A parent will do anything to protect their child.
And when they can’t protect them? Like Danielle? Is this what happened? A twisted vengeance to punish everyone else because she couldn’t punish the man who killed her son?
“I’m going in,” Lucy said. She handed her gun to Ken.
He looked worried. “This is suicide.”
“No, she said Kevin is sleeping. She drugged him, I’m certain of it. She’s waiting either for him to die, or for herself to build the courage to suffocate him. Get an ambulance here, tell them which drugs she’s used in the past, we need an antidote and paramedic—a doctor if they can get out here. I can’t let him die, and you can’t either. You know it.”
She prayed Kevin wasn’t already dead.
“Wire,” Ken said. Another agent who worked with Nelson handed Ken a communications piece. “Pull up your shirt.
Lucy did, burying any embarrassment she had over the request. Ken taped on the thin wire, then handed her the mic. “I’ll let you attach this to your bra. It’s very sensitive, but small, she shouldn’t be able to see it. It’s wireless with a range of five hundred feet, so as long as you’re in the house, we should be able to hear everything.”
Lucy attached it and pulled down her shirt. Ken handed her a small earpiece. “You need to be able to hear us. Take your hair down, she won’t be able to see it.”
Lucy did what Ken said, and started up the front walk of the Fieldstone house.
“Can you hear me?” Lucy said quietly.
“Loud and clear. Don’t get killed, Kincaid.”
She didn’t plan on dying today.
* * *
Nina Fieldstone opened the door. She had a bruise on her face and dried blood on her mouth, but she was alive.
Nina closed the door as soon as Lucy walked in and locked it. Her hands were shaking and her eyes were wide and wild.
Lucy looked around. She didn’t see anyone else. “Go,” she told Nina. “Get out.”
“She’ll kill Tony. She told me to come down here and let you in but she’ll kill Tony.”
“She’s upstairs?”
“Kevin’s room. She was here all along!”
“Nina!” a female shouted from upstairs. “I’m counting.”
“Please,” Nina whispered, tears in her eyes. “I don’t know what to do—Kevin won’t wake up. I-I—”
“Follow my lead,” Lucy said.
Lucy told Nina to stay behind her. Lucy went upstairs. One door was closed. She pointed and Nina nodded.
Lucy knocked once on the door then slowly opened it.
The first person she saw was Tony Fieldstone. His entire body sagged in the desk chair in the corner of the room, wrists and ankles duct-taped. His head was bleeding from the scalp—likely pistol-whipped. Conscious, but clearly injured. His mouth had been duct-taped as well.
Lucy stepped over the threshold. Danielle sat on Kevin’s bed. She had a gun in hand; her hands were steady as she pointed the gun at Lucy.
Kevin lay under his blankets, but Lucy could see his face. He wasn’t sleeping; he was unconscious. If she used the same drugs as before, they could kill him, depending on the dosage.
But the good news was that Danielle was looking at his face. She was more than a little conflicted about killing him, and Lucy had to capitalize on that doubt.
“Let Kevin go,” Lucy said. “Let Nina carry him out.”
“No,” Danielle said. “We just need to wait a few more minutes. Then they’ll finally understand how selfish they are.” Danielle looked at Lucy for several seconds. “It really is you. You grew up very pretty.”
“I understand why you’re doing this, Danielle, and I’m here to tell you that you have no idea of the repercussions of your actions. I understand that Tony and Nina have failed as parents in your eyes. They betrayed their marriage vows. They put their needs and their careers before their son. Selfish, right?”
“You do understand.” She seemed surprised.
“You are so narrow in your focus that you have no idea the pain you cause to innocent people. To people like me.”
“You had parents who respected each other, who loved you. Your mother not only took care of you, but Justin, too, because your sister was too busy to be bothered with a child.”
Lucy had to let that pass, because if she defended Nelia or Nina or any other parent, Danielle would get angry and Lucy wouldn’t be able to gain her trust.
