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Ford was told Chief Claxton wasn’t available, so he allowed whoever had answered the phone at North Hampton PD to transfer
him to Claxton’s voice mail. “It’s Ford.” He didn’t have to give his last name; his first name was recognizable enough. “Reggie
was lying. And now his sister has admitted as much. I think you have a problem. Call me as soon as you can.”
Lucy looked disappointed when he hit the End button. “Do you think he’ll call us back?”
“He’d better,” he said. Then he called Friedman.
Ford could tell Lucy was filled with anxiety, despite their walk, which he’d hoped would relieve some of her jitters. She
hovered nearby as the phone started to ring.
“Hello?”
“Les?” Ford was surprised when it wasn’t the PI’s receptionist who answered. But it was after five; she was probably gone.
“You got me.”
“It’s Ford. Lucy’s here with me. We have a development on our end,” he said and let Lucy tell the investigator about what
Joel Stover had come over to say.
“The case against your father for killing Aurora was never strong to begin with,” Les said when she was done. “And now this. That’s good.”
Ford sank into the soft leather chair closest to Lucy. “Thanks to Darren Clark, we know Mick wasn’t anywhere near Aurora when
she was murdered. And we have someone close to Reggie who’s willing to say on record that he lied about Mick’s confession.”
“Now all we have to do is deal with the odd timing—that Aurora’s murder occurred so close to the Matteos’, where Mick’s DNA
was found—which could easily be a coincidence,” Friedman said.
“Or whoever killed Aurora knew they’d have a better shot at getting away with it because of all the confusion and panic created
by the Matteo murders,” Lucy chimed in. “The police force was even smaller back then and wasn’t used to—or prepared for—such
serious crime.”
“True,” Friedman agreed.
“Actually, the timing isn’t all we have to deal with,” Ford said. “There’s also the trumped-up motivation.”
“That Lucy was jealous,” Friedman said.
Ford frowned at Lucy. “Yes.”
“Jealousy can definitely motivate someone to violence,” Friedman said. “They’ve got that going for them, especially because,
at the time, so many of your peers went on record to say Aurora was making a very obvious play for you and didn’t respect
Lucy’s relationship with you at all.”
“But there’s no record of Lucy ever confronting her about it,” Ford said. “No escalation they can point to that would indicate
the situation was heating up.”
“That part goes in our favor,” Friedman admitted. “A good lawyer would’ve pointed that out.”
Lucy pursed her lips before saying, “I remember my dad’s lawyer trying to argue that, but there was too much going against him. The prejudice in the community was another problem.”
“Have you found anything else?” Ford asked.
“Not yet. But I’m having the DNA profile from the blood in the sink at the Matteos’ trailer run through CODIS. When they ran
it before, they didn’t get a match. But CODIS wasn’t what it is now, so we have a much better shot.”
“I’ve heard of CODIS,” Lucy said. “It’s the national DNA database, right?”
Before Friedman could confirm it, Ford said, “You have access to CODIS?”
“Yes to Lucy, and not directly,” Friedman replied. “But I’ve been in this business for a long time and have managed to make
a few friends along the way.”
“Friends in the right places,” Ford said.
“Exactly.”
“Could it really be that easy?” Lucy asked. “We run the DNA through CODIS, come up with a hit and then we know who was there
that night?”
“If it works out that well, it’ll be a miracle,” Friedman told them. “But if whoever left that blood has been convicted of
a serious crime in the years since, there’s a chance. Even if we don’t get a match when it comes to the offender, we might
get something that connects this case to other unsolved cases where they have more evidence and figure out who committed the
murders that way, if it wasn’t your father.”
“It wasn’t him,” Lucy said.
Her sudden confidence worried Ford. Proving Mick didn’t kill Aurora would be much easier than proving he didn’t kill the Matteos.
There had to be some reason Mick’s DNA was found under Tony’s fingernails. “I hope you’re right, Lucy, but...”
Her expression turned sheepish. “But I shouldn’t get my hopes up. I know.”
“For your own good,” Ford said gently.
A beep signaled another call. He looked down to see Chief Claxton’s name on his screen. “We’ve got to go,” Ford told Friedman.
