by D P Lyle
“What’s the plan?”
She sighed. “As much as I hate to, I think we’ll have to end this.” Greg nodded. “Tomorrow?”
“Yeah.”
“Here’s the million-dollar question. Do you think they know anything about me?”
Abby/Stacy considered that. “I don’t see how. We’ve followed our blueprint perfectly. You’ve never showed your face. We’ve never been in public together.”
“True.”
She took another slug of beer. “I hate to have to do this. We were just getting to the fun part.”
“Oh, we have a few fun parts left.”
She gave a half nod. “Yes we do. Is everything set?”
“Sure is. I have the house all set. It’s isolated and abandoned. Out the Ortega Highway a ways. It’s dusty and ratty but it has some furniture. A bed, sofa, a few other things. The water and electricity are on and working. Everything we’ll need.”
“Sounds lovely.”
“We’ve stayed in worse places.”
“I have the plan to grab her all ready to do. Send her a couple of texts in the morning. Maybe make them all lovey dovey. Keep her calm right now.”
“Will do.”
“What do you want to do with my car?”
“The usual. Since we bought it for cash and never changed the registration, we can dump it.”
“Not here.”
“No, not here. We’ll wipe it down and drop it on a street or in a parking lot. Leave the keys so it’ll be stolen and probably chopped.”
“When?”
He glanced at his watch. “It’s ten now. After midnight or so, we’ll head out and leave it where it’ll be stolen again. Done deal.”
She finished her beer. “Okay. Tomorrow morning you can drop me a couple of blocks from the station. I’ll text you when I get things set up with Megan. Say around eleven.”
“Sounds good. I’ll load up the ice chests and grab some supplies. Then I’ll hang in the area from ten thirty on. I’ll only be a minute away.”
She stood. “Guess we better get packed up and then get to wiping down the car.” She waved a hand. “And this place.”
CHAPTER 48
THE NEXT MORNING, Nicole and I followed Megan to the studio, then down the ramp into the parking area. When she pulled into a slot, I slid up behind her and lowered my window.
“Get your game face on,” Nicole said.
“Will this ever end?” Megan asked.
“Just be cool,” I said. “Pancake said he had something and was digging a little deeper. Hopefully it’ll be something we can use.”
“When is your filming?” Nicole asked.
“Eleven thirty, noon, something like that.”
“We’ll be back for that,” I said.
“That’s really all I have today so I’ll be ready to go after that.”
“Just relax,” Nicole said. “Be yourself.”
There it was again. Act normal.
Megan shifted her oversized purse to her other shoulder. “That’s what you said yesterday, and I spent all morning wound into a knot.”
“But you managed,” Nicole said. “In fact, you did great. Today is simply more of the same.”
“I guess I don’t really have a choice, do I?”
“Unless you skip school,” I said. “Pancake can create a doctor’s note for you. He has experience along those lines.”
Megan laughed. “I’ll see you guys later.”
“We’ll call if and when we have anything new,” I said.
We watched her climb the stairs toward the studio and then headed toward the condo.
“I hope Pancake has worked some of his magic,” Nicole said.
Boy, had he ever.
When we walked in, Pancake and Ray were at the dining room table, laptops open.
“What’s new?” I asked.
“Lots,” Pancake said. “Give me a minute.”
A minute turned into an hour. Nicole and I retreated to her deck since we had nothing else to do. Jimmy Fabrick was backing his boat out of the slip. He had a young lady on board. A different one than the one we had seen before. Boy did get around. He waved and then motored up the channel toward the open water.
“Did Megan seem more distracted to you?” Nicole asked.
“She’s been like that for several days,” I said.
“It seems worse.”
“Can’t say I blame her. I think the pressure and the unknown is weighing pretty heavy right now. I just hope she doesn’t panic and say anything stupid.”
“She’s tough,” Nicole said, “She’ll be okay.” She clasped my hand. “I hope I didn’t screw up last night.”
