Bones Don't Lie (Morgan Dane Book 3) Page 7

  Sharp went back to pacing, as if physical movement jogged his brain.

  The ME didn’t answer. Lance left a message then set down his phone.

  “While we wait, we should conduct a thorough review of the file and make a list of people to locate and interview.” Sharp returned to the board. “Morgan, I want your eyes on this whole file. You’re the one starting fresh with no preexisting opinions.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to copy the file for my grandfather as well,” Morgan said. “He has decades of experience and nothing but time on his hands.”

  “I’d appreciate that.” Sharp started a new column entitled Interviews. Underneath, he listed Stan Adams and Brian Leed. “Vic worked for UpState Insurance. The company went bankrupt in 2012. His boss’s name was Phil Dryer. Phil was a real company man and stayed with the firm for his whole career. His last known address is in the file. There was also a secretary, Dorothy Finch. She was sixty years old in 1994 and retired when the firm closed. The last time I checked, she was living in a nursing home.”

  Lance worked on his laptop. “Stan and Brian still live in town. Their addresses haven’t changed in the last five years. I found an obituary for Dorothy Finch. Phil Dryer no longer lives at that address.”

  Under Find, Sharp wrote Phil Dryer.

  As always, Morgan was making her own notes. “What else did Vic do? He must have had hobbies, other acquaintances. Were he and Jenny socially active back then?”

  “Stan and Brian were the full extent of Vic’s social life,” Sharp said. “They played baseball and hung out at PJ’s.”

  “Is that the same PJ’s that’s on Fletcher Avenue?” Morgan asked.

  “That’s the one.” Sharp nodded. “It’s still in business. Still owned by the same family.”

  Morgan turned to Lance. “What do you remember of your dad’s friends?”

  “Not much,” Lance said. “Stan was single back then. Brian’s wife’s name was Natalie. Their kids were younger than me. Two were in diapers the last time I saw them.” Lance shook his head, his mouth flattening as he remembered the sheer, stark loneliness after his dad went missing. “They didn’t come around after my dad disappeared.”

  Sharp took a deep breath. “There were some things we’ve never talked about. At the time, you were just a boy. You had enough to cope with, and I didn’t want to burden you. But now, if you really want to dig in to your dad’s disappearance, you’ll need to prepare yourself for the less pleasant details.”

  Lance straightened. His gaze met Sharp’s briefly before he nodded. “I knew you kept things from me. Maybe I didn’t want to hear the truth if there was no real chance of finding out what happened to him. But now there is, and it’s time.”

  Over the years, he’d actively avoided learning more about the case. It was almost as if he knew the facts would change his memories of his childhood. No doubt he’d painted the period before his father vanished with a rose-colored brush. Understandable, since the years afterward had been hell.

  “All right.” Sharp took a deep breath. “Your father’s friends, Stan and Brian, told me that Victor had been concerned about his wife’s mental health. She had already begun exhibiting signs of anxiety and depression. She was still teaching at the community college but was struggling. They also said that your dad’s company was having financial problems. He was worried about getting laid off. On top of all that, your mom’s spending was getting out of control.”

  Lance digested the information. Bits of memory moved and clicked into place like a Rubik’s Cube. “So his disappearance didn’t cause her illness.”

  “It didn’t,” Sharp agreed. “But it sent her into a rapid downward spiral.”

  Given that information, the Krugers’ marriage hadn’t been the episode of Leave It to Beaver that Lance had always believed. Now that he thought about it, this version made more sense.

  “Stan and Brian said Vic was unhappy,” Sharp said. “He didn’t know what to do about Jenny’s problems. He was drinking too much.”

  Lance turned toward the board, away from Sharp. He’d always known he didn’t have the full scoop. But none of this explained how a young woman had ended up in the trunk of his dad’s car.

