Her Last Goodbye (Morgan Dane Book 2) Page 16

  Tim didn’t react. His eyes were fixed in horror on the sheriff, who was watching him with sympathetic—and assessing—eyes.

  And Morgan got it.

  Sheriff King had wanted to see Tim’s reaction. King had wanted to be the one to deliver the news. So he’d done his best to isolate Tim so he didn’t find out another way.

  As if he was following Morgan’s train of thought, the sheriff said, “I didn’t want you to hear this on the news, which is why I sent a deputy to get you immediately. When I left the scene, the first reporters were showing up. It won’t take long.”

  Morgan had proudly worked many cases on the side of law enforcement, but in the last few weeks, she’d seen the flip side of criminal law. How people who were supposedly considered innocent were treated. And what she’d learned so far wasn’t pretty.

  The sheriff could have gone to Tim’s house, or he could have sent another officer. Dragging Tim in hadn’t been necessary.

  “Do you know how long she’d been out there?” Lance asked.

  “Hard to say.” The sheriff shook his head. “Coyotes had dug up—”

  Tim made a soft, choking noise.

  “Sheriff,” Morgan said in a reproachful voice.

  The sheriff blinked at her. “Sorry.”

  “Could my client have some water?” Morgan asked, furious. They’d all seen Tim’s response to the news. He was obviously shocked. He did not need to know that wild animals had mauled the body.

  “Of course.” The sheriff got up and left the room.

  Tim shoved his chair back, bent at the waist, and buried his face in his hands. His breathing was too fast and shallow.

  Morgan put a hand on his arm. “Take a deep breath and hold it for a few seconds. You’re going to hyperventilate. There’s no point in assuming the worst. Hang on until we get more information.”

  Without lifting his head, he nodded.

  The sheriff returned with several bottles of water that he set on the table. He dropped back into the seat facing Tim.

  Tim sat up, his face contorted with the effort of controlling his emotions.

  “What do you know about the woman?” Lance asked.

  The sheriff lifted a shoulder. “Not much other than she was blonde and the medical examiner thought she was in her twenties.”

  Tim’s eye twitched. He didn’t need to hear every detail at this time. Morgan could fill him in on the details when the preliminary autopsy report was finished.

  Morgan handed Tim a bottle of water. “Why don’t we go into the hall for a couple of minutes?”

  Tim twisted off the cap and took a mouthful of water. He seemed to have trouble swallowing. He lowered the bottle and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “No. I want to hear everything.”

  “Are you sure?” Morgan asked. “It’s not necessary. You might be torturing yourself for no reason.”

  Tim pressed his palms to his eyes for a few seconds. When he lowered his hands, he’d regained his composure. “Where was she found?”

  “Route 87, in Black Run State Park,” the sheriff said. “I know this is hard. I’ll let you know as soon as I have more information to share.”

  “Thank you.” The words caught in the back of Tim’s throat, and he stared at his water without drinking, seemingly lost.

  “Let’s get you home before the press shows up.” Morgan didn’t want Tim to have to run a gauntlet of reporters, cameras, and microphones to get into his house.

  Nodding, Tim stood. He wobbled a little and put a palm on the table to steady his balance.

  “Oh, Tim,” the sheriff said. “Before you leave, I need you to officially state that this belonged to your wife.”

  He set a small paper evidence bag on the table. Opening the metal clasp, he dumped the contents on the table. The bird pendant slid a few inches across the smooth fake wood surface. “Does this look familiar?”

  Tim paled and sucked in a sharp breath. Leaning harder on the table, he reached forward to touch the pendant then paused, his hand hovering a few inches above the silver bird.

  “You can touch it,” the sheriff said. “It’s already been processed.”

  “It’s Chelsea’s.” Tim picked it up by the chain. He straightened. Draping the necklace across his palm, he stroked the tiny silver bird. “She never takes this off. Her parents gave it to her when she graduated high school.” He looked up, his eyes bleak. “This was near where her car was found?”

