Say You're Sorry (Morgan Dane Book 1) Page 8

  The teen turned at the sound of his name. He wore ripped jeans and a vintage Ramones T-shirt.

  “I hear you’re good friends with Jamie Lewis.” Lance looked beyond the nose ring, eyeliner, and twin ear gauges the size of dinner plates.

  Under all his facial modifications, Tony’s eyes were sharp and suspicious. “Yeah. So?”

  “I’m looking for her.”

  “Why?”

  Lance handed him a business card. “You heard what happened Thursday night, right?”

  Tony nodded, his mouth tightening into a solemn line. “Yeah. I didn’t know Tessa that well, but she didn’t deserve to get killed.”

  “No. She didn’t. The police haven’t caught the guy who did it. I hate to think of Jamie out there all alone.” Lance let the implication hang in the air.

  Tony leaned back, hands raised. “Dude, I can’t steer the police toward a friend.”

  He’s definitely seen Jamie.

  “I’m not the police,” Lance pointed out. “But her parents are going crazy. Every time the news mentions the murder, they picture Jamie.”

  As did Lance. Tessa Palmer’s dead body had haunted him since Saturday morning. He really wanted to find Jamie before something terrible happened to her. Kids on the street were vulnerable to all sorts of predators.

  “Sorry, man. I can’t help you,” Tony insisted. “I don’t know where she is anyway.”

  “If you see Jamie, ask her to call me.” Lance handed him another card. “Just knowing she’s all right would mean a lot to her parents.”

  “OK.” Tony pocketed it and walked into the building.

  “Hey, cop,” a voice called.

  Lance pivoted to see a red-haired teenage boy standing next to a beat-up Toyota. The kid was small and scrawny with a sunburn-over-freckles complexion.

  “You were asking about Jamie Lewis?”

  “What’s your name?” Lance asked.

  “You a cop?”

  “No.” Lance checked to make sure his handgun behind his right hip was covered by his shirt. It was. Why did everyone think he was a cop?

  “Then it’s none of your fucking business.”

  It was one in the afternoon. Wasn’t this kid supposed to be in school?

  “Do you have information about Jamie?” Lance asked.

  “What’s it worth to you?” Red held out his hand and wiggled his fingers.

  Lance dug a twenty out of his wallet.

  The kid shook his head. “It’s worth more than twenty bucks.”

  Lance exchanged the twenty for a fifty. The kid reached for it, but Lance was twice his size. He held the money just out of reach. “What do you know?”

  With a disgusted sigh, Red pulled out a cell phone that probably cost more than his car. He scrolled. “There was this big party out at the lake Thursday night.”

  Lance straightened. “And?”

  “And Jamie was there.” The kid held the phone out so Lance could see the screen. A video was playing with the sound muted. Lance watched two boys shoving each other and arguing.

  The kid tapped the screen. “Look in the background.”

  A ring of kids circled the fighting boys. They appeared to be encouraging the fight. Red hit pause. “There’s Jamie.”

  “Do you know any of these other kids?” The focus was on the combatants, so the people in the background were fuzzy. Lance couldn’t positively ID anyone. He’d have to see the video on a larger screen.

  “Dude, I’m not a squealer.”

  Lance waved the fifty. “Can I get a copy of this?”

  Red rolled his eyes. “It’s on YouTube. You can do whatever you want with it.”

  Lance copied the URL and handed over the cash.

  “Thanks.” Red took the fifty and his phone.

  As the kid got into his Toyota, Lance memorized his license plate information. It would take him five minutes to identify Mr. Red Noneofyourfuckingbusiness.

  Lance drove to the office. Sharp was at his desk, working on his computer. Lance headed for the empty room and his laptop. He settled in the folding chair.

  “Aren’t you uncomfortable in that tiny chair?” Sharp called across the hall.

  “I’m fine. I like minimalism.” The computer screen glowed, and Lance opened the browser and went to YouTube. He found the video in twenty seconds. “Come watch this.”

  Sharp crossed the hall and watched over Lance’s shoulder. Lance stopped the video at the same point Red had. “Jamie Lewis?”