“No problem. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear back on the DNA.” Friedman hung up as Ford switched over.
Lucy tensed as Chief Claxton’s voice boomed through Ford’s phone.
“I got your message. What the hell are you talking about now?”
“Anna’s husband came over here earlier. Said she finally broke down in tears and told him that Reggie made it all up—the whole
confession. Reggie admitted Mick McBride scarcely said two words to him while they were incarcerated together, let alone confessed
to murder. You’ve got the wrong man—at least when it comes to Aurora.”
“That can’t be,” Claxton insisted. “The timing... everything aligned.”
“I know. And there’ve been no murders since. But that doesn’t prove a damn thing. Call Joel and Anna Stover if you don’t believe
me and have them make an official statement.”
There was a long pause. “Why didn’t Anna come forward fifteen years ago?”
“Why do you think?” Ford asked. “Because of family loyalty.”
“She’s still his sister.”
Ford’s hand tightened on the phone; Lucy could see his veins standing out. “She’s much older now, less vulnerable to how he’ll
react,” he said. “And she has her husband to support her through the fallout.”
“Goddammit,” Claxton shouted. “You two just won’t leave this alone. You’re bent on disrupting everyone’s lives. And for what? For a murderer who deserves to be in prison, anyway! For nothing !”
“My father and I aren’t nothing,” Lucy said, speaking up for the first time. “The truth is the truth, and that’s what you
should be protecting. Anna is showing more integrity than you.”
“Be careful what you say to me,” he said.
“Because you’re afraid to face the truth even about yourself?” she asked.
“I’ve warned you. You’re causing trouble—and you’re not going to like the consequences.”
“The consequences? You mean like ‘someone’ breaking in and messing up my things again? Writing on the mirror?”
Ford lifted his hands to signal for her to back off. No doubt he was worried about continuing to provoke Claxton, but she
was so tired of the chief of police being stubborn and unsympathetic.
“The point is this,” Ford said. “Anna is coming forward. She’s willing to sign a statement. What are you going to do about
that?”
“Nothing,” Claxton snapped. “Because it doesn’t change a thing. It’s just his word against hers, and there was a lot more
stacked against Mick McBride than that.”
“Not for Aurora’s murder, there wasn’t,” Ford insisted.
Although Lucy tried to hold herself back, she ultimately failed. “You can stick your head in the sand only so long before
it starts to look like you’re not doing your job,” she said, and then Claxton hung up on them.
Tossing his phone on the ottoman, Ford said, “What an asshole.”
“He’s not going to do anything,” she said.
Ford strode to the windows and peered out at the ocean before returning to her. “Let’s see what CODIS reveals and go from
there, because if we get a hit, his whole thesis crumbles.”
Lucy nodded. “While we wait, maybe it’s time to go see my father again.” Mick hadn’t returned her last letter yet. Since nothing had changed in fifteen years, he probably didn’t see any reason to rush, but she was suddenly in a hurry to get his feedback. Cracks were forming in what everyone had believed to be an open-and-shut case. Maybe with his help, they could make those cracks wider and wider until, eventually, everything changed—the whole darn narrative.
Red Onion State Prison was located in an unincorporated part of Wise County, near Pound, very close to the Kentucky border,
which was seven hours away. But Lucy didn’t mind the drive because Ford had insisted on taking her. He’d said he was willing
to come inside the prison with her, too, but Lucy couldn’t see how that would help. If anything, it would just make her father
clam up. So Ford had agreed to wait outside in the parking lot. Since it took most of the day to get here, they planned to
stay at The Inn at Wise and head home tomorrow.
As she perched on a vinyl stool, she once again felt a great deal of emotion. But this emotion was nothing like what she’d
experienced when she’d flown here from Vegas in April. Now, instead of feeling like the injured party, she was afraid she was the one who might’ve let him down, which tempered her hurt and anger, made her more open-minded and anxious to see him.
When he shuffled in and took his seat on the other side of the Plexiglas, she lifted the handset immediately. He was the one
who delayed communication. He looked leery, as if he wasn’t entirely convinced he could tolerate whatever she had to say—even
if it was hopeful.
Maybe he feared hope most of all.
