Turning toward him, Morgan gestured between them. “Lance Kruger, Bud Zabrowski. Bud is Nick’s dad.”
“This can’t be right,” Bud said. “Nick could never hurt anyone. For one, he can’t stand the sight of blood. Pukes every time. He could never do . . .” Bud clearly couldn’t vocalize the crime Nick had been accused of committing. “That to anyone, let alone Tessa. He really liked her.”
Bud inhaled a deep and painful-sounding breath. “What am I going to do? I can’t afford a defense attorney.”
“The court will appoint a lawyer if you can’t afford one,” Morgan said.
Bud shook his head. “Will that be good enough?”
That depended on who was assigned his case. There were good public defenders and bad ones, but frankly, they were all overworked.
“I don’t know.” Morgan was honest.
“I can try to mortgage the house, but I doubt there’s much equity. I took out a second mortgage to help Nick buy the equipment for his business. Do you know any good attorneys?” Bud asked Morgan.
She nodded. “I can give you some names.”
“Thank you. I have to try.” Bud shook her hand. “I’m going to start calling mortgage companies.” He hurried back to his house.
Morgan walked to the front step and sat down. She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and began to scroll. “Even if he mortgages his house, he’s going to have a hard time paying the bill of a top criminal defense attorney.”
“How hard will it be for him to find someone to take the case? If DNA on the knife matches Tessa’s blood . . .”
“I know.”
“What if he’s guilty?” Lance didn’t know Nick that well.
“He’s not.”
“How do you know that? If Brody arrested Nick, he has enough evidence to make a case, and he’s only been investigating for a few days.”
Morgan raised her gaze. “A few weeks ago, Grandpa sliced his hand out in the yard with a pair of pruning shears. Nick was working with him. One glance at the blood and he threw up in the driveway. It was an immediate reaction.”
“That’s not enough to build a defense.”
Morgan rose and dusted off her slacks. “Shadow of a doubt, right? Isn’t that what Nick’s entitled to?”
“It’s a pretty thin shadow.”
“It’s a start, and we don’t know anything about the case. What if the DNA on the knife doesn’t match Tessa’s?”
“Why would Nick have a bloody knife buried in his backyard?”
Morgan’s body went rigid. “If Nick killed Tessa, why would he hold on to the murder weapon? She was killed right near the lake. He could have thrown the knife into the water or left it at the scene. Only a fool would bring home the murder weapon he used to kill his girlfriend.”
“Not a fool,” Lance corrected. “Someone who hasn’t committed a crime before. Someone who panicked. Criminals don’t always do the smart thing. That’s how they get caught.”
“I know, but I can’t believe Nick is a killer. He plays chess with my grandfather. He reads stories to my girls.”
Maybe that’s why Morgan was so freaked out. Nick was a member of their community. She trusted him. She’d let him into her home, given him access to her children. If he could be guilty of murder, then how could anyone ever feel safe?
“I’ve never even seen him lose his temper,” she said.
But Nick had been very angry on that video.
Lance reached out to touch Morgan’s arm. “I know you don’t want to believe it, but Brody is a good cop.”
“I know Brody’s a good cop, but this time he has to be wrong.”
Or was he? Lance wondered how well Morgan really knew Nick. And for that matter, how well did anyone really know their neighbors and what went on behind closed doors?
Chapter Ten
He turned off the television. Nick Zabrowski had been arrested for Tessa’s murder. His plan had worked. He should be happy, but it didn’t feel real.
Standing, he walked to the window, almost expecting to see a police car outside. But the scene outside was the same as always. A squirrel bounded across the grass and raced up a tree.
Could he really have gotten away with what he’d done?
He glanced down at his hands. No matter how much he washed them, he couldn’t seem to get rid of the imaginary bloodstains. He curled his fingers into tight fists. His nails dug into his palms. The sharp bite of pain was grounding.
