Lucy picked up the picture. “Dillon loves you. There’s nothing you did in your past that could ever change that.” She put the picture down. “I think I understand.”
“You don’t.” Kate’s anger had lost steam. She wasn’t going to tell Lucy what had happened, but Lucy understood. Whatever problem Laughlin had with Lucy was small compared to what he had with Kate. He couldn’t get to Kate except through those she loved, because Kate wasn’t easily bullied. That meant Lucy and Dillon, the two people Kate loved more than anyone.
Lucy smiled while Kate remained stone-faced. “You may have kept your maiden name,” Lucy said, “but you’re a Kincaid now.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’re not alone.”
*
Lucy had thirty minutes before physical training, so went to her room to unwind after her confrontation with Kate.
Someone had been here.
Lucy stood in her doorway, one hand still on the knob, as the skin rose from her arms. What was different?
Nothing appeared out of place. She hadn’t made her bed, because she’d gotten up late; her desk was cluttered but relatively tidy. Her bookshelf was packed with her notebooks, textbooks, paper, her own research books-
It wasn’t that something was out of place. It was the air. A faint scent that wasn’t hers.
Had Margo come in to borrow something? Lucy wouldn’t be upset, though she preferred to be asked. Except-it wasn’t Margo. She cherished her privacy as much as Lucy. Margo would have at least left a note but most likely would have called Lucy first. Reva? Usually one knock, then walk right in. But she always wore flowery perfume, and this wasn’t perfume. It was something … else. Sweat, maybe, but not Lucy’s sweat.
She searched her room again, looking for even the smallest hint of something off; then she opened her desk drawers and went through her things.
In the bottom drawer, where she had kept the file Tony had given her, she noticed that something was clearly out of place.
Her handwritten notes were gone.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Lucy found it hard to focus on her physical training, and she didn’t know who she should go to about her missing notes. She mentally replayed what she’d done with them last night, before finding Tony unconscious in his office. She’d brought down his file, plus her list of people from Weber’s book, but she’d left her personal notes-questions to herself, facts from the book, comments about Tony’s notes-in her desk. She was certain of it. Almost.
Paula Kean entered the gym near the end of training and spoke with Harden. A few seconds later, Harden called Lucy over.
“You’re free to go with Agent Kean,” he told her.
Lucy glanced at the class supervisor, trying to assess why she was being pulled out. Kean’s face was impassive, as usual.
Lucy followed her out and down the hall. Kean stopped just outside her office door. “Assistant Director Hans Vigo needs to speak with you.” She lifted her chin. “I see his visit is not a surprise to you.”
“Kate told me he was here.”
“I’ll clear your absence in Warrants with your instructor, but you’ll have to make up the work. You can get the assignment and notes from New Agent Aragon-he’s a friend of yours, right?”
“Yes.” Jason would not only have good notes, but he also had the most experience with warrants and would be able to answer any questions. “Thank you.”
“We haven’t spoken since you found Agent Presidio. If you need to talk, please let me know. Tony was a good man, and he obviously saw something special in you.”
For the first time since she’d arrived, Lucy felt comfortable with Kean. Though her tone was formal, it had an edge of sincerity that Lucy appreciated.
“Thank you. He was a terrific teacher. We’ll all miss him.”
Kean smiled, a rare warmth in her pale eyes. “He had a reputation for being tough on the new agents, but you seemed to hold up well.” She stepped into her office, then stopped and said, “I know you’re a personal friend of Dr. Vigo’s, but if you’d like me to join you, I’m available.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I’m okay.” Kean didn’t say anything about the meeting Kate had alluded to at lunch, and Lucy didn’t ask.
She crossed the courtyard and Agent Trevor Seward was talking to two new agents in the lounge. “Hold up,” he told her.
She waited for him in the hall, though she was antsy to see Hans.
“Don’t you have Warrants this afternoon?”
