“I really wasn’t getting anywhere. It seemed pointless to continue.” She hadn’t wanted to make progress.
Grandpa reached over and put his hand over hers. “Then you should find another one.”
She smiled, but it felt empty. “I’ll be fine once I get back to work. I just need to get my life in order.”
Her grandfather didn’t look convinced.
Morgan stood. “And on that note, I’ll get back to my paperwork before Sophie wakes up.”
She didn’t make it to the kitchen.
“You’re going to want to see this.” Grandpa raised the volume on the TV. He pushed down the foot of his recliner and leaned forward.
On the screen, the police chief, the mayor, and the district attorney gathered on one side of a podium. On the other side of the flag-festooned stage, Brody stood in the background.
Police Chief Horner stepped up to the podium. “Behind me are District Attorney Bryce Walters, Mayor Rich DiGulio—” Horner shifted his focus, “—and Scarlet Falls Detective Brody McNamara.”
Flashes went off as photographers snapped shots.
Morgan returned to the sofa and perched on the edge of the cushion.
Horner turned back to the throng of media. “We have an update in the murder of Tessa Palmer.”
Reporters surged forward, extending their microphones and shouting questions.
Horner raised a hand to request silence. Chatter lowered to murmurs, and he continued. “In the early morning hours on Saturday, the Scarlet Falls Police Department learned of the brutal sexual assault and murder of a female victim.”
Morgan flinched at the words “sexual assault.” She hadn’t known.
Horner continued. “The young woman was identified as Scarlet Falls resident Tessa Palmer. She was killed between the hours of ten thirty p.m. Thursday and four a.m. Friday. Her body was found near Scarlet Lake. We are thoroughly investigating this brutal crime. Detective McNamara is the lead detective on the case. I’ll leave him to answer your questions.”
He gestured for Brody to step up to the mic.
Brody complied, but he didn’t look happy about it.
A reporter shouted, “Detective McNamara, we heard there’s a suspect.”
Brody shook his head. “We have a person of interest, but we aren’t prepared to charge anyone at this time.”
Another reporter raised his mic. “Do you think there’s a serial killer running around Scarlet Falls?”
Brody answered, “It’s too early in the investigation—”
“Thank you, Detective McNamara.” Horner cut him off, but behind his polite nod, he looked ready to tear Brody’s head off. “We have no reason to think this murder is anything other than an individual event.”
“Should the women of Scarlet Falls take extra precautions?” another reporter shouted.
“We always suggest our female residents be vigilant about their surroundings, but we have no specific warning at this time.” Horner took a breath, his gaze sweeping the crowd. “I’m confident that this office will bring a swift close to a case that has shocked and appalled the residents of this town.”
Grandpa lowered the volume as the press conference wound down. “Chief Horner likes to get in front of the camera.”
“He’ll lose his job if the mayor doesn’t win his reelection. A killer running around town won’t help that happen.”
The police chief was hired by the mayor and city council. If town leadership changed, the chief could be fired by the next administration.
“There’ll be a great deal of pressure to make a quick arrest,” Grandpa said. “The election is only six weeks away.”
“I feel like I should do something.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, but I want Tessa’s killer caught.” Five minutes ago, Morgan hadn’t wanted to talk about Tessa’s death. Now, she suddenly felt cowardly for hiding from the news.
“You’ll get to put criminals away starting next week.”
“I can’t wait. Why wasn’t Stella at the press conference?” Morgan asked. Her sister had responded to the scene with Brody. “Horner likes to put her in front of the camera.”
“I don’t know. Maybe she’s working the case.”
“I’m going to call her.” She speed-dialed her sister.
Stella answered in two rings. “Morgan?”
“Hey. I just saw the news conference. Where were you?”
“Horner pulled me from the case.” Wind weakened Stella’s voice.
“What?”
“Hold on. The wind is brutal out here. Let me get in my car.” Over the connection, a door closed and the wind ceased. Stella continued. “He took me off the case. He said I’m too close.”
