by Aiden Bates
His next destination wasn't going to be nearly as pleasant. He aimed his car toward the Massachusetts State Police Headquarters. It wasn't far, and before he knew it he was parked in their visitor lot.
Before he went inside, he ran through his notes. He could just file a formal motion and force them to give him the list, but he didn't want that. He always preferred to do things the nice way whenever he could. That didn't mean that he was foolish enough to think that he was going to be able to saunter inside, say, "Hi, give me all of your notes for my dad's case," and have it happen. No, he was going to have to be on top of his game here, even more than he was when he was in court.
He grabbed his briefcase and made a beeline for the front door. Once inside, he walked up to the front counter and gave his most professional smile to the young trooper on reception duty. "Good afternoon," he said. "Would it be possible to speak with Detective Raymond Langer from the Cold Case unit?"
"Do you have an appointment?" The trooper was not moved by Doug's charm and smile.
"I don't. I just filed a motion yesterday and I was hoping to speak with him about it."
The young trooper didn't seem to care. "Whom should I say is calling?"
"My name is Douglas Morrison, with Findlay, Allison and Jones." He passed a card to the trooper.
The officer picked up the phone. "Detective Langer? Yes, sir. I've got a Mr. Morrison from a law firm called Findlay, Allison and Jones here to see you? I don't know, sir. Yes, sir." He looked back over at Doug. "Detective Langer will be right out."
Doug retreated to one of the hard plastic chairs, eerily reminiscent of those in the prison waiting room, and held his briefcase on his lap. He had no idea what to expect here. He had probably seen Langer at least once, but he couldn't remember him from the trial. Either he'd had a commitment he couldn't escape, or he'd faded back into the background.
When Langer emerged from the troopers-only area, Doug knew that Langer could never have faded into the background. He stood tall, with short and curly black hair and a long, aristocratic nose. His wide green eyes scanned the waiting area until they found Doug, and his basil scent made Doug's mouth water.
Doug bit back a curse. This was going to be harder than he'd expected. No one had warned him that Detective Langer was an alpha, and a hot one at that.
...
Ray didn't have to work too hard to pick out which of the visitors in the waiting area was Doug Morrison. The rain-spattered lawyer suit was a giant clue, for one thing. Even if he hadn't been wearing the suit, Morrison's scent would have marked him out.
Ray tried not to squirm, or to drool. Maybe he shouldn't have used terms like marked.
He breathed in for four seconds, paused for one, and let it out slowly. He could do this. He was an alpha, but alphas weren't animals ruled by their baser instincts. Alphas, like all humans, were strong and intelligent people. They could control themselves and their urges. They could be men of peace and understanding, even around omegas.
Even around omegas who smelled like cotton candy. Ray bit back a whimper.
He stepped forward and held out his hand. "Hi. I'm Ray Langer. You must be Doug Morrison."
Morrison gave him a thin, small smile. It completely belied the surge in cotton-candy scent that signaled his arousal. "That's me. I'm here to talk to you about Lawrence Morrison."
"I kind of figured." Ray shot the lawyer a sheepish grin and stuffed his hands into his pocket. He knew it probably looked unfriendly, but it helped him to keep his hands to himself. "Come on with me and we can sit down and have a talk someplace a little more comfortable. Only a little. They don't waste taxpayer dollars on conference rooms, I'm afraid."
The corners of Morrison's mouth twitched. "They're probably a lot more comfortable than the ones where I see a lot of my clients." He followed Ray back toward Cold Case, shoes squeaking on the linoleum. "About half of my caseload is appeals."
"For real?" Ray turned his head to look at the attorney and decided to walk by his side. It made conversation easier, even if it didn't make it easier to keep his mind on his work. "How's that work out for you?"
"Pretty well, actually." Morrison smirked, a little glint of light coming into those narrow green eyes of his. "I have the advantage of only taking on cases that I think I can win."
Ray nodded slowly. "I can see where that would be an advantage, I guess. Here we are. We'll just go right into the first conference room on your left. Careful; all of the detectives are alphas. It might be a little intense." He held open the door to the Cold Case unit.
Morrison gave no indication that he noticed the intense concentration of alpha scents, but he did pick up his pace as he walked through the bullpen. It gave Ray an opportunity to get a good look at his ass, which he both appreciated and kind of resented. After all, he needed to not be thinking these kinds of thoughts about Lawrence Freaking Morrison's son. He was supposed to be above this sort of thing.
Ray closed the door behind them and sat down across from Morrison. It felt strange, having his back to the door like this. It felt like he was the visitor. "All right, Mr. Morrison. Let's talk. I can probably guess why you're here today."
Morrison was unfazed by Ray's tone. He folded his hands on top of his briefcase. "The court has already notified you of my request for a new trial."
"It has. I'm not entirely sure why you think it's a valid request." Ray leaned forward. "Look, I'm really sorry that you have to come to grips with the fact that your father is a serial killer, but the fact of the matter is that the evidence was overwhelming. That conviction is solid. It's hard, to find something like that out about your own flesh and blood. I get that."
