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Out of all the suspects, had Lucy shot and killed Morton, she would have gotten away with it even if she’d called the police and confessed. No jury would have convicted her after hearing what she’d suffered at the hands of Morton and his sick partner.
Noah honestly didn’t know exactly what to make of Lucy Kincaid, which made her both suspicious and intriguing. Her FBI file was surprisingly thick—and he’d been able to access it only after Hans Vigo cleared him. Few people knew that she’d killed Adam Scott, pulling the trigger six times, emptying a .357 revolver into his chest. It disturbed Noah, showing him that she could and would kill if threatened.
Six bullets was overkill.
Except he hadn’t been there. And if he’d learned anything in the military, it was to avoid the shortsighted criticism of the politicians and media sitting high and mighty—and safe—in the states, second-guessing command decisions when they didn’t understand the immediate threat.
Morton had been killed with a single bullet to the back of the head. The point of impact told Noah that the killer knew exactly what he was doing and where to aim.
Executions were for betrayal or money. And depending on the criminal enterprise, they were carried out in a variety of ways. A single bullet suggested a calculated hit. It seemed impersonal. A hit or business.
Could Morton have been killed for a reason completely unconnected to his past criminal enterprises? Or by someone upset that he’d turned state’s evidence? Who had suffered when Trask Enterprises went down?
“Abigail, can you run a list of all Trask Enterprise employees and associates? Current address, records, anything you can get.”
“What are you thinking?”
“The method. Bullet to the back of the head. It’s cold and impersonal.”
“Kicking his balls wasn’t impersonal,” Abigail commented.
“Yes, but the killer, or killers, had privacy—the marina was deserted. No security cameras in the area. They could have beaten him to death. Tortured him. Shot every limb and made him suffer. If it was personal.”
“Remind me not to get on your bad side, Armstrong.”
“There’s one thing I don’t understand yet,” Noah continued. “Why was he here in D.C.? He had to have a reason. It seemed sudden and unplanned. Any word on the motels?”
“Still searching. If he used an alias, we’re screwed unless some manager recognizes him. We’re checking both his name and his cousin’s name.”
“What about someone who hasn’t checked out?”
“Already ahead of you. We’re working that angle.”
Noah’s instincts told him the reason Morton was in D.C. related directly to his murder.
The Denver field office was interviewing everyone who’d associated with Morton since his release. “No word yet from Guardino?”
“It’s eight in the morning in Denver. I’ll start nagging in an hour.”
Noah’s phone buzzed. “Lucy Kincaid to see you.”
Right on time. “Thanks, I’ll be right there.” He nodded to Abigail. “Let’s get this over with.”
Lucy was alone. Kate Donovan hadn’t won the lawyer battle. “Thanks for coming down, Ms. Kincaid.”
She nodded. Noah led her down the hall to a small conference room. Lucy was a very attractive woman and seemed more mature than her years—her twenty-fifth birthday was next month, but she had the air of a woman with experience and confidence, who didn’t let people push her around. At the same time, her body language—tight, controlled, with minimal facial expression—told Noah she kept her true self bottled inside, that her exterior was a shell. He’d seen that yesterday when she first walked into the dining room—how hard she struggled to rein in her outburst after learning that her sister-in-law had been lying to her for six years.
Lucy Kincaid was intriguing, and perhaps a bit mysterious.
“We’re simply going to confirm your statement yesterday, and ask a few more questions,” Noah explained as he gestured to the chair across from him. “Can I get you any water? Coffee?”
She shook her head. “No, thank you.”
Abigail sat at the table and smiled. “We didn’t get a chance to formally meet yesterday,” she said to Lucy as she extended her hand. “I’m Abigail Resnick. I’ve worked with Dr. Vigo on several cases. He speaks very highly of your brothers. All four of them.”
Lucy’s lips curved into a hint of a smile. “Likewise.”
“Do you mind if we record our conversation?” Abigail asked.
