“Yes, ma’am.” He eased onto the pillow, relaxing again once he was still.
Morgan’s own bruises were numerous, but just being alive and with Lance was enough to ease her stiffness. Every time she thought about what could have happened, her throat clogged and her heart clenched.
She opened the prescription bottle and put two tablets in his hand, then handed him a glass of water on the nightstand. Morgan moved the medication to the top of his medicine cabinet, out of the reach of her kids. She moved the sheet and blanket aside to check the bandage on his calf. He wore just his boxers. More bruises had darkened on his body overnight. Angry, dark patches covered his torso and limbs like a purple camouflage print. The sheer number and expanse of them spoke volumes of how hard he’d fought to save them.
The bedroom door opened, and Sharp swept in, carrying a green shake. “How are you?”
“How about a little privacy, Sharp?” Lance pulled the sheet over his legs and tugged it to his waist.
Sharp rolled his eyes, walked to the bedside, and set the shake on the nightstand. “You need nutrients.”
“I just woke up,” Lance grumbled.
“I made breakfast for you too.” Sharp speared Morgan with a direct gaze. “Don’t you dare dig in to those donuts I saw in the kitchen. You’re not in as serious condition as Lance, but your body has some repairs to make too.”
She sighed. She’d really been looking forward to one of those donuts and a vat of coffee.
“How’s your arm?” she asked Sharp.
“Starting to heal, thank you.” He handed Lance the shake with a short speech about vitamins, amino acids, protein, and anti-inflammatory compounds.
“I believe you. I’m drinking.” Lance accepted the shake and took a long swallow. “What happened to your hand?”
Sharp poked at a bandage on his finger. “I went to pick up that little dog at the vet this morning. She bit me. The vet said it seems the dog hates men.”
“Oh, no,” Morgan said. “I’ll bet Warren Fox had something to do with that.”
“Speaking of Warren,” Sharp said, “he’s fine. He was passed out drunk when you knocked on his door. He’d run his vehicle into a ditch a half mile from his house and stumbled home.”
“At least he isn’t dead,” Morgan said. “What are we going to do with the dog? I can’t have a dog that bites. I have three kids.” But she’d never take the dog to the shelter.
“No worries. I already found her a home. I took her to Natalie Leed’s house. When I told Natalie the dog was homeless and hated men, she said that was perfect. So did she, at the moment. It was love at first sight.” Sharp grinned. “Oh, and guess what Stan Adam’s has been hiding? A gambling problem.”
“How do you know?” Lance raised the glass.
“He was arrested this morning,” Sharp said. “That problem at his firm wasn’t a request from a client. It was missing money. Stan has been borrowing from the firm to pay his debts. Apparently, his partner has had him under investigation for a while.”
“I wonder how long that’s been going on, or whether it has anything to do with Stan’s refusal to say where he really was the night my dad went missing.” Lance drank.
Sharp shrugged. “I doubt he’ll say now that he’s lawyered up.”
Watching Sharp fuss over Lance, Morgan turned toward the door. “I’ll get you an ice pack.”
Sophie bolted past. Morgan tried to grab her, but the child was wiry and quick. She launched herself onto the bed. She made no attempt to touch him, but the mattress rocked. Lance’s face turned pale.
Morgan hurried back to the bed, reaching for Sophie, but Lance shook his head. “I’ve got her.”
He set the shake down and put both hands around Sophie’s waist to stop her movements.
Sophie’s eyes widened as she stared at his bruised chest.
“It looks worse than it is,” he said.
“It wooks wike it hurts.” She leaned forward and kissed the darkest, largest bruise across his ribs.
His face went whiter, and his eyes looked like they were going to roll back in his head as her lips touched the skin over his fractured bones. Sophie leaned back and folded her legs under her body with a little bounce.
“Oh, honey.” Morgan winced. “Lance needs to rest. Don’t—”
Lance held up a hand. Despite the paleness of his face, his eyes were misty. “She’s fine. I need to get up anyway.”