“You killed Justin to punish Andrew and Nelia. But you punished me, too. And my mother and father. And my other brothers and sister. And all the kids in my school who had to face the dark truth that one of their classmates and friends was dead. That one of their friends—the happy, joyful, smart Justin Stanton—had been murdered.”
“This isn’t about that,” Danielle said, but she averted her eyes, just for a moment.
“Look at me!” Lucy ordered.
Danielle straightened and scowled, but she looked at Lucy.
“I speak four languages fluently, and several others I can pass with. I wanted to be a linguist, or go into diplomacy. I was a championship swimmer—I won dozens of blue ribbons and swam for my college team. I thought I could put Justin’s murder behind me, but I couldn’t. I became an FBI agent. You did that, Danielle. You made me an FBI agent.”
It was clear Danielle hadn’t expected this conversation, nor had she seen the impact of her actions on anyone but the immediate family.
“My life changed the minute you killed my best friend. My mother—Justin’s grandma—cried every day for a year. She aged. My sister Nelia didn’t speak to me until last year—not once—because in the back of her mind, I was partly to blame for Justin’s death. Why? Because I got sick that day and my mom couldn’t keep Justin. When Carina fell asleep on the couch the night you climbed in through Justin’s bedroom window, it was because she was up late studying. She was in college, on a full scholarship, and she had to maintain good grades to keep that scholarship. That’s why she fell asleep after eleven at night. That’s why she didn’t hear you take her nephew out the window.
“My brother Patrick was a major league baseball prospect. Instead of pursuing a baseball career—something he had dreamed about ever since he could throw a ball—he joined the police academy and became a detective. My brother Dillon was in medical school and stayed longer in order to become a psychiatrist—a forensic psychiatrist—because he had a deep need to understand why people kill children. All this, because of you.”
As Lucy spoke, she was inching closer to Danielle. Danielle still had the gun. The gun was still pointed at Lucy, but Lucy had to take the risk. She might anger Danielle so much that she just pressed the trigger to make Lucy shut up, but Lucy had to push because this was the only way she could save Kevin’s life.
“Your selfish, immature, criminal acts touched all of us. I was seven and a half years old and I faced murder for the first time. Justin was closer to me than my own brothers and sisters. You took him away from his parents—and they suffered, so I’m sure you’re very proud of yourself—but you took him away from me. And I suffered. Your actions have far more consequences than your small, petty, selfish mind can process.”
“You do not know me! You have no idea what I have suffered!” Now Danielle was shaking. But she wasn’t looking at Kevin or Nina or Tony. She was looking only at Lucy. As if seeing her for the first time. Or maybe seeing herself.
“I have made my career out of studying sexual predators like Paul Borell who raped and murdered your son. I put men like Borell in prison—and in the grave if they fight back. I know your pain. I have felt it. You want other mothers to feel the pain that you feel. You could have stopped it. You could have gotten help, you could have forgiven your ex-husband, you could have done anything else but kill. Yet you choose to kill.
“What do you think Matthew would think of you now? He would have been thirty last week.”
“How—”
Danielle’s voice cracked. Lucy took one mo
re step toward her.
“Do you think he would be proud of his mother? The woman who loved him? Or do you think he would be horrified that you killed four little boys in his name?”
“I—”
The gun dipped and Lucy pounced.
She leapt forward and grabbed Danielle’s gun hand, tightening her grip on Danielle’s wrist so hard she heard a bone crack. The gun fell from her hand as Danielle screamed in rage. She tried to hit Lucy with her free hand, but Lucy had adrendaline on her side. And her own inner rage fueling her. She pulled Danielle forward, keeping her off balance, and pushed her to the ground. She kicked the gun away with her left foot, then put her right knee firmly on Danielle’s back.
“Backup! Now!” she shouted. “And medics, stat!”
