Vulnerable (Morgans of Nashville 4)

“The girl we found is dead and we believe it’s Elisa.”

Mrs. Spence’s face dropped to her hands and she wept soul-wrenching sobs. Her husband stood tall, his arm wrapped around his wife’s shoulders. “Are you sure it’s not a mistake?”

“We’ve compared pictures you gave the missing persons department to the woman we found. It appears to be a match.”

The old man’s shoulders stooped. “So it could be a mistake?”

“I don’t want to give you false hope. Clothes, hair color, height, and weight are all a match. I’m sorry.”

Mr. Spence raised his chin as if he were a boxer in the ring who took a hard upper right. “I want to see our child. I won’t believe it until I see it.”

“She’s at the medical examiner’s office. She’ll be under the care of Dr. Miriam Heller,” Jake said. “I’ll give you Dr. Heller’s number.”

“When can we—” His voice broke. “When can we see her?”

“I’ll arrange it so you can go in tonight.”

The old man nodded as his wife buried her face in her palms.

Times like this were sensitive, but questions needed to be asked. A killer needed to be caught. “Do you know of anyone that would want to hurt your daughter?”

He shook his head. “No. No one. Elisa was sweet and nice. The perfect daughter. She was a hardworking girl who had a brilliant future.” Tears of utter desolation fell down his cheek. “None of this makes sense.”

Mrs. Spence raised her eyes. Through the sadness burned a determination. “Talk to her roommate. Girls away at school change. Here, she was a sweet girl, but I know she was growing up. Experimenting. If anyone knew what was happening, her roommate, Cheryl Milton, will. I know her address but don’t remember her phone number.”

* * *

Elisa Spence and her roommate, Cheryl Milton, lived near the university campus in a small one-story house. Made of brick, the mid-century modern house had a large bay window, now curtained off, and a small porch that led to a front door positioned left of the window. The yard was small, but neatly cut. The house was dark, as if no one were home.

As Jake parked, he checked his watch. “It’s after nine.”

“Doesn’t look like anyone is home.”

“No other way to find out than to knock.” As he reached for the car door handle, he cocked his head toward Rick. “What do you have on Cheryl Milton?”

“According to missing persons, she’s twenty-one. She and Elisa are both biology majors. Both in the honor society. No arrest record or complaints on Milton or Spence.”

Out of the car, Jake and Rick moved to the front door and rang the bell. When he didn’t get an immediate response, he pounded hard on the door. “Cheryl Milton, this is Detective Jake Bishop with the Nashville Police Department.” He waited a beat, his hand poised to knock again when he saw a light click on inside the house. Seconds later, footsteps followed. By the sound, the house’s occupant had walked to the front door but was making no move to open it.

Jake removed his badge from his pocket and held it up toward the picture window. “Ms. Milton, have a look out the window and you will see I’m here with my partner, Detective Rick Morgan. We have questions about Elisa.”

The curtains fluttered and a small opening appeared at the edge. Jake couldn’t see the occupant but sensed the scrutiny. Both detectives waited, badges held high. After a pause, the curtains fluttered closed and footsteps moved toward the door. Chains were pulled free of locks and the door opened.

Standing in the doorway was a short, heavyset blond woman with a round face and large blue eyes. A sprinkle of freckles peppered her face. She wore a large Vanderbilt sweatshirt that rippled around her full frame, faded jeans, and flip-flops. Her gaze settled on the badges before she nodded. “I’m Cheryl Milton. Have you found Elisa?”

“Can we speak?” Jake asked. He carefully tucked his badge back in his breast pocket.

“Is she all right? Did she say where she’s been?” Her accent was Southern but not Middle Tennessee.

If he had to guess, he’d bet the Carolinas. “We need your help with a few questions?”

A wrinkle furrowed her brow. “This isn’t good news, is it?”

“Ma’am, may we speak inside?”

Nodding, she opened the door and stepped aside. The living room was small but neatly furnished with Scandinavian furniture. There was a low sleek red couch that didn’t look a bit comfortable, a couple of black chairs, and a black-striped rug under a glass coffee table complete with a stack of design magazines.