  “Let’s divvy up our tasks,” Sharp said. “I’ll search online records and the Social Security Death Master File for Vic’s old boss, Phil Dryer. I can also make a few calls and see if there are any good rumors floating around about the case.” Sharp knew everyone in local law enforcement who’d been on the job more than five years. “We need fresh background checks on everyone involved, and we obviously can’t ask Jenny to do them for us.”

  “I’ll take care of those. I’m not as fast as my mom, but I can get the job done,” Lance said.

  “Someone needs to go down to the county clerk’s office and check vital records. We need to find out if Phil is still alive. If he is, I want to talk to him. Maybe now that he no longer works for UpState Insurance, he’ll be more willing to share information than he was back then. I’d really like to know how precarious Vic’s job really was. Phil would never give me a straight answer about the financial health of the company.”

  “Aren’t vital records available online?” Morgan asked. “If he died, the county will have a death certificate on file.”

  “In Randolph County, you can request them online, but you might not receive them for a week or a month . . . or ever,” Sharp said.

  Morgan nodded. “I have to go to the courthouse to file a discovery motion for a DUI case I’m working on. It’s Esposito’s case, and the DA’s office has been slow to send me information.”

  “What a jerk.” Sharp shook his head. “Lance, go with Morgan to the courthouse. You can check vital records while she’s filing her motion. I don’t want her alone until her stalker is brought in.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Morgan filed her discovery motion, then took the elevator to the ground floor and navigated the maze of hallways that led to the wing of the courthouse that housed the county clerk’s office.

  Walking briskly, she turned down a corridor. A man stepped out in front of her, and she bumped into him.

  She stumbled and dropped her tote. Thankfully it was zipped, and its contents remained secure.

  “I’m sorry.” She drew back.

  Esposito.

  The last person she wanted to see.

  She stooped to recover her bag. Standing, she said, “Excuse me.”

  He blocked her path, hogging the hallway. “You’re always so focused. What are you doing here, Ms. Dane?”

  She swallowed a smart retort. Antagonizing Esposito would not help matters. But his arrogant attitude slid under her skin like a big, fat splinter.

  Morgan settled for, “I’m in a hurry. Is there something you need to discuss?”

  “You should check that attitude.”

  “I should check my attitude?”

  Esposito’s black eyes went beady. He glanced up and down the hall and lowered his voice. “You need my cooperation.”

  Morgan felt her eyebrow shoot up her forehead. What is it with this guy?

  “I can make your life very difficult.” He leaned closer, too close. He needed a breath mint. “We can do every single case the hardest way possible.”

  Enough was enough.

  Morgan put a hand six inches in front of her to keep him from leaning any closer. She hated games. She just wanted to do her job. “First of all, back off.”

  He didn’t. Instead, his eyes glittered with amusement as he shifted his weight farther forward, until his chest pushed against her hand. “You aren’t a prosecutor now. You are a lowly defense attorney, a bottom-feeder. Your clients are the scum of the earth.”

  “Like the innocent kid you tried to railroad into a plea deal?”

  His face reddened.

  “What do you want?” she asked, her temper running short.

  “Don’t ever go out of your way to try and make me look bad again.”

  Morgan st
iffened her arm to resist the press of his body weight. “I didn’t have to do anything. You made yourself look bad. Next time you want to push hard on a case, verify your evidence first. Bluffing is a gamble. Yours didn’t pay off this time.”

  “I’m warning you, counselor.”

  “Warning me of what?” Morgan asked. She could not roll over for him. Her career would be over. “I take the law very seriously. My clients deserve the best defense I can give them. I will make you prove your case every single time.”

  His lip curled away from his teeth. “You’re making a mistake.”

  He tried to take a step forward, to invade the last few inches of space between their bodies, but Morgan moved her hand into a horizontal position, until the tips of her fingers aligned with the hollow at the base of his throat. His forward momentum pressed her fingers into his jugular notch. Her fingertips sank into the soft flesh.

  Gagging, he jerked backward. “You bitch.”

  A flash went off, followed by Lance’s voice. “Hey, Esposito, why are you practically standing on top of the lady? I hope to hell you’re not trying to intimidate the defense counsel, because that’s what it looks like in this picture.”

