Secrets Never Die

by Leigh, Melinda

  “Me either,” Morgan said. “And no one appeared exceptionally nervous. Shall we try Rylee Nelson?”

  Lance drove to the pizza parlor and parked. Tony’s was busy at dinnertime. Six of the restaurant’s dozen tables were full of families. In the back, three tables had been pushed together to accommodate a Little League team.

  Employees wore black aprons and red T-shirts with TONY’S emblazoned across the front. Morgan scanned the staff. Three young girls waited tables. Three more hustled behind the counter, filling take-out orders, answering phones, and working the register. Morgan could see into the kitchen. A male cook used a wooden board to slide pizzas in and out of the huge oven. On a stainless steel counter, another man topped rounds of pizza dough.

  Morgan approached the counter.

  “Can I help you?” a girl with a long brown ponytail asked.

  “We’re looking for Rylee.” Morgan smiled. “Is she here tonight?”

  “I think so.” Ponytail Girl glanced around, then nudged a blonde next to her. “Where’s Rylee?”

  “I dunno. She was here a minute ago.”

  “We’re friends of her mother,” Lance lied without blinking an eye.

  Not as proficient at lying, Morgan merely smiled.

  “I’m going in the back for boxes. I’ll see if she’s back there.” Blondie hurried away.

  Morgan stepped away from the counter to give real customers space. As she sidestepped toward a window, movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention. She turned her head and spotted a girl in a red T-shirt and black apron hurrying across the parking lot, away from the pizza parlor.

  “I’ll bet that’s her.” Morgan rushed for the door.

  Lance was right beside her. He pushed through the exit and passed Morgan, calling, “Rylee! Wait! We just want to talk to you.”

  “Don’t scare her,” Morgan shouted after him.

  He ignored her, but it was already too late.

  The girl glanced over her shoulder. Panic widened her eyes. She broke into a run, tripped over the curb, and went sprawling onto the concrete sidewalk.

  Lance and Morgan jogged over to her.

  “Are you all right?” Morgan gave Lance a stay put look. He was intimidating, and the girl was clearly afraid.

  He stopped, lifting both hands in surrender, and backed away.

  Morgan crouched next to the girl. “I assume you’re Rylee. Are you hurt?”

  “I’m not saying anything.” The girl crabbed away from Morgan. She was about sixteen, with spindly arms and legs she hadn’t grown into. Her short brown hair was streaked with purple, and a nose ring glinted in the light. “Get away from me.”

  Morgan froze. “We just want to ask you a couple of questions.”

  Rylee scrambled to her feet and brushed some dirt off the knee of her jeans. The fabric was torn, but Morgan didn’t know if it had been ripped before the girl fell. She didn’t see any blood.

  “I don’t talk to cops.” Rylee’s tone was hostile. She pointed at Morgan. The girl’s arm was covered in intricate blue designs. They did not look like tattoos but ink, as if she’d drawn the patterns on her skin with a pen. “And leave my brother alone.”

  “We’re not cops, and we’re not here about your brother.” Though he was now on Morgan’s list of people they needed to learn more about.

  “We’re looking for Evan,” Lance said. “Did you know he was missing?”

  “Everyone knows.” The girl took two steps back. “I don’t know where he is. Now leave me alone.”

  She whirled, stomped across the parking lot to an ancient Buick sedan, and jerked the door open. Rusty hinges squealed in protest. The engine started on her third attempt, and she drove out of the lot with a squeal of her nearly bald tires.

  “We usually have better luck with teenagers,” Morgan said, discouraged.

  “We’re getting nowhere with this investigation.” Lance punched one palm with the opposite fist. “Evan has been missing for nearly eighteen hours. We both know that his chances of being found alive decrease with every hour that passes.”

  Morgan checked the time on her watch. Five thirty. She and Lance had had two hours of sleep the previous night and hadn’t had a full night’s rest in a week. She was running out of steam. Lance’s face was lined with exhaustion. Even he would need to recharge at some point. Adrenaline and worry were keeping him going.

  She glanced down at her clothes. “Let’s stop in at the office. I’ll change into jeans and sneakers, you can whip us up a couple of shakes, and we’ll head over to the lake. It’s a hot summer evening. I’m sure there will be teenagers there. We’ll show Evan’s picture around.”

