Vulnerable (Morgans of Nashville 4)

“Yeah. I did plenty. So did Deke and Alex. Hell, Alex almost got himself killed falling off Miller Falls. But luck was with us.”

“What was Georgia like as a teenager?”

“Much like she is now. Demanding. Hardworking. She loved Mom and was closest to her of all us kids. She also took it the hardest when Mom died.”

He’d heard once from Buddy about how Georgia had suffered when her mother died after a long battle with cancer. The old man, who’d been a rock for so many years, also looked broken and lost when he spoke about his late wife. “You Morgans are one hell of a tight-knit group.”

Rick cocked his head as he slid the phone back into his pocket. “Buddy and Mom made sure of that.”

Jake shoved his hand in his pocket, his fingers absently turning the pocketknife over and over. “I want to put out a BOLO on the guy who met Elisa in the coffee shop. We’ll use Jenna’s drawing.”

“Good.”

“Scruffy guy with a beard and jeans in Nashville. Hell, you can’t swing a dead cat without hitting a guy like that in this town.”

Rick arched a brow, a smile teasing the edges of his lips. “Said by the guy with the beard.”

He rubbed the neat whiskers on his chin. “My beard is always neatly trimmed and never a bird’s nest like this character’s.”

“How long have you had that damn thing?”

“Twelve years.”

“Why grow it?”

Jake had grown the beard long ago for a woman who liked them. She was thrilled when he told her it was just for her. And later, after she was gone, well, he couldn’t bring himself to shave it off. He scratched his chin, never stopping to wonder what Georgia thought of it. “Fashion statement.”

The detectives moved toward the car. Jake slid behind the wheel while Rick rode shotgun. He fired up the engine, glanced in the rearview mirror, and backed up. “I’ve read up on Mike Marlowe in a few of the old files, but I want to track down some of the people who knew him. The kid had a hot temper and was considered a bully by many.”

“Best place to start is with his old man, Dalton Marlowe. He’s champing at the bit for a visit.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Wednesday, October 4, 5:00 P.M.

Jake and Rick pulled into the exclusive gated community located ten miles north of Nashville. They drove down the freshly paved road peppered with manicured flowerbeds and well pruned trees towering over them.

“So how did Marlowe make his money?” Jake asked, as he drove down a long private drive.

“Started off in law, then real estate and from there bought up distressed homes, then flipped them. The guy did fairly well. Didn’t set the world on fire, but had the great fortune to marry a rich woman.”

Jake pulled into a circular drive and parked in front of a brick home that had to be ten thousand square feet. They stepped out, pausing to take in the long staircase that led to massive dark oak front doors.

“He also has a penthouse in the city center,” Rick said.

“The wife was loaded?” Jake said.

“Yeah. He couldn’t have touched this kind of community on his own.”

“Mike Marlowe, kid with the silver spoon,” Jake said. “Think he could be alive and also our killer?” He thought about the hours of interviews Amber gave to the cops. “Amber always defended him in her interviews. Were they sleeping together?”

“Several cops asked her the same questions multiple times,” Rick said. “She said no.”

“And you believe that?” Jake asked.

“I’ve no idea. I’ve not spent enough time to get a read on her. She sure as hell looks like she couldn’t hurt a fly, but that’s not what makes her dangerous.”

“If Mike Marlowe killed Bethany and Amber saw it, she might have become hysterical and run. She doesn’t look where she’s going and falls. He thinks she’s dead and his life would be spent in a cage, so he returns to the cave, walls it up, and shoots himself.”

“Maybe,” Rick said.

“Dalton won’t be ready to hear that his kid was a killer,” Jake said.

“I only report the facts.” Rick shifted his hand, nudging the handle of his gun as he stared up the staircase.

“Let’s see what Daddy has to say,” Jake said.

Rick followed Jake up the stairs and resisted the urge to button his jacket as the doorbell echoed inside the house. Marlowe had met with Deke, but this would be their first meeting. Jake pulled his badge from his breast pocket, as steady footsteps clicked in the hallway and the door opened to a short round woman dressed in a black dress and white apron. She wore her gray hair back in a tight ponytail.

“I’m Detective Jake Bishop and this is my partner, Rick Morgan. We’re here to see Mr. Dalton Marlowe.”

A frown deepened the lines at the corners of her dark eyes. “Come in. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

They waited in the marble tiled foyer surrounded by modern paintings featuring bold, striking colors. A curved staircase hugged the wall and led up to a landing that wound along a hallway of closed doors. From the ceiling, a large chandelier made of dozens of crystal teardrops hovered above them. Not one stick of furniture cost less than his annual salary.