“What do you mean?”
She let out a breath. “I don’t know. While I was asking Abby questions, about her background, that sort of thing, I felt that she was becoming more wary. Like she knew what I was doing.”
“She seemed fine at dinner. Like her usual self.”
“You’re probably right.”
Pancake appeared at the open slider. “Let’s talk.”
Once we were seated at the table he began and unfolded a story and then some.
“You already know that Greg Morgan was from Springfield, Illinois, and after high school worked various financial jobs. He rented an apartment there until three years ago. Then we lose track of him until just over a year ago when he rented an apartment briefly and snagged a Colorado driver’s license in Aurora. Then he again dropped off the radar.”
“How long was that before Dana Roderick was murdered in Salt Lake City?” I asked.
“Three or four months.”
“Which is about how long her intern Liz Ingram worked with her. Right?”
“Exactly,” Pancake said. “Now to the good stuff.”
I had seen the look Pancake now gave us on his face before. It meant he had found something we might not like, or maybe we would. Either way, it would be unexpected. He always had a flair for the dramatic. Anticipation elevated the hair on my arms and scalp.
“Seems his parents died in a house explosion,” Pancake said. “Gas deal.”
“Really?” Nicole asked.
“Looks like someone left a stove burner on and, well, things went kablooey.”
“Morgan wasn’t hurt?” I asked.
“He was already out of the house, working, living on his own in an apartment.” Pancake caught my gaze. “With his sister.”
“Sister?”
“Named Stacy Morgan.”
“Okay.”
“So I dug into their high school yearbooks. They were posted online. Lucky us.” He spun his computer toward us. “Here’s his picture.”
The page held a dozen faces. One was Greg Morgan.
“This was his senior year.” Pancake flipped to another screen. “Now three year later, here’s Stacy’s senior picture.” He scrolled through several pages, stopping on one.
More faces and right smack in the middle was Stacy Morgan.
The person we knew as Abby Watson.
She was obviously younger then and her hair was longer but the eyes, the mouth, the contour of her chin left no doubt.
Nicole took in a breath. “Oh no.”
“There’s more,” Pancake said. “Just to be sure, I sent the photo the barkeep took of us last night to Scott Hartman in Salt Lake and Richard McCluskey in Nevada. Both were ninety percent sure that Abby was the same person as the interns they’d hired. I also sent it to Tiffany Cole. She said that even though the hair was different, she was virtually one hundred percent sure that Abby was her intern Beth Macomb.”
“Looks like our little Abby’s been a busy girl,” Ray said.
“A bad girl, too, it seems,” Pancake continued. “Shortly after their parents’ death, that would be just over three years ago, they dropped out of sight. You know about Greg, but Abby—or Stacy—went even deeper underground. No footprints. No tax or voting records. No jobs I could find. No residences. No driver’s license. No accounts. No credit
cards and phones. No social media presence. No nothing.”
“Are you thinking they killed their parents?” I asked. “By exploding the family home?”
“They inherited a pile of cash,” Ray said. “Nearly two million.”
I whistled. “Adult money.”
“Money that also disappeared,” Pancake said.
“What do you mean disappeared?” I asked.
“Once the insurance paid out. Life, home, even the two cars in the garage, the cash went into one account. At a bank where Greg had previously worked.” He shrugged. “Then poof. It went away.”
“He cashed out?” Nicole said.
“How do you cash out millions?” I asked. “Where do you put it?”
“Not easy on either count,” Pancake said. “But possible. I haven’t gotten that worked out yet but the cash means they have the wherewithal to disappear.”
“Or go on a killing spree,” Ray said. He stood, walked to the sink. He turned, leaning against the counter, arms folded over his chest. “It’s actually brilliant. Stacy, or whoever her persona of the month is—here being Abby—is the face of the operation. She’s on the inside, up close and personal, where she can revel in the fear and anxiety the duo creates. Greg is completely off the radar doing all the mischief. That gives her a solid alibi.”