  “Yes,” the sheriff answered.

  “So she was there, anyway.” Tim closed his eyes for a few seconds.

  With a quick look at Morgan and Lance, the sheriff added, “Maybe.”

  The sheriff was holding back. Morgan searched his face. He had more information than he was giving them.

  “How long until we know?” Tim asked in a too quiet voice.

  “Worst case scenario, we have to wait for a DNA analysis, which could take weeks. But it’s possible we’ll know much sooner.” Could the sheriff be any more vague? But then again, maybe he had good reason.

  The police had Chelsea’s fingerprints. The body must have been in bad shape if the sheriff wasn’t sure that they could be compared. Rodents sometimes nibbled on fingertips. Bears and coyotes dismembered and disseminated bodies. The medical examiner might not even have all of the remains. While Morgan believed in being honest with her client, Tim didn’t need to know any of these things. Not yet, anyway. If the body was positively ID’d as Chelsea, then he’d learn all the gruesome details. Until then, what was the point in causing him more distress?

  “Oh, no.” Tim started for the door. “I have to get home before Rand and Patricia see this on the news.”

  Her parents would be devastated.

  What were the chances that the body of another blonde woman would turn up the same week that Chelsea disappeared?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Morgan bristled as they passed four news vans parked in front of Tim’s house.

  Damn it!

  This is not how Chelsea’s parents should have heard about the body being found. The sheriff should have driven out to the house to tell Tim and Chelsea’s parents instead of dragging Tim down to the station. Rand and Patricia deserved more respect than finding out via the news.

  “Looks like the press found out about the body,” Lance said. “The days of carefully controlled press conferences are over. There’s more pressure to be first than there is to be accurate.”

  “I should have called them,” Tim said.

  “You did what you thought was best,” Morgan said.

  “You know what they say about good intentions,” Tim replied.

  Lance parked, and the three of them got out of the Jeep and walked up the driveway. A dozen reporters smoothed their hair and touched up their makeup. Cameramen and sound techs set up equipment.

  “There he is!” someone yelled. “Tim!”

  A reporter lunged at him. A microphone was thrust into his face. Lance shouldered the reporter out of the way, but a dozen bodies pushed forward.

  Angry, Morgan leaned over and spoke in Tim’s ear. “Don’t answer any questions in this format. Try to ignore them.”

  But the barrage came from all sides. Morgan and Lance flanked Tim, trying to shield him, but his hands were shaking by the time they reached the top of the driveway.

  Then the front door opened, and everyone froze. Chelsea’s father stepped outside, his face set in a stony mask of despair. Three seconds ticked by as everyone simply stared. Then the moment of silence passed, and reporters turned away from Tim and rushed for Rand. His eyes were watery and red-rimmed. His body swayed as if he was barely able to stay on his feet.

  He knew.

  Tim walked closer, through the gauntlet of cameras and eager bodies.

  Morgan pushed through the throng. “Excuse me.”

  A reporter stumbled back as she elbowed him aside and fought her way up the three steps toward Rand.

  “My wife and I just learned that the body of a
young woman was found in the state park.” Rand’s jaw shifted. Muscles tensed in a face taut enough to shatter. “Until we hear otherwise, we will not simply assume this woman is our daughter. We will continue to look for her, and we hope the sheriff’s department will do the same.”

  Morgan stopped dead. She didn’t have the heart to interrupt.

  A reporter thrust a microphone in front of Rand. “Are you saying you don’t have confidence in the sheriff’s investigation?”

  Bitterness glinted in Rand’s misty eyes. “He hasn’t found anything, has he? Hikers found this poor woman.”

  Another reporter turned back to Tim. “Mr. Clark, do you think the woman who was found is your wife?”

  Tim choked.

  Morgan grabbed the microphone and pulled it to her. “We’re still waiting on word from the medical examiner. There’s no value in speculating at this point.”

