“Richard, you tried to protect me, but I know you’ve talked to her. I didn’t want to say anything, but I could tell by how depressed you got.” Patricia turned to Lucy and handed her a piece of paper. “I was really scared for a while that Danielle was going to try and hurt Richard. Physically hurt him. The first time was twenty years ago.”
“Are you sure?” Lucy asked.
“June—so nineteen and a half years I guess. I know because my husband died June fifteenth and our anniversary had been June twenty-ninth, so it’s always been a really hard month for me. I hadn’t been to the grief group in a while, and I went then and Richard talked about the calls. He was shaken.”
Lucy stared at the paper, then handed it to Max.
The pattern was clear. Every four to five years, Danielle called her husband for a week to ten days in a row, then stopped. Three of the four time periods matched perfectly with the three murders they were certain Danielle had committed.
And now she was calling again.
“What does this mean?” Patricia asked.
“It means that Danielle has found another cheating spouse and is making plans to kill his son,” Max said.
“Why would she do this? Why would she kill an innocent child?” Richard said. He sank down onto the couch.
Lucy said, “She saw how much you suffered after Matthew’s death; she wants others to suffer the same way. She blames you, but she mostly blames herself because she wasn’t there, either.”
“Dear Lord, how are you going to find her?” Richard asked.
“With your help. Please.”
“Anything. Anything you need.”
* * *
Lucy asked Max to wait with the driver while she went into the local FBI headquarters. Max didn’t want to—in fact, she was more than a little angry to be kept out of it—but Lucy persuaded her that it would be easier for everyone if she didn’t have to explain why she had a reporter interviewing a potential witness.
This was the point of no return, Lucy realized. She presented the information to the local office and the request to work with Richard Collins to obtain his phone records and trace any calls coming from a blocked number for the next week. Lucy didn’t have to work hard to get them to cooperate—she simply dropped some names. Then she called the San Diego FBI office and spoke to the SSA, Ken Swan, who she’d worked with in the past. It took her a while to get through to him—he wasn’t on call—but when she did, he listened with minimal questions until the end.
“How certain are you that this woman is going to kill in the immediate future?”
“I’m positive.”
“When are you going to be back in San Diego?”
“Late tonight.”
“Let’s meet tomorrow morning, you can give us everything you have. You’ve been busy on your vacation.”
Lucy had led him to believe that she was on vacation visiting her family when this all came up. She didn’t want to lie any more than she had to. “I took time off specifically to work with this reporter—she did most of the background work.”
“You forget, Agent Kincaid, I’ve worked with you before. I’ll call the Denver office and we’ll coordinate. See you tomorrow.”
An hour later, Lucy was back in the car with Max. The reporter glared at her. “You damn well better give me something if you’re going to bench me.”
“I checked our flight—it’s delayed ninety minutes.”
“You know what I mean.”
Lucy did. “I’m sorry, but I had to tread carefully in there. Dot my i’s, cross my t’s. I’m not leaving you out of the loop—I didn’t tell them anything you don’t already know.”
The driver started for the airport. Max was still irritated. “I’m used to getting the shaft from cops.”
“I’m sorry you think that’s what I did.”
Max was silent, perhaps thinking the cold shoulder would affect Lucy, but it didn’t. The peace was … refreshing. And gave Lucy time to think and process everything she learned.
After twenty minutes, Lucy said, “You wanted to know what made me tick.”
Lucy didn’t know what she expected of Max—maybe to justify the notes she’d taken and left on her desk? Apologize? But she did neither. All she said was, “Yes, I do.”
“You want the truth, Max. I understand that drive. I really do. I’m always seeking the truth—but more than that, I’m looking for answers. I’m driven by a much darker force than truth. I need justice. I need to know that killers will be caught, that they will be punished. That they’ll be in prison or in a grave.”
“That doesn’t tell me why.”
“But it is the truth. Is the why of the truth more important than the truth itself?”
“It’s part of the whole.”
“Perhaps.”
She didn’t expand. She could tell that Max wanted to know more—it would bug her because she couldn’t put Lucy in a predefined box.
Max didn’t need to know. She wanted to, but she didn’t need to, and Lucy wasn’t going to become one of Max’s projects.
Lucy said, “What is more important to you—that Karen’s killer is brought to justice, or that you find out why he killed her in the first place?”
Max opened her mouth, then closed it. Lucy didn’t smile, though she wanted to because she realized something about Max that Max thought she hid from everyone.
She cared more about justice than she did about exposing the truth.
“I want him in prison,” Max said.
“So justice.”
“But in putting him in prison, I’ll find out why.”
“You know why. I read your book, Dr. Ullman had a profile of the killer—that he was a sexual sadist. She’d been heavily drugged—that according to the toxicology report on the blood found at the scene. He had her somewhere for up to thirty-six hours before he killed her. Do you have to know why he held her in captivity? Why he drugged her? Why he most likely raped her repeatedly? Is that important? Because I can tell you right now, there are millions of sick people just like him, whether they kill or not. People are tools to them. Is he any different than a pervert who has sex with children? Like Paul Borell, who raped and murdered Matthew Collins? We can put a label on it—sexual deviancy, pedophiles, sadists, psychopaths—but it all comes down to one lone truth: that their needs, however sick and twisted they are, are supreme. That no one has the right to deny them their satisfaction.
