Say You're Sorry (Morgan Dane Book 1) Read online

  “Then what happened?” Morgan did not want to put words in Nick’s mouth.

  Nick shrugged. “The fight didn’t last long. A few shoves back and forth. Tessa got between us, and Jacob knocked her down trying to get at me. That pissed me off. I punched him. He punched me back. Couple of other dudes stepped in, and that was the end of it.” Nick shook his head. “I ended up with a bloody nose. You know what happens when I see blood. It wasn’t much blood, but I almost puked.”

  Morgan took detailed notes. “I saw a video of the fight yesterday. It’s been played online and on the news. Did you know someone filmed it?”

  Nick shook his head.

  “I’ve filed an injunction to have it pulled from the Internet to prevent the tainting of the jury pool, but I’m afraid the damage is already done. I’ll also push for a change of venue. Though we’re not likely to get it, at least the request will go on record as grounds for a possible appeal if you’re convicted.”

  Nick’s face went pale. “You think I’m going to be convicted?”

  “I’m going to do my best to keep that from happening, but part of my job is to lay the groundwork for possible future appeals.”

  “OK.” Nick chewed on a cuticle. “Who took the video?”

  “I don’t know yet, but I will find out.” The only two pieces of evidence that Morgan had seen at this point were the list of charges and the video on YouTube. She actually preferred to do her initial interview blind. Once she started reviewing evidence, it would be hard to get Nick’s story down without injecting her own preconceived opinions. “Now that I’m officially your lawyer, I’ll get copies of all the evidence the police and prosecutor have gathered against you.”

  He nodded.

  “What happened after the fight?” Morgan asked.

  “Me and Tessa got in my car. She cleaned my face up for me.” He shifted in his chair. His face flushed. “Then we drove to the other side of the lake and had sex in my car.”

  “Consensual sex?”

  “Yeah.” Nick jerked upright, anger surging over his fear and brightening his eyes. “Of course. I know the police said she was raped. I could never have . . .”

  Morgan held up a hand to calm him. “All right. You and Tessa had consensual sex in your car. Front seat or back?”

  “Back.”

  “Did you use a condom?”

  “No. And I know it was stupid.” His jaw went tight with frustration and regret. “I didn’t have one.”

  Morgan set her pen on the notepad. “Nick. I’m not your parent. I’m your lawyer. You have to get used to telling me personal things. If this goes to trial, every detail will come out anyway.”

  Nick’s nod was stiff and barely perceptible.

  Morgan picked up her pen. “What time was this?”

  “I don’t know exactly. Maybe around ten.”

  “What happened next?” Morgan started a timeline.

  “Tessa was crying. She wouldn’t tell me why. I assumed it had something to do with the fight and what Jacob said. I drove us back to the clearing. Her car was still there.” Nick’s eyes clouded. “Then she broke up with me.”

  “She had sex with you, and then broke up with you afterward?” Morgan clarified.

  “Yes. I tried to get her to talk to me, but she wouldn’t say why she had to break up with me.” Nick’s eyes filled with tears. “Finally, I just left. She was in her car. I assumed she’d drive home.” He sniffed. “That was the last time I saw her.”

  “Did other kids witness your argument with Tessa?”

  He bit off a piece of his thumbnail. “Yeah. Probably. There were a couple of people still there when we drove to the clearing.”

  “Did anyone see you leave without her?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I need to know who.”

  “OK. I think Robby Barone was there, and Felicity, and another friend of Tessa’s, Jamie.” Nick concentrated, his expression desperate.

  “Try to think of others.” Morgan wrote down the names. “Where did you go?”

  “I drove around for a while. I couldn’t believe she broke up with me.” Sadness quivered in his voice. “If the cops hadn’t shown me pictures, I wouldn’t believe she was dead either.”

  Morgan had a quick flash of Tessa’s bloody body. If the case went to trial, she and Nick would both be seeing those images over and over. Would they ever become immune? She hoped not.

  No. She couldn’t think like that. She was going to prove he was innocent.