  “I’ll be damned.”

  “So much for the assumption that she left town.”

  “When was that video taken?” Sharp asked.

  “Thursday night.” Lance played the video from the beginning again. He didn’t see Red, nor did he spot Tony’s Mohawk in the crowd, but then even enlarged, the background images were a little grainy.

  Sharp leaned closer. “Is that the party Tessa Palmer was last seen at?”

  “It is.” Lance froze the video again. “There’s Tessa.”

  “Do the police have this video?” Sharp eased back, scratching his chin.

  “I don’t know. I’ll call Brody.”

  “You should. It’s good to stay in the good graces of local law enforcement. Horner’s a necessary evil and makes a really bad enemy.”

  “You forgot ‘asshole.’ I hope the mayor loses the election. Then maybe Horner will get canned.” Having worked for the man for ten years, Lance had tired of his politics over policing.

  “It can always be worse. Better the devil you know, and all that.”

  “This is true,” Lance admitted.

  “Do you recognize the two boys fighting?” Sharp asked.

  “The dark-haired kid lives across the street from Morgan. His name is Nick. He was Tessa’s boyfriend. I don’t know the other boy.” Lance pointed to the screen. “It looks like the video was just uploaded to YouTube today.”

  Lance ran the clip one more time. He turned the sound up, but all he could hear was the crowd of kids chanting, “Fight, fight, fight.”

  Nick was the aggressor, his face red with rage as he went at the other boy with a two-handed shove.

  “I’d like to know what led to the fight,” Sharp said. “I wish the video started earlier.”

  Tessa moved into the scene, wedging herself between the two boys. Nick backed off, but the second kid went around her, knocking her to the ground in his haste to get at Nick. Tessa ran out of view. A few more boys moved in to break up the fight and the video ended with a long shot of the ground.

  “At least we know Jamie was still in town as of last Thursday night.” Sharp turned toward the doorway. On his way out, he called over his shoulder, “I’ll call her parents. Give me a few minutes to download a copy of that video in case the cops have it taken down from YouTube.”

  “I’m sure Jamie’s parents will be relieved to see her alive,” Lance said.

  After Sharp went back to his own office, Lance called Brody, but he didn’t answer and his mailbox was full. He went out into the hall and leaned into Sharp’s office. “I can’t get Brody on the phone. I’m going to stop at the station. Did you get that video downloaded?”

  Sharp looked up from his keyboard. “Got it.”

  Lance went outside, climbed into his Jeep, and drove to the township municipal building. The SFPD occupied the ground floor of a two-story colonial-style building. The tax collector, zoning office, and town clerk were located upstairs. He crossed the gray-tiled lobby and entered the reception area. From the outside, the building looked homey and quaint, with blue, New Englandish siding and barn-red shutters, but inside, the space had needed a facelift twenty years ago.

  The desk sergeant greeted him with a smile that creased his face like a bulldog’s. “Hey, Lance. How’s the new PI gig?”

  “It’s not bad.” Lance leaned on the counter.

  “Sharp treating you all right?”

  “He is.”

  “Tell him he’d better, or I’ll kick his ass.” The ser
geant grinned.

  “Is Brody around? I tried to leave him a message, but his mailbox is full.”

  Lowering his voice, the sergeant said, “Horner held another press conference, so Brody is tied up with citizens calling in tips.” Ninety-nine percent of which would turn out to be a complete waste of time.

  “Poor Brody,” Lance said.

  “We’re trying to filter them the best we can, but we’re shorthanded as it is.”

  Weren’t they always?

  The sergeant sighed. “And you know how it is. All the citizens want to talk to the detective.”

  “How about Stella? Is she here?” Lance asked. “I might have some information about the Palmer case.”

  The sergeant shook his bald head. “No. She’s not working the Palmer case anyway.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Then who’s working with Brody?” When Lance had worn a uniform, he’d assisted the detectives when they’d needed help.

  The sergeant glanced around. The lobby was empty. “Horner.”

  “Wha-at?” Of all the names Lance had expected to hear, that wasn’t one of them.