Danielle fought and cried underneath Lucy. Lucy didn’t dare take a hand off the thrashing woman to retrieve the cuffs out of her back pocket.
It didn’t take more than thirty seconds before Ken Swan and Tim Nelson came into the room. Lucy held Danielle down while Swan cuffed her. Nelson went over to Kevin and felt his pulse. “I feel a very faint pulse. I need medics up here!”
Two other agents came in.
Nina was sobbing and trying to reach her son. “Get them out!” Nelson ordered.
“I need to be with my baby! Kevin!”
“Get them out!” Nelson repeated.
Lucy searched Danielle. She found two syringes, one full and one empty. As soon as the medics came in, she handled them the vials. “She drugged the boy, you may need to confirm with what, but in the past she used a narcotic, likely chloral hydrate. We need to get him on a respirator stat.”
The paramedic said, “I have a doctor online. We need room in here.”
Ken wrestled a struggling Danielle Sharpe down the stairs. Nina and Tony were holding each other on the couch of their living room, two agents and a medic with them.
“This is your fault, Nina! You don’t deserve to have a son, you don’t deserve to have anyone!”
Ken pushed Danielle through the door. Lucy was behind them.
She’d found Justin’s killer.
She stopped walking and sat on the lawn, her back against the lone tree. She couldn’t take another step for fear of collapsing. She just needed a minute. She ripped off the mic and took the receiver out of her ear. She didn’t want to talk to anyone, didn’t want to listen to the chatter. She wanted—needed—silence.
You found Justin’s killer.
It wasn’t peace she felt.
She felt satisfaction that she had stopped a killer and saved Kevin’s life. Relief that Justin’s murder had finally been solved. And, yes, deep down, a modicum of peace.
But mostly, she felt a deep, numbing sadness.
She didn’t know how long she sat there, but she was grateful everyone let her be. Everything she said to Danielle was the truth, but it wasn’t something that she consciously thought about all the time. When she did remember Justin and her childhood, it was always bittersweet. Bringing it all up, talking about it, reminded Lucy of everything she’d lost because one person made one bad decision that spiraled into many bad choices. Evil choices.
But not everyone who loses someone can kill. Danielle had it in her all along, it just took the right trigger and she snapped.
Ken Swan came over to her and cleared his throat. “Danielle is on her way to jail. Kevin is stable and on his way to the hospital. Tony Fieldstone has a concussion and is in a separate ambulance. Nina is with her son. We’ll need to debrief them—I’ll give them a little time, but we should do it tonight. Are you up for it?”
“Yeah, I am. Just a couple more minutes?”
“Take all the time you need. You did good, Lucy. Really good. I, um, I didn’t know all that about your family.”
“It’s the truth. The butterfly effect, I suppose. One act of violence changes everthing.”
Ken spoke into his mic. “Let him through.” To Lucy he said, “Thirty minutes, then I should be wrapped up here and we’ll go to the hospital.”
“Thanks.”
She put her head on her knees and closed her eyes. She didn’t know how long she sat until she heard a familiar voice.
“Lucy.”
She looked up and blinked back tears she hadn’t realized had been falling. She smiled. “Sean.”
He sat down next to her and wrapped his arms around her. “Swan told me the basics. And the boy is okay.”
She nodded and put her head on his shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
She closed her eyes and let the peace finally seep in.
Chapter Thirty-six
BLAIR CALDWELL’S TRIAL
Blair Caldwell’s trial started promptly at nine Monday morning. Max recorded a segment before the trial began, including a montage of photos and stories about Peter Caldwell. She ended with a hook: “Did Blair Caldwell kill her son? District Attorney Harrison Trotter believes so. In a statement to the press this morning, Trotter said, ‘I’m confident we’ll prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that Blair Caldwell planned and executed this horrific crime.’”
During each break in the trial, Max posted on her NET blog a summary of testimony—the judge hadn’t ordered a media blackout, which Max would have fought—then she recorded a one-minute video segment. She was working with a lone cameraman who also handled all the other technical details.
