Her Last Goodbye (Morgan Dane Book 2) Page 29

  “Damned straight.”

  “Hand me a few files. Let’s see if we’ve overlooked anything else.”

  They passed files back and forth. A few hours later, Morgan said, “This can’t be right.”

  He pressed his shoulder to hers. “What?”

  She sifted through her mound of files. Opening one, she flipped through the pages of one of her meticulous files. Her fingertip slid down a page and stopped. She started reassembling her files. “We need to check with the sheriff.”

  “What did you find?”

  “It’s not what I found, but what I didn’t find.” She opened a file. “This is the list of Speed Net employees Elliot Pagano gave us.”

  “OK. We checked them all out. They were all clean except Kirk Armani. Did you find something else on him?”

  “No. But Elliot didn’t include his brother, Derek, on this list.”

  “Maybe he forgot to include his family?”

  Morgan shook her head. “His mother and father are here, and so is every member of Tim’s team. The janitor is even listed. But not Derek. I’d like to ask the sheriff if Derek is included on his list. It’s probably just an oversight.” She reached for her cell phone, frowned when the call went to voice mail, and left a message.

  “Considering the scope of last night’s crime scene, the sheriff might still be there. Or he’s interviewing Harold Burns,” Lance said. “Either way, he’ll call back. We should drive over to my mom’s house. She’ll make quick work of Derek Pagano’s background.”

  “OK. I need to stop at the office for my laptop. I have clothes there too.” Morgan stretched.

  “I’m going to grab a quick shower. Then we can go to the office.” Lance headed toward his bedroom. He glanced back at her, all tousled and gorgeous. “The sheriff still hasn’t returned your call. Want to join me?”

  Her smile brightened her eyes. “I do.”

  The shower wasn’t as quick as he’d intended. But the extra time was well spent.

  Very well spent.

  An hour later, Morgan still looked tired, but her posture was much more relaxed as they headed to Sharp Investigations. She changed her clothes and grabbed her computer. Lance made protein shakes, but Morgan still insisted they stop for coffee. He went through the drive-through, succumbing to the smells emanating from the coffee shop and ordering one for himself. He handed her the vat she’d ordered, and she nearly purred when she sipped it.

  The sun was high over the trees as they drove to Lance’s mother’s house. Morgan slung her bag over her shoulder and carried her giant coffee up the walk. Lance followed. A bark greeted them as they went inside. Rocket rushed into the foyer and butted Morgan’s legs with her head. Morgan leaned down and stroked the dog’s head.

  “I’ve been thinking.” Sharp appeared in the kitchen doorway. “You should take her home with you. She likes kids, and that little purse pup of yours is worthless as a watchdog.”

  “But she’s your dog.” Morgan straightened.

  “Not from where I’m standing.” Sharp snorted. “Rocket barks when someone is at the door, and she proved she’d protect you last month.”

  “I’ll talk it over with Grandpa.” Her smile faded.

  “How is he?” Sharp asked.

  “I talked to my sister this morning. There’s been no change.”

  “No change can be good.” Sharp turned up his nose at their coffee cups. “Come back to the office. Let’s get caught up.”

  Lance automatically scanned his mom’s living room. No packages. Lance didn’t remember a week where he hadn’t had to return or give away a Jeep full of merchandise to keep his mom from sinking back into hoarder status. How long had it been since she’d indulged her unrestrained shopper? Was it possible she’d finally learned to control her impulses, after more than two decades of indulging them? Lance was afraid to be hopeful. Her history with change wasn’t promising.

  They left their coats in the living room and went back to the office. Lance rounded the desk and kissed his mom on the cheek. “You look tired.”

  His mom came out from behind the desk to greet Morgan with a hug.

  A hug!

  Mom hadn’t hugged anyone except Lance or Sharp in decades. What the hell was going on?

  Rocket followed them into the office. Mom’s two cats perched on a shelf, staring down at the dog with disdain.

  A kitchen chair sat across the desk from his mother. Sharp’s laptop was on the desk, facing the chair.

