It was a solid theory. One even Lucy could buy into. “I may have some information that could help you there.”

“It’s not my case anymore, and good riddance.”

“But Victoria Mills is still your case.”

“You’re going to have to do some slick talking to convince me that Stanley Grant’s confession was a lie.”

“Sean is working with Maxine Revere.”

“For shit’s sake.”

“She’s difficult and persistent—”

“She’s a bitch.”

“But she’s good at what she does. I don’t like reporters any more than you do—probably a lot less than you do.”

“Doubtful.”

“But Max—”

“Don’t say she’s different.”

“No, but she has a unique way of viewing information, plus she has access to more than we do, including the Mills family.”

“You can’t work with her. A fucking defense lawyer would say you used her to go around getting warrants or some such fucked nonsense. We may not like all the rules, but they’re there for a reason—so these bastards don’t get off on a technicality.”

“I recognize this is a gray area, but I think we can work together on this. The day Grant was killed, he met with his lawyer and Maxine at the courthouse. He told them—”

“Right there, Kincaid. He was talking to his lawyer. Client confidentiality.”

“Grant is dead, and Max was there,” Lucy said, not liking the interruption. “Just hear me out, okay? Grant told them that he was approached after Victoria was killed by a Hispanic male with a scar on his hand. The stranger said that Grant killed Victoria and had embezzled two million from the company account because he’d started gambling again and was in the hole. He told him to confess, or his sister and her family were in danger. Grant didn’t believe him until the next day. Marie was in an accident and when Grant arrived on scene he saw the same man watching. He convinced his sister to leave town and then confessed. If Grant is innocent of her murder, someone who was there and had the details told Grant what to say.”

Reed was listening, so Lucy pressed on. “You and your people canvassed the area and interviewed a neighbor named Robert Clemson. I want to interview him. Care to join me?”

She didn’t say anything for a minute, then drained her beer. “Let’s go. You’re lucky you have friends on the force, otherwise I would have told you to fuck off, especially after hearing you’re friends with that bitch reporter.”

“I wouldn’t say friends, exactly. I respect her, though. To be perfectly honest, if it wasn’t for Max I would never have known who killed my nephew.”

“So you feel like you owe her something.”