Shattered

by Allison Brennan

  She had to convince Lucy to let her interview her for Maximum Exposure. She had to find a way. Max would work through the FBI’s media office, and she usually got what she wanted.

  “I can find Danielle Sharpe,” Max said.

  “How?” Lucy asked.

  “The power of the media.”

  Lucy frowned. “You can’t expose her, not yet.”

  “No, I should say, the power of my research staff. They’re the best, and I don’t say that lightly. Give me a couple hours.”

  “Okay, thank you. I need to call Dillon.”

  “Why?” Why was Max even worried about it? Dillon Kincaid was not only helping, he was going to testify for the prosecution against Blair Caldwell. He was on their side.

  “Andrew didn’t know she was at the house after Justin was kidnapped. But Nelia would. She might not remember, but Dillon needs to talk to her. What if Danielle Sharpe kept in contact with her? What if she has another connection to my sister? There’s something that set her off, something that made her target Justin. Without more, there’s no way the FBI or any other agency is going to touch this.”

  “Okay, you’re right,” Max said, relieved. Lucy did understand, and they were on the same page.

  “I should go,” Katella said. “I still need to do those errands for my wife, though this conversation has been far more interesting.” He picked up his box of files. “If you need anything else, call me.”

  Lucy walked him to the door, said something Max couldn’t hear, then let him out.

  “Can I use this office to call Dillon?” Lucy asked Max, gesturing to the small den off the living room.

  “Of course,” Max said. She waited until Lucy closed the door, then she called Ben.

  “Hello, darling,” Max said.

  “You want something.”

  “I always want something, it’s why you love me.”

  “It’s six thirty on Saturday night.”

  “The news never sleeps. I need to find a person, and it needs to be hush-hush.”

  “Research staff is off. It can wait until Monday.”

  “No, it can’t.”

  “What did you do before you had a staff?”

  “I didn’t have to commit any time to filming a show, writing three articles a week for a Web page, or covering trials. I took one case at a time and hired people to get me information I needed when I needed it. I could always go back to my old life.”

  “You’d hate it.”

  “I’d love it, and you damn well know it.”

  Ben sighed. “What.”

  “I’m sending you the photograph, name, and basic statistics of a person of interest, we’ll call her. I need to know where she lived prior to Justin Stanton’s murder and where she is now.”

  “You don’t ask—you have a suspect?”

  His tone changed midsentence.

  “You did it, didn’t you?” Ben continued, excited.

  “Not alone.”

  “And the fed is letting you run with this?”

  “She’s not letting me do anything. We need more information. You can’t air a word of this—we don’t want to spook her. But I’ll give you one more thing—I’ll cover the Blair Caldwell trial.”

  “What? Really? That’s terrific!”

  “You’re going to have to tell Ace, I’m not going to get in another shouting match with him.”

  “I can handle Ace, but why the change?”

  “She’s guilty. I know it. Kincaid got her brother to agree to be an expert witness, the DA is considering it, and we may even be able to help.”

  “Can you solve Justin Stanton’s murder before the trial starts?”

  “If we can find this person, yeah. I think so.” So she was stretching a bit. But Ben needed to be fully committed and see the potential of the show. The trial, with bonus content of Max being involved in solving a similar cold case and through that proving that Blair Caldwell is a cold-blooded killer. Max didn’t have to explain the potential—he usually saw it before her.

  “I want Lucy Kincaid on tape.”

  “So do I.” She glanced at the closed door. “That might be trickier.”

  “I’ve been exceptionally discreet, but I’m learning more about her.”

  Max felt uncomfortable. She wanted the information, but she had promised Lucy and Sean that she wouldn’t dig around.

  No, you promised them you wouldn’t quote them or mention them without express permission. You never promised you wouldn’t dig around.

  “She has a thick sealed FBI file.”

  “Before or after she graduated?”

  “Both, seems to go back to when she was eighteen.”

  “And?”

  “I don’t have it—I’m not going to touch it with a ten-foot pole. My contact at the FBI office gave me a heads-up about it, as a way of steering me away from pursuing it. Seems people asking about the file are reprimanded or reassigned. It’s—extremely odd.”

  It most certainly was. It was a situation Max would pursue in a heartbeat. Instead, she said, “Drop it.”

  “I never in a million years thought you’d say that.”

  “I want to tread carefully.”

  “I’m sending you a report I dug up on a California crime blog. I don’t know how much of it is accurate, but the guy who writes it seems to be in the know.”

  “What’s it about?”

  “Last Christmas, Kincaid was held hostage by a gunman at the hospital morgue and apparently saved the lives of the other hostages, then helped catch a mercy killer. The crime blog pulled from articles and an interview with an unnamed source, but according to him, no one figured it out until Kincaid came along and put disparate information together. And then I was talking to a friend of mine in Texas—”

  “Texas? I thought you hated the South.”