At last, she saw his chest lift as he drew a deep breath. Then he brought the receiver to his ear. “You’re back.”
“Is that okay?”
He frowned. “I’d rather you didn’t come here.”
“Why?” She was afraid he was going to say, “Because it’s easier on me if you don’t.” Fortunately, he didn’t.
“I don’t want to be a ball and chain, that’s why. It makes me happier to imagine you building a good life—maybe finding a
man who’ll give you the family you want.”
“I can’t move on until... until I take care of this unfinished business,” she said.
“It’s not unfinished if it has to do with me.” He chuckled without mirth. “Hell, the man I was died fifteen years ago. That’s
about as done as a person gets.”
She studied him closely. Was he guilty? Or could she trust him as she’d once believed she could?
Maybe she’d begun to doubt him too soon, too easily. After all, she also had trust issues, hadn’t even known her own mother.
Billie had run off with another man, abandoning them both when Lucy was just a baby. Mick once told her that Billie would
occasionally show up early on. But the last time she came to see Lucy, he’d allowed her to babysit while he worked, and she’d
stolen everything of value in the house and left Lucy sleeping in her crib.
That was shortly before Lucy’s second birthday, and Mick claimed he hadn’t seen Billie since. He’d contacted her sister and
her mother and visited the diner where she worked to try to get his stuff back. But another waitress told him she’d broken
up with the new guy, quit her job and moved to Texas, and her family closed ranks, wouldn’t give him any information.
Lucy still didn’t know where she was, didn’t even know that side of her family. Billie’s face was nothing but a distant, fuzzy memory, and she’d decided to leave it that way. She figured she’d had enough heartbreak in her life, didn’t need to ask for more by associating with a woman she already knew was completely unreliable. “Did you get my letter?”
He nodded.
“Were you going to write back?” she asked.
His shoulders lifted in a noncommittal shrug. “Was thinking about it—thinking about telling you to let it all go. There’s
nothing to be gained by delving into the past. I should’ve discouraged you when you were here last. Why go back to that mess?”
“Because it’s important to me, and should be important to others, that the right person gets the blame.”
His eyes showed a little more life, but he said, “There’s no chance of figuring out who did it. It’s been too long.”
“I’m not nearly as pessimistic. Reggie’s sister has come forward to admit that she knows he was lying about your confession.
That’s a start.”
He rubbed his chin for a moment. “Still a long way from catching the bastard who strangled her,” he said.
She could tell the news had made more of an impact than he was letting on. “I’m going to keep pushing.” She refused to be
discouraged, not when she was feeling the first flicker of hope she’d had in ages, but she could see why he’d be hesitant
to make too much of what she’d said. He probably couldn’t imagine ever getting out of this place. If he’d killed the Matteos, he was where he belonged, anyway. But since Lester Friedman had learned
about that mystery person’s DNA in the drain, she was beginning to wonder if he’d killed anyone .
“Waste of your time.”
“I’m willing to take the risk, especially because I’m not doing this on my own anymore.”
His eyes and mouth tensed, and he sat very still while waiting for her to explain.
“Ford Wagner has hired a private detective—one of the best—to help us.”
“Ford Wagner,” he repeated.
“Yes. He and I were...” She cleared her throat. “We knew each other back when we were teenagers.”
“He wasn’t a local...”
“No. The Wagners owned the big beach house called Coastal Comfort, remember? They only visited during the summer.”
He nodded. “That explains why I don’t know him. I didn’t have much reason to interact with the rich summer folk. So...
why’s he interested enough in what happened fifteen years ago to pay for an investigator?”
“He’s a—” she searched her mind for an appropriate word but could only come up with the stereotypical “—friend.”
When her voice caught, his left eyebrow slid up. “Must be a close friend to spend that kind of money.”
“He’s wealthy, so it isn’t as much to him as it would be to us.”
“Still. No reason for him to spend it.”
Ford was doing it for her. And she was grateful. But feeling too much appreciation left her even more vulnerable when it came to him, so she tended to shove that out of her mind. She’d tried
to pay; he wouldn’t let her. “His motivation doesn’t matter. The point is his investigator has found out that there was someone
else’s DNA in the drain of the Matteos’ kitchen sink.”
