Say You're Sorry (Morgan Dane 1)
Mrs. Barone hesitated. “She was the same age as my oldest, Rebecca. I homeschool my girls, but Tessa and Rebecca met at youth group at the church.”
“After what happened over the weekend . . .” Lance let the implication hang. “I really want to find Jamie and bring her home safely.”
Mrs. Barone nodded. “Poor Tessa. I can’t believe she was killed by a neighbor. Just goes to show that you don’t really know folks, right?”
So much for innocent until proven guilty.
Lance bit back his comment. He needed Mrs. Barone to encourage her son to cooperate with Lance’s investigation. It wasn’t his place to educate the woman on the finer points of criminal law.
“Will Robby be back later today?” Lance asked.
“I don’t know.” She pocketed the business card Lance handed her, then rubbed her arms as if she was cold. “I’m sure he’ll do what he can to help you find Jamie.”
Lance was equally sure Mrs. Barone’s little angel would be happy to help—for another fifty bucks.
“Thank you.” Lance pulled a picture from his pocket, a still he’d printed from the video of the boy who’d been fighting with Nick. Lance showed it to Mrs. Barone. “Do you know this kid?”
Mrs. Barone took the picture. “That’s Jacob Emerson.”
“You’re sure.”
“I’m sure. Everyone around here knows the Emersons. Mr. Emerson is a lawyer. He tries to keep a tight rein on Jacob, but that boy was born to be a handful.”
Good to know.
A whiny engine sound announced the arrival of Robby’s ancient Toyota. Robby spotted Lance through the windshield. The car hesitated, as if Robby was considering turning around, but he parked alongside Lance’s Jeep. Robby got out of the car and came up the front walk, his posture cocky.
His mother nodded at Lance. “Mr. Kruger was just asking about Jamie Lewis.”
“OK. Robby nodded, but like his mother, he seemed more concerned with watching the end of the driveway for whoever was due home next.
“I was going to ask you if you knew who this was.” Lance flashed the photo of Jacob Emerson. “But your mom already helped me out.”
“Then you got what you came for,” Robby said. He shared a look with his mother. “You should go. Now.”
Lance turned to Mrs. Barone. “Thank you, ma’am.”
Back in his Jeep, he sent Sharp a message: need full background checks on everyone else who lives at this address. He typed the Barones’ rural route number into his phone.
Something fishy was going on at the Barone house. Robby and his mother were way too paranoid. Their transgressions might be totally innocent, but Lance had learned the hard way not to ignore his instincts. Was Mr. Barone a criminal? Abusive? Both?
He drove away from the Barone house. On the way back to town, without consulting his brain, Lance detoured down Morgan’s street. He felt like a twelve-year-old cruising past his secret crush’s house on his Schwinn. He turned the corner. His foot shifted to the brake pedal. Three houses away, a small crowd of people stood in the middle of the road. All eyes watched the Zabrowski driveway.
What the hell was going on?
Broken lengths of crime scene tape hung limply across the drive and around the property. Bud stood at the head of his driveway. An elderly couple blocked his path. The old man was bent and bowlegged with age. The woman at his side stood straight, but her frame was paperclip thin. A strong wind swept dead leaves across the lawn. Lance was surprised it hadn’t knocked her over.
Morgan was jogging across the road.
Lance opened his door and slid out of his vehicle. Hurrying past the crowd of gawkers, he heard the murmurs of gossip.
“His father should have known.”
“I always thought that kid was strange.”
“I can’t believe we had a killer living here all this time.”
Lance wanted to correct all their misconceptions. Nick was innocent until proven guilty, but now wasn’t the time. Crowds didn’t listen to facts or reason. Crowds acted on emotion, which amplified according to the size of the gathering.
Ignoring them, he followed Morgan.
A woman in a pink track suit cast a suspicious look at Morgan’s back as she walked by.
Morgan stepped up beside Bud. Her face softened with empathy. “Mr. and Mrs. Palmer, I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Lance threaded his way through the crowd until he was next to Morgan.
The bowlegged old man didn’t respond, but his gaze flickered to Morgan for one second before refocusing on Nick’s father. “Your son killed my Tessa.”
Oh no. Tessa’s grandparents were confronting Nick’s father.
Bud shook his head. “No.”
“Tessa was a good girl, and your boy murdered her.” Stepping forward, Mr. Palmer pointed at Bud with a shaking hand. “How could you not know what your boy was up to?”
“I’m sorry about Tessa, but my son didn’t do it,” Bud said, his voice thick with emotion.
Mr. Palmer’s face reddened. “The cops say he did. They don’t go around arresting innocent citizens.”
Someone in the crowd called out, “They found the knife behind your shed!”
Morgan stepped between Mr. Palmer and Bud. “Mr. Palmer, Tessa was a beautiful young woman. I’ll always remember how sweet she was with my own girls. Please accept my condolences.”
Mr. Palmer gave her a curt nod.
Morgan continued. “Please go home. Let the police handle the case. No good can come of this.”
Bud surged forward, but Morgan held him back.
Mr. Palmer leaned toward Morgan. “Whose side are you on?”
“There are no sides here,” Morgan said. “Nick is innocent until proven guilty.”
Mr. Palmer’s face darkened. “There most certainly are sides.”
“The justice system takes time,” Morgan said calmly. “You have to have faith in it.”
“What about Tessa?” Mr. Palmer’s face turned stroke-red. “What about justice for her?”
“I’m so sorry,” Morgan said. “Is there someone I can call for you? A family member?”
“There’s no one. Tessa was all we had.” His anger crumpled. “She’s gone, and there’s no way you can bring her back.”
Deflated, the old man slumped and turned away. The frail blonde woman at his side stepped forward, getting right in Bud’s face. She raised a hand and slapped Bud hard. Bud didn’t move. Though he’d seemed prepared to hold his ground with the old man, he appeared resigned to taking whatever punishment the elderly woman dished out.
“Your son is a monster.” Mrs. Palmer pivoted on an orthopedic shoe, took her husband’s arm, and led him away.
Murmuring, the crowd eased away. Someone spit on Bud’s lawn.
After the crowd dispersed, Morgan turned to Bud. “Are you all right?”
A red handprint colored his cheek, but Bud didn’t so much as acknowledge it with a touch. “I guess I should have expected some hate. Tessa was a sweet girl, and everyone is appalled about her death. But I thought these people were our neighbors too. I’d hoped they’d stand by Nick.”
He’d thought wrong.
“They’re scared,” Lance said. “They don’t want to think this can happen in their own backyards.”
The media was fueling their fear and rage with sensational headlines like LOCAL GIRL KILLED BY BOYFRIEND and GIRL NEXT DOOR MURDERED BY LOCAL MAN.