It amazed him that he could walk around in public, and no one saw through him. He knew what he was, and it wasn’t normal. Other people would be horrified at the things he dreamed about. He worked hard to pretend he was like everybody else.
All that hard work had paid off after he lost it Thursday night. He had gotten his shit back together and taken care of business.
Now he needed to act like everything was fine. But it was getting tougher to pretend. How does a monster act normal?
He listened for a few seconds but heard nothing. The house was empty. No police cars were parked outside. No one was waiting to expose his secrets.
He went to his closet, turned on the light, and moved aside a few boxes. In the back corner, he lifted the carpet, then pried up a small piece of the floor. Inside the hole was a shoebox. A chilly shiver of excitement passed through him as he held the box in his hands. It felt too light considering all that it held.
His secrets.
His demons.
His guilt.
Setting it on the floor, he opened it. Photographs of Tessa stared up at him. He picked up a picture by the corner. A tear slipped from his eye and landed onto the photo. He wiped it away with an angry gesture. The pain in his heart intensified.
I loved you. Why couldn’t you just love me back?
How could he live without her?
She’d been perfect. Sweet. Innocent. Beautiful.
She’d said she hadn’t loved him back. She’d tried to reject him. But she’d been lying to herself. No matter how hard she’d tried to deny it, she’d wanted him as much as he wanted her. Turning on him had been her ultimate betrayal.
But now she was gone. At first he’d blamed himself for his lack of control, but she’d forced him to do what he’d done. She knew about his temper, and still she’d backed him into a corner, she’d threatened him. He’d had no choice. He’d been relieved when he’d realized that it had been her own fault.
Why did you make me hurt you?
He flipped through the stack of photos, each one a stab to his heart. But by the time he’d reached the end of the pile, he’d become conditioned to the pain. He went through the pile again and again, until he could view each image without responding. Then he put the photos away.
He fished in the bottom of the box for the lock of hair he’d taken the night he’d killed her. He ran his fingers through it but stopped when he touched something hard and crusty. He held the hair to the light.
Blood.
Another reminder that she was gone. Nothing would ever be the same again.
His grip around the hair tightened. He left the closet and went to his bathroom. Running the water in the sink, he blocked the drain and washed the hair with shampoo.
Then he returned to the closet. The hair went back into the box. The box was placed in the hole, the floorboard and carpet put back. No one would know what he’d hidden there.
Just as no one would ever guess what he’d done. If his plan worked, the police would never suspect him. Yes, he’d lost control. He’d snapped. But he’d pulled himself together and cleaned up his mess.
Now it was time to do the same with his life.
Tessa was gone, but he wasn’t. As much as he missed her, he was going to have to think about her replacement. The monster inside him had to be fed.
As long as he lived, he’d have needs.
Dark needs.
Needs someone would have to meet.
Chapter Eleven
Morgan opened her eyes to a throbbing headache. She h
adn’t slept much since finding Tessa’s body, and Nick’s arrest the day before had kept her awake long into the night. When she did manage to drift off, her nightmares were filled with images of Tessa and Nick and blood. Eventually, her subconscious got around to substituting her own girls in Tessa’s place.
Wasn’t that part of what drove her denial? She didn’t want to believe she’d let a murderer into her home. That she’d introduced Nick to Tessa.
She glanced at the clock on her nightstand. Seven o’clock! She hadn’t slept past the crack of dawn in years. She stumbled out into the hall and glanced in the girls’ bedroom. Empty. Mia and Ava had school today. Were they ready?
She ducked into the kitchen. Used cereal bowls in the sink reassured her that they’d eaten. She poured a cup of coffee, downed two ibuprofen tablets, and continued her search.
Giggles drew her out onto the deck. In the morning light, the girls chased giant bubbles in the fenced backyard. Gianna waved a huge wand through the air, sending a shimmering bubble drifting across the grass.
All three children were dressed. And, miracle of miracles, Sophie’s hair had been brushed and was fastened into two ponytails on either side of her head.