“Yes, but Dr. Vigo called me into Tony’s office.”
“I’ll walk you down.” He touched her arm. “Are you okay?”
“Everyone is asking me if I’m okay. I am.” She glanced at him with a half smile. “But thank you.”
“It’s my job to help you and the rest of your class get through the remaining weeks. I was here only five years ago; it can be hell.”
“I can handle it. Growing pains, that’s it.”
Seward stopped at the secure staircase that led to the basement. He swiped his card over the security panel, and the door unlocked. He opened it for her. “Just remember, Agent Laughlin and I are here to help if you need to talk to someone about what happened with Agent Presidio, or anything.”
Why did everyone think she needed to talk to someone? She’d been around death and dying enough to know the process. But she simply said, “I appreciate it.”
She went down to Tony’s office alone. Hans was sitting at Tony’s desk going through stacks of files.
“Dr. Vigo.”
Hans smiled and stood to greet Lucy. “Sit down.” He returned to his seat but moved files to one side so they could talk.
Lucy had known Hans for seven years. Though they’d met after tragedy, Hans and her brother Dillon had worked together often and she’d seen Hans across the dinner table dozens of times over the years because of his friendship with her brother. Hans had helped reinstate Kate to the FBI after she’d gone rogue, had worked with Lucy’s other sister-in-law years ago, and had given Lucy a glowing recommendation into the FBI. The Kincaids considered Hans part of the family.
Hans wasn’t one for chitchat; he came straight to the point. “Tell me what you were working on for Agent Presidio.”
Lucy said, “I’m truly sorry about his death. You were friends.”
Hans stared over her shoulder, his eyes unfocused. “Yes,” he said quietly. Then he shook his head and looked directly at her. “I’m clearing up Tony’s files and taking over his classes, until we find someone to replace him. I’ve taught here before, so there shouldn’t be any disruption. Any help you can give smoothing things over with your class would help.”
“Anything you need.”
“I talked to Agent Madeaux last night about Tony’s work on the Weber case. I don’t know that I’ll be getting involved, but Tony left a message for me yesterday before he boarded the plane. I didn’t get it until after he died.”
Hans continued, “Agent Madeaux said you were helping Tony. How so?”
“Before he went to New York, he gave me his file on the McMahon case because we’d been talking about it and Rosemary Weber and whether her death could have had something to do with the Cinderella Strangler investigation.”
“You lost me.”
“I’ll backtrack.” Lucy relayed the information as if she were giving a report. She explained to Hans about Suzanne contacting her Wednesday morning, discussing Weber’s murder with Tony, and the work she’d been doing reviewing the McMahon file and the analysis of Weber’s books while Tony was in New York. “Tony thought it was suspicious that Weber’s notes from her first book were missing from the library archives.”
“He suspected her murder had something to do with the McMahon case, and not the book she was currently researching?”
“Yes, I’m certain of it, though he didn’t explicitly say that. He said something was bugging him and he wanted to look as his notes again. So I agreed to meet him in his office. When I
got here, he was unconscious.”
“Where is his file? Did you bring it?”
“I had it with me last night.” She glanced around the office, but it was much messier than yesterday. She gestured to the table just inside the door. “When I saw him, I dropped the file on that table but it’s not there now. It’s a file folder about an inch thick.”
“I’ll find it.”
Lucy frowned and looked around the office. “It should be here.”
“Lucy, it’s okay.”
“I need to find it, sir.”
Hans smiled. “You can call me Hans when we’re alone. No need to be formal.”
“It’s important. I think someone was in my dorm room today.”
“Someone broke in?” Hans raised his eyebrows.
“I don’t know. But I made some personal notes about the McMahon case, and I kept them in my desk. I’m almost certain that’s where I put them, but maybe I grabbed them when I picked up Tony’s file.”
He eyed her closely. “But you don’t think so.”