  Lance explained about Derek Pagano’s name not being on the list of Speed Net employees. “It might just be an oversight, but I’d like to learn everything we can about Derek ASAP.”

  His mom cracked her knuckles over the keyboard. “OK. Let me get to it.”

  Since she’d started doing background checks for their firm, his mom had set up search engine software that simplified much of the process of tracing a person’s address history, obtaining a credit report, checking driving records, and verifying educational credits.

  Sharp sat in his chair and opened his laptop. “We can speed this up. I’ll start on the criminal searches. What county is he in?”

  Lance’s mom said, “I’ll have that for you in a minute.”

  There was no way for them, as private investigators, to run a national criminal history search. Only law enforcement agencies had access to the National Crime Information Center, the FBI’s national database of crime data. The next best option was a criminal records search in each of the counties where the individual had lived. They were lucky that Randolph County maintained its most current records online. Sharp would start with Derek’s current county of residence and work backward after the social security trace had identified any previous addresses.

  “Excuse me. I’m going to call my kids,” Morgan said as she left the room.

  Lance waited until his mom and Sharp found Derek’s Pagano’s address and social security number. Then he went looking for Morgan. She was sitting on the living room sofa, her phone in her lap. Her head rested against the sofa back. Her eyes were closed and her breathing deep and even. He picked up a folded afghan from a chair and spread it over her.

  Confident that Sharp would wake him if they discovered anything interesting, Lance stretched out in the chair with his feet on the ottoman and closed his eyes. The room was dark when someone shook his shoulder. He looked over at the couch. Morgan was curled on her side, one hand under her cheek.

  Sharp stood next to his chair. “We found it.”

  “Found what?” Morgan opened her eyes and sat up, tucking her legs alongside her body.

  “Derek Pagano is registered as a sex offender in Meeker County,” Sharp said.

  “But my grandfather checked the surrounding counties.” Morgan’s voice was sleepy. “He wouldn’t have missed the name Pagano. It isn’t very common.”

  “Derek is a level one,” Sharp clarified. “He wasn’t on the website. I had to call to find out he was on the list.”

  Level-one offenders were considered to be at low risk of committing future crimes and were afforded more privacy than more serious offenders. By law, their names could not be included on the registry list. But if an individual called the sex offender information line with a specific name and address or social security number, they could find out if that person was registered.

  “What did he do?” Morgan rubbed the side of her neck. One side of her face was lined from being smashed into the seam on the couch cushion.

  “Voyeurism was the official charge.” Sharp perched on the edge of Lance’s chair. “I’m trying to get more information. I left a message for the detective who handled the case, but it’s Sunday. I don’t really expect a call back today.”

  Morgan blinked hard, as if to clear the sleep from her eyes. “Do you know the stats on voyeurs escalating to violent offenses?”

  “There are two ways to look at it,” Sharp said. “Only a small percentage of voyeurs go on to commit more serious offenses, but many rapists and serial mur
derers display voyeuristic tendencies.”

  Morgan balled up a fist on her knee. “I can’t believe we didn’t notice he wasn’t on the list.”

  “That list had forty-nine names on it,” Sharp said. “We checked each one. If you hadn’t seen Derek at Speed Net, we would never have known he worked there.”

  Lance could see her brain firing up. “We shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves.”

  “Derek owns one property in Meeker County, the one he lists as his address,” Sharp said. “We didn’t find any secret real estate holdings of any of the Pagano family other than those listed as their official addresses. Derek’s property is rural, so it’s the most promising.”

  “Does Derek have any other arrests on record?”

  “Not that we found,” Sharp said. “But we tried to call the girl who recently broke up with him. She moved to London.”

  “Maybe to get away from Derek.” Morgan’s eyes brightened as she mulled over the information. “And if Derek isn’t guilty of anything, then why did Elliot leave him off the list?”

  Chapter Forty

  “Have you checked on Chelsea Clark?” Morgan asked. She and Lance faced the sheriff across his desk.