Setting her mug on the outdoor table, Morgan descended the steps barefoot. Her odd mood lifted as her three little girls raced across the lawn to greet her. She hugged Ava and Mia. Little Sophie leaped from the ground. Morgan caught her, and Sophie wrapped her clinging limbs around Morgan.
She felt her daughter’s head. Her temperature was normal, but Sophie’s sniff and swipe of her hand under her nose verified she’d caught a cold.
“Look.” Sophie pointed at her head. “Gianna gave me kitten ears.”
What a brilliant way to win Sophie’s cooperation.
Sophie squeezed as hard as she could for the count of three, and then dropped to the ground and raced away. Morgan’s heart swelled. There were times when her love for her children was almost overwhelming, especially when they smiled and she could see John in each of them.
Gianna walked over, grinning. “I’m counting that as a victory.”
“And you should. Thanks for handling the girls this morning. I can’t believe I slept so late,” Morgan said.
“You needed the sleep, and we’ve been having fun.” Gianna set another giant bubble loose.
“I don’t want them to tire you out.”
“I enjoy them.” Moisture glittered in Gianna’s eyes. “I’ve never been part of a real family before. I love living here. I keep waiting for someone to pinch me and take it all away.”
“No one is taking you anywhere.” Morgan touched her arm. “We love having you.”
Gianna blinked and wiped her eyes.
“Have you seen my grandfather?” Morgan asked.
“He went to the store. Why don’t you go get some breakfast and a shower? I’ll put Mia and Ava on the bus.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate that.” With a backward glance at the happy children, Morgan turned toward the house.
After a hot shower, she felt almost human. She dressed, combed her hair, and brushed her teeth. Returning to the kitchen, she refilled her coffee mug. Movement pulled her gaze to the kitchen window. At the end of the driveway, the girls and Gianna waited for the school bus. Mia and Ava wore pink-and-purple backpacks. Gianna held Sophie’s hand, obviously having learned the hard way the day before just how fast Sophie’s tiny legs could run.
Morgan looked across the street. Bud and Nick’s house looked dark. How had Nick fared overnight? Had he been booked and transferred to the county jail, or was he still in the holding cell at SFPD?
She was relieved when the front door opened and Sophie burst into the kitchen. There was no better distraction than a three-year-old. Gianna was right behind the child.
“Gianna says I can be a kitten today.” Sophie bounced on her toes.
They spent the next few hours digging through the craft supplies and fashioning a crude kitten costume out of black felt and leftovers from last Halloween. The morning passed quietly. Grandpa came home and fell asleep in his recliner. At noon, Sophie ate three bites of her peanut butter sandwich and set it aside.
When the doorbell rang, Morgan jumped. Leaving Gianna and Sophie at the kitchen table, Morgan looked out the window. “It’s Bud.”
Gianna held her hand out to Sophie. “It’s almost nap time. If we go into your room now, I’ll have time to read two stories.” Gianna plucked a tissue from the box on the table, but Sophie bolted down the hall before Gianna could wipe the child’s nose.
“Thank you,” Morgan said, then went to the door and opened it. “Come in.”
“Are you sure?” Bud stepped into the house. His face was gray, his eyes bleak. “I don’t want to overstep.”
She waved him in. “Where did you stay last night?”
“My assistant manager let me sleep on his couch.” The police had spent the entire night completing their search of Bud’s house.
“Are you allowed back in today?”
Bud nodded. “I haven’t been inside yet. I don’t even know what they took.”
“They’ll give you an inventory of all items removed from the property,” Morgan said. “Tell me what’s happening with Nick.”
“He had an arraignment hearing this morning, but it wasn’t anything like I expected. Nick didn’t say anything. There was a lawyer there he’d never met. I haven’t been able to find him a private one yet. I applied for a mortgage over the phone, but the approval is pending. I’m hoping there’s enough equity in the house to at least cover a retainer. I don’t have much in the way of savings.” Bud followed Morgan into the kitchen. “Anyway. They didn’t even ask him if he was guilty or anything. The whole thing only took a couple of minutes.”
