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Dillon searched Mallory, found another gun, and handed it to Sean. He then cuffed Mallory and had him sit on the curb. Sirens were in the distance—the gunfire had most certainly alerted authorities.
“Dillon, I have to get to Lucy, in case there are others involved who aren’t as friendly with the Kincaids as Mallory.”
“No one will hurt Lucy,” Mallory said.
“Excuse me for not believing you,” Sean said, then turned back to Dillon. “You okay here?”
Dillon nodded. “Mick and I have some things to talk about.”
Mallory stared at them. “Dillon, I have tremendous respect for you, which is why I didn’t shoot. But we’re not talking.”
“I can help you.”
“Maybe I don’t want help.” He added softly, “Maybe I’m relieved it’s over.”
THIRTY
It was a quarter to three when Lucy received a text message from Sean.
Your chariot is running late. I have good news. Don’t leave without me, princess.
She smiled. Sean was a romantic at heart. And after the last few days, she really appreciated his attention.
The intake clerk entered the file room where Lucy was working. “Two police officers are here to see you.”
She hesitated. Was it Cody? Had he brought a friend? He hadn’t called her back; was this unannounced visit his idea of getting back to her?
“Did they say why?”
“No.”
“Can you get their names for me?”
The clerk looked at her oddly, then shrugged and left.
Lucy took her time restacking the papers she’d been sorting and filing and carefully placed them back in the in-box. Her hands were steady, but her heart thudded so loud her ears were ringing. What did they want? Were they good guys or bad guys?
And were the bad guys really bad?
When she thought about it, was she more upset that Prenter was dead or that she’d been used to kill him? What about the other parolees? Too many states no longer had an extensive parole system. They didn’t track parolees, and they rarely detained anyone for parole violations anymore because the prisons were so overcrowded. Unless the parolee had committed a new crime, he rarely went back inside.
Correction. Unless he was caught committing a new crime. Another person had to be raped or robbed or killed before the parolee went back in.
The phone beeped and startled her. She picked up the receiver and the clerk said, “Detective Light and Officer Raleigh.”
“Thanks, tell them two minutes. I have to log these files.”
She hung up and bit her lip, relieved that she didn’t have to confront Cody right now but curious about why a detective wanted to talk to her. Could Cody have told his boss about his suspicions? Whether or not he’d implicated Lucy, they could be following up on the Prenter murder.
Lucy had no feelings for the criminals who’d been killed, and that unnerved her. Was she that heartless? Sean had said she was the most compassionate person he knew, but she didn’t see that in herself. Not when she didn’t have even a sliver of grief for the dead felons.
The criminal justice system was far from perfect. Victims were often revictimized in the legal process. Parents of dead children were dragged through the mud during the investigation, their lives dissected by a judgmental society who cast blame on the families for the fate of their children. The media sat in wait outside their homes, outside the schools their kids attended, talking to friends and family, wanting to know how they felt, what they were doing the minute their child disappeared, why they weren’t with them twenty-four/seven.
Lucy wanted to scream at the stone-throwing media who created fear on which criminals fed. Predators wanted to tear apart society, to have mothers and fathers separate because of their missing child; to have neighbors gossip; to have the police question fathers about having too much or too little affection for their sons and daughters. Question friends about how much attention they give. Question family, casting doubts, making brothers turn against brothers, wives against husbands, fathers against sons, mothers against daughters.
Sisters against sisters.
Lucy had been seven when her seven-year-old nephew—and best friend—Justin was kidnapped from his bedroom in the middle of the night. She was the youngest Kincaid; Nelia was the oldest and gave birth to Justin when she was in law school, but later graduated and became a corporate attorney. The middle sister, Carina, then in college, had been babysitting for Nelia that night.
