Page 66 of The Summer that Changed Everything

“Until when?” he asked as she searched for the right words.

“Until I saw if it would even work!”

“We’ll have tomakeit work,” he said. “Because you can’t stay here—not after this.”

19

Ford couldn’t get Lucy to eat dinner while it was hot; she was too anxious to call Friedman back. And he could understand why. What the investigator had said threatened to upend everything they both understood about that summer fifteen years ago. As Mick’s daughter, she would be eager to grasp hold of any evidence to suggest her father was innocent, and Friedman seemed to be offering her that.

But Ford was afraid she’d only be disappointed in the end. The detective was merely sharing what he’d learned and getting feedback to help gauge how important or correct it might be. That was part of the process. He wasn’t thinking about what offering false hope might do to Lucy. And ithadto be false hope, Ford told himself. The evidence against Mick McBride was simply too strong, at least in the Matteo case. After all, DNA was the gold standard.

Ford wished he could contact Friedman on his own, see what was going on and sift through what was true and what wasn’t beforebringing Lucy into the conversation. But it was too late for that. Friedman had already mentioned the fact that theremight be some reason to believe her father didn’t kill Tony and Lucinda, and now she couldn’t wait to hear what he’d learned.

Although Ford had turned off the stove before he went over to the Smoot cottage, he knew it might be a while longer before they could eat, so he covered the food and called the detective. Lucy was so hopped up on adrenaline, she wouldn’t enjoy a meal right now, anyway. She couldn’t even hold still. She paced across the room, pivoted at the window and returned to him three times before he was able to get through to Lester.

“What’s going on?” he asked as soon as Lester came on the line, with the phone on Speaker. “Are you suggesting the police planted evidence or that someone lied and said there was a DNA match when there wasn’t?”

“Or that the lab made a mistake?” Lucy chimed in.

“I’m still trying to figure it out,” Friedman said. “The file says the murder started as an attempted robbery, but nothing was taken. I think the house was tossed just to make it look like a robbery.”

“The police would probably argue that it was because everything went so badly—that Mick panicked and ran away after killing the Matteos,” Ford pointed out.

There was a pause before Friedman said, “Then who does the other DNA belong to?”

Lines of concentration formed on Lucy’s forehead. “What other DNA?”

“There was a small amount of unknown DNA at the scene—more than the miniscule amount they found of your father’s.”

“No one mentioned that at the trial,” Lucy said.

Ford didn’t remember it, either. But he’d had to miss school to attend, and that meant he couldn’t be there for the whole thing. “Maybe they determined it was from a door-to-door salesman or a pest control guy or whatever,” he said.

“Would someone like that have any reason to be bleeding?” Friedman asked. “Because this DNA was found in the drain ofthe kitchen sink, giving me the impression that was where the killer might’ve attempted to wash up.”

“You’re saying thekillerwas bleeding?” Lucy said.

“That’s what I’m saying,” Friedman clarified. “Not all the blood in that trailer belonged to the Matteos, which isn’t surprising. During such a violent attack, it isn’t unusual for the killer to be hurt, too.”

Ford took hold of Lucy’s arm near the elbow. “Do you remember your father having any injuries the morning after the Matteos were murdered?” he asked.

“That wasmynext question,” Friedman said. “Because I don’t see any injuries documented in the police file.”

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment, seemingly far away as she remembered. Then she said, “No. He came in early, before I got up, and did a load of laundry. I remember because he usually left the laundry to me. Still, I didn’t thinktoomuch of it until his DNA was found under Tony Matteo’s fingernails. Then I realized he must’ve been washing the blood out of his clothes. The police said the perpetrator would have been covered in blood. I don’t recall my dad having any injuries, but he was a handyman—always had some nicks and scrapes on his hands or arms.”

“If he beat those old people to death the way they claim, he should’ve had some scratches or other marks from Lucinda trying to help as he attacked Tony—or the other way around,” Friedman said.

“The police claim he beat them with a hammer—probably the same one that was used to break in,” Lucy said.

“Did the hammer belong to your father? Or did they tie it back to a purchase he made?” Friedman asked. “Because there’s nothing about that in the file.”

“The hammer came from the Matteos’ own shed,” Lucy told him.

“Oh, right. Actually, thatishere,” Friedman corrected. “Isee it now. But I’m sure that didn’t help your father’s defense because he would’ve known where to find it.”

“And several weeks had passed before the investigation homed in on him,” Ford added. “By then, any injuries he’d gotten in the attack would’ve healed.”

“How’d the police get his DNA?” Friedman wanted to know. “Did he give it to them voluntarily?”

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