“Like being in pictures made in Malibu?” Nicole said.
“Exactly. The perfect alibi. Plus being present when flowers were delivered the next morning and being with all of us when Megan’s condo was invaded. Not to mention that she was right by Megan’s side when most of the texts and emails came in.”
“Amazing,” Nicole said. “And diabolical.”
“I like diabolical,” Pancake said. “I’ve been asking myself for days that if Abby—Stacy—was involved, what was the payoff? Now I think we know. She wanted to be near the damage to see and feel the panic she and her brother created. Acting like the supportive friend while relishing every moment.”
“Which would place them in the thrill killer category,” Ray said. “What they did to Dana Roderick was psychopathic and very personal. Something only someone who enjoyed it would do.”
“Do thrill killers work as teams?” I asked.
“Sure do,” Pancake said. “In fact, the case that more or less defined this was a team effort. Back in the 1920s, Nathan Leopold and Richard Loeb killed Bobby Franks just to see what it was like. I think that’s when this type of killing was first labeled as such.” He shrugged. “There have been others. Even husband and wife teams.”
“Sort of redefines diabolical,” I said.
“This is amazing,” Nicole said. “You simply can’t make this up.” Pancake smiled. “Somehow I think you could.” He raised an eyebrow. “Maybe your next screenplay.”
“Bottom line is that it looks like they’re a team,” Ray said.
Now things made more sense. We had been thinking there must be more than Abby involved in this. Nothing else fit. But this? These stalkings, now in three different states, weren’t obsessions. Not someone falling in love with a TV image. Not some feverish infatuation but rather they were the work of a pair of miscreants seeking pleasure.
“What now?” I asked.
“A visit to Detective Mills,” Ray said. “If we show her everything we have, I think she’ll see how all these are connected. Salt Lake City, Henderson, the situation here with Megan. Maybe it’ll be enough for her to secure an arrest warrant. Or at least get her team more deeply involved.”
“If she can’t?” Nicole asked.
“Then we fix it,” Pancake said.
“How?”
“Personally, I’d start with a hard interrogation of old Greg.” He smiled.
Ray raised an eyebrow. “He never did sign the petition. We could always give him another chance.”
“Yeah, that was rude of him,” Pancake said. “Boy needs some manners.”
CHAPTER 49
NICOLE AND I followed Ray and Pancake to the Newport Police Department. On the way, Nicole called Megan. She put it on speaker.
When Megan answered, Nicole said, “Can you talk?”
A brief hesitation. “Yeah.”
“Don’t react. Pancake uncovered some very interesting facts.”
“What?”
“Don’t want to go into it right now,” Nicole said. “Laugh like I just told you something funny.”
Megan did, following it up with, “That’s wild.”
“What’s wild?” It was Abby’s voice in the background.
“Oh, just Pancake doing some silly stuff,” Megan said. Then back to us, “So, what are you guys up to?”
“Heading over to see Detective Mills.”
“Sounds good.”
“Then hopefully she’ll be with us when we head your way. Maybe dragging a pair of handcuffs with her.”
“Really?”
“We wanted you to know that another hour or so and maybe this’ll be over with,” I said. “All you have to do is hang in until then.”
“Got it covered.”
“Laugh again,” Nicole said. “Then say you’ll see us before noon.”
Megan did. She then added, “I got two more texts from Mr. Wonderful this morning.”
“And?”
“He was all upbeat and said he loved me madly. Seems he still wants to get married.”
“No threats then?” I asked.
“Sounds like he’s in a good mood today,” Megan said. “Maybe he’s mellowing.”
“We’ll see you soon,” Nicole said. “Be cool until then.”
“Will do.”
Nicole disconnected.
“She’s good,” I said.
“She is. But she’s scared. I could hear it in her voice.”
I had felt it too. “Hopefully Abby, or Stacy, or whoever the hell she is, didn’t pick up on it.”