  “I didn’t go down to visit him, good God, I used the phone. He was privy to the details of Operation Heatwave, which was a multiagency sting in the greater San Antonio area. Took down wanted felons, bail jumpers, et cetera. Kincaid was part of it—not only part of it, but word is she went undercover to rescue a group of orphaned boys who were being used by the cartels as mules. He wasn’t positive about the details—he thinks they might have been foster kids, because shortly after Heatwave was over, details came out about a corrupt social worker and he suspects there was a connection. But without making inquiries, we won’t know the truth. But I did find out one fact.”

  “Tell me,” Max said, watching the door closely. The last thing she wanted was Lucy walking into the room while she was talking about it.

  “She solved the murder of Harper Worthington.”

  “The husband of that corrupt congresswoman? Who was caught taking bribes but then was killed or something?” Max hated politics, and she hadn’t followed the case considering it was Texas.

  “She was murdered by the cartels she was laundering money for.”

  “I hate politics.”

  “Which is why you don’t remember the case. But it was huge. And your pal Kincaid was in the middle of it.”

  “As a rookie.”

  “Apparently.”

  The door opened and Max said, “I have to go, can you get that information on Sharpe? I sent you everything I have.”

  “I’ll call in Debbie.”

  “Is she the one who likes baseball?”

  “That’s Trinity. Debbie is the best fact-checker we have and adopts every stray animal on the planet.”

  “I owe her.”

  “Buy her a year supply of dog and cat food and I think she’d be happy.” Ben hung up.

  “All good?” Max asked Lucy.

  “Dillon is calling Nelia.” Lucy was distracted. She glanced out the window to where David was still on his phone.

  “That doesn’t really answer my question,” Max said. “You look troubled.”

  “Let’s say we get everything we want—proof that Danielle Sharpe was in each city at the time of the murders. That she worked
with one of the parents. That she lost her son. Even if we can prove that her husband was having an affair, none of that proves that she’s the killer. We have no physical evidence. We don’t have probable cause for a search warrant. We have some circumstantial evidence that doesn’t really mean anything, except to us. She gets a good lawyer, we don’t even get to talk to her.”

  “Then we’ll talk to her before she even knows she’s a suspect.”

  “I can’t. I’m a federal agent, if I go and talk to her I’m going to be tipping my hand. And if I lie about who I am, then anything I learn can be thrown out.”

  “I can talk to her. I’m a reporter. Believe me, I’m used to pulling information out of people who don’t want to talk.”

  “Maybe,” Lucy said, but she didn’t seem happy about it.

  “This is my job, and I usually don’t work with a cop for this exact reason—you can’t do what I can do.”

  David walked back inside. “In a word, yes. Danielle Sharpe was interviewed by Santa Barbara PD. She worked for the same law firm as Doug Porter, joined six months after she left San Diego. She was interviewed not because she was a suspect, but because she was Porter’s personal legal secretary and was required to turn over certain documents and calendars. She’s also the one who told the police about the affair—though she didn’t call it that. She said he was out with a client and gave the name and location. According to Porter’s brother-in-law—the cop I’ve been talking to—Porter was surprised she knew the information, but she said she thought Porter was working off-book for a client, against the policy of the law office. She claimed she didn’t know he was cheating on his wife.”

  “She knew because she stalked him,” Max said, glancing at Lucy for confirmation.

  Lucy nodded. “That’s exactly right.”

  “Why didn’t he know?” Max asked. “Porter admitted he didn’t know she had the information.”

  “Because his son was dead,” David said. “He wasn’t thinking about anything else but his son and his family.”

  “David’s right,” Lucy said. “Unless the police had a reason to draw his attention to his assistant, he wouldn’t have thought about it. David, I really would like to talk to Chris Donovan’s mother.”

  “I haven’t attempted to contact her,” David said.

  “My staff did,” Max said, “and she blew us off. But I have her contact information.”

  “She knows this woman, I’m positive.”

  “Danielle worked with the fathers.”

  “Chris’s father worked in computers. His mother is an attorney, right? Private practice?”

  Max confirmed. “She and her partner worked in tax law.”

  “Partner?” Lucy asked.

  “Yes,” Max flipped through her binder of background information. “Sandra Gillogley.”

  “We talk to her, then. Are they still partners?”

  “Yes.”

  “There’s loyalty there, especially since they have a small office. Okay, I think the primary goal is to confirm that Danielle Sharpe worked there when Chris Donovan was murdered, then ask about the circumstances of employment.”

  “As if we’re looking to hire her?” Max asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll do it,” David said.

  “Why you?” Max countered.

  “Because you’re too damn nosy and you’ll make a lawyer nervous,” David said. “I know exactly what information you need.”

  “It’s Saturday,” Max said. “She’s not going to be in the office. What’s your excuse calling her at home?”

  “I don’t need one. We have her cell phone number. It’s what we pay that research staff of yours for.”

  David sat down at the desk, wrote some notes, and dialed. He put his finger to his lips, then put his phone on speaker.

  “Hello.”

  “Sandra Gillogley, please.”

  “This is Sandra. Who’s this?”

  “David Kane, assistant to Mr. Revere at Sterling Revere Hopewell in Menlo Park.”

