“I have to bring in Kincaid.”
Silence.
“Ben.”
“You’re going to turn over a potential blockbuster, Emmy-winning show to the FBI? You’ll get shit from them, and you know it.”
“You’ve known me for thirteen years and yet you don’t know me at all.”
“It’s an active investigation. You’ve been successful in working with cops when the cases are as cold as ice, but this is different.”
“Trust me, Ben. I’m not going to back down, and Kincaid and I worked together before.”
“Which you wouldn’t let me write into the program.”
“I made a promise, Ben, and my word means something. If I’m even partly right that Victoria was killed because she didn’t know her best friend had been murdered, that means when the bones were uncovered the killer knew it was only a matter of time before they’d be identified. But Victoria may have seen the news on Friday and realized something … I don’t know, I’m just throwing ideas out. But the answers are there. I know it. And Stanley Grant knows about it. Yet I don’t think Grant killed the Albrights.”
“Why not?”
“He doesn’t have it in him to kill two kids. I don’t know if he could kill anyone, his personality is more fun-loving peacemaker, but most people can kill under the right motivation. But an entire family? I don’t see it. Yet— I’m sure he knows more than he told me, or the police, and that’s why he was shot. I’ll be at Sean and Lucy’s in an hour if I drive really slow.”
Ben snorted.
“I’ll stop and get dinner, so you’ll have ninety minutes.”
“What do you want?”
“I’m going to send you a list of names. They were all friends in college, and my gut tells me that Mitch Corta knows for a fact that Stan didn’t kill Victoria—which tells me that he knows who did. Or suspects.”
“Isn’t this why you hired Sean Rogan? He’s not cheap.”
She ignored the comment. “I need a connection, something tangible so I can get Rogan to convince Lucy that we need to work together. Rogan doesn’t want to take sides, but I know—especially after the shooting today—that he’s not going to back down. He’s as curious as I am, and now it’s personal. But I need to push him over the line. Without the information the FBI has, I can’t solve this case, and I don’t want to follow Lucy and her partner all day tomorrow if I don’t have to.”
She would. She’d done it before—followed a detective while they investigated a case she was interested in. But she had a feeling Lucy would know, and Max didn’t want to jeopardize her friendship with Sean or Lucy’s brother. In the past, Max would do anything to find the truth. Now she realized some friendships weren’t worth losing.
“I’ll call you in an hour,” Ben said, resigned.
“I owe you.”
“You always owe me.”
Chapter Seventeen
Lucy had had a really long day. Between nearly being run off the road in Kerrville and spending hours going over stacks of financial records and police reports, all she wanted was a hot bath, a glass of wine, and bed.
Jesse came up to her as she was rinsing dishes. “I can finish that.”
“I’m almost done, but thank you. Are you already done with your homework?”
“Yeah, but I’m kinda beat, too. Coach is killing us at practice because we lost on Saturday.”
“Go to bed early.”
“It’s not even nine.”
“They say teenagers don’t get enough sleep.”
“I’m going to play video games. Bandit,” Jesse said, and the golden retriever got up from his bed in the corner—Sean had put a dog bed in nearly every room in the house—and followed Jesse out of the kitchen, his tail wagging frantically.
Sean came over and grinned. “Nothing wrong with video games with the dog.”
“You’re a bad influence on him,” Lucy said.
Sean leaned over and kissed her.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a car pull into the driveway.
It was Max.
Sean turned off the water and poured Lucy a glass of wine. “She learned something from Grover Mills and wanted to talk in person.”
“I’ll disappear.”
Sean didn’t say anything, but by his expression she knew she wasn’t going to like this. “You mean she wants to talk to me.”
“I don’t know what specifically, but give her ten minutes. She’s good, Luce. She wouldn’t come here with a theory if she didn’t think it was important.”
“What happened to you giving me a heads-up?”
“She just texted me a few minutes ago.”
Lucy had a feeling that Sean and Max had conspired to bring her into their investigation. That probably wasn’t fair, but after the shooting today Sean had become fully invested in this case. He was angry and motivated to find out who was behind this … conspiracy. Because there was no better word for it.
Lucy had her own complicated case and she couldn’t get Ricky Albright out of her head. She kept picturing him as he looked when he was nine, a dimpled little boy with big brown eyes and freckles dotting his nose.
“Hey,” Sean said, and kissed her. “You okay?”
The doorbell rang.
“I’ll listen. Ten minutes.”
Sean went to let Max in and Lucy sipped her wine. What she really wanted was a giant bowl of chocolate–chocolate chip ice cream. Instead, she followed Sean down the hall.
“Thank you, Lucy,” Max said. “You’ll definitely be interested in my theory.”
“I’m still not getting involved in an SAPD investigation,” Lucy said. With Max, she had to be clear from the beginning what she wouldn’t do, or Max would see an in and try to exploit it. Lucy liked her on many levels—she’d read her true crime books, she admired her insight and ability to uncover the seemingly impossible truth, and her determination to find the truth—but the same determination made her difficult to work with, and she used intense pressure to get her way.
“I understand,” Max said. To Sean, she asked, “Do you have a whiteboard?”
“In my office,” he said.
“Can we use it? This will make more sense visually.”
Sean led the way down to his office. He opened a cabinet that concealed an eight-foot-wide whiteboard. He handed Max a set of colored markers, then sat down on the couch. “Luce,” he said, motioning for her to join him.
She did, though she was so tired she feared she wouldn’t get up.
Max wrote on the board. On the far left she listed several names:
VICTORIA MILLS
SIMON MILLS
STANLEY GRANT
MITCH CORTA
HARRISON MONROE
DENISE ALBRIGHT
“Stop,” Lucy said. “I’m not talking to you about my case.”
“Ten minutes,” Max said, ignoring her comment. Above the names she wrote Texas A&M. “Victoria and Denise were college roommates their freshman year. They grew up in the same general area in Fredericksburg, didn’t go to the same high school, didn’t know each other, but had a lot in common. According to Victoria’s father, Denise was her only close female friend. Denise named her oldest daughter Victoria—she went by Tori—after Victoria Mills.”