  “All right.” On the way, Lance called his mother and added Rylee Nelson and her brother to the list of background checks. His phone signaled an incoming call before he could set it down. He pressed it against his ear. “Kruger.”

  Tina was sobbing loudly enough that he pulled the phone away from his ear. Morgan could hear Tina clearly.

  “The sheriff is here at my hotel,” she wailed. “They found a body. It looks like Evan.”

  Chapter Eight

  Sharp parked in the lot behind The Pub. Since his accident and surgery, he was barely maintaining his weight, and his energy was still flagging. He’d been adjusting his diet weekly, but nothing seemed to be working. After making steady improvement for the first two months post-op, he’d been stuck at 75 percent recovered for the last few weeks.

  He walked across the cracked asphalt. The muggy air wrapped around him. By the time he reached the door, he was sweating. He really needed to get back into shape.

  The air-conditioning was a relief. The bar always drew a decent happy-hour crowd. Sharp passed a dozen occupied wooden barstools. His buddies usually clustered at the back of the bar.

  “Sharp!” someone yelled. “Get your butt back here.”

  He spotted Jimmy and Phil at a round table behind the L of the bar. Phil had worked with Sharp on the SFPD. Phil’s wife had made him retire the day he’d completed his twenty-five years. Jimmy was a retired sheriff’s deputy who’d worked for Randolph County with Paul.

  Jimmy used his foot to push out the chair across from him and Phil. “Take a load off.”

  Sharp slid onto the well-worn seat.

  The waitress, Mindy, looked over the bar and asked, “Beer?”

  Sharp shook his head. “Just sparkling water, Mindy. Thanks.”

  She disappeared into the walk-in cooler. A minute later, she walked around the bar with a bottle of sparkling water. She popped the top and set down the bottle. “It was all the way in the back. No one drinks this here but you.”

  The Pub was a serious watering hole. It was not a place for health nuts or teetotalers, although the bartender stocked an organic ale just for Sharp. But this was not a social visit.

  “Thanks.” Sharp swigged from the bottle.

  “I hear you’re back to work, Sharp.” Phil sipped a tall draft, then leaned back and folded his hands across a huge paunch. His wife was an amazing cook, and he was clearly enjoying his retirement.

  “I’m getting there,” Sharp said with more enthusiasm than he felt.

  Jimmy squinted at him. “You still look like hell.”

  “Been a long day.” Sharp hadn’t gotten much sleep. After he’d been banished from the crime scene, he’d hung around, eavesdropping on the Knoxes’ neighbors, striking up random conversations. Unfortunately, none of the neighbors seemed to know the Knoxes very well. A few had met Paul. No one had spoken more than five words to Tina since they’d moved in. No one had seen or heard anything around the time Paul was killed.

  “You need some weight. Order a cheeseburger.” Jimmy handed him a menu. “That rabbit food you love can’t sustain human life.”

  Sharp ignored the dietary advice and set the menu aside. “Maybe later.”

  “I can’t believe Paul Knox is dead.” Jimmy downed the final drops of his Scotch, raised the tumbler in the air, and signaled the b
artender for another. “He made it through all those years on the job without getting shot, only to get blown away in his own house after retirement.”

  Mindy came around with Jimmy’s Scotch and an order of fried pickles. They waited until she’d left before continuing the conversation.

  “I heard your partner and his girlfriend were at the crime scene before the deputies.” Ice rattled as Jimmy shook the amber liquid in his glass. Paul’s death would have started a rush of phone calls and conversations. Jimmy probably knew everything about the investigation by now.

  “Lance coaches the stepson,” Sharp said. “The mother called him and asked him to find her boy.”

  Jimmy drank more Scotch, his face grave. The worst cases involved missing or dead kids.

  Phil took a long swallow of his beer, set it down on the table, and toyed with a cardboard coaster. “I hope they find him.”

  The alive was implied.

  “How long has he been missing?” Phil asked.

  Sharp glanced at the time on his phone. “About eighteen hours.”

  They were all quiet for a few seconds, no doubt all remembering kids who hadn’t been found in time.