“Please have a seat.” Cheryl pointed to the black chairs. She took the end of the couch. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, thank you,” Jake said. On the walls were several large black-and-white photos that were too abstract for him to pinpoint the exact subject matter. “You were the one that reported Elisa Spence missing?”

“I was.” She moved to tuck her legs under her and then, as if realizing that was too informal, settled her feet on the ground and laid her hands on her jeans. “The last time I saw her was four days ago. Friday.”

Jake pulled a notebook from his breast pocket. The timeline fit with Georgia’s estimations. “Where did you see Elisa last?”

“We were at the coffee shop Blue Note Java on Maple Avenue. We met there a lot to have coffee and just talk about school.” She leaned forward, her fingers gripping her knees so tightly that her knuckles whitened. “What happened to Elisa?”

“That’s what we’re still trying to figure out,” Rick said.

“Where is she?”

No cop enjoyed making a death notice. Jake tugged at the edge of his jacket, suddenly feeling constrained. “We believe she was murdered.”

For a moment, Cheryl blinked as if a bucket of cold water had been splashed on her head. She waited a beat as if wondering, as if expecting them to recant. When they didn’t, she leaned forward and threaded her hands together. “Are you sure? She’s the nicest person I know.”

“We’re almost certain. You gave a very good description to missing persons which we were able to match against the woman we found.”

Color drained from her face, leaving her white and drawn. “Why would anyone want to kill Elisa? Who would do this?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out.”

Tears glistened in her eyes. Two fat tears trickled down her cheeks and she quickly wiped them away. “This is a bad dream. We were supposed to drive to Knoxville on Thursday. She had a job interview for a midwinter break internship. She was so excited and asked me to ride along for moral support. We were going to hit the outlets while we were there.”

“You said you two were close?”

“Like sisters,” she said, shaking her head. “We were matched as roommates our freshman year and really hit it off. We spend time together over the holidays and summers.” A sigh shuddered. “Her parents must be devastated.”

“They are,” Rick said.

“Did she date anyone?” Jake asked.

“She had dates with a few guys last year, but nothing that went beyond a first date. She was really picky about guys and always found something wrong with them.”

“She reject anyone lately?”

“No. Honestly, she was cute in her own way but most guys didn’t think she was all that hot.”

“Was there anyone bothering or following Elisa? She might have cut someone off in traffic or gotten into a spat in the grocery store line. It doesn’t always take a lot to catch the attention of

a killer,” Jake said.

With a trembling hand she tucked a curl behind her ear. “No. No one. Like I said, everyone liked her. Guys might not have wanted to date her but she was everyone’s friend.”

Maybe the killer didn’t have a beef with her. Maybe it wasn’t personal for the killer. Maybe it had been sport. “Can we see her room?”

“Sure.” She rose, moving slowly toward a small hallway that led to two rooms separated by a bathroom.

Cheryl opened the bedroom door and clicked on the light. “The other detectives asked me if she kept any kind of diary or journal but I said no. She wasn’t really the introspective type.”

“These were the detectives from missing persons?”

“Yes. Thompson and Levy, I think.”

“I know them,” Jake said.

His focus moved past Cheryl to Elisa’s room. A bedroom could tell him a lot about a person. It was the inner sanctum for most, their secrets held closely were generally found here.

Elisa slept in a twin bed placed against the wall. Covered in a pink-and-blue quilt with a collection of fluffy pillows, it was neatly made, the seam lines crisp and clean. In front of the bed was a square white shag rug and to the right a small desk with a lamp, a blotter centered directly in the middle, a Titans coffee mug filled with sharpened pencils, and a stack of thick textbooks. “I don’t see a computer.”

“She always had that with her,” Cheryl said. “She carried a black backpack that had her initials ES embossed on the back.”

Neither the backpack nor the laptop had been found at the crime scene. “She looks as if she were very neat.”

“She had a thing about order. Said an unmade bed drove her crazy. As soon as she got up in the morning, she made her bed. Even before she went to the bathroom she made her bed. I’m not so neat as her.”

“The living room also looked neat as a pin.”

She folded her arms over her chest and tipped her head back to keep more tears from spilling. “I’ve been keeping it extra neat. Making an effort to straighten and vacuum so when she came home it would be clean like she likes it.”