  Lance held his cell phone in front of him. His light tone did not match his angry scowl or the fingers that curled into a fist at his side.

  Still coughing, Esposito took a quick step away. “Ms. Dane and I were simply discussing a case.”

  Morgan didn’t respond. Normally, she kept a decent hold on her temper, but men like Esposito set her off. His boorish and clumsy efforts to intimidate stunned her. Why would he think he could get away with this sort of behavior? Did other people allow him to walk all over them?

  “You can discuss a case without breathing down her neck.” Lance stepped to her side, using his own size to his advantage.

  Esposito had tried to bully her, but he’d never try that sort of tactic with someone whose biceps were bigger than his head. Lance, in his tactical cargos and snug black T-shirt, did not look like someone to be messed with.

  “We’ll talk later.” Esposito nodded and turned away. As he turned the corner, Morgan saw him rub the base of his throat.

  “Thank you,” she said, turning to Lance.

  Underneath the grim anger, humor lurked in his blue eyes. “You’re welcome, though it looked like you had him under control.”

  “He is such an . . .”

  “Ass?” Lance finished.

  “Yes.” The encounter with Esposito had left a foul taste in her mouth.

  Lance squinted down the hall where Esposito had disappeared. “We need to learn more about the new ADA.”

  “I’m sure he’s been thoroughly vetted. Bryce is particular.”

  “Still . . .” Lance frowned. “I don’t like him.”

  “Bryce is a politician. He barely won the election. He can’t afford to hire anyone with a questionable history.”

  Lance did not look convinced.

  Morgan steered him toward the exit. “Did you find Phil Dryer?”

  “I did.” Lance opened the door for her. “He’s dead. There was an error on the death certificate. They used his middle initial instead of his full middle name.”

  “That’s why he didn’t show up on the Master Death list. Then we can cross Phil off our list of potential witnesses. That leaves us with Stan, Brian, and Brian’s wife, Natalie, to interview.” If the skeleton’s identity could be confirmed, the list would no doubt expand.

  “Yes,” Lance said.

  He led her across the parking lot, and they got into his Jeep.

  After the doors were closed, Lance leaned over the console and kissed her. “Are you sure you’re all right? I wanted to punch Esposito in his smug face.”

  “I’m fine. I’ve visited violent criminals in prison. One ADA with the temperament of a seventh-grade bully isn’t going to intimidate me.”

  “Did you file your motion?”

  “I did.” Morgan fastened her seat belt. “But the frustrating fact is that he can make things more difficult. He can drag out the process. He can delay delivery of important materials so defense attorneys have as little time as possible to review discovery evidence. I’ll push back, but that’s extra time billed to my clients. Public defenders have it even worse. They juggle a crazy number of cases. They don’t have time for unnecessary motions and bullshit stonewalling.”

  “So his tactics will work.” Lance unlocked the glove compartment and removed their weapons. Guns were not allowed in the courthouse.

  She accepted her handgun and fastened the holster onto her belt. “Yes. He’ll win cases simply because public defenders are overworked. The entire legal system is overburdened. Additional paperwork will not help matters. Either his ego is overinflated or he’s trying to prove himself with an aggressive conviction record.” Morgan took a deep breath. “There’s nothing I can do about a difficult ADA. Where do we go from here?”

  “We need to see the sheriff. The medical examiner hasn’t returned my call, and we need to know the identity of the woman in my father’s trunk.”

  “Oh, goody. Someone else who is not happy with me.”

  “Do you want me to drop you at the office?” Lance pulled out of the parking space.

  “No. I want to go with you.” Morgan settled into the seat. “The sheriff isn’t as bad as Esposito.”

  “He’s the exact opposite. Esposito wants to create extra legal steps. Sheriff King wants to skip as many as possible and send everyone to jail without passing Go or collecting their two hundred dollars.”

  Lance’s phone buzzed. He looked at the screen. “Speak of the devil. It’s King.” He answered the call. “Kruger.”

