Bones Don't Lie (Morgan Dane 3)

She hovered her finger over the page. “Here it is.”

Lance read the entry. “Mr. Joshua.”

“He checked in at seven p.m. Paid for an hour.” Morgan slid the registry into a large envelope. She labeled the envelope with her name, the date, and location found, then turned back to the filing cabinet. “Let’s see if we can find his registration form.”

Thirty minutes later, Lance pulled it from another filing cabinet. “Got it.”

They looked at it together. “There’s no personal information. No car license plate. He listed his home address as 123 Main Street, Anytown, NY. The phone number is 123-4567.”

“But we know he was here.”

Morgan went to the window and scanned the parking lot. A red sedan was parked in front of the office. “Abigail is here.”

“Then let’s go talk to her.” Lance closed the file cabinet drawer. “You have the photo of my father to show Abigail?”

“I do. Are you all right?” Morgan asked. He was about to find out if his father had been a prostitute’s client.

“Yes.” Lance opened the door for her. “Look. I’ve spent a lifetime putting my dad on a pedestal. He was just a man. What if he wasn’t perfect? He did his best to take care of me and my mother. I have to open my eyes if I want to learn the truth.”

She gave his hand a squeeze before they went into the main office.

Abigail was on the computer behind the desk. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“I think so.” Morgan pulled the photo of Vic she’d taken from the whiteboard out of her tote.

Next to her, Lance tensed and stepped away to look out the window at the parking lot.

Morgan pointed to Vic. “Do you recognize this man as one of Mary’s clients?”

Abigail squinted at the photo. She lifted her reading glasses from the chain around her neck and set them on her nose. “He doesn’t look familiar at all.”

Morgan could sense Lance’s relief from six feet away.

“But I know this man. He was one of Mary’s regulars.” Abigail leaned closer and tapped the photograph. “This is Mr. Joshua.”

Her fingertip landed on Brian Leed’s face.

Stunned, Morgan stared at the photo.

Lance crossed the room in two long strides. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” Abigail said. “He drove a black Pontiac Trans Am. He’d try to hide it behind the building, but the engine was loud. When he’d leave the parking lot, gravel would shoot all over.”

Morgan caught Lance’s eye. He looked as shocked as she felt.

Brian Leed was Mr. Joshua.

“Thank you.” Morgan lifted the envelope that held the register. “Is it all right if we take the register with us? We’ll bring it back.”

Given that the killer was snapping at their heels on this investigation, Morgan didn’t want to leave the register behind. She’d rather personally deliver it to the sheriff.

Abigail nodded. “Sure.”

Morgan pivoted toward the door, then turned back. The revelation about Brian had almost made her forget about Crystal’s ex. “When was the last time you saw Warren Fox?”

Abigail took off her glasses. “He was slinking around here about two weeks ago, bugging Crystal. He wanted to move back in with her.”

So much for his statement that he hadn’t seen Crystal in months. Was anyone in this case telling the truth?

“Please be careful, Abigail,” Morgan said. “Having information regarding this case has proven to be unhealthy for others.”

Abigail reached under the counter and brought up a shotgun. “Thank you for your concern, dear. I’ll be sure to take extra care.”

Morgan followed Lance outside, and they climbed into the Jeep.

Lance tapped a finger on the steering wheel. “Seems like everyone is lying. Didn’t Brian Leed have some kind of sports car under a tarp in his garage?”

“He did,” Morgan said. “Brian Leed is Mr. Joshua. He was a regular client of Mary’s. He was with her the night your dad disappeared.”

Lance put the Jeep into gear. “Which was also the night Mary was probably killed. Time to pay Brian another visit.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Trying to keep his temper in check, Lance parked in front of Brian Leed’s house. The garage door was up. In the driveway, Brian was rubbing a chamois over the shining fender of a sleek black Porsche 911.

Lance and Morgan walked up the sidewalk to stand next to the car.

“Hey, Brian.” Lance scanned the car. “What year is that?”

“She’s a 2007.” Brian inspected his work.

“Low miles?” Lance asked.

“Eighty thousand.” Brian shook his head. “Cars like this are made to be driven. It’s a sin to let them sit in a garage.”

Brian knows all about sin . . .

Anger simmered low in Lance’s chest. He lifted his gaze to the sky for a few seconds to get himself back under control.

“What brings you back here?” Brian buffed a spot on the side mirror.

“A few follow-up questions,” Lance said. “You’ve always had a black sports car, haven’t you?”

“I’ve had a few, sure.” Brian wiped a bead of water from the hood.

“What did you drive back in the day?” Lance asked. “All I can remember is that it was loud.”

“That would have been the Trans Am.” Brian whistled. “That was a sweet car. I couldn’t afford a Porsche back then, not with kids to raise. And you’re right.” He grinned. “That engine didn’t purr. It roared.”

Lance bent over and looked inside the car. “Money was tight?”

“Kids are expensive.” Brian turned away from his car, his grin fading and his eyes narrowing as if he just realized Lance’s tone wasn’t casual. His eyes darted back and forth between Morgan and Lance. Suspicion lit his gaze. “You know what? I have an appointment. Is there a specific reason you’re here?”

Your alibi is circling the drain.

“There is.” Lance moved forward, resentment curling his hand into a fist. All these years, Brian had been lying.

Morgan put a hand on Lance’s arm, as if she could restrain him. “You might not want your neighbors to overhear the questions we’re going to ask you.”

Brian rocked back on his heels, assessing them. “You’re not the police.” His tone turned smug. “I don’t have to talk to you at all.”

“If you’d rather talk to the sheriff, that can be arranged.” Lance took his phone from his pocket. “I’ll call him right now.”

Brian’s throat undulated. Muscles on the sides of his jaw shifted, as if he was clenching his jaw. He glanced up the street, then shifted back to his toes and turned toward the open garage. “All right, but I don’t have much time.”

They followed him into the house. He didn’t offer them coffee or a chair. He spun around. “What’s this about?”

Lance stopped in the middle of the kitchen. “How much did Mary charge you for sex?”

Brian’s face went whiter than the quartz countertop. He backed up a step. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Does the name Mr. Joshua ring a bell?” Morgan asked.

“No.” Brian took another step, stopping when his back hit the wall.