“This isn’t the first time you’ve known a victim. This is a small town. You’re bound to know some victims.”
“I know.” Stella paused. “I got the feeling there was more to his order.”
“Like?” Morgan asked.
“I’ve recognized half of the people brought in for questioning.” Stella lowered her voice. “I wonder if he took me off the case not because I knew the victim, but because I might know the killer.”
Statistically, male homicide victims were more likely to be murdered by strangers, but women were usually killed by someone they knew. Scarlet Falls was a small town. Chances were, Tessa had been killed by one of their own.
Stella said good-bye and Morgan lowered the phone. Movement through the living room window caught her attention. Three police cars pulled into the Zabrowski driveway. Two black-and-whites and one unmarked car.
“What is it?” Grandpa asked.
“Police cars across the street.” Morgan watched Brody get out of the unmarked police car.
“They’re going to question Nick. You said he was Tessa’s boyfriend.” Grandpa climbed to his feet and joined her at the window. Brody went to the front door. Bud opened it, and Brody handed him a folded paper.
“They’re serving a warrant,” Grandpa said.
Morgan headed for the door.
Grandpa frowned. “You can’t get involved. You’re going to work for the District Attorney, remember?”
“I’m just going to see what’s happening.”
Worry propelled Morgan across the street. The lots in the riverside neighborhood were several acres each, the houses far apart. The Zabrowski place was a one-story, two-bedroom, no-frills rectangle. It didn’t have a water view, but Bud was meticulous about his landscaping. The front lawn, with its Ireland-green grass and tall oaks, looked like a park. Nick had learned his trade at a young age.
Morgan went up the brick walk. Bud had the door open before she reached the stoop.
“I was just going to call you. I don’t know what to do.” The manager of the Speedy Lube in town, Bud still wore his red, logoed polo and black pants.
Morgan didn’t know much about the family’s background, only that Bud had raised his son alone since Nick was little. In the ten years they’d lived across the street from her grandfather, she’d never heard any mention of Nick’s mother.
Bud kept the house as tidy as his lawn. The furnishings were bachelor-plain, heavy on black leather and oak. Knickknacks were limited to framed snapshots and a couple of high school chess trophies. Brody stood in the middle of the room, giving instructions to three uniformed officers as they worked. All four policemen wore gloves as they pulled up the couch cushions and upended furniture to inspect the undersides of drawers.
Bud led the way into the kitchen. Nick sat at the kitchen table, his hands clasped in front of him in a white-knuckled grip. His face was locked in disbelief, grief, and fear. A fifth policeman stood in the doorway watching Nick.
Bud handed her some papers. “This is what they gave me. We went to the police station on Saturday, and they asked him some questions, but we haven’t heard anything since. I thought that was the end of it.”
Morgan thought back to her discussion with Felicity. The police would tr
ack down all the kids who had been at the party Thursday night, but Nick, as Tessa’s boyfriend, would be of special interest. She unfolded the papers and automatically checked to make sure the name, address, and other information were correct. There were separate warrants for Nick’s and Bud’s vehicles. Her gaze moved down the page. She read over the description of property to be seized: knives, clothing items, biological evidence, fibers . . .
The police thought Nick had killed Tessa. He wasn’t just a suspect. He was the lead suspect.
The warrant included the house, the land, and the large shed in which Nick stored his landscaping equipment. The police were also seizing Nick’s computer and cell phone.
Morgan’s gaze shifted to Nick. She couldn’t believe he would violently kill Tessa on Thursday night, and then come over and play chess with Grandpa the next day as if nothing had happened. Actually, he’d been a little distracted, and the fact that he’d been at their house on a Friday night had been unusual.
“Nick?” she took the chair next to him.
He didn’t look up, but the set of his shoulders was all tension.
With a glance at the cop in the doorway, Morgan lowered her voice. “The police asked you questions on Saturday?”