  “Did you get a burger?” she asked. “Stop at a convenience store? Did anyone see you driving around?”

  Nick shook his head. “No. I don’t even remember exactly where I went.”

  “Did you make any calls on your phone?” Morgan asked, hoping the GPS might have recorded Nick’s location.

  “I tried to text her later, but my battery was dead.”

  So much for the GPS on his phone.

  “What time did you get home?”

  “Around midnight.”

  “Did your dad see you come in?”

  “No. He was already asleep. He had to open the shop Friday morning.” So Nick had no alibi for the entire night.

  “How much of this did you tell the police?”

  “Everything. I didn’t think I had to hide anything, because I’m innocent. When they said I was helping them find Tessa’s killer, I believed them.” Anger tightened Nick’s face.

  Most citizens didn’t know the police could lie when interviewing suspects. It was perfectly legal, and they did it all the time.

  He sniffed and swiped a hand below his eyes. “I still can’t believe she’s dead.”

  “I know. Me either.” Morgan looked up from her notepad. “Here’s what’s going to happen next. By Tuesday, there will be a grand jury hearing where the prosecutor presents evidence and the jury decides if there is enough to officially charge you. In reality, this is a formality. We don’t even attend, unless you want to testify, and I don’t recommend providing any sort of testimony at this stage. The DA will get the indictment.”

  Nick’s face creased with confusion.

  “The prosecutor might offer a plea bargain, but I don’t anticipate it will be much of a deal.” Not with the mayor, police chief, and DA all milking the case for publicity. I also need to inform you that if you are found guilty, you could be facing life in prison.”

  Nick’s mouth opened and closed again without any words coming out.

  “I need permission to discuss your case with your dad,” Morgan said.

  “OK. Sure. Is there any way you can get me out of here?” Nick asked.

  The bleakness in his eyes destroyed her. “The judge has set bail at a million dollars. Your dad would have to come up with ten percent of that amount, or one hundred thousand dollars.”

  His shoulders slumped. “He doesn’t have that kind of money.”

  “I don’t want to add financial issues to your worries right now, but a solid defense will be expensive. I’ll work your case pro bono, but I’ll have to pay for expert testimony, additional testing of evidence, and an investigator, among other things. As much as I hate this situation, you’re going to have to choose how to spend your limited funds. If you tie it all up with the bail bond, there won’t be any left for your defense.”

  “So I have to stay in jail?” Panic edged Nick’s voice.

  Morgan put her hand over his. “I wish you didn’t.”

  “You don’t know what it’s like . . .” Nick glanced around the tiny room, fear shadowing his eyes.

  “I don’t want you to spend the next twenty-five years of your life behind bars.” Morgan squeezed his fingers. “I’m so sorry this is happening to you.”

  He took a shaky breath, and then sniffed hard and lifted his chin. “I’ll be OK. Thanks for everything you’re doing.”

  “In the meantime, you have to be very careful. Do not speak about your case to anyone in here. Not your cellmates, the guards, no one. Don’t even think out loud. Oth
er inmates might try to use information you give them as leverage in their own cases.” In her days as an ADA, Morgan had seen prosecutors elicit information from other prisoners. “Do not speak about the case on the phone, even if you’re talking to me or your dad. The call could be monitored and recorded. Do not waive any rights. Do not talk to any investigator unless I am with you. The prosecutor does not have to honor promises made by other law enforcement officers.”

  “None of this seems right.”

  “No. It doesn’t. But I’m going to do my best to get you out as quickly as possible.” Morgan summoned the guard and watched as Nick was cuffed and led away.

  She shook off her depression, gathered her notes, and left the room. After exiting the jail, Morgan drove to the DA’s office.

  It was time to talk to Bryce. No doubt he’d already heard she’d agreed to defend Nick, but she owed him the courtesy of a face-to-face meeting. The District Attorney’s office was in the municipal complex down the street from the county jail. Morgan parked in the visitors’ lot and got out of her van. Her pumps clicked on the pavement as she strode toward the entrance.