“Danielle Sharpe has a dark need to make other people suffer because she suffered. She has separated herself from the act of murder. I guarantee you that the man who killed Karen has done the same thing. Karen’s death served the larger purpose, he can move on. He doesn’t care about the pain he caused because he doesn’t feel pain. Danielle doesn’t want to feel pain, but it’s all she can feel. She believes that if she gives the pain to others—her ex-husband, other broken families—that it’ll somehow make her feel better. For a while, it works. But the pain returns and she has to make people suffer again. And we—you and I—are going to stop her.”
Chapter Thirty
MONDAY
Max never had trouble falling asleep at night, but no matter what time she woke up, even if it was three in the morning, she couldn’t go back to sleep. She’d stopped trying to force herself, which usually resulted in a headache and daylong irritability.
Monday morning she slid out of bed just after four in the morning. Three hours of sleep. She was going to need extra makeup to hide the dark circles.
There was one benefit to waking early, and that was no one was trying to reach her. She made a cup of coffee and filled up the Jacuzzi bathtub. She turned on the jets and relaxed in the hot water. The tension left over from yesterday disappeared. One of her ex-boyfriends had suggested she work out in the morning when she couldn’t sleep, but nothing was better than a hot bath, morning or night, to clear her mind.
Thirty minutes later, she took a shower, washed her hair, and then spent a good hour getting ready for
the day. She could get ready faster, but why rush? Lucy wasn’t meeting her until ten. By seven she was ready and decided to go downstairs for breakfast instead of calling room service.
She’d just ordered and was enjoying orange juice and coffee while reading a book—one that she’d started on the plane ride to Scottsdale a week ago, but hadn’t picked up since—when her cell phone vibrated. So the day begins, she thought as she closed the book. She assumed it was Ben, but it wasn’t.
“Nick,” she said when she answered.
“You’re still alive,” he said.
“I’m sure you would have heard it on the news if I wasn’t.”
“I left a couple of messages.”
He sounded an odd cross between upset and irritated.
“Busy case.” Her food arrived and she wished she could eat without the stress of this conversation.
Since when did talking to Nick become stressful? You always looked forward to his calls.
“When will you be done?”
“I’m going to cover the Caldwell trial in Arizona. It starts next week.”
“And then?”
“And then … I don’t know.”
“I’d like to see you. Even if you just fly in for a day … I miss you, Max.”
He sounded sincere. He was sincere, at that moment. Max knew they had a certain chemistry that worked.
“I miss you, that’s why I keep myself so busy.”
He laughed. “You wouldn’t know how to relax, sweetheart. Tell me you’ll be here for the weekend after the trial and I’ll take it off. Switch shifts with someone if I have to. You and me. I think we need a little time alone.”
“I agree.” And she did … on the one hand. When she and Nick were alone and didn’t talk about his life, everything was good.
But if she was going to be part of his life, she had to be part of all his life.
Lucy’s comments about Nick’s motivation for keeping her out of his personal life came back.
“Nick, I want to see you. Spend time with you. Talk. Really talk.”
He didn’t say anything.
“Do you have the idea that you’re somehow sheltering me or protecting me by keeping me out of the loop about your custody battle?”
“I told you, Max, I’m not talking about Nancy with you.”
“I know. And you know I don’t like these off-limits subjects. I’m a big girl, and I’ve been making great strides to keep my opinions to myself.”
“You don’t need to speak to make your opinions known.”
“I care about you, Nick. You need to be able to talk to me about anything. God knows I don’t hold back when something is bothering me.”
“Max, I know what you’ll say. You’ll tell me Nancy is manipulating me, using Logan as a pawn, and I know it. I know it, dammit! But I will do anything to be in my son’s life. Any damn thing. And if we talk about it, the conversation will just frustrate both of us. We don’t have much one-on-one time, so why do you insist that when we do it’s filled with conflict and arguments? Why can’t you just let it go?”
Why? Good question. Max was only beginning to understand why, and it went right to the heart of what she really wanted in a relationship. Trust. Respect. Honesty. How could there be any of those things when Nick shut her out of what troubled him the most?
“I don’t know, Nick.”
“Can we talk about it when you visit? I don’t want to fight with you over the phone. It’s much more fun when we fight and make up.”
And he nailed it. The crux of her problem with all her relationships. Nick was one of the longer-term relationships she’d had, other than Marco. And Marco fit the same pattern. Fight, make up, live in different states, so dealing with the day-to-day relationship commitment had never been a thing for her.
Before Nick, she didn’t care to be intimately involved in the personal lives of any of her lovers. But she recognized that if she was going to have anything permanent—if she wanted anything more than casual, long-distance affairs—she needed to be a real part of another person’s life. The good and the bad.
“Max,” Nick said quietly, “I promise. We’ll talk.”
She didn’t know if he meant it. Really meant it.
“I’ll call you when the trial’s over.”