He lifted his gaze to hers. She recoiled at the wounded look in his eyes.
Nodding, he said, “Two policemen came to the door and said they needed to talk to me at the police station. They wanted me to go in their car, but Dad drove me instead.”
Many people would have been interviewed on Saturday and Sunday as the police sorted suspects from witnesses.
“How did it go?” she asked.
“I thought it was fine.” His brows lowered. “I guess I was wrong.”
“Did they advise you of your Miranda rights?” she asked.
“Yes.”
Miranda rights were generally read to suspects, not witnesses. They’d zeroed in on Nick almost immediately. By itself, that wasn’t alarming. But a search warrant required the police to establish probable cause, so the police must have had more than just a hunch that Nick was guilty. The probable cause affidavit wasn’t attached to the search warrant. Sometimes, to expedite the search, a judge signs the warrant with the understanding that the affidavit will be attached within twenty-four hours.
But Morgan would have liked to have known the extent of the evidence right now.
“Did you understand that you could have had an attorney with you while they asked you questions?” Morgan asked.
“Yes,” he said. “But I didn’t think I needed one. I wanted to cooperate. I want them to find who . . .” His eyes filled with moisture, but he blinked back his tears. “I want them to find whoever did that to Tessa.”
“What were the names of the officers who asked you questions?” she asked.
“Police Chief Horner asked all the questions,” Nick said. “But the detective in the living room was there too.”
So, Stella must have been pulled from the case because she knew the primary suspect: Nick.
“Do not say anything else without a lawyer,” she said.
“I didn’t do anything. How could they think . . . ?” He didn’t finish his sentence.
“Nick, I want you to promise me you will not answer any more questions from the police without an attorney present. It’s important.”
“Yeah. I get that now.” He raised his eyes. “And letting them swab my mouth was probably dumb too. But I honestly didn’t think I had anything to worry about. I couldn’t ever have hurt Tessa.” A tear slid from his eye. He wiped it away with an angry swipe of his hand.
A sick feeling settled in Morgan’s belly. They’d swabbed Nick for DNA on Saturday.
How much evidence did the police have?
Guilt swamped Morgan. She’d been hiding under a metaphorical rock for the past few days. She’d known the police would bring Nick in for questioning. Why hadn’t she asked him about his interview?
“Can we go outside?” Morgan asked the officer babysitting Nick. “We’re probably in the way.”
He nodded and stepped back so she, Bud, and Nick could pass. The cop followed them, sticking close to Nick. Out on the front lawn, the situation didn’t improve. Another police car had arrived, and two officers were searching the exterior of the property.
Nick balled his hand into a fist, and his posture stiffened. He looked like he was working hard not to cry. Maybe she should have kept him inside, but watching the police search your home was bound to be upsetting.
“It’s going to be OK, Nick.” Bud’s voice was calm.
Nick shook his head. They waited as the policemen walked the grounds, stopping periodically to squat and inspect the grass. Morgan’s heart broke at his distress. Usually, he was an easygoing kid.
The officers rounded the house and disappeared from view. Bud paced, Morgan leaned on a tree, and Nick stood stock-still in the center of the lawn. Twenty minutes passed.
“Brody!” an officer came running from the side of the house.
Brody exited the house and rounded the building. A few minutes later, he walked back toward them. His eyes were grim. His gaze flickered to Morgan. Clearly, he didn’t want to do whatever was next.
Brody stopped in front of Nick. “Nick Zabrowski, you are under arrest for the murder of Tessa Palmer.”
Nick’s body shook. His face went white, and his mouth dropped open. “No.”
A uniformed officer stepped forward, handcuffs out and ready. “Turn around. Put your hands behind your head. Interlace your fingers.”
Instead of complying, Nick backed away. “No. This can’t be right. I would never hurt Tessa. I didn’t do anything.”
“Give him a minute,” Bud said.
“Turn around.” The cop reached for Nick’s arm.