  Morgan couldn’t make out the sheriff’s words, but whatever he said wiped all traces of humor from Lance’s face.

  “No. My mother doesn’t leave her house. You’ll have to go to her.” A few seconds later, he ended the call. His fingers tightened around the phone, as if he wanted to crush it.

  “What’s wrong?” Morgan asked.

  He shoved his phone in the console cup holder.

  “Sheriff King is on his way to interview my mother. I want to get there before him.” Lance pressed on the accelerator, and the Jeep surged forward. “I wonder if this means they’ve identified the body.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Lance sat across the kitchen table from his mother, relieved that he and Morgan had arrived before the sheriff. Dark circles hung beneath his mom’s eyes, and her skin was papery, as if she was dehydrated.

  He glanced up at Morgan. “Would you get her a glass of water?”

  “Of course.” Morgan filled a glass at the tap and brought it to the table. She sat next to his mother. “Have you eaten lunch today, Jenny?”

  His mother nodded. “Yes. I ate lunch at noon. Today is Tuesday. I had a tuna salad sandwich.”

  “Sheriff King is on his way here to ask you some questions about dad. Before he gets here, I have some news for you.” Lance reached across the table and covered her hand. “The skeleton in dad’s trunk wasn’t him. It belongs to a young woman.”

  Shock filled her face for a few seconds. “Why would a young woman be in your father’s trunk? And where is he?”

  “That’s what we’re all trying to find out,” Lance said. “Do you remember a woman by the name of—”

  The doorbell rang.

  Leaving Morgan with his mother, Lance went to the door and opened it. Sheriff King stood on the front stoop. Lance went out onto the step and closed the door behind him.

  “My mother suffers from acute anxiety and agoraphobia.” Lance cut straight to the bone. “She hasn’t had a stranger in her house in years.”

  King nodded. “Noted.”

  Lance led the way into the house and back to the kitchen.

  “Mom, this is Sheriff King,” he said.

  In a gallant, old western gesture, the sheriff swept his hat from his head and held it in front of his chest. “Thank you for seeing me, ma’am.
”

  The sheriff took the chair across from her.

  She shifted backward, her shoulders curling in. She glanced at the sheriff from behind a curtain of her white hair. “You look familiar. Have I seen you on TV?”

  The sheriff nodded. “I do press conferences now and then.”

  “You’re here about Vic.” His mother clasped her hands together in her lap, her arms tight to her sides, as if she could physically hold herself together.

  “Yes, ma’am.” The sheriff’s tone softened. Maybe he wasn’t a total hard-ass. “When was the last time you saw your husband, Victor Kruger?”

  “August 10th, 1994,” she said.

  “And you’ve had no contact with him since? No phone calls, no e-mails, no letters?”

  His mother shook her head. “Nothing.”

  “Does the name Mary Fox ring a bell?” the sheriff asked.

  His mother frowned. “I don’t think so.”

  “This would have been from twenty-three years ago,” the sheriff clarified.

  “I can’t say for sure,” his mom said. “I’m sorry.”

  The sheriff’s upper body leaned an inch closer to the table. “Mary worked as a waitress at PJ’s.”

  Lance stiffened. He’d been right. The remains were Mary Fox.

  His mother’s brows dropped. “We used to go to PJ’s for burgers. Vic went more often than I did. He’d stop to have a beer with Stan and Brian a few times a week.”

  Lance’s brain whirled.

  His father had known the dead girl. Although the fact that she worked at his favorite restaurant meant that their connection could have been entirely innocent.

  The sheriff pulled a photo from his pocket and slid it across the table.

  His mother reached forward, her fingers touching just the edges as she slid it in front of her. “She looks familiar. Is this Mary?”

  “Yes,” the sheriff said. “We pulled your husband’s car from Grey Lake yesterday. I’m sorry I didn’t visit you then. Lance told me it would be better if he notified you. I also wanted to verify if the remains inside were his or not.”