  Another newsman confronted Tim. “The sheriff’s office refuses to clear you as a suspect. How do you feel about that, Mr. Clark?”

  Again, Morgan redirected the mic from Tim’s face to her own. “Mr. Clark simply wants the sheriff’s department to find his wife. He supports the sheriff’s efforts to conduct a thorough investigation. Tim has never been accused of having anything to do with his wife’s disappearance.”

  Next to her, Tim cleared his throat. “I just want my wife to come home. I don’t care about anything else.”

  He walked up the steps toward his front door like a zombie.

  “Tim’s right,” Rand said in a stiff voice. “We won’t rest until we’ve brought Chelsea home. Which is why we’re offering a ten-thousand-dollar reward for information that leads to finding Chelsea.”

  Morgan snapped to attention.

  Questions burst from the media.

  “Is there a hotline number?”

  “Can tips be given anonymously?”

  “Do you have details on that reward?”

  “Is the offer still valid if she’s dead?”

  Cold bastard!

  Rand flinched at the question.

  Morgan slid forward and gently eased in front of him. If she’d known he was thinking about offering a reward, she would have tried to persuade him to talk to the sheriff first. Rewards could be helpful, but they could also muddy the investigation. But the offer was out there. No way to take it back. All she could do was manage the fallout. “Details about the reward will be forthcoming from the sheriff’s department.”

  “If the body is identified as Chelsea, then what happens to the money?”

  Enough!

  Tim stiffened and reached for the nearest microphone. “Please. My family is going through the hardest time of our lives. We ask that you pray for us. And if anyone has any information that might help find my wife, please call the sheriff’s department. Please help us bring Chelsea home, and if you don’t have any information, then we ask that you respect our privacy.”

  With that, Tim turned and herded his father-in-law back into the house. Closing the door, he looked out through the narrow window next to the door.

  Morgan repeated her statement about the reward. Lance stayed at her side, his body tense, his eyes scanning the group, looking for threats. When she was finished, Morgan ignored follow-up questions. They went inside, hoping the reporters would be satisfied enough to leave.

  They found Rand hunched over the kitchen table.

  His gaze met Morgan’s. “I’m sorry if I messed up. I wasn’t thinking. We saw the news about the body on Facebook. Patricia almost fainted.”

  “I’m the one who should be sorry.” Tim sighed. “I was trying to get back in time to tell you in person. I didn’t want you to find out that way.”

  “It’s not your fault. It would have been a shock no matter how the news was delivered.” Rand’s shoulders hunched as if unable to bear the weight of the day.

  “Where are the kids?” Tim asked.

  Rand pointed at the ceiling. “Patricia took them upstairs. She didn’t want Bella to overhear . . .”

  “Good thinking,” Tim said. He turned to face Morgan. “I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t totally screw up out there. I didn’t know how to react.”

  “You did fine,” Morgan said. “Your reaction was honest and sincere.”

  Rand got up and paced the room. “I’m done with that sheriff. He’s just going to get mad. He didn’t want me to offer a reward in the first place. He’s lazy and doesn’t want to follow up on the leads. Do we really have to involve him in the reward? I’d rather we handle it ourselves.”

  “There are legal obligations associated with a reward like this,” Morgan said. “It’s a verbal contract. And honestly, the sheriff is going to be annoyed, but he’s also going to want to retain control of the tips coming in. Handling the phone lines will be a full-time job.”

  Rand crossed his arms and lifted his chin in defiance. “It only takes one good tip.”

  “I agree,” Morgan said. “But we don’t have the manpower or the expertise to handle the sheer volume. But in the end, it’s up to you. I’m just asking that you give it serious thought before you decide. Remember, there will be people trying to take advantage. Ten thousand dollars is a lot of money.”

  “Rand, I know what you’re trying to do,” Tim said. “But we hired a professional for a reason, right? What’s the point if we’re not going to listen to her?”

