Say You're Sorry (Morgan Dane Book 1)

by Melinda Leigh

  “Please call me Jennifer, and no,” Mom said. “I moved from the Deep Web to the Dark. There’s very little information about the WSA. They stay off the radar.”

  Which explained the lack of data on the family. The Deep Web included Internet pages that couldn’t be found through search engines. Most of these existed for ordinary reasons: databases, web forums that required registration, or pages behind paywalls. Online bank accounts that required logins and passwords were an example. But the Dark Web went further. Sites on the Dark Web hid their identities and spoofed their locations using an encryption tool. Some sites hid their IP addresses behind multiple layers of encryption.

  Lance got up and walked to the window. Talking about the homegrown militia group made him edgy. “The thing about the WSA is that they are very secretive about their roster. They keep their resources spread out. So if any one member is compromised, the rest of the group remain anonymous.”

  “WSA aside.” Morgan tapped her pen on her notebook. “Do we really have reason to believe Robby killed Tessa? Why?”

  “Unrequited love?” Sharp suggested. “What if it wasn’t Robby? What if Dwayne killed Tessa? The WSA isn’t just a white supremacist organization. They have a patriarchal, barefoot-and-pregnant philosophy toward women.”

  “That explains the way Dwayne treats his wife and daughters, but we still have no link between Dwayne and Tessa. We need to find out if Tessa spent any time at the Barone house.”

  “Can you keep digging, Mom?” Lance asked.

  “Of course.” She sounded pleased.

  “Without putting yourself in danger.” Lance worried about the WSA tracking her online inquiries.

  “I know how to hide my tracks.” She chuckled. “Don’t you worry.”

  But he would. The WSA was nothing to mess around with.

  “One more thing,” Lance said to the phone. “Have you turned up anything else on Jamie Lewis’s family or her mother’s fiancé?”

  “No,” his mom said. “Nothing unusual on the Lewises or Kevin Murdoch yet. I’ll send you the details as soon as I can. Later today or in the morning. I’m waiting on one more source.”

  “Talk to you later, Mom. Love you.”

  “I love you too.” She ended the call.

  Lance picked up his phone. “I was really hoping for some dirt on Kevin.”

  “Me too.” Morgan made more notes in her files. “I suppose there’s always the chance that he’s just a nervous person or he has some sort of medical condition that causes him to sweat excessively.”

  Lance shook his head. “Kevin’s body language all but screamed pants-on-fire.”

  “I know. Let’s wait until your mom is finished with her report. Then we’ll pay Kevin a visit.” She finished her paragraph. “Do you want to start with the Barones or Dean Voss today?”

  “I guess we can drive by the Barones’ first.” Hopefully, Dwayne would be at work. The family had set off all Lance’s alarms since the first time he’d set foot on the property. The last thing he wanted to do was put Morgan on the WSA’s radar. “Then we can drop by Dean Voss’s apartment, peek in the windows, and talk to his neighbors. He’s safely tucked away in the psych ward, so it seems like a good day for it.”

  She stood, stretched, and reached for her blazer. “I’m ready.”

  “See ya, Sharp.” Lance headed for the door.

  “You kids be careful.” Sharp waved them off. “I’m going to work on Jamie Lewis’s case for the morning. I plan to talk to Jamie’s best friend, Tony, and put some pressure on him. Let me know if you need me.”

  “Will do.” Lance followed Morgan outside. Autumn had hit Scarlet Falls overnight. The air had turned cool, and leaves clogged the gutter.

  They climbed into the Jeep.

  Morgan set her giant purse at her feet. “I have a legal visit set up with Nick for tomorrow morning. He deserves an update, and I’d like to make sure he’s all right. He might have some insight on what we’ve discovered so far, especially Tessa’s pregnancy. I need to confirm that Nick didn’t know about the baby.”

  They drove away from the business district. On their way, they passed Scarlet Lake. The crisp morning air sent mist rising from the water. It floated over the beach and swirled through the cattails like smoke. He and Morgan both went quiet as they drove past, but the visual was a reminder to Lance of the seriousness of the case. A young girl had been violated and murdered, and her killer still ran loose. If they didn’t find Tessa’s murderer, an innocent man could spend the rest of his life in prison.