She shook her head. “I remember everything clearly from the minute I found him, but I can’t remember if I picked up my notes. He’d asked for something specific-he wanted a list of every person Weber wrote about, and what she said about them.”
“Because he thought someone might have a motive, even ten years later.”
“Yes. So I typed up my notes. I included those in his folder, not my handwritten notes.” The more Lucy thought about the series of events, the more certain she was that she’d left her written notes in her desk.
“Tony over-involved himself on too many of his cases, particularly cases involving young children, sometimes to the point of obsession. It’s one reason he was here-he’s brilliant, but…” His voice trailed off.
“I didn’t think he acted obsessed, just contemplative. Curious.”
“You didn’t know him like I did,” Hans said, his voice switching from friendly to authoritarian.
Lucy wondered if she should mention Tony’s interest in Peter McMahon, decided yes. “Tony asked me to find Peter McMahon, Rachel’s younger brother. I don’t think he believed that Peter was responsible for Weber’s murder, but…” She hesitated.
Hans wrote something down. “He thought it might have been a possibility?”
“I got the sense that he was simply concerned about Peter himself. With the media reports on Weber’s death, it might drag up old feelings about his past.”
“That’s stretching. More likely, Tony thought the boy may have grown up with deep resentment. He was a child when his sister was killed, a teenager when Weber’s book came out. Now he’s an adult. He could have been planning revenge for a long time.”
It was definitely possible. She said, “I asked Sean to look for him, find out where he lived and what he was doing. We knew he had been living in Florida with his grandmother, and may have taken her surname. Sean was able to trace him to Syracuse University, but lost him there. He seems to have disappeared.”
“No one disappears.”
“That’s pretty much what Sean said.”
Hans leaned back and looked at the ceiling. “Tony’s instincts are sharp, but like a lot of psychologists, sometimes he knows or senses things that he can’t quite articulate. Gut instinct. Do you think McMahon was involved in Weber’s murder?”
Lucy hesitated, then said, “Sean brought it up as a possibility. But I couldn’t possibly make that determination without knowing more about Peter McMahon.”
“Can you re-create your notes?”
“Yes.”
“E-mail me the file when you’re done.” He smiled sadly. “Get some sleep, Lucy. It’s been a long twenty-four hours.”
“How did Tony die? Heart attack?”
“That’s the preliminary diagnosis. He’d had elevated blood pressure for years, but was controlling it primarily through diet and exercise and a very mild drug, according to his doctor.”
“Please let me know. If I did anything wrong when I found him-”
“You did everything you could. Go; have dinner; rest. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
After Lucy left, Hans considered what she’d said and, knowing Tony, what he might have been thinking or working on before he died. Hans had told her about Tony’s instincts, but his own were humming right along. He immediately began looking around the office for the McMahon file Lucy had left here yesterday.
“Tony, what were you thinking?” Tony was brilliant, but he rarely brainstormed with his colleagues. He mulled thoughts and ideas in his head until they came together; then when he spoke he was almost always right. Knowing what he might be thinking was nearly impossible.
But Hans had known Tony for twenty-five years. Hans knew how he reasoned out a case. His notes would help, but Hans searched everywhere and didn’t find the McMahon file.
Lucy thought someone had stolen her notes from her room. And it appeared someone had taken Tony’s files from his office.
Hans stared at Tony’s personal effects, which he’d already boxed up to bring to Tony’s widow, Shannon. The box included a Glenlivit bottle that was only a quarter filled. Tony wasn’t a heavy drinker, but he liked his shot of Scotch at night. When they worked together two decades ago, they’d often shared a Scotch after hours.
The bottle had been on his desk, an empty glass nearby.
Hans didn’t think that there was any foul play in Tony’s death.
But.
He opened the bottle, and all he could smell was Scotch. He closed it and called the FBI Laboratory. The head of toxicology, Dr. Trisha Morrison, was a longtime colleague and friend.
“Hans, it’s been a while.”
“A lot of travel, but mostly just excuses on my part.”