  “I know,” the sergeant agreed. “Anyway. Maybe you should talk to him.”

  “Good idea.” Lance would rather have a root canal.

  “I’ll tell him you’re here.” The sergeant picked up the phone and spoke with Horner’s secretary for a few seconds. “Go on back.”

  “Thanks.” Lance bypassed the counter and went through the doorway into a long open room filled with rows of metal filing cabinets and clusters of cubicles. Uniforms sat at desks typing reports. They greeted Lance as he walked through to Horner’s office.

  Horner’s blonde secretary waved him through with a manicured hand. “Go on in.”

  Lance gave the door a polite knuckle rap before going in. Even at the end of the day, not a single wrinkle dared mar Horner’s starched, navy-blue uniform, and his precision haircut looked just as perfect as always.

  “Lance, have a seat.” Horner gestured to one of the two chairs that faced his desk. “You’re looking fit. How are you?”

  “Very well. Thank you.” Lance eased into the seat. “It was a long recovery.”

  In June, seven months after the shooting, Lance had briefly returned to the force, but his leg hadn’t been ready. His inability to keep up had placed his fellow officers in danger. He wouldn’t carry a badge again unless he was completely fit.

  “Glad to hear it. I wish you’d have gone back on disability instead of quitting.” Horner’s hair gleamed in the light as if it were varnished, or maybe plastic. The chief did bear a certain resemblance to Ava’s Ken doll.

  “At the time, I didn’t know if I was ever going to get back to a hundred percent, and staying on disability didn’t appeal. I’d rather work.”

  “I understand and respect that.” Horner nodded. “Now, what can I do for you?”

  Lance pulled his phone from his pocket. “Actually, I have something for you.” He opened his YouTube app and handed the phone over the desk. “If you look at the time stamp on the video, it appears this was taken at the lake Thursday night.”

  Horner’s eyes brightened as he watched.

  “It’s easier to see on a bigger screen, but that’s Tessa Palmer trying to break up the fight,” Lance said.

  Horner swiveled to face the desktop computer on the other leg of his L-shaped desk. He opened his browser and pulled up the video, freezing on a frame of Tessa between the two boys. “This looks like her boyfriend, Nick Zabrowski.”

  “It does.”

  “How did you find this?” Irritation flattened Horner’s mouth.

  “I ran across it while working a missing-kid case. Jamie Lewis. It was just uploaded today.” There was no reason for Lance to maintain client confidentiality since Jamie was already an open case for the SFPD.

  “Do you know who took this video?” Horner asked.

  “No.” Lance debated about giving Red’s plate number to Horner. But the police could subpoena YouTube for the account details of the person who’d uploaded the video. And Lance might need more information from Mr. Noneofyourfuckingbusiness to find Jamie. The kid would be less cooperative if Lance gave him up to the police. He’d keep the kid’s ID in his back pocket for now.

  “Thank you for bringing this to my attention. If you run across anything else, I’d appreciate a call.” Horner held out a hand.

  Lance shook it. “Of course.”

  “I want to let you know that I’ve requested to add a third detective and two more uniforms to our force. The recent rise in crime supports the budget increase. We have the full support of the mayor. Of course, the council is holding back on the approval until after the election, but I feel confident that once the mayor is reelected, Scarlet Falls will be hiring.”

  Lance played down his interest. “Thanks for the information. Good luck with the Palmer case.”

  “I’ve little doubt the case will be closed within the week.” Horner’s eyes shone with a predatory gleam.

  “You have a good suspect?”

  Horner smiled, his teeth as Hollywood-perfect as his hair. “All I can say is that it will all be over soon. This video will help. Thanks again. I won’t forget your cooperation when that position opens up, if you’re still interested in becoming a detective, that is.”

  “I’ll give it some consideration,” Lance said.

  He left the chief’s office with a head full of questions. He called Sharp from the car and updated him on the meeting. “Why is Horner taking a personal interest in the Palmer case?”

  “Because he knows the girl’s grandparents and so does the mayor. They belong to the same fancypants country club. Plus, Horner’s a total publicity whore.”