Morrison's jaw tightened, but he nodded. "Exhibits A and B." He reached into his briefcase and pulled out photocopies of credit card receipts.
Ray picked them up. The receipts were from a hotel in Annapolis, Maryland, and dated to April of 2002.
Morrison pulled something else out of his bag and passed it to Ray. It was a printout with two pictures, both with date and time stamps. "Library Studies Convention, Annapolis, 2002," Ray read aloud. "That's Morrison, right there. One from April 3, one from April 5." Ray's heart sank. "There's no way he could have gotten back and forth from Annapolis in time to kill Bonnaire or Alumi."
Morrison didn't grin. He didn't smirk, or give a shout of triumph. "That is the preliminary basis of my request for a new trial. How many more victims am I going to find, where my father has an ironclad alibi?" He shook his head.
Ray's hand shook. "Okay. This is… this is bad. It's very bad. I'll take a copy of this and bring it back to you—"
Morrison held up a hand. "Keep it, Detective. I have lots of copies. Trust me."
"Okay then." Ray swallowed. Of course the guy had multiple copies. His father's freedom depended on it. "But here's the thing. The case of these two women is bad. I'll grant that there's no way that Lawrence Morrison killed those two women. And I'll do what I have to in order to make sure that those two women are stricken from the list of his victims, but Mr. Morrison, I'm sorry. They got caught up in the rest of the victimology because they fit the profile for his usual victims and because he has a pattern. I stand by those convictions." He swallowed. "All twenty-two of them."
Morrison did smirk now, and he turned his head away. "I can't say that I'm surprised. You're the one who sent him up in the first place. The person who did kill Melina Bonnaire and Ada Alumi is still out there, somewhere. Serial killers don't just stop killing. Are you honestly ready to have that on your conscience?"
Ray clenched his jaw. He didn't mind helping out a grieving man. While Morrison's father was still alive, he was going to spend the rest of his life up in Shirley. That created real grief, and Ray could respect it. At the same time, he didn't have to tolerate someone impugning his commitment to the job. "I'm convinced that I have the right man. What exactly is it that you want from me?"
"I want the name, date, and time of death for each of my father's alleged victims."
Morrison wasn't intimidated, not in the slightest. He met Ray's eyes squarely, without hesitation. "I can do the rest without your help."
"What rest?" Ray threw his hands up into the air. "I was wrong about those two, and I admit it, but Morrison, he's guilty. He killed twenty-two women. That includes your mother, for crying out loud. Doesn't that bother you?"
"It would bother me." Morrison shrugged. "If he'd done it. He didn't. I know my father. I know killers. My father is not a murderer. I'm not exactly new to this game, Detective."
Ray stood up. "All right. Do you have an email address?"
Morrison chuckled. "I thought carrier pigeon would suffice." He produced a card and passed it over to Ray. "They look so festive with a long line of dot matrix paper tied to their little legs."
Ray had to laugh at that, even though he was still furious. "All right," he said, hanging onto the card. "I'll get that data for you and send it out within the next day or so." He shook Morrison's hand and ignored the little jolt of electricity that arced through his body when their skin connected.
Ray left the room immediately. He figured that a guy like Doug could probably find his own way out. Ray had never met an omega who affected him so strongly before, and of course he could do nothing for him. He needed to get away.
He saw his friends all turn their heads to watch the slender, small omega walk out the door. Then all of those heads turned back to stare at him as his boss, Lt. Devlin, walked out of his office. "So," Devlin said. "That's the son, huh?"
Ray slumped down in his seat. "Yeah." He picked up a pen and twirled it in his fingers. "Yeah, that was the son. Apparently the son is a big shot lawyer whose practice consists mostly of appeals."
"I hate appeals." Nenci screwed up his face and glowered at the door Morrison had just walked out.
Tessaro flipped Nenci off. "You hate everything, man. Just go drink some tea or something." He turned to the rest of them. "I mean I feel bad for the guy, you know? How much must it not suck to have your dad kill your mom?"
"Right?" Ray leaned back in his seat. "Although I wouldn't recommend saying that in front of Morrison. He's already found two victims that the senior Mr. Morrison couldn't possibly have killed. We'll have to take a look at the evidence and make sure that the time of death is really correct, but I'm pretty sure that he's right on those cases. It just gives him false hope."
Devlin cleared his throat. "What makes you so sure it's false?"
Ray looked up at his boss in shock. "Sir, you're kidding me, right? I mean you were right there with me, the whole time. Larry Morrison was the last person to see his wife alive. His behavior after the discovery of the first part of Mrs. Morrison wasn't that of a grieving widower; he seemed more likely to be bidding good riddance to bad rubbish. And then there's all the circumstantial evidence."