  “Morgan and Lance are covering the direct search for the kid,” Sharp said. “I’m exploring the relationship to the murder case. Time is not our friend. We can’t afford to overlook any angles.” Sharp turned to Jimmy. “Paul must have put away plenty of scumbags. Do you remember anyone threatening to get even with him?”

  Jimmy huffed. “Sure. We all got our share of threats.”

  Phil nodded. “I know I did. A few threatened my family too.”

  “Same here,” Sharp agreed. “But you don’t remember anyone specific?”

  Jimmy shook his head. “No. You should talk to Brian Springer. He worked with Paul the most before Paul retired.”

  “Are they still close?” Sharp asked.

  “I’m not sure.” Jimmy swirled the ice in his glass. “They had a disagreement right before Paul retired. But if anyone will remember individual cases, it’ll be Brian. Do you know him?”

  “His name sounds familiar.” Sharp had been on the SFPD long enough to know many of the local law enforcement officers. The sheriff’s deputies had backed up Sharp many times, and vice versa.

  Jimmy opened his photo app on his phone and scrolled backward. He turned the screen toward Sharp. “This is Brian.”

  Sharp recognized the face. “I’ve met him. Do you have his phone number?”

  “Sure, I’ll text you his contact information.”

  Sharp’s phone vibrated. He opened Jimmy’s text to read Brian’s address and cell phone number. “Thanks.”

  “I’ll be right back.” Phil belched and headed for the restroom at the back of the bar.

  Jimmy pushed the bowl of fried pickles toward Sharp. “Try one.”

  Sharp took one from the bowl and popped it into his mouth rather than let the discussion segue into an argument about Sharp’s diet. “Is Brian still on the force?”

  “Yes.” Jimmy set his phone on the table and ate a pickle. “But he’s due to retire soon.”

  “Do you know what their argument was about?”

  “Not the details,” Jimmy said in a vague tone.

  Sharp lowered his voice and talked quickly. Recently, the sheriff’s department had been caught in a huge scandal, and he wanted to ask Jimmy any sensitive questions before Phil returned from the men’s room. “Are there any whiffs of corruption around Brian?”

  “Nothing major.” Jimmy shrugged.

  What does that mean?

  But Sharp nodded. He really wanted to know what Brian had done, but if Sharp pushed too hard, Jimmy would become defensive and stop talking. However, if Sharp was patient and played along, Jimmy might just blab. He was drunk enough.

  Jimmy shook his head. “Some guy they arrested in a bar fight filed an excessive force complaint. He said Brian broke his ribs with his baton. Nothing was ever substantiated, though, so maybe it wasn’t true.”

  “Right.” But Sharp wouldn’t be surprised either way. Body cameras weren’t in the budget for the sheriff’s department yet. It would have been the suspect’s word against those of the deputies. The incident would have happened under the former sheriff, who had been known for looking the other way if a suspect got roughed up. “Did the complaint have anything to do with the falling-out between Paul and Brian?”

  Jimmy lifted a shoulder. “I assumed Paul and Brian were told not to talk about it.”

  But details would have leaked.

  Sharp waited.

  Jimmy swirled the ice in his glass and continued. “Paul and Brian were breaking up a bar fight. Paul had the patience of a saint, but Brian . . .” Jimmy wouldn’t directly criticize another cop, but the way he trailed off implied that Brian did not.

  “Do you remember the name of the case?” Sharp asked.

  “The guy’s name was Sam Jones.” Jimmy looked up. Phil was walking out of the short hallway that led to the restrooms. Jimmy’s mouth snapped closed. He wouldn’t say anything else about the excessive force case. He probably already regretted what he’d told Sharp.

  Phil returned to the table.

  And Jimmy returned to discussing general information. “Anyway, Brian is on vacation.” Jimmy raised his glass. The waitress knew him well enough to take her time bringing him refills. He was going to drink the booze as fast as she delivered it. “Here’s the worst part. Brian likes to go off the radar when he’s fishing. The sheriff had to leave a message on his cell phone. Brian doesn’t even know that Paul is dead.”