“But you don’t need to be catapulted to your feet,” Morgan said. “Sophie, did you get a donut?”
The little girl turned and frowned at Morgan. “I want to stay wif Wance.”
“How about I come into the kitchen?” Lance suggested.
Sophie eyed his injuries with a dubious expression, as if she didn’t believe he could or should be getting up, but she agreed. “OK.”
Sharp lifted her off the bed, clearly trying to stave off another trampoline session. He set her on the floor, and she darted out of the room.
“I’ll go make some vegetable omelets,” Sharp said. “When you’re up to it, Stella has business to discuss with you both.”
Sharp had phoned to tell them about King’s suicide while they were in the ER. Morgan had not been surprised. The only rules King had followed were his own.
When they’d been discharged from the hospital, Morgan had stayed with Lance to keep an eye on him. He’d insisted he was all right, but she hadn’t wanted him to be alone. They’d fallen asleep as soon as they’d gotten back to his house. Morgan had kept one hand on his body all night long, as if she needed to be continuously reassured that he was safe and whole.
“Did the state police find anything at King’s cabin?” By anything, Lance clearly meant remains.
Sharp said, “The forensics team was still searching the cabin. In light of Vic’s body still being missing, I suggested they bring in a cadaver dog. I’ll bet your dad isn’t far from the lake.”
But they still didn’t know why Vic had died. Would they ever? After all they’d been through, Lance and his mother deserved closure.
“I want to go out there,” Lance said, obviously feeling the same way. “And I need to visit my mother.”
They’d checked on her after he’d been discharged. She’d still been holding her own.
“See how you feel standing up first, all right?” Sharp followed Sophie out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him.
“I’ll get you some clothes.” Morgan opened his dresser drawer and took out a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. She brought them to the bed. Lance was sitting up with his legs over the side. She knelt in front of him, sparing him the agony of bending in half to get his pants on.
“I can dress myself,” Lance protested.
“I’m sorry about Sophie. I hope she didn’t hurt you.”
Lance swallowed. “She didn’t.”
“Liar,” Morgan said.
“Don’t make me laugh.” He laughed, then put a hand over his ribs. “I’m flattered. In the beginning I didn’t think I’d be able to win her over.”
Morgan pictured Sophie bouncing on the mattress. “Be careful what you wish for.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
The next day, Lance stood on the grass behind Sheriff King’s small hunting cabin. Next to him, Morgan held his hand. The day was bright and clear. The sun shone on the water and warmed the top of his head.
Having done her job and alerted within thirty minutes of being brought to the site, the cadaver dog sat on the sidelines while a state police forensic team dug careful shovelfuls of earth out from under the turf. The hole was three feet deep, and they were still digging.
Morgan had detoured to see the inside of the cabin. She hadn’t seen the sheriff’s body, but the bloodstain on the wall had been enough to convince her that the sheriff was dead.
That it was all over.
Well, almost.
They still didn’t know where Vic was or why he’d been killed.
Morgan shivered and zipped h
er parka to her chin.
Stella and Brody walked across the grass to join them.
Brody stared out over the lake. “How typical of King to off himself and leave us totally in the dark. No note, no explanation, no nothing.”
“I never would have guessed King was behind everything,” Lance said. “But when I think about it now, it makes complete sense. He had access to all the witnesses. He only killed those who could connect him with Mary. I have to assume Crystal was the person Mary called from the police station that night. So she knew Mary had been arrested.”
“And P. J. knew King had arrested Mary too,” Stella said. “We arranged for a local detective in Florida to interview Owen Walsh. When he arrived, a PI was in the room.” Sharp’s associate. “The PI had already convinced Owen to talk.”
Lance stiffened. His ribs ached. The last missing piece of his puzzle was about to fall into place.