“Hopefully.”
We parked a block away and walked back to the PD. I had an uncomfortable feeling but I wasn’t sure why. To me, everything Pancake had uncovered screamed that Abby and her brother—boy, did that come out of nowhere—were dangerous stalkers and murderers and should be locked away for a long time, if not forever. That seemed obvious. But I also knew that cops and district attorneys and judges saw the world differently than I did. Would Mills think we had enough to slap the cuffs on? Would a DA sign off on it? Would a judge issue a warrant? If so, great. If not, where were we?
I knew how Pancake would answer these questions. He’d say it was time to kick the door down and have a heart-to-heart with Greg and Stacy. A heart-to-heart with Pancake usually involved pain. That would actually be fun to watch.
We found Detective Claire Mills in her office.
Pancake and Ray went through everything. Pancake used his iPad to show her the pics and news reports and other scraps of information he had collected. While they unpacked it all, I saw the creases in Mills’ forehead progressively deepen.
“How’d you uncover all this?” Mills asked.
“That’s sort of what we do,” Pancake said.
“Want a job? We could use this kind of thing around here.”
“We’re set up a couple of thousand miles away,” Ray said. “Tough commute.”
“You could move.”
“Can’t,” Pancake said. “We’d be too far from Captain Rocky’s”
Mills gave a quizzical look.
“My place,” I said. “In Gulf Shores.”
“Jake lets me eat and drink for free.”
“Can you say bankruptcy?” I said.
Mills laughed.
“What do you think of all this?” Ray asked, getting back to business.
“It’s a hot mess,” she said.
“Enough for a warrant?” I asked.
“If it were me, I’d go over there and smack them around. Convince them that confessing was less painful.” She smiled. “But rules are rules. Even if they’re maddening at times. To answer your question, I think this will work. I know a
couple of friendly judges, and prosecutors. Let me get on it.”
“Time might be critical here,” Pancake said.
“Give me an hour and I’ll know by then.”
“Sounds good.”
“What are you going to do in the meantime?” Mills asked.
“Keep an eye on Megan,” I said. “We’re headed over to the studio now.”
Mills looked at Pancake. “Don’t hurt anybody.”
“You’re no fun.”
CHAPTER 50
CURIOSITY, PLUS A healthy measure of anxiety, gnawed at Megan to the point that her temples throbbed and her stomach felt queasy. More than once she feared she’d have to rush to the restroom and empty her stomach of the coffee she had consumed. Too much coffee, in fact.
Nicole had said she had news and from her tone it sounded big. What had they found? Was it truly the game changer they needed? Would Detective Mills actually show up with handcuffs? Would this finally be over?
Megan tried to stay busy, or at least appear that she was. She couldn’t concentrate so she mostly pecked away at her computer and tried to avoid as much interaction with Abby as possible. No small task since Abby sat a mere five feet away, tapping away at her own computer.
Darren came in. “I have some images for you.” He spread them on his desktop.
Megan rolled her chair that way. Abby walked over and stood behind her, peering over her shoulder. The images were for a piece they were creating on Roger’s Garden, a local, very high-end, nursery in Newport Beach. More than that, it also housed one of those farm-to-market restaurants called Farmhouse. Popular and also high-end.
“I like this one and that one,” Abby said, pointing.
To Megan, the images were mostly a blur. Her eyes and her brain refused to focus. She took the easy out. “I agree.”
As she rolled back to her desk, Abby asked, “What time are we shooting today?”
“The crew said they’d be set up around eleven thirty,”
Megan said. “What do you have after that?”
“Nothing. Short day.”
“Okay,” Abby said. “After we wrap, I’m going over to the Roger’s Garden to meet with the head chef. I told him I’d let him know what time.”
Abby sat at her desk, scooped up her phone, and began thumbing a text. “Okay. All done.” She spun her chair toward Megan. “Oh, I almost forgot. I have your coffee maker down in my trunk.”