  “OK. You’re right.” Rand nodded, the gesture short and curt and unhappy. He clearly didn’t want to give up control. “Let the sheriff handle it.”

  “Do you want me to talk to Sheriff King?” Morgan offered. The sheriff was not going to be happy, but that was too damned bad. He should have been more sensitive to the family’s feelings.

  “Is that all right with you, Rand?” Tim asked. “It’s your money.”

  “It’s fine,” Rand snapped. Then his aggression faded back to grief. “I don’t care about the money. I just want my baby back.” His voice broke.

  “I know.” Tim nodded. “But thank you anyway. This wouldn’t be an option without your help.”

  “Now that the reward offer has been made, I’ll call the sheriff and let him know,” Morgan said. “We’ll need to issue a formal statement outlining the terms. The sheriff will have to give us a hotline number. Rand, do you have the money readily available? There could be multiple claimants; though, we’ll include an expiration date and language to give us the ability to change or pull the reward if necessary.”

  As much as Morgan hated to be practical at a time like this, if Chelsea was dead, the family should keep its money. Rand and Patricia appeared to be comfortable but not wealthy. Tim would have new childcare expenses. Raising kids was not cheap. He would be doing it alone. As Morgan well knew, single parenting was hard enough without financial hardship.

  She continued. “Also, we might want to consider holding a press conference once the details are worked out. The media will really jump on this. When Chelsea disappeared, coverage had to compete with the police shooting. It would be a good idea to get her picture circulating again and make sure everyone in the area knows she is missing and has a fresh image of her in their minds. We can utilize social media. Criminals will turn on their mothers for ten thousand dollars.”

  At least, that was what Morgan hoped.

  Chapter Twenty

  The door opened, and he came in, his black-masked face like a doll with no features.

  Chelsea’s heart jolted as she scampered off the cot, eyes cast down at her bare toes. Her body was sore, but she’d eaten the protein bar from that morning, sipped water, and moved around enough to prevent further stiffness from settling into her bruised limbs.

  The calories and hydration had helped, though she was careful to move as if she was weak and timid. He seemed to like that.

  He held a canvas bag in his hand. When he set it down on the floor, it jangled. Not food.

  Apprehension stirred in her belly. Something was different in his posture, his attitude.

  “
I have something special planned for you tonight.” Excitement vibrated through his tone.

  Chelsea’s pulse quickened. Sweat broke out between her shoulder blades and breasts as anxiety blossomed into real fear.

  “Say the rules,” he commanded, as he had every time he’d come into the container.

  She repeated them.

  “Repeat number one.”

  “I belong to you. I will do what you say without question. I am your property.”

  He opened the bag at his feet. “Lay on the cot, facedown.”

  She backed to the wall, her bones trembling. “No. Please.”

  The words barely left her mouth before she realized her mistake.

  He straightened, anger tensing his body. “What did you say?”

  She slapped a hand over her mouth.

  “I thought we’d gotten past that.” He shook his head in disappointment as he stepped closer. “Not only did you speak without permission, but you dared to defy me.”

  The blow came with lightning speed. Delivered with an open hand, the slap stunned and stung without affecting her consciousness. Still, the force of it sent her reeling. She landed on her knees, the impact with the wooden floor ringing pain through her legs.

  “I will not repeat myself again.” His words were slow and deliberate, menacing. “On the cot. Facedown.”

  Chelsea’s entire body shook, but she couldn’t seem to move. Her limbs were useless.

  “I guess we still have some work to do.” He grabbed the handles of his bag with one hand and took a handful of her hair with the other. Her scalp screamed as he dragged her onto the cot.

  “Don’t move.”

  She turned her head to watch as he removed thick leather straps from the bag. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she couldn’t stop the sobs that poured from her mouth.

  What is he going to do?

  He took one hand and firmly tied it to the leg of the cot. Then he did the same with the other. He pulled her dress up to her waist before strapping her torso and legs down.

  Cold air caressed Chelsea’s exposed legs and buttocks.