  Max was impressed. David had used her family’s law firm.

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Kane?”

  “I’m calling regarding a résumé that has come across my desk. I’m fact-checking details.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Did Ms. Danielle Sharpe work for your firm from 2011 through 2013?”

  “Yes, she did. July of ’11 through December of ’13.”

  “Under her duties she listed legal secretary responsibilities as well as light office work, preparation of filings, and the like.”

  “Correct.”

  “What was the workload of your office? Light, moderate, heavy?”

  “Light, though during tax season extremely heavy.”

  “Was Ms. Sharpe capable if handling the variety of workloads?”

  “Mostly.”

  “Can you elaborate?”

  “She did her job well, she was meticulous—absolutely essential when working in tax law—but during crunch time, she became testy. We’re a small office and even my partner and I are irritable in April.”

  “She indicated that she left to pursue another opportunity, but it’s unclear if it was voluntary or if she was asked to leave.”

  “I would say it was mutual.”

  “Can you elaborate?”

  “Danielle was a good employee, and more competent and mature than most legal secretaries we’ve had over the years. But my partner went through a traumatic event early in 2013, and I felt Danielle was far too interested in her personal life. At first, she was very kind, even commiserated with my partner. But it turned a bit … well, let’s just say, too interested.”

  “That’s a little vague. Would you say she was personally involved in your partner’s life? Perhaps to the point of being uncomfortable.”

  Silence. Had David tipped his hand?

  “That’s a pointed question.”

  “I apologize—while Sterling is a civil law firm, I originally came from criminal law and tend to look at situations from that viewpoint.”

  “I can say this. My partner lost her son in early 2013. Apparently, so did Danielle, years before. I suspect that Cindy’s loss triggered some deep emotions in Danielle and she felt the need to overshare details with Cindy, which caused my partner distress. I suggested that Danielle find someone else to talk to about it—it was clear to me she was deeply pained—and Danielle did not take my suggestion in the way I intended. We decided that it would be best if she leave. I assured her I would give her outstanding recommendations—because she did a good job for us—and I have been called twice for a reference, which I happily gave. In fact, two years ago one of my law school classmates hired Danielle into his law firm and thanked me for the referral.”

  “What is his name?”

  Again, silence. “If she didn’t list it on her resumé, perhaps they left on less than stellar terms.”

  “It’s even more important that I speak with him.”

  “Don’t hire her. If anyone lied on a resumé, they’d go into the trash bin. If there’s nothing else?”

  “No, ma’am. Thank you for your time.”

  David hung up.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “Sorry?” Lucy said. “That was perfect. Any more and she would have become suspicious. But I need that name. Two years—she’s still there, I’m certain of it.”

  “How do you find out?”

  Max already was on it. She googled Sandra Gillogley. “She graduated in 1989 from Whittier Law School.” She typed in another search bar. “They average about seven hundred students in enrollment, full- and part-time.”

  “I don’t suppose the Web site had a way to sort by graduates within two years of her,” Lucy said.

  “No, but if he’s a member of the bar, my staff can track him down. Or, at least, a list of potentials.”

  “She’s in California,” Lucy said. “Most likely she’s going to stick with what she’s familiar in, and working for fifteen
years in the law in California between Andrew, Doug Porter, and Donovan means she’s not going to venture too far.”

  “You’d be surprised how small the number could be,” Max said. “But it’s still going to take time.” She sent a message to Ben, then immediately shut down her e-mail so she didn’t have to read a rant. He wouldn’t be happy.

  “We have exactly what we need.” Lucy walked over to Max’s timeline and wrote details about Danielle Sharpe’s employment. Max fought the urge to object—she never let anyone else write on her timeline. “I’ll bet Andrew can talk to human resources and find out if there were any inquires into Sharpe’s employment.” She made notes on a small pad. “Sandra said she suggested that Danielle talk to someone, probably a psychologist. That would set Danielle off. To her, there’s nothing wrong with her. It’s everyone else who has a problem. But I also suspect that deep down she has a fear that someone will be able to see through her, see what she’s done.” She continued writing.

  Max hadn’t made the connection, but as soon as Lucy said it, it was obvious.

  “Why hasn’t anyone seen through her?” Max wondered out loud.

  “Because she has no friends. No one who can get close. That two-lawyer office was as close to friends as she had, but Sandra didn’t sound like the type of person would would get chummy with her support staff. And Danielle would have put up walls to ensure there was no personal connection. She has no close friends, everyone is superficial. If she stayed in any one place for a long time, people would notice, but they might not think much of it. Most people aren’t that observant.”

  “Yet Katella said she was at the Stanton house helping with the search.”

  “A criminal often goes back to the scene of their crime.”

  “Why?”

  “Different reasons. For arsonists it’s usually sexual, or a way to see their handiwork in full glory. For killers it’s more complicated. Either to absorb the pain of others, or to gloat, or to make sure no one suspects them. For Danielle? A combination of regret and gloating. She needed validation. She wanted Andrew’s affair to be revealed, she wanted him to suffer, and she wanted—needed—to see that.”