  And a killer would be free to strike again.

  Neither he nor Morgan spoke until they reached the Barone place. Then Lance drew the Jeep to a stop on the shoulder of the road, his gaze fixed on the farm.

  “Do you see what I see?” he asked.

  It couldn’t be.

  What the hell?

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Lance blinked hard, but it didn’t change the sight. The farm looked deserted.

  Morgan lowered her window. She tilted her head to the opening. “It’s too quiet.”

  He turned past the mailbox into the driveway. There were no vehicles parked near the house. The chicken enclosure and pigpen were empty. No cows grazed in the pasture. The stock trailer and school bus that had been parked alongside the barn were gone.

  They got out of the car. Lance led the way to the front door. Who knew what kind of surprises Dwayne Barone, with all of his WSA paranoia, would leave behind? Standing to the side of the doorway, he tucked Morgan behind him and knocked on the door. Nothing but eerie silence greeted them.

  Lance walked to the window and peered inside. “The furniture is still here, but they took everything else.”

  Wire hung from holes in the wall where the TV and other electronic devices had been installed. Lance went back down the steps. Backing away from the house, he scanned the roofline. “The satellite dish is missing.”

  He headed for the barn, already knowing what he was going to see.

  “This is creepy.” Morgan followed him.

  Watching their step, they checked the outbuildings. Lance took care to inspect every door before approaching and opening it. But nothing happened. Nothing at all.

  The entire farm was eerie and silent and empty.

  They returned to the car, turning to stare at the vacant buildings.

  “Any thoughts?” Lance asked.

  “No one takes their pigs on vacation,” Morgan said. “Dwayne likes to live off the radar. Maybe he wasn’t comfortable with our questions.”

  “We didn’t accuse Dwayne or his son of anything.”

  Morgan’s eyes drifted back to the house. “Maybe one of them did something really bad, and he was afraid we’d find out.”

  “Like commit murder. Do you like Robby or Dwayne for the crime?”

  “Robby seems awfully small, not much bigger than Tessa,” Morgan said.

  “That boy is holding onto a lot of anger, though,” Lance pointed out. “Rage can make someone stronger than he looks.”

  “Yes,” Morgan agreed.

  “And Tessa wouldn’t know how to defend herself. She was just a kid.” It killed Lance to think of the violence, the pain, the terror that had filled the young girl’s final moments.

  Morgan walked toward the back door. “But Dwayne would have no difficulty overpowering a young girl.”

  Lance followed her. “With one hand.”

  Pausing, Morgan shook her head. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves. We haven’t established that Tessa has ever been to the farm.”

  “She knew the Barones’ oldest daughter from church. She didn’t have to come to the house for her to have met Dwayne.”

  “His own family is terrified of him. Could they know he’s a killer?”

  “Wait a second.” Lance jogged back to the Jeep and retrieved two pairs of vinyl gloves and a small black case from the glove compartment. Then he joined Morgan at the Barones’ back door.

  “What’s that?�
��

  “Nothing.” Opening the black case, he selected two slim metal tools.

  Morgan reached around him and turned the knob. The door opened. “It’s not locked.”

  Eyeing the open door, Lance slid the lock picks back into their case. “I don’t like this.”

  Not one bit.

  Standing aside, he touched the door and let it swing inward. When nothing happened, he stepped through the opening. The large, farmhouse kitchen was bare. The Barones hadn’t even left dust behind. Morgan pulled on her gloves and walked around the center island. She opened a drawer, then a cabinet. “Everything is gone.”

  Lance checked the fridge. “Empty.”

  They toured the downstairs, then went up the steps to the second floor. Morgan opened a closet. “How did they pack up and get out so quickly?”

  “I wonder what Dwayne will do with the house.” Lance led the way back downstairs and outside. He turned and scanned the surrounding area. There wasn’t another house in sight, just fields, meadows, and woods. “It’s not like we can ask the neighbors about the family. But maybe we can find out which church they attended.”

