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“I believe her.” Her alibi—that she was home alone—would be virtually impossible to prove.
“When will the material be here?”
“I’m not sure—late. They’re still boxing it.”
“Let me know when, and I’ll send a team from Quantico to the airfield to retrieve the evidence, log it in, and secure it in our lab. We’ll start first thing in the morning.”
“Thank you.”
“No thanks needed. I want to know exactly what Morton was up to, and I swear if he has a partner I’ll find out who he is and lock him up for the rest of his life.”
The last thing Lucy wanted to do was go to WCF Friday afternoon, but neither did she want to go back home and feel sorry for herself. She made herself stop at a nearby deli and eat. She hadn’t been able to eat anything that morning before going to FBI headquarters. She hoped she’d done the right thing because truly, she had nothing to hide. She hadn’t killed Roger Morton, though she couldn’t have honestly said she wouldn’t have if he’d confronted her.
Her stomach was still in knots from her hour-long interview with Agent Armstrong. Both he and Abigail Resnick had been professional and they didn’t seem as though they thought she had anything to do with the murder, or that she knew anything about Morton’s activities even six years ago. She just wanted to keep the past buried, but it came back and slapped her in the face once again.
She couldn’t finish her sandwich, her stomach still uneasy, so she walked the short block to WCF. Though the sun was peeking out between clouds, it was still cold, and she pulled her coat tight around her.
When she stepped into the WCF building, she was surprised that the place wasn’t packed. Fran was in the conference room by herself, checking the fund-raiser name tags against her master list.
“Where is everyone?” Lucy asked.
“I had lunch brought in and we finished everything we needed to, and since they’re all working on Saturday, I gave them the afternoon off.”
“You’re really done?”
“Just last minute details left. I’m triple-checking the guest list. The last thing I need is a major donor with a misspelling.”
Lucy tried not to show her relief.
Fran looked up from the list and frowned. “You look tired.”
“I didn’t sleep well last night.” Lucy considered telling Fran about Roger Morton. Fran knew about her past, and was one of only a few who Lucy could talk to about what happened. Fran was one of the most steadfast, loyal people Lucy knew—and she didn’t treat Lucy like a victim. If anything, she pushed her harder, knowing that hard work gave Lucy intense pride.
But with the fund-raiser on Fran’s mind, Lucy decided to wait until next week. Morton would still be dead, and maybe a few days was what Lucy needed to redistance herself from her past. Right now, it felt too raw, too real—and she didn’t want to talk about it anymore.
She was already embarrassed about crying all over Sean Rogan last night. Except…she wasn’t. He hadn’t talked much, but what he did say had calmed her. Then, he’d stood up to Kate when she tried to bully him into letting her take Lucy home. He’d agreed that Lucy needed an attorney before talking to the FBI, but he’d also said he trusted her to make the right choice for herself. That kind of support—that deep faith in her decisions—was surprising, especially from someone she hadn’t known for long. In the month she’d known Sean, he’d been more fun than serious, but last night she’d seen another side of him.
“I didn’t hear from Cody,” Lucy said instead, taking the name tags that Fran had verified and sorting them into alphabetical order. “Did Prenter go up in front of a judge this morning? Did they send him back to Hagerstown?”
Fran stopped her chore and frowned at Lucy. “I thought Cody would have told you—Prenter didn’t show.”
“He didn’t?”
“He could have suspected a setup. Sex predators have a sixth sense about cops. It wouldn’t be the first time, and it won’t be the last. But we have far more successes than most organizations doing what we do.”
“But Prenter believed me.”
“Maybe he pegged Cody. Lorenzo looks like a cop.”
“But Cody’s done this dozens of times! He knows the drill. And if Prenter had pegged either me or Cody, he would have contacted ‘Tanya’ to gloat or taunt or threaten. He wouldn’t just be quiet about it. It’s not in his personality—his mouth got him in big trouble at the trial.”
“Lucy, just because you have a psychology degree doesn’t make you a criminal psychiatrist,” Fran said. Lucy blinked, surprised by Fran’s comment. Fran immediately backtracked. “I didn’t mean that to sound so harsh. You know I think your predator tracking program is the best I’ve seen—it’s going to give law enforcement amazing tools to find these guys when they go to ground. It’s just—I don’t have to explain to you the difference between online communication, where comments can be considered before typed, and face-to-face conversation. These guys are good at hiding their true identity. So maybe you’re right and Prenter would have taunted you if he ID’d Cody as a cop. Or maybe you’re wrong and Prenter wants to disappear and not do anything to get himself tossed back into prison. Maybe his car got a flat tire. For one reason or another, he didn’t show.”
“You’re right. Maybe I should reach out.”
“I don’t think that’s a wise idea. If he does suspect you’re a cop or working with the cops, he could get violent.”
“He doesn’t know who I really am.”