The cop’s hand touched Nick’s bicep, and his body jerked, his legs tangling as he turned to flee.
The uniform tackled him, taking Nick to the ground facedown and straddling his back.
“Stop! Get off me,” Nick screamed into the grass, terrified.
Despair welled in Morgan’s throat as tears burned her eyes.
“Nick, try to calm down,” she said. “Fighting them will only make the situation worse. If you can be quiet and cooperate, this will be easier for you.”
Nick went still, but they all knew that nothing about what was going to happen to him next would be easy.
Chapter Nine
What the hell?
Lance parked at the curb in front of Morgan’s house. Across the street, four police cars were parked in Nick’s driveway. A news van had arrived. A reporter and her cameraman scurried up the grass like rats with microphones.
In the center of the front lawn, a cop knelt on a man on the ground. Another man in a red shirt was lunging at the pair on the grass. Nick’s dad? Morgan stood in front of him, holding him back with both hands on his chest.
The reporter shook out her hair, lifted her mic, and checked her lipstick in the lens of the camera. The cop on the ground jerked the handcuffed man to his feet.
Shit. That was Nick.
The scene came together in one, horrible rush.
Nick was being arrested for Tessa’s murder.
The young man stopped struggling. His body went stiff, his face completely impassive, as if he’d simply shut down.
Lance got out of the car. He was not getting involved in Tessa Palmer’s case, and Morgan shouldn’t either. The DA wouldn’t be happy to find her at the prime suspect’s house.
“Nooo!” A high-pitched yell came from behind him. Lance spun. Sophie came flying off the front step, with Gianna at her heels.
“Sophie, get back here!” Gianna shouted.
The little girl’s face was a mask of panic and rage. Lance darted left and intercepted her with an arm around her middle.
“No!” she howled. “They’re hurting Nick. Make them stop!”
Lance swung her into his arms and hugged her close to his chest, trying to turn her face away from
the scene. Not that it would help at this point. She’d obviously already seen the worst part.
Tiny fists pounded on his chest. “Dowwwn!”
“Shh.” Holding tight, he rubbed her back. “It’s going to be all right.”
The reporter pointed at Lance, and the cameraman swung around to aim the camera at him. He shifted Sophie to shield her from the camera’s view with his body.
Across the street, Morgan’s face was sheer devastation as a stiff-legged Nick was dragged toward a police car and put into the back. The cameraman went back to filming Nick. Morgan released her grip on the man in red. He slumped, wiping a hand across his face, and nodding blindly at whatever she was saying to him.
Lance carried Sophie inside.
“I’m sorry.” Gianna held out her arms.
“Hold tight.” Lance bent to hand her over. Sophie’s spindly arms and legs were surprisingly strong, but she’d stopped fighting and started sobbing. “Keep her inside. I don’t want those vultures from the press putting her on the evening news.”
Gianna took the child, wrapping her arms around her small body, and walked toward the rear of the house. Over Gianna’s shoulder, Sophie shot Lance a mutinous stare, her face an angry, tear-streaked red. She was never going to forgive him.
He went out onto the front stoop to see what was happening. The car containing Nick had left. Cops, including Brody, swarmed over the grass. Morgan had pulled Nick’s dad to the side of the property and was talking to him. The man’s face was locked in pain and despair.
Morgan touched his forearm, turned, and walked toward Lance. He met her in the middle of her driveway. Her eyes, usually deep with sadness, were on fire. Over the past few months, the only times he’d seen her truly happy and animated were when she was playing with her kids. Underneath, her grief ran deep. When she was alone, she tended to brood.
“What happened?” he asked.
“They found a knife, which appeared to be encrusted with blood, buried behind the shed.” Morgan met his gaze. That wasn’t all. “They also found a T-shirt with blood on it in his hamper.”
“No.”
The man in the red shirt hurried across the street. “Morgan?”
Say You're Sorry (Morgan Dane Book 1) Page 9