  “It’s worth a try.”

  They returned to the Jeep. Morgan climbed into the passenger seat.

  Lance slid behind the wheel. “What now?”

  “Call the police?”

  “And report what? It’s not illegal to move.” Lance started the engine and turned the vehicle around. “Maybe Sharp will have an idea.” He called his boss and put him on speaker.

  Lance told him about the Barones’ vanishing act.

  “I’ll make some calls. Maybe your mom can think of a way to track them. Even if they want to stay off the radar, it’s almost impossible these days given the amount of electronic surveillance out there. Eventually, they have to stop for gas or pay a toll. Keep me updated.”

  Lance ended the call with a thanks. He dialed his mom and explained the situation.

  “Let me see what I can hack into,” she said.

  “Be careful. Don’t do anything illegal.” Or that might tip off the WSA to her inquiries.

  But she made no promises, hanging up with a vague, “I’ll call you.”

  Lance pushed the “End” button on his phone. He drove out onto the road and headed back into town. “I hope we don’t totally strike out at Voss’s apartment.”

  Dean Voss lived in an older residential section, not far from the business district. Lance pulled up to the curb in front of an old Victorian house that had been divided into apartments.

  Morgan studied the doors. “I see units one through four. Dean lives in number five.”

  “We’ll look around back.”

  They got out of the car and stood on the sidewalk for a minute.

  “It’s quiet.” Morgan shielded her eyes from the late morning sun.

  Lance checked his watch. Eleven o’clock. “This is a residential block. Everybody’s left for school or work by now.”

  They walked up the driveway, which continued alongside the house to a detached single garage in the backyard. A set of wooden steps up the side of the garage led to a white door marked FIVE.

  “Bingo.” Lance headed for the stairs.

  “Can I help you?” A woman’s voice called out.

  Morgan and Lance turned. A middle-aged woman in jeans and a red baseball cap stood on the back porch of the Victorian.

  “Yes, you can.” Morgan walked across the yard. “I’m Morgan Dane and this is Lance Kruger. We’re looking for Mr. Voss.”

  “I’m Shannon Green.” The woman nodded. “Who are you?”

  “We’re private investigators.” Lance handed her a business card.

  She studied it for a minute, holding it at arms’ length and tipping her head back. “I haven’t seen Mr. Voss lately. If you ask me, he’s crazy pants. I hope he moves. He’s scared the bejesus out of me more than once.”

  “How?” Lance asked.

  “Skulking around the property at night like some kind of paranoid ninja wannabe. He always seemed to be watching.” She pointed to the house behind her. “I live on the bottom floor. A few weeks ago, I caught him at my bedroom window in the middle of the night, trying to get a glimpse through the blinds. I went out and bought those blackout drapes just to make sure he couldn’t see in.”

  “Did you complain?”

  “I called the landlord.” She rolled her eyes. “He couldn’t care less about any of us. I reported the incident to the police. They came out and talked to him. He told them he was just walking by. Wasn’t his fault that my blinds were open. They blew me off. I’m thinking about getting a dog. A big one. But if Voss moves, I won’t have to.”

  “Do you remember the last time you saw Mr. Voss?” Morgan asked.

  “Not exactly, maybe a week ago?” Shannon shrugged.

  Lance glanced over his shoulder at Voss’s apartment. “Do you know what’s in the garage?”

  “No.” Shannon shook her head. “But Voss rents it with his unit.”

  “Does he ever have any company?” Lance asked.

  Shannon’s hands dropped to her sides. “Not that I’ve ever seen.”

  “Thank you for your help,” Morgan said.

  The neighbor went back inside her apartment.

  After her door closed, Lance turned back to the garage and stared at it. He really wanted to see Voss’s personal space. “There’s a window next to the door. Maybe we can get a look inside.”

  Even knowing that Voss was locked up, Lance felt like he was being watched. The place gave him the creeps. He scanned the sides of the building and spotted a surveillance camera mounted under the eave above a door on the far side of the garage. Conveniently, the neighbor wouldn’t see Lance pick the lock. He picked up a thin branch from the ground and hung it over the camera so that the dead leaves covered the lens.