  “Ms. Dane?”

  Morgan paused and pivoted. She recognized the man jogging toward her. A reporter with a local cable channel. A dozen strides behind him, a cameraman followed. She put on her sincere face. Nick needed someone to be his spokesperson.

  The reporter stopped, straightened the lapels of his suit, and waited for the cameraman to catch up. Once the lens was up and the green light illuminated, the reporter began. “Is it true that you will be representing the man accused of raping and murdering Tessa Palmer?”

  “I am defending Nick Zabrowski.” Words mattered, and Morgan chose hers carefully. She would always use Nick’s name or refer to him as her client. The press and the prosecutor would call Nick the defendant or the accused to cast guilt on him every time they spoke. Morgan would strive to make Nick appear as a victim of a skewed justice system, a human being caught in circumstances beyond his control. It was Morgan’s job to make the public see that what was happening to Nick could happen to any one of them.

  “You used to be a prosecutor. How does it feel to be trying to free a suspect rather than put one away?” He thrust the microphone back.

  The press had already done Nick a huge disservice with their sensational, clickbait headlines. Unfortunately, the first station to report news won, and success had nothing to do with accuracy. But Morgan couldn’t afford to ruffle any media feathers.

  “I have no comment at this time other than to say that my client is innocent, and we’re anxious to get busy proving it.” She lifted her chin and shot the camera a sincere and confident look.

  “What about Tessa Palmer?”

  Morgan softened her expression. When her eyes filled, she didn’t bother to hide it. “What happened to Tessa was terrible and tragic. She was a kind and intelligent young woman with a bright future ahead of her. No one should ever have to suffer as she did.” Morgan wouldn’t shy away from condemning the crime or sympathizing with the victim. “But the horrific nature of the crime doesn’t warrant rushing into an assumption of guilt or making a premature arrest.”

  She turned from the reporter to the camera. “I will prove that Nick is innocent, but I also want to see Tessa’s real killer caught. My client didn’t commit this terrible crime. Therefore, someone else did.” Morgan paused, giving the camera a dead-certain gaze. “And so long as Nick is unjustly held behind bars, the real murderer is still out there.”

  She left the press with that final sound bite and went inside.

  Five minutes later, she faced the DA across his desk. “I felt I owed you the withdrawal of my application in person.”

  “Thank you for that.” Bryce gestured to one of the chairs facing his wide desk. “I can’t say I’m not disappointed.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way.” Morgan eased onto the edge of her seat.

  But under Bryce’s quiet facade, anger simmered. The DA wasn’t taking her decision well. “I can’t believe you’d throw away a great job for a hopeless case. Nick Zabrowski is guilty as sin.”

  Morgan didn’t comment. What was the point? She hadn’t even reviewed the evidence yet. Bryce wasn’t going to offer much of a plea, not on a murder case this juicy. Tessa was the girl next door. She was brutalized and killed right in her own community. Tessa represented innocence spoiled. Her murder pulled at the emotions of every parent, brother, sister, and neighbor. What did people fear more than a vicious attacker raping and killing their daughters?

  Nothing.

  Bryce rested his forearms on the desk. The French cuffs of his white shirt poked out of his jacket sleeves. His cufflinks were sterling-and-onyx discs, classic and understated. “Let’s talk about your client pleading guilty and saving the tax payers time and money.”

  “Talk away,” Morgan said. “As I haven’t received or reviewed all the evidence at this time, the discussion will have to be one-sided.”

  “Before she was stabbed nine times, Tessa Palmer was sexually assaulted. DNA from the semen matches your client’s. Blood scraped from under the victim’s thumbnail also matches your client’s DNA. This is all noted on the affidavit, in case you were thinking about challenging the probable cause for the search warrant.”

  How had Bryce gotten DNA results that quickly?

  Bryce continued. “We have a witness who saw your client arguing with the victim shortly before she was killed and a video tape of him fighting with the victim’s ex an hour before that. On the video, your client is clearly the aggressor in the altercation.”