The first day of trial went pretty much as Max expected. Opening statements, then a methodical outline of the events from the moment the 911 call came in. They listened to the recording, the responding officer took the stand, the officer who had found the body, the coroner. The coroner spoke about how Peter died and the lead detective spoke to how they determined Peter was taken from his room. The final step was a timeline of Blair’s whereabouts the night of the murder. It took more than an hour—with all of Charles North’s objections—but ultimately, it would be up to the defense to find someone who saw Blair Caldwell in the twenty-two-minute window where no one was on record as having seen her.
While the twenty-two minutes didn’t point to Blair’s guilt, it was enough to establish that she had the time to kill—if she had everything planned out ahead of time. The prosecution had to set the stage for premeditated murder.
Max had just wrapped up her live evening segment outside the courthouse—always a good background—and sent her cameraman off to pack up the tech. She was famished and planned to eat a hearty dinner and get some sleep. It had been a long two weeks. She missed New York and her apartment. Though the Biltmore was one of the nicest resorts to stay in, she was more than ready to go home.
“Ms. Revere,” a voice said.
She turned and recognized Dillon Kincaid, Lucy’s brother. She’d seen him in the courtroom earlier, but when she tried to introduce herself, he’d disappeared.
“Dr. Kincaid. Good to finally meet you in person.” She shook his hand.
“Dillon, please.”
“Call me Max.”
“Do you have some time? Can I take you to dinner?”
She was surprised at the offer. “I’m famished, but I should be taking you to dinner.”
“Your foundation paid for my expenses, I can return the favor.”
She laughed. “Not my foundation—I funded it, but I don’t run it. One of those conflict-of-interest things lawyers don’t like when the foundation pays for experts or private forensic reports.”
“Still. One of the detectives told me about a wonderful Mexican food restaurant he swears by—says it’s the best in Phoenix.”
The restaurant was two blocks from the courthouse so they walked. Conversation was light—how pleasant the weather was in Arizona considering it was thirty degrees on the East Coast; what they both missed about the West Coast considering they’d both grown up in California. By the time they were seated and had ordered—Max joining Dillon for a margarita, though she rarely drank anything other than wine—Max asked, “What did you think of the first day?”
“Honestl
y? Boring. But I understand why they had to go through the case step-by-step.”
“I found a few nuggets.”
“I saw. I signed up for your blog alerts.”
“I hope the DA knows what he’s doing. If he can prove everything he said during the opening statement I think they’ll get the conviction, but it’s still a difficult conviction. Andrew says this guy—Harry Trotter—is good, but they all tend to support each other, and Trotter did share information with Andrew that was private.”
“The stuffed animal.”
“My gut told me Blair was guilty, but I’ve been known to make snap judgments about people. Because of John, I was willing to consider her innocence—in fact, look at Peter as another victim of Sharpe’s. But no toy in the grave sealed it.”
“It’s not going to be enough to convict her.”
“No, but it’s enough to convince John.” She munched on the delicious tortilla chips. She rarely went out for Mexican food—there weren’t many good Mexican restaurants in her neighborhood in New York. If she could find a place like this, she would change her habits.
“I’m concerned about him.”
Max hadn’t spoken to John since she returned to Arizona. She called him when she came back, the night before Crime Watch aired, to give him the heads-up that she solved Justin Stanton’s murder, but he said he didn’t want to talk to her unless she could clear Blair’s name. It hurt—it was as if she was the bad guy here, when all she did was find the truth.
“I didn’t talk to him about your nephew’s case.”
“But you wrote about it, and aired a segment on your crime show. You revealed key information that would tell John that Danielle Sharpe didn’t kill his son.”
She wasn’t certain John had seen it. She’d sent him an e-mail about the show with a link to the archived segment, but she didn’t know if he had watched it.
“Danielle didn’t kill Peter.”
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