“Call me before then—I miss our late-night conversations.”
Why? She wanted to ask. The conversations were superficial, sexy, fun … but nothing substantive.
Max wanted substantive. She wanted what Sean and Lucy Rogan had.
“Okay,” she heard herself saying. “I gotta go.” She hung up because she was feeling too melancholy and off her game. She needed to get it together before the meeting at SDPD later this morning.
She put her pleasure book aside and pulled out her notes on Danielle Sharpe while eating her cold omelet. Ten minutes later, all thoughts of Nick were pushed aside.
But not forgotten.
* * *
Lucy spoke to her boss, SSA Rachel Vaughn, at 7:00 A.M. Monday morning—9:00 A.M. San Antonio time.
She’d been dreading this call, and she knew that it would be worse when she returned and Rachel found out she was working on an investigation. But she didn’t want to share that information now.
“I have a family issue in San Diego,” she said. “I won’t be back for another day or two.”
“Does that mean you were lying to me on Thursday when you said you were sick?”
Lucy rubbed her stomach. She hadn’t eaten breakfast yet, but she felt nauseous. “I know I don’t have any vacation time.”
“You left two active cases that the squad has to now scramble to catch up.”
“I left detailed notes—”
“That’s irrelevant, Agent Kincaid. We are understaffed and overworked, and while I have sympathy for family issues, I don’t have sympathy for my staff lying to me. You need to decide whether you really want to be a federal agent.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Since you are not actually ill or caring for an ill child or spouse, I can’t allow you to use sick time.”
Lucy didn’t comment. Though technically sick time was only for illness, the squad had used it for what one of Lucy’s colleagues called “mental health” days. Since it was rare to use two weeks’ sick leave—which didn’t accrue year to year like vacation time—their former boss let them use sick time whenever they wanted.
“I’m new, and I understand that you and my predecessor were friends.” The way she said friends made Lucy angry—she implied far more in the tone. “You have become used to a certain level of autonomy and, if I may be blunt, freedom that I’m certain SSA Casilla would never have allowed. That ends now. When you return from resolving whatever family issues you have, we’ll have a discussion as to what exactly is expected of you should you want to continue working as a federal agent. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. I am writing this incident up for your file. It’ll be up to ASAC Durant as to whether you’ll be formally reprimanded, but I will be recommending such. Good-bye.”
She hung up. Lucy stared at the phone with a mixture of anger and frustration and guilt. Her boss was right. Lucy had operated fairly autonomously, even before Noah Armstrong took over when Juan went on paternity leave. She’d overstepped, she’d been put on administrative leave, she’d put herself in the crosshairs of a violent drug cartel that, risked the lives of everyone she worked with.
But the crux of the problem was that she didn’t regret the decisions she made. Every tough choice she’d made ultimately saved lives. She’d resolved herself to live with the consequences of her actions, but that meant that she may not have a long career in the FBI.
What else could she have done? Justin was her nephew. Andrew was still family. Three other little boys deserved justice. And she knew, in her gut, that they didn’t have enough information to turn over to the police.
Until now.
Lucy and Max had stayed
up half the night putting together all the evidence—all of which was circumstantial. But it was certainly compelling. And Lucy knew, as soon as she was confronted with the evidence, that Danielle would incriminate herself. All it took was the right questions, the right focus, and Danielle’s guilt would make her break.
Dillon needed to come to California and break her. There was no one better than him, and he was a civilian consultant for the FBI. He had the certifications and credentials necessary. He’d already agreed to go to Arizona and assess Blair Caldwell—she might not agree, but that was fine—Dillon didn’t need to have her agreement. He could give the prosecution more information into the mind of the killer, and testify as to the type of person who could commit this crime. He couldn’t flat-out say that Blair was guilty—without a psychological evaluation that he administered it would be problematic—but Lucy was pretty certain that there was a psych eval done at some point. That would help Dillon with his assessment.
Her phone rang. Caller ID informed her it was Carina.
Lucy took a deep breath and answered.
“Hello.”
“It’s Carina. Connor and I are in the lobby. Can we come up?”
Lucy wanted to say no. She was nervous about her presentation this morning, she didn’t want anyone else in her head. Nothing they could say would deter her from this path, but at the same time, this was family. She’d hoped that after her conversation with Carina on Saturday, her sister understood why she was pursuing this.
“I don’t have a lot of time,” Lucy said.
“I know, my chief called me this morning.”
Dammit. Lucy knew that might be a possibility because Carina was well respected on the police force. She’d only hoped that Andrew had convinced the chief to keep everything under wraps until they officially took over the case, or it was officially an FBI case.
“Lucy, Connor and I want to be there. We want to help. Can we just come up and explain?”
“All right.” Lucy gave Carina her room number and hung up. She sent Max a text message and said she’d meet her in the lobby at ten. Their meeting at SDPD was at eleven. Andrew was also talking to the special agent in charge of the local FBI office, after Lucy’s conversation with SSA Ken Swan yesterday. Lucy suspected her boss, SSA Vaughn, would hear about this before the day was out, but there was nothing else she could do.
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