Say You're Sorry (Morgan Dane 1)

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 track 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.