He slumped over. “The police have known about that all along.”
She couldn’t help feeling a little deflated that he knew about the blood in the drain. “I don’t remember hearing about it
at trial.”
“Because it didn’t amount to anything. It was my DNA that was found was under Tony’s fingernails . That means I was a lot closer to him than whoever was at the kitchen sink.”
“Did you kill him?” she blurted out.
He scowled. “You’ve asked me that before—”
“And you assured me that you didn’t,” she broke in. “At least, you denied it at first. Then you... sort of went silent.”
“Lucy, they insisted so many times even I began to doubt myself,” he admitted.
“And now?” she asked. “Now that you’ve had fifteen years to think about it?”
“I was drinking that night. You know that.”
“Can’t you give me something to work with?”
“I hope and pray I didn’t. Just the possibility fills me with self-loathing, and that’s a far worse punishment than being
in here.” He gestured at the cinder block walls. “Lucinda was sort of like the mother I never had,” he added, choking up.
Then, apparently, he was done with the visit, because he hung up the phone immediately, as if it’d suddenly grown scorching
hot in his hand, probably so she wouldn’t hear the emotion in his voice. But it was too late for that. She knew he was on
the verge of breaking down.
Banging on the glass, she motioned for him to pick up the phone again and, reluctantly, he did.
“Write me today!” she said. “Tell me everything you remember about that night. Where you were. Who you were with. Why you
don’t think it was you. Anything that could help me. Maybe there’s some detail that’ll make all the difference. But for that
to happen, I need you to share what you know.”
“It’s not going to do any good,” he insisted. “If the police could ignore the DNA evidence in that drain, and accept Reggie’s
bullshit testimony, they’re not suddenly going to reverse all that. They know how ridiculous it’ll make them look.”
They’d rather let him rot in prison regardless of his culpability. Lucy knew he was right. She’d heard how Chief Claxton had
responded last night. But she wasn’t about to concede to that bastard. Claxton and others like him had won fifteen years ago;
they wouldn’t win now that she was an adult and capable of fighting back. She had Ford. She had Friedman. And she had her
own conviction and determination. “I’m finally holding a couple of good cards,” she told him. “Help me improve my hand.”
His mouth formed a stark slash in his face, but then he gave her a single, almost imperceptible nod and hung up.
“How’d it go?” Ford asked as Lucy climbed into the Land Rover.
She stared out the windshield toward the huge white buildings that made up the sprawling compound. “I don’t know. He’s pretty
discouraged, doesn’t have a lot of hope. I think he’s afraid to commit to helping me. It’s harder when you try and then fail,
you know? The disappointment takes something out of you.”
“So he wasn’t receptive?”
“He was as you’d expect someone to be who’s had such a hard life. And to make everything worse, I’m seeing so many things
in a different light.”
He started the vehicle. “Like what?”
“The way my father behaved back then, for one. Why he didn’t continue to proclaim his innocence. Why he gave up fighting.”
“Because he didn’t have much to fight with?” Ford guessed. “We know he had a lousy lawyer.”
“I think there were a couple of forces at play. I think he might have sacrificed himself—for me.”
Although Ford had put the SUV in gear, he left his foot on the brake. “What do you mean by that?”
“Because he couldn’t be sure about the Matteos, felt he might actually have done something terrible to them while he was drinking,
he feels he’s probably where he belongs. So he just let it happen. And he didn’t want all the legal stuff to drag on forever.
He wanted me to be able to cut loose and leave him behind—like a drowning man who doesn’t want to pull anyone else down with
him. He keeps telling me to move on with my life and forget him, be happy.”
Ford had never thought a great deal of her father, for obvious reasons. But this earned the man some respect. “Are you more convinced he’s guilty than you were before—or less?”
She gave him a troubled look. “I’m more convinced now than I’ve ever been.”
“That...”
“He’s innocent.”
Just a few days ago, Ford wouldn’t have believed it. But considering the way Chief Claxton had behaved yesterday, he was beginning
to wonder if she was right, if her father had just been a convenient scapegoat.
He took her hand. “Then we’ll figure out a way to prove it.”