  “If Brian knows the most about Paul’s cases, then I think I’d better try and find him.” Sharp drained his sparkling water. The fried pickle had soured in his stomach. Was there more to the excessive force incident? Could Brian be dirty? Had Paul known? The thought nauseated Sharp. “What does Brian drive?”

  “A black Ford Taurus,” Phil said.

  “Good luck finding the kid.” Jimmy shook his empty glass at the waitress again. “Let us know if we can help.”

  “Thanks. I will.” Sharp left the bar and returned to the parking lot. A swarm of gnats attacked his face. He swatted them aside on the way to his car. Once he was behind the wheel, he called Brian Springer. The call switched to voice mail, and Sharp didn’t bother to leave a message. He plugged Springer’s address into his GPS and drove out of the parking lot. On the drive, he washed the taste of the pickle from his mouth with more green tea.

  Brian lived in a development of small, well-kept homes on tiny lots. His one-story house was white with red shutters and had a small backyard surrounded by a four-foot-tall chain-link fence. His black Taurus was parked at the curb in the shade of an oak tree. A small shed occupied one corner of the backyard. Sharp parked behind the Taurus and walked up the concrete driveway. The lawn had been recently cut. The landscaping wasn’t fancy, but Brian kept it neat.

  Sharp pressed the doorbell. He heard it chime inside the house. A minute later, when no one had answered the door, he pressed it again.

  Nothing.

  He returned to his car and scanned the street. A young couple pushed a baby stroller along the sidewalk toward him.

  “Do you know Brian Springer?” Sharp asked as they approached.

  The man stepped in front of the woman and baby. “Why?”

  “I’m worried about him.” Sharp thought about the business cards in his pocket, then decided to leave them where they were. It might be best if the couple didn’t know his name in case the sheriff’s department came calling. “I’m a friend, and I haven’t been able to reach him for days.” The lie rolled smoothly off Sharp’s tongue. “Have you seen him?”

  The man shook his head. “No, I haven’t seen him in a couple of days.” He turned to his wife. “Have you?”

  The baby made a soft bleating sound, not unlike a lamb.

  “No.” The woman leaned over the stroller. “But you’re the second person to ask about him.”

  “We live next
door.” The man pointed to the red two-story house on the adjacent lot.

  Suspicious, Sharp asked, “Who else has been looking for him?”

  “A police detective came by earlier today.” The woman lifted the baby, clearly a newborn, from the stroller and began to sway back and forth. The baby quieted. “I don’t remember his name. He wasn’t in uniform, but he showed me a badge.”

  “He didn’t leave you a card?”

  “No.” She smiled at the baby and made a cooing noise.

  “Could you describe the detective?” Sharp pressed.

  She frowned. “I spoke to him through the screen door. He was ordinary looking. Brown hair. Brown suit. He drove a dark-blue sedan.”

  Sounded like a county detective. The sheriff had probably sent someone to find Brian for the same reason Sharp was here.

  The couple took a step away.

  “Do you remember the last time you saw Brian?” Sharp asked.

  The man brightened. “I saw him on Saturday. He talked about a guys’ fishing weekend with his brother, but I’m not sure when he was leaving.” He looked to his wife. “Do you remember?”

  “No.” She shrugged. “But he was going to bring me a key before he left so we could feed his cat and bring in the mail. He didn’t do that.” She pointed. “His car is still here.”

  Sharp glanced back at the black Taurus. “Is that where he normally parks it?”

  “Yes,” the husband said.

  “Do you know if he usually fished at a local spot?” Sharp asked.

  The husband tilted his head. “I’m not sure. I think the property belonged to someone in his family. His brother or brother-in-law? It’s on a lake.”

  “Thanks for your help,” Sharp said.

  The baby began to cry, louder this time.

  “Excuse me.” The wife turned toward the red house.

  The husband took the handle of the stroller. “Bye.”

  “Thanks again.” Sharp turned back toward his car. He stopped on the sidewalk and stared at Brian’s house. The couple took their baby inside their house and closed the door. Sharp opened Brian’s mailbox. What appeared to be a few days of mail was crammed inside. He gave up any idea of hiding his activity. As far as the neighbors were concerned, Sharp was a worried friend.