  “That explains a lot.” Lance told Sharp about Horner’s vague job offer.

  “You’re really still interested in working for him?” Sharp asked.

  “Maybe.” Yes.

  “Remember, you don’t get to pick your cases. Go back to work for Horner, and you’ll be at his beck and call.”

  “As opposed to being at your beck and call?” Lance joked.

  “You’re comparing me to Horner? That’s an insult,” Sharp retorted. “You realize Horner stole this case from Stella because of the good press it will give him and the mayor.”

  “He suggested they’re close to making an arrest.”

  “Yes. I heard they’re waiting on a DNA test.”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “I have my sources.” Sharp stopped by the local watering hole frequented by his former cop buddies a few times a week to pick up gossip. The Pub stocked an organic ale just for Sharp.

  “Can you find out who owns this vehicle?” Lance gave him the plate number of Red’s Toyota.

  “Will do. I’ll text it to you.” The line beeped, and Sharp said, “I have another call coming in. See how many of those other kids at the party you can ID. Somebody has to know where Jamie Lewis has been hiding.”

  “On it.” Lance ended the call and set his phone on the console. He recognized three people on the video: Tessa, Jamie, and Nick. The only one of those three he could actually speak to was Morgan’s neighbor. He turned the car toward her house.

  Chapter Eight

  Rain tapped on the kitchen window. Morgan sipped a cup of coffee and read her emails from the DA’s office and the Human Resources department. Filling out employment and insurance forms made her new job real, and the first glimmer of interest in something outside the walls of the house flickered inside her.

  Next to her, Sophie ate one tiny triangle of her peanut butter and jelly sandwich and worked on a drawing. Morgan glanced at the picture. The wild arcs of color were typical Sophie.

  Fresh bursts of sadness and anger shot through her.

  Once Tessa had been a little girl, coloring at her kitchen table. She should have had a long, happy life.

  Morgan blinked away an image of the girl’s ruined body, the
same picture that appeared in her nightmares over and over every time she closed her eyes.

  “It’s nap time,” Morgan reminded her youngest.

  Sophie looked up from her lopsided rainbow. As usual, tangled hair swayed around her daughter’s face. “I’m too old for naps.”

  Morgan ignored the protest. “I’ll hang your rainbow on the fridge. Let’s go.”

  Sophie slid from her chair and headed for her bedroom, feet dragging. But a morning of pre-school had worn her out and she was asleep in minutes. Her face was flushed, and Morgan suspected a back-to-school cold was looming. She paused to watch Sophie sleep for a few minutes. Awake, the child wasn’t still long enough. Her rosebud mouth was relaxed, giving her an innocence she rarely had when up and moving.

  Soon, Sophie would be too old for naps. Like her sisters, she would outgrow rereadings of Goodnight Moon and the need to have her toast cut into perfectly even triangles. Morgan was going to miss these small, peaceful bits of time.

  She pushed back at the creep of sadness.

  Life didn’t stand still. She was moving forward.

  Pulling the bedroom door almost closed, Morgan went back to the living room. Grandpa was in his recliner. He set aside his iPad. “I give up. The security camera isn’t working. I’ll have to check it tomorrow.”

  Morgan pictured him climbing a ladder. “Why don’t you call the alarm company? That’s what we pay them for.”

  “You’re right.” Grandpa gave her his full attention. “Are you all right? You haven’t been out of the house in days. It’s not healthy.” Grandpa was never afraid to say it like it was. “You never called Lance back, did you? He was worried about you.”

  Morgan hadn’t returned his call. She’d also ignored messages from several neighbors, all presumably wanting to gossip about Tessa.

  Grandpa frowned. “We haven’t even talked about Tessa’s death.”

  Morgan didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t want to think about it. She’d relegated Tessa’s murder to the dark corner of her mind reserved for grief. But it was there, hovering, waiting for a trigger, which is why she’d successfully avoided the Internet and filled the last few days with craft projects and kiddie cartoons.

  “Honey, you can’t just hold it all inside.” Grandpa’s voice was gentle. “What happened to your therapist?”