  “I talked to Tim right after you called me.” The sheriff leaned back in his chair. “She’s doing as well as can be expected.”

  He and his deputies wore wrinkled uniforms and smelled like they’d been working for thirty-six hours straight.

  Morgan explained what they found out about Derek Pagano. “Is he on your list of Speed Net employees?”

  With a long-suffering sigh, the sheriff tipped his body forward. He swiveled his chair and pulled the file from a bin on his credenza. Pivoting back to his desk, he opened the file on his blotter, flipped though pages, and scanned lists. He frowned. “I don’t see his name here.”

  “You didn’t know he was a sex offender?” Morgan asked.

  “No. But we’ve found evidence that Harold and Jerry Burns have been very busy. There were photos of other women, chained, beaten.” He paused. “Dead. We found pictures of Sarah Bernard.”

  “So, they definitely killed her?” Morgan asked.

  The sheriff nodded. “As we speak, there are cadaver dogs searching the woods around the salvage yard and the area of the state park where Sarah Bernard’s body was found. We expect to find additional bodies.”

  “But you didn’t find a picture of Chelsea?” Lance asked.

  “No.” The sheriff shook his head. “But we didn’t find any photos of Karen Mitchell either. Maybe photography came later in the Burns brothers’ fantasies.”

  “Was either Karen Mitchell or Sarah Bernard branded?” Morgan asked.

  The sheriff shook his head. “No.”

  Morgan rolled the evidence in her mind for a few seconds. “Did you find a piece of metal to match the brand used on Chelsea?”

  The sheriff’s mouth turned down at the corners. “Not yet.”

  “Elliot left his brother’s name off his employee list. I can’t see how that was anything except an intentional omission. Doesn’t that bother you?” Lance asked.

  “It does, but we have our man,” the sheriff said. “Or in this case, men.”

  “The prosecutor will want the information on Derek,” Morgan pointed out. “The defense attorney will pounce on any inconsistencies in your reports.”

  The sheriff dropped his elbows onto the desk and massaged his temples for a few seconds. Looking up, he considered Morgan with bloodshot eyes. “If I promise to send an officer out to talk to Derek Pagano, will you get out of my office and stop calling my cell phone?”

  “Yes,” Morgan said, not exactly pleased with his lackluster response. “When will you do that?”

  “As soon as I can.” The sheriff rested both palms flat on his desk and pushed to his feet. “I have some loose ends to tie up before I can go home to a shower, a meal, and my bed. You should both do the same. You look like shit.”

  “Thank you, I think.” Morgan stood and offered her hand across the desk.

  The sheriff took it, albeit grudgingly. “You’re OK, Counselor. But don’t get in my way again.”

  “Good night.” Morgan smiled politely, but she made no promises.

  She and Lance left the sheriff’s station. Light from overhead lamps puddled in yellow circles on the asphalt. A blast of cold air swept across the parking lot. Mid-October felt more like winter than autumn.

  Morgan clutched the lapels of her coat together. “I’m not sure what to think of the sheriff. Sometimes he seems competent, but his department definitely dropped the ball a few times on this investigation.”

  Lance walked closer, his body shielding her from the wind. “He probably should have called the state police for help on a case that clearly strained the resources of his department, but that’s against his nature. Maybe next time he pulls a case of this magnitude, he will.”

  Morgan doubted it. Old dogs could learn new tricks, but she didn’t have the same faith in humans.

  Her phone buzzed. She dug it out of her bag. Her sister’s name was displayed on the screen.

  “It’s Stella.” She answered the call, nerves jangling. “Hello?”

  “He’s awake,” Stella said.

  Morgan put a hand to the center of her chest. Her heart thumped hard and relief weakened her legs. “I’m so glad.”

  “I thought you’d want to know right away.”

  “God, yes.” Morgan could barely catch her breath. “Where’s Peyton?”

  “She’s talking with the doctor. Grandpa is already ornery. He’s asking for bacon and eggs. Ian just got here too. But Grandpa is kicking us all out tonight. He said he doesn’t need a damned babysitter and that we all look worse than he does.”

