caught, I’d take the blame or he’d kill my son. And after the things I saw him do, I believed him.”

  The air left my lungs in a searing breath. Lennox flexed like a nervous animal. “What name did they use, John? What are their aliases?”

  “Weston is the only one they gave me.”

  “And they came from where?” I said. “Virginia? Maryland?”

  “She said she grew up in Virginia until her dad took her on the road when she was around seven.”

  “Is that where she learned her killing trade?”

  John shrugged.

  “Do you know of any property they might have, any place they might hole up?”

  “It’s been nearly thirty years since I spoke to her. How would I know that? The only place they’d ever stayed in for long was the house in Lancaster. That’s all I know.”

  He folded his arms over his wide chest. We would get nothing more out of him, but at least he’d confirmed our suspicions. Lennox stood, and I followed his lead. “Thank you for talking with me, John. You’ve been a big help. When we find Chris, I’m goi
ng to tell him what you told me. He needs to know you still care.”

  He looked up at me with those unsettling blue eyes then. “You know it’s too late for him. If they’ve got him, he’s as good as dead, even if he keeps breathing.”

  24

  Nausea rolled through my stomach and into my esophagus, cold sweat slathering my arms and back. My face burned. Each step felt unsteady, as if my ankles were weak and ready to roll beneath me. And then I’d be trapped in this prison forever, with all of the other murderers.

  Right where I belong.

  This is where I’ll end up.

  Lennox communed with the excited Superintendent while my mind tumbled. Apparently John Weston had spoken more to me than anyone who’d ever interviewed him. As if that made me special. I guessed it did. He saw the same thing inside my heart he did in his ex-wife’s, something black and bleak and unforgiving.

  “You all right?” Lennox’s hand touch my elbow, the motion grounding me just enough to stop the room from spinning.

  I jerked my arm away. “Don’t touch me.”

  He didn’t seem to notice my anger. “Give me a few minutes, and then we’re out. I’ve got to get to Virginia.” He turned back to Superintendent Robinson, and their voices rose as they went over strategies.

  I no longer cared. John Weston had given us all he would, and it was enough. Mary Weston had been raised to be a killer by her father. Her bond with him superseded any with her sons, and John Weston had given his freedom so that his son could live.

  Was Chris still alive? And if he so, was he dead to me?

  Lennox led me out of the prison, through the various clanging gates and security checks, into the cold, fresh winter air. I breathed deeply, realizing I’d been truly afraid I wasn’t coming out of that place. Maybe another day.

  “I’m going to have Ryan search Virginia and Maryland for any more activity with the name Weston,” Lennox said. “But I doubt we’ll find anything. They dropped that as soon as the shit hit the fan in Lancaster. He’s already checking for Kent, but I have zero hope for that.”