  Morgan didn’t panic even though the evidence seemed overwhelming. The prosecutor would spin every fact into proof of Nick’s guilt. It was Morgan’s job to find an alternative explanation and uncover other evidence or testimony that would cast doubt on the DA’s theory.

  Bryce leaned back, interlacing his fingers and resting them on his blotter, confidence oozing from every pore. The man was very good. “Did you know that Tessa was pregnant?”

  Shit.

  Only her experience as a trial lawyer kept the shock from Morgan’s expression, but she was sure he’d seen it in her eyes.

  “You’ll see this in the autopsy report, but in case you were wondering, your client was not the father.” Bryce watched her face.

  How many favors had Bryce called in to get those DNA results expedited? And why hadn’t he served the Zabrowskis with a search warrant before receiving the test results? Most judges would have signed a warrant based on witness statements that Nick had argued with Tessa shortly before her death. Probable cause was often balanced with the need to collect evidence before the suspect disposed of it. But Bryce had dotted every I and crossed every T.

  Morgan simply nodded while her mind worked. When she’d worked on Bryce’s side of the court, she’d been threatened and harassed by criminals. She’d learned to keep her game face through just about anything.

  “Still no comment?” Bryce lifted his brows.

  “Not at this time.”

  “Here’s the way I see it. Your client found out that Tessa cheated on him. She was pregnant by another guy. She broke up with him. Your client was jealous. Enraged. So he raped and stabbed her.”

  “That’s a pretty big stretch.”

  Bryce’s body tipped forward. “Here’s the only offer your client is going to get. If he pleads guilty to first degree murder and rape, I’ll recommend a twenty-five-year sentence instead of life without parole.”

  In the state of New York, the death penalty wasn’t an option.

  “I will be sure to pass your offer along to my client after I review all of the evidence.”

  “You do that.” Bryce straightened. The only sign of his irritation was a tightly clenched fist on the desktop. “Once the grand jury convenes, the offer is off the table.”

  “Thank you.” Morgan stood, reached across the desk, and offered Bryce her hand.

  “I will give you this, counselor.” Bryc
e took it in a brief squeeze. “You are a class act. It’s a shame you’ve just destroyed your career.”

  Morgan left Bryce’s office with a weighted heart. Even if Bryce was stretching with his theory, the evidence against Nick was convincing. Juries loved DNA. She hurried down the hall and into the elevator. Some of the evidentiary documents were being sent via secure email and should start hitting her inbox in a few hours. She was anxious to get started. She had some decisions to make, like how she would hire an investigator without a retainer.

  She had one option: Lance.

  She drove home distracted, her mind on the case, and pulled into her driveway as if on auto-pilot. No one was home. She checked her watch. Not even lunchtime yet. On Friday mornings, the house was typically empty. Gianna had dialysis, Sophie was in preschool, and Grandpa played chauffeur.

  Grabbing her purse, Morgan climbed out of the van and went up the front walk. Her phone buzzed with an email, and she dug it out of the pocket of her bag. She was opening her email app as she approached the house.

  She was nearly to the door before she saw it. Her phone slipped from her fingers and hit the brick path.

  It couldn’t be.

  Her brain refused to believe what she was seeing. She squeezed her eyes shut for a second then opened them again. But it was still there.

  Just below the monogrammed pewter knocker, a bloody heart was pinned to the door with a knife.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “A knife through the heart?” Anger surged through Lance as he viewed the photo Morgan handed him.

  “The symbolism is clear.” Morgan rubbed her biceps and perched on the second folding chair he’d brought into his makeshift office.

  By agreeing to defend Nick, in the neighbors’ eyes, Morgan had turned on them.

  “It’s a cow heart. I reported it to the police.” Morgan shivered and crossed her long legs. “They took pictures and filed a report. I doubt anything will come of it. No one in the community except Bud is on Nick’s side.” She pressed a hand to her forehead. “Where can you get a cow heart? I called the local grocery stores and butcher shops. No luck.”