“Owen is dying of stomach cancer. He seemed relieved to confess.” Stella turned to Lance. “Owen confirmed the story the janitor told Sharp about Owen and King beating Lou Ford. Ford died in the back of the sheriff’s station.” She took a breath, giving Lance a second to brace himself. “This part of the story is secondhand. King told Owen what happened when he called from Grey Lake asking Owen to pick him up. King drove Mary out to a rest stop in Scarlet Falls to kill her, but she got away from him. Your dad was driving along the road, saw the girl running, and stopped to help. King killed him, buried him here, then sank the car in the lake with Mary in the trunk. He called Owen to pick him up on the road near Grey Lake, and Owen drove him back to his car at the rest stop.”
So simple. Just a few sentences summed up his father’s death. It didn’t seem right. But all of the pieces fell into place perfectly.
Disbelief and anger did a slow tumble through Lance’s belly. They’d interacted with the sheriff on several cases over the past few months. King had faced Lance over and over with no sign of guilt. What kind of man could do that? A psychopath. No empathy. No remorse. King hadn’t shown any guilt because he hadn’t felt any.
Lance glanced out over the glittering surface of the lake. He was finally getting the closure he’d wanted for decades, but now that he had it, he couldn’t seem to process it.
He pressed his arm against Morgan’s. He had time, and he had her. The rest would work itself out.
Stella turned to Morgan. “You know Tyler Green was never your stalker, right?”
“Yes,” Morgan said. “He was in jail when the photos were left on our neighbor’s porch.”
“You’ll never guess what we found in King’s cabin. A canister of hornet foam spray and an empty gallon container of beef blood. The sheriff made his own blood bait for catfishing. He had a freezer full of it.” Stella shook her head.
“Why would the sheriff slit your tires and pour blood in your car?” Lance asked. “Other than the general knowledge that he was a cold-blooded killer. Everything else that he did had a specific reason, but those acts seem just plain nasty . . . almost vengeful.”
Morgan’s face went grim. “I can only think of one reason. He was angry that I told the DA he coerced a false confession out of Eric.”
“His ego couldn’t take having a woman rat him out,” Lance said.
Morgan shook her head. “Yet he always seemed to almost like me.”
Lance sighed. “King was clearly a psychopath. They mimic the emotions of others. They are very manipulative, charming even.” He thought of the sheriff’s polite act with his mother. “He was displaying the behavior he thought would make him blend in better.”
“That’s exactly how Ted Bundy convinced young women to trust him,” Morgan agreed.
“There’s more,” Stella said. “The hospital security tape shows a big man in jeans and a baseball cap outside your mother’s room, Lance. He kept his face shadowed or turned away from the camera, but it could have been him. And the night she was poisoned in the ICU, we have a video of someone we believe is him disguised as a janitor. He went into the room next to your mom’s and waited for the old man to code. Then during the commotion, it appears that he injected something into the bag of saline outside your mom’s room. He’d been researching your mother’s medication on his home computer. He had access to confiscated heroin and guns.”
The police and forensics units had been busy, but then the SFPD, the state police, and the county resources had all been on the job.
“He planned everything.” Lance felt numb. How could someone kill so many people just to cover up one mistake?
Psychopaths only think of their own needs and how to manipulate others to attain them.
“We found something,” one of the forensic techs yelled.
Lance moved toward the hole, but Morgan held him back with a hand on his elbow.
“Let Stella and Brody go first,” she said. “You might not want to see.”
He smiled at her. “I need to see this the same way you needed to see the inside of King’s cabin.”
Her grip on his arm tightened.
“It’s a skull,” someone shouted.
Lance took one look in the gravesite. The skull stared back at him from the dirt. Grief flooded him. That was his dad in the bottom of that hole. Even from outside the grave, Lance could see the fissure over the brow ridge. Blunt force trauma. King’s baton?
Lance swallowed hard, stood back, and let the team work. He’d waited twenty-three years. What was another couple of hours?