  “I did not see that,” Morgan said.

  “See what?” Lance checked the rest of the building for cameras but didn’t find any more.

  A tall hedge blocked the view from the street. Lance removed his lock picking tools from his pocket. The deadbolt took some work to pop, but he got it.

  “Breaking and entering?” Morgan looked over his shoulder.

  “Just looking around. We won’t disturb anything.” He pulled gloves from his pocket and handed her a pair. “We did it at the Barone house, and you didn’t mind.”

  “They had clearly vacated the house, and the door was unlocked. Technically we only entered,” she whispered. “And there weren’t any nosy neighbors.”

  “You could wait in the car.” He knew damned well she wouldn’t. “If we find anything, we’ll just slip out and call the police.” Lance pushed the door open and stepped onto a concrete slab. Despite the warmth of the September morning, the garage was cold and damp. Lance hesitated at the threshold. A huge pile of shipping boxes occupied half the space.

  Morgan sidestepped to the pile. “They’re empty. Most are from major retail chains.” She shifted a box. “Walmart, Amazon, Home Depot. Mr. Voss is quite the online shopper.”

  “But what did he buy?”

  She peeked inside a few boxes. “No packing slips.”

  There were only two other items in the garage: a motorcycle and a chest freezer. Lance walked to the freezer and opened it. Dozens of packages, wrapped in thick layers of plastic wrap, filled the freezer.

  “What’s in those?” Morgan stood next to him and peered inside.

  “I’m not sure I want to know, but I suppose we should look.” Lifting one of the frozen packages, he picked at the edge of the plastic and began unrolling it. The Styrofoam meat package made him exhale in relief. “You have no idea how glad I am to see hamburger patties.”

  “Right?” She picked up another and opened it. “Five pounds of chicken legs.”

  Lance closed the lid and continued to inspect the space.

  The motorcycle was equipped with the equivalent of saddlebags, two storage compartments behind the seat. Lance opened one
. Empty. The second contained MREs and foul weather gear.

  “Lance.” Morgan stared at the ceiling.

  He followed her gaze. A rectangle had been cut into the ceiling. A slightly smaller rectangle was set inside. “Pull down steps?”

  There was only one place they could lead: to Voss’s apartment.

  “No string,” Morgan said.

  Correction: the stairs led from the apartment above.

  “I think they’re designed to be exit only.”

  “Now what?” Morgan asked.

  “I really want a look inside his apartment.”

  “You can’t pick the lock to his front door. The neighbor will see.”

  Lance bent over and laced his fingers together. “See if you can grab the edge of the board. I’ll give you a boost.”

  She stepped into his hands and he lifted her. Once he straightened, she maintained her balance by leaning into him. Lance closed his eyes to the sight of her thighs at his eye level, mentally filing his idea under seemed like a good idea at the time.

  “I’ve got it.” Morgan transferred some of her weight to the stairs and the platform descended, the steps unfolding.

  Lance set her on the floor. He tested the steps, then climbed. His head poked through the opening into a dim space. A closet? He went all the way inside. As his eyes adjusted to the dim space, he found the door and opened it into a bedroom, or at least what was supposed to be a bedroom.

  An unrolled sleeping bag occupied the space where a bed should have stood. A makeshift desk held a monitor showing the live surveillance camera feed from the back door and a second that appeared to be from inside the front entrance. Heavy blankets were nailed over the windows.

  “Mr. Voss is more than a little paranoid.” Lance pivoted. “Shit.”

  Voss had written on the walls. He’d covered every inch of white wallboard with a bizarre collage of mathematical equations, nonsensical phrases, hand-drawn maps, and lists of random objects.

  Lance whistled softly. “Looks like the neighbor’s diagnosis is correct. Voss is crazy pants.”

  “Voss was military.” Morgan walked the perimeter, taking pictures of the walls in sections. “He gathered provisions. Put in a back door. Had an escape plan, complete with a well-stocked secret vehicle.”