Before either detective could comment, hard determined steps marched toward them from deep within the house. The door to the parlor on their right swung open.

Dalton Marlowe was tall and slim with a fit build. He wore black dress pants, a white shirt opened at the collar with sleeves rolled up his forearms, and polished loafers. Short gray hair, brushed back, accentuated a face with chiseled angles and lines etched deeply around the mouth and across the forehead.

“It’s about time I got an update. I’ve called the station a dozen times since the news started reporting this morning. How the hell did they get the scoop before me?”

Jake bristled a fraction, reminding himself to smile. Always smart to play nice with the big boys with political juice until the gloves had to come off. “I’m Detective Bishop and this is my partner, Detective Morgan. We’d like to talk to you about Mike.”

Frown lines deepened. “What about Mike?”

“Bones were found in a cave today at Percy Warner Park.”

“I heard the reports. I don’t care about an unnamed girl. I care about my son.”

“Is there somewhere we can sit and talk?” Jake did not want to have this conversation in the hallway.

A shadow passed over Dalton’s eyes as if he braced for their conversation. He nodded toward the side door and headed toward it without extending an invitation to follow. Jake, never one to be easily put off, followed, figuring if the old man had an issue, he could say so. Rick followed in step.

They moved down a long hallway painted a creamy white and carpeted with a rich, plush light tan rug. Hanging from the walls were a collection of black-and-white photos. One quick glance told Jake they featured Mike. As a small boy at Halloween. As a young football player. With his father on a tropical beach. In Paris. All images of Mike and his father. No pictures of any woman who looked as if she could be his mother.

Marlowe pushed open pocket doors and moved into a large library. The centerpiece of the room was a tall stone fireplace surrounded by bookshelves filled with leather-bound books, various trophies, and more pictures of Mike and his father.

Marlowe moved to a side bar displaying crystal decanters filled with a host of liquors. He removed the top on one and poured the nutty brown liquid into a tumbler. He drained it in one swallow.

Jake removed his notebook from his breast pocket. “We discovered the remains of two females and one male in Percy Warner Park. One female died a couple of days ago, but the second female and the male were found in a back chamber of the cave. They’ve been dead at least five years.”

The man’s sallow face paled. “Is it Mike?”

“We haven’t identified the bones of either victim yet, but expect to within the next twenty-four hours. We have your son’s dental records on file for

comparison.”

“Jesus H. Christ.” Marlowe refilled his glass and tossed the soothing liquid down in one shot.

“Can you tell us about your son?” Jake asked, as he reached in his breast pocket for a pen. “Was there any hint of trouble before he vanished five years ago?”

“I told all this to the police countless times five years ago. Can’t you read a fucking file?”

Jake clicked the pen a couple of times. “Doesn’t hurt to go over it one more time with your help.”

Marlowe raised his glass, his index finger pointing at Jake. “You’re not even sure the body is Mike’s. This could be a mistake.”

“Possibly, but not likely. The skeletal remains suggest a male in his late teens who stood about six feet. That fits Mike’s description.”

Marlowe’s jaw clenched. “Mike was a popular kid. Not the smartest, but one hell of a football player.”

“No one made any threats against him?”

“No, none that I’m aware of. He was an eighteen-year-old boy. He wasn’t under my thumb all the time and boys will be boys. If Mike really fucked up, I heard about it and could clean it up.”

“Was he friends with Bethany Reed?”

“No. She was a mousy kid like her mother. Smart. Useful when he needed tutoring, but overall, forgettable.”

Jake watched Marlowe closely. “What about Amber Ryder?”

The man’s face thinned into a contemptuous frown as if he tasted something foul. “She was trouble. If there’s anyone that you should be chasing, it’s her. That bitch remembered what happened in the woods.”

“The doctors corroborate her claim of amnesia as possible given her head injury,” Jake said.

“She’s smart, conniving, and trouble. Don’t believe her.” He refilled his glass, but this time took only a small sip. “She’s in Dallas. I can give you her address if you need it.”

“You know where she is?” Jake asked.

“I’ve kept tabs on her for five years, waiting for her to make a mistake.”

“So you didn’t know she was back in Nashville?” Rick asked.

Dalton’s faced hardened with hatred. “I did not. How long?”

“Arrived on Monday.”