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She knew he would—another reason she was glad she’d called him. “But then I thought, maybe Prenter was killed by someone else—a drug deal, since we know he had date-rape drugs in his possession. And since he was released recently from prison, some prison battles spill out into the streets. So I ran all his cell mates against his victims, Prenter and his family, and all staff and volunteers at WCF. I added in all other parolees targeted by the WCF and everything came clear.
“Out of twenty-eight parolees targeted, most were in fact reincarcerated. Ten had never taken the bait—they were no shows. Seven are dead. Eight, including Prenter.”
She took a deep breath. “They all died the night I set them up to violate parole. Murdered. One hit-and-run. Three stabbings. And with Prenter, four shootings. Twenty percent of the guys I set up were murdered that same night.”
Sean turned her head to face him. “What do those eight have in common?”
She said, “Nothing, other than they’re convicted sex offenders who were paroled early.”
“Are they local?”
“No—Prenter is the only one in the greater D.C. area. They’re all over the Eastern seaboard. Even one who was paroled in California. WCF has contacts in law enforcement all over the country.”
“What about their crimes? Rape?”
“Prenter was the only one who was in for rape. The others were child predators. But,” she added, “one of Prenter’s victims was raped when they were both in high school. She’s still in a coma from the homemade Liquid X he overdosed her with.”
“Where?”
“Rhode Island. I looked into her and her family. I don’t see them being involved, but maybe…I needed to talk this out with someone before I talk to Kate.”
“You can’t tell Kate.”
Lucy frowned. “She’s smart. She’ll see the whole picture. If anyone can keep a lid on something, it’s Kate. She didn’t tell me about Morton’s plea agreement, and it’s not like she hasn’t kept her own secrets from the FBI.”
“You think that now that Kate has her life back in the FBI with her position at Quantico she can keep the lid on a vigilante killer?” Sean asked.
“I need more information,” Lucy admitted. “I need to know who was assigned to each parolee.”
“It wasn’t your ex?”
She shook her head. “We have several officers who volunteer to help WCF in their free time. Cody is one of five or six in the greater D.C. area, and that doesn’t count other regions.”
“I need their names. I’ll do my own investigation.”
Lucy’s stomach felt queasy, but she agreed. She couldn’t imagine any of the men and women she knew at WCF could be party to vigilante murder. While they all wanted justice, they were all wards of the court. Cops. FBI agents. A correctional officer. One of them wouldn’t kill in cold blood, would they?
“I’ll run a deeper comparison of each parolee and see if there is something in common that isn’t obvious,” she said. “The program I’m developing has all the data points already identified; it’s just a matter of picking which victims to compare.”
Sean asked, “How are you going to find out who was assigned to each case?”
“Fran will know,” Lucy said. “I’ll talk to her—I need to be there at three anyway.”
“No,” Sean said forcefully. “You don’t know that Fran isn’t involved.”
Lucy stared at him, slowly rising from her chair. “This is Frances Buckley. Former FBI. Head of WCF. She’s not a killer!”
“Vigilante killers are a completely different breed than sex offenders or serial killers or mass murderers.”
“You don’t have to tell me that!” She understood criminal psychology. She’d lived it.
“No, I don’t,” Sean said quietly.
Lucy put her hands on the table and closed her eyes, head lowered. She didn’t know what to think. This was Fran, her mentor. A woman she wanted to emulate, in her dedication, her compassion, and her rock-solid emotional control. Fran had taken Lucy under her wing from the beginning, and Lucy loved her like a sister. Like a mother.
“Lucy?” Sean sounded concerned, and Lucy bit back her emotions. She was not going to lose control.
“You’re right. I can’t tell Fran, not yet. I’ll get the information on my own.”