“Nick is charged with a class A felony. The initial arraignment is really just a formality. He’ll have a chance to issue a plea later.”
“I couldn’t even hear most of what they were saying. The judge set his bail at a million dollars. The bail bondsman said I need a hundred thousand in cash to get him out. There’s no way I can come up with that kind of money. Even if the mortgage is approved, I’ll need every cent of that equity to pay a lawyer. How can they lock him up when he hasn’t been convicted of a crime?”
“Nick is charged with a violent and particularly heinous murder.” Morgan shuddered, remembering just how heinous. “He will be held in custody pending a formal indictment by the grand jury, which should happen within six days of his arrest, which will be Tuesday.”
But even the grand jury was a formality. Morgan knew Bryce. The DA wouldn’t have charged Nick if he didn’t have enough evidence for a conviction.
“What about after that? How do I get him home?”
“I don’t know. His attorney can petition for a bail reduction.”
“But you don’t sound like that’ll happen, which means he’d have to stay in jail until the trial, right?”
“Yes.”
“How long will that take?” Bud asked.
“It could be a year before the case is brought to trial.”
Bud’s face went gray. “And Nick will have to stay in jail that whole time?”
“It’s possible.” Morgan didn’t add that the case could take even longer than that.
As a prosecutor, Morgan had always believed that the vast majority of people arrested were guilty. She’d never felt that she’d put an innocent man in jail. But there had been cases in New York of innocent people who’d spent years in jail waiting for their trials. Though the percentage of innocent people held unjustly was low, when someone you cared about was included in that small minority, the situation was suddenly intolerable.
“I don’t know what to do. I’ll never come up with enough money to pay for years of legal expenses, and if the lawyer who represented Nick today is any indication of what he’ll get from the state . . .” Bud looked lost. “I already got the feeling the attorney thought Nick was guilty.”
“Public de
fenders carry large caseloads, but many are actually very good.”
Many, but not all. Large caseloads meant less time, less attention on each case. Nick could very well sit in jail for the next year. There wasn’t a special, safe place to hold people awaiting trial. He’d be in with the other inmates. Innocent or guilty, young Nick was going to be locked up with real criminals. His fledgling business would fail. He could be assaulted. He would definitely be traumatized.
Nick’s life could be ruined. At a minimum, he’d be changed forever.
Morgan’s next words were out of her mouth before she could think. “What if I offered to represent Nick?”
What was she doing? The Dane family put criminals in prison. They didn’t get them out. Her father would roll over in his grave. And she didn’t even want to think about how Bryce would react.
Bud’s head lifted. “You would do that? I don’t have much money to pay you.”
“We’ll work something out,” Morgan said. What else could she do? Nick had no one else. “There is no guarantee I can make a difference, but I can promise that I will do everything in my power to prove Nick is innocent.”
“You think he’s innocent?”
Morgan pictured Tessa’s body, the gruesome image as clear as the night she’d found her. “I can’t believe Nick would do such a thing.”
After Bud left, Morgan opened the refrigerator and stared at its contents. She needed lunch, but her appetite had been dimmed by her decision. Her mind whirled as it processed what she’d done.
She’d agreed to defend Nick. Her new job—the very thing that was going to pull her out of her current hole—was history.
Her grandfather shuffled into the kitchen. “So. I eavesdropped.”
Morgan closed the fridge. “Are you going to tell me I’ve just made the worst decision of my life?”
Grandpa dropped into a chair. “Have you thought about this?”
“Honestly, no.” She faced him, crossed her arms, and leaned on the counter. “No one else is going to believe he’s innocent. No one. Bud doesn’t have much money. If he finds another attorney who’s willing to take the case pro bono, it’s going to be for the publicity. Nick’s case is media fodder. And no media-pandering lawyer is going to put Nick’s needs first. It’ll be a show.”
Say You're Sorry (Morgan Dane Book 1) Page 10