“How can I help you?”
“I need you to come to Quantico tomorrow and gather evidence from Agent Presidio’s office.”
“The instructor who had a heart attack?”
“Yes. I want to make sure that there’s nothing in here that might have caused him to go into cardiac arrest.”
Trisha didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, “Are you saying he could have been murdered?”
“No.” Then he stated carefully, “I’m saying I want to make sure there’s nothing in his office that might have caused him to go into cardiac arrest.” If Tony was murdered, that put the murderer at Quantico. As soon as Hans put this in a report, it would be part of the system. Even if they classified it, if someone had killed Tony, they would wonder why his file was classified. “I need someone who can be discreet.”
Trisha said, “I’ll be out tonight.”
“I appreciate it.”
Hans hung up and then dialed Sean Rogan.
“Hello, Dr. Vigo,” Sean said. “I suppose I don’t need to guess why you’re calling.”
“You’re a smart boy,” Hans said. He liked Sean quite a bit but worried about some of his activities. It was no secret that Sean had had trouble in his youth, but Hans suspected it went a lot deeper than even he knew. Hans felt oddly protective of him, maybe because he’d captured Lucy’s heart and Hans wanted to make sure Sean didn’t make an illegal detour that would break it.
Still, Hans wanted answers and Sean could get them. “I know you’re digging around in this and that.”
“You may have to define what you mean by this and that.”
“Peter McMahon.”
“I’m trying to find him.”
“Call me if you do.”
“Why?”
Hans became irritated. He was an assistant director in the FBI and no one challenged his authority. He had to remind himself that not only was Sean not his employee, but also Sean challenged everyone.
“It’s relevant to the Rosemary Weber murder. Lucy filled you in?”
“She did. Do you think he’s guilty?”
“I think he needs to be found.”
“All right. I’ll let you know. Now I have a question for you. Do you know a cop named Bob
Stokes? He was a rookie during the McMahon case, became a detective pretty quick. Weber dedicated her first book to him.”
“I remember the name.”
“I thought he’d be a good place to start, but Patrick found out he died. Six weeks ago.”
“What happened?”
“Heart attack.”
Hans frowned. “How old was he?”
“Forty-one.”
“Was there anything suspicious about his death?”
“No, but they might not have been looking for anything suspicious.”
“And you are.”
“I’m curious. Just want to answer these nagging questions.”
Hans didn’t believe in coincidences, yet causing someone to go into cardiac arrest wasn’t easy. The killer would need both knowledge of poisons and access to the victim. And there was no guarantee that the victim would die. Such a premeditated murder would need planning and foresight. And there wasn’t any connection between Detective Stokes and Tony except a fifteen-year-old case.
“Doc, you there?”
“Let me know what you learn as soon as you learn it, especially if you locate McMahon.”
He hung up and pinched the bridge of his nose.
Tony, you knew something. What was it? Did it get you killed? Did it have anything to do with Rosemary Weber?
CHAPTER TWENTY
Nine Years Ago
I kept to myself my freshman year of high school.
I was smart, but that didn’t make me popular. I wasn’t an athlete because I was too short and, when I was younger, Grams didn’t have the energy to take me to practices or games. I had told her I didn’t care about playing soccer or football or lacrosse, even though I kind of did. But she needed me and I wasn’t going to let Grams down. And then she died and I was back where it all began, and hiding behind Grams’s last name no longer helped.
Being smart has its advantages, and I kept telling myself if I could just get through four years of high school I could go to any college I wanted, far away. I didn’t make many friends. Maybe because I didn’t try and use Rachel as an excuse. I was, after all, the kid whose sister had been murdered by a pervert who went to his parents’ sex parties. It didn’t matter that my parents divorced, my father moved across the country, or I hated my mother. I was the freak. People either felt sorry for me or thought my misfortunes would rub off on them. I don’t know. Maybe it was just because of me.
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