  “I can’t believe it.”

  “Stop by and see him,” Stella said. “You’ll feel better.”

  “I will.” Morgan ended the call and slid into the passenger seat of the Jeep.

  Lance took her hand over the console and squeezed it. His hand warmed hers. “Your grandfather is all right?”

  “Yes. Awake and hungry.” She drummed her fingers on the armrest. “I’m going to call Tim on the way and make sure he and Chelsea are OK.”

  Morgan called Tim’s cell number. He didn’t answer, and she left a message. “Let’s drive by Tim and Chelsea’s house.”

  “Why?”

  “He didn’t answer his phone.”

  “Maybe he’s busy.” Despite his argument, Lance turned in the direction of the Clarks’ neighborhood.

  “Nothing would make me happier than the county forensics team finding DNA in a storage container in the salvage yard. I really want this to be over for Tim and Chelsea.”

  “But?”

  “But there’s no physical evidence linking the Burns brothers to Chelsea’s kidnapping.”

  “The sheriff said he’d send an officer to talk to Derek Pagano.”

  “He didn’t say when,” Morgan pointed out. “And what is Sheriff King going to do without any evidence?”

  “We don’t know that Derek did anything. Unfortunately, the police can’t get a search warrant based on gut instinct.”

  “Elliot lied.” Six years as a prosecutor had given Morgan an excellent lie detector. Yet she hadn’t picked up Elliot’s omission. Either he was very good or he had simply made a mistake.

  “He omitted information,” Lance clarified. “Maybe he was just trying to protect his brother.”

  Morgan fastened her seat belt. “Let’s drive by Derek’s house.”

  “The sheriff said he’d do it.”

  “He didn’t say when, and we didn’t promise not to pay Derek a visit,” Morgan said.

  “Good point.”

  Meeker County was a twenty-minute drive from the sheriff’s station. Lance followed the GPS until it led them to a narrow county road in the middle of the woods. Not a streetlight in sight.

  “What is the house number?” Lance asked, slowing the vehicle and squinting through the wind
shield. The houses were spaced very far apart on the rural route. The last mailbox had been nearly a mile back.

  Morgan scrolled on her phone. “Two hundred thirty-eight.”

  Lance stopped the Jeep. “That’s two fifty and the last house was number two twenty-seven.

  “How can there be no house?”

  “The address is wrong.” Lance turned the Jeep around. “Could be a simple error.”

  “Or not.” Morgan set a hand on her stomach, where anxiety burned like a smoldering match. “I don’t like this at all. Elliot omits his brother’s name from the list and doesn’t mention the fact that his brother is a convicted sex offender. Then Derek’s home address is listed incorrectly?”

  “This isn’t right.”

  “No.”

  “Would you call Sharp and put him on speakerphone?” Lance asked.

  Morgan held the phone between them as they waited for Sharp to answer.

  “What’s up?” Sharp asked.

  Lance explained the error regarding Derek’s address. “Could you double-check the house number and pull up a satellite photo of the area?”

  “I’ll will. I’ll call you when I have something.” Sharp hung up.

  “We need to talk to Tim and Chelsea,” Morgan said. She checked her phone. Tim hadn’t called her back yet.

  “Do we really want to upset her when we really don’t have much information?” Lance asked. “We have no backup. The sheriff is convinced the Burns brothers kidnapped Chelsea. We have no proof Derek is the one who actually took her.”

  “No. We don’t. We also have no evidence that he’s going to come after her again.”

  “But you think he will?”

  “Yes,” she said. “If we’re right and the sheriff is wrong, then Chelsea’s kidnapper is still out there. What if whoever broke in to my house wanted to get to Chelsea through me? Chelsea and Tim deserve to be warned.”

  Derek Pagano was the center of too many coincidences. Morgan remembered the man who’d broken into her house. He’d threatened to take Sophie for insurance that Morgan would cooperate. Had that been Derek? If so, he was willing to go to great lengths—and hurt children—to get what he wanted.