“Let’s sit down.” Morgan tugged him toward a carved-out log bench facing the water.
He let her guide him to the seat.
But he didn’t have to wait that long.
An hour later, Stella walked over with a clear plastic evidence bag. Inside was a man’s silver wedding ring. Stella pointed to the inside of the band.
JENNY & VIC FOREVER.
“Thanks,” Lance said, his voice hoarse.
Stella returned the ring to the forensic team, then walked back toward Morgan and Lance.
The official identification would take time, but Lance knew this was it. He’d found his father. Vic Kruger hadn’t abandoned his family. He’d stopped to help a woman in distress, and he’d been killed for it.
His mother had been right all along. His father had been a good man.
Emotions crowded Lance’s chest. Too many to sort through all at once. His next breath dragged in and out of his lungs, making his ribs ache through the pain medicine.
“How are you?” Morgan took his hand. She was wearing thick gloves, but the grasp of her hand grounded him.
“OK. I knew as soon as we got here that this would be the place.” He turned away from the rippling water.
Morgan’s big blue eyes were filled with concern. “Are you all right?”
“I am.” Under the sadness lurching through his heart, there was a new stillness, as if he was on a turbulent flight that suddenly smoothed out.
Morgan tightened her grip on his hand.
“I have to go see my mother now,” he said.
Jenny had woken that morning, groggy, out-of-sorts, and terrified at being in the hospital. But Lance had gone to the ICU, and she’d calmed down. She was going to be all right, at least physically. Who knew what kind of mental scars the incident would leave? But if there was one thing Lance was learning, it was to handle one disaster at a time. She was going to live. They’d deal with the fallout later.
“I’ll go with you.” Morgan stood. “I know you’re worried about bringing her home, but I want you to accept that I’m here to help. I love your mom.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s what family does.”
He didn’t argue. He wanted her with him. Why he’d ever thought differently was a mystery to him now.
“Brody and I would like to tag along,” Stella said. “We need your mother to answer some questions if she’s up to it.”
“I don’t know how coherent or cooperative she’ll be,” Lance warned, heading toward the Jeep.
“Understood. You tell us what she can tolerate.” Stella waved for Brody, and he strode across the grass toward them. “This scene belongs to the state police. They don’t need us here.”
“I want to stop at my mom’s house and pick up her computer,” Lance said to Morgan. “She’ll feel better if she has something to do.”
They left the crime scene, stopped at Jenny’s, and then drove to the hospital.
To Lance’s surprise, his mother was out of the ICU and in a regular room. Lance walked in first, with Morgan right behind him.
She sat up and reached her hand out for his. Taking it, he sat on the edge of the bed. Morgan stood beside him.
His mom squinted at him. Her eyes were a little bit fuzzy. “What happened to your face?”
She obviously didn’t remember him stopping by that morning. Her voice slurred, as if she were mildly sedated. Probably for the best. She’d experienced enough stress to freak out the most stable person.
“It’s just a few scratches. But I have some news for you.” He told her the basics of what happened with the sheriff, leaving out the details of King’s attempt to kill him and Morgan. She didn’t need to know everything.
“They found Dad.” Lance told her what they’d found at the sheriff’s cabin.
When he’d finished his story, she seemed . . . relieved. “I knew it. I knew he didn’t leave us.”
“You were right.”
His mom sniffed. “Now we can put him to rest properly.”
And carry his memory untainted. Until this moment, Lance hadn’t realized how important it was that his father’s name be cleared.
“How are you doing here?” Lance asked.
His mother’s eyes filled with tears. “I want to go home. The doctor thinks I can go home tomorrow or the next day.” She licked her lips. “I don’t like being here. I want to go home today.”
“I know.” Lance patted her forearm. “Are you up to answering a few questions from the police?”
“I don’t know.” His mom pulled her hand away and picked at a cuticle.
Bones Don't Lie (Morgan Dane Book 3) Page 29