"All of which has been wrong before." Devlin grinned at him. "I'm pretty confident that we got our guy too, but I'm not going to pretend that people don't get wrongly convicted. We're supposed to be here for justice, not vendettas. It can't hurt to take the time to look back over the case and make sure we got it right." He grimaced and rolled his shoulders. "Not that we're going to have a choice, considering that Morrison Junior petitioned for a new trial. And given what you found, I think he'll probably get it."
The entire squad groaned. Ray had been the lead detective on the case, but they'd all pitched in once they realized that they weren't dealing with a single cold murder but a long-term active serial killer. The case had been grueling, and when they'd finally closed it and gone to trial Ray had personally paid for champagne for the entire squad.
He got up from his chair and walked over to the nearest empty whiteboard. "Hey, Camille, would you mind terribly asking the records department to send up the boxes from the Morrison case?" he called over his shoulder, and picked up a dry-erase marker. "Okay. What do we know?"
Robles' fingers flew across the keyboard. "Okay. Emiliana Romola Morrison, of Lakeville, was reported missing by the priest at her church when she didn't show up for a church group meeting in February of 1998. According to Detective Wilson of Lakeville PD, Mrs. Morrison never missed group." He tugged at his collar. None of this was new to him, but the details were still chilling. "According to her husband, Lawrence, they'd had a difference of opinion and she'd gone 'for a walk.' She often stayed out all night to pray about their 'differences of opinion,' so he hadn't called it in."
Ray put the date on the far left of his timeline. "Okay. What's the last murder?"
"Clarissa Baldovini, age forty-five, in 2014. Body dismembered and scattered just like the others, with the remains found in Massasoit State Park and in various lawns and bush sites in Lakeville and Taunton." That was Morris, who was finally starting to look a little more with it since his omega had almost been killed.
One by one, the other guys on the team read out the names of Larry Morrison's victims while Ray plotted them out on the timeline. They hadn't done this the first time they'd investigated Morrison; they'd been looking into the cold case of Emiliana's death and discovered the serial killer almost by accident. Now that they were looking at the crimes together, and thinking in terms of serial killers, one fact became glaringly obvious. "We're missing victims," he said, staring at his timeline.
"Right." Devlin wiped at his mouth. "Between 1998 and 2000, assuming that the wife was the first. There should be more victims in that space."
Morris jumped to his feet. "Do you think that he maybe got scared off by the blood or something? Or that maybe there was another triggering incident?"
"It happens sometimes." Tessaro shook his head. "Not often. More often, there will be some kind of a gap, but not like this unless they leave the area. Morrison ran the town library. He just went about his daily life. The only change that was made was that he and his son left the Church."
Nenci poked at his keyboard, but his eyes were far away. "If I remember correctly, I think that the priest there was a member of the Order of Lot. Really not a fan of alphas, omegas or anyone else who likes the company of their own gender. That would have been around the same time that the younger Morrison would have tested for the omega gene, so it's not unreasonable that they should leave."
"I wonder if that's what the fight was about?" Ray scratched his head. "Doug doesn't seem at all bothered by the fact that his father killed his mother, but if she bought into that way of thinking it's possible that he just doesn't care."
Robles bobbed his head from side to side. "Maybe. I mean maybe he's just kind of numbed himself to it, too. I don't know. Remember he doesn't accept that his father did kill his mother. So we have that to contend with." He rubbed at his cheeks. "Man, I am so not looking forward to having to comb through all of this again. Especially if we might have two of these guys out there, you know?"
Ray did know. It had taken police so long to put the pieces together because the killer had struck all across the southeastern part of the state, making it difficult to put any kind of pattern together. If the crimes belonged to more than one perpetrator, that would make teasing out the reality even more difficult.
Devlin put his hands behind his back. "Well, you boys know what to do. I'm confident that you'll prove your case."
Tessaro elbowed Ray. "Well, it could be worse."
Ray turned to his friend with a bleak look. "How?"
"The guy's omega son could look like a boot. At least you've got someone nice to look at while you two butt heads."
Ray couldn't argue with that. He sat down to compile the list that Morrison had asked for. It was a lot of work, but it would be a good tool for him and the rest of the team too.
Book 3 – Omega’s Kiss – Coming Soon!
The story may be over but there are still things to do! Please read below and follow the next four steps!
Check out the other books in the Never Too Late Series. Remember, all books can be read by itself!
Buried Passion – Never Too Late Book 1
Ryan is a detective wi
th the Abused Persons unit of the Mass. State Police. He loves his job, and he’s very good at it. He balks when his supervisor assigns him to a case with the Cold Case unit, and not just because that’s out of his area of expertise. Everyone in Cold Case is an alpha, and that’s just not a comfortable place for an unclaimed omega to be.
Nick is a detective with the Cold Case unit. He’s a strictly by-the-book detective. He trusts to procedure and precedent to get the job done. He doesn’t mind getting stuck with a highly visible case. He doesn’t even mind getting stuck with the pretty omega from Abused Persons, so long as he sits down, shuts up and doesn’t screw with the process that’s worked well for years.
