Say You're Sorry (Morgan Dane 1)

“My kids are two years apart,” Morgan said.

“But you don’t have six of them,” Lance pointed out.

“We talked about having another.”

“Did you?” Why was he surprised? She was only thirty-three, and she clearly enjoyed her kids. So did he, come to think of it, which was a far scarier revelation.

Morgan turned a page. “Ivy Melissa Barone, age thirty-six, has no record of employment. This is interesting. Ivy doesn’t have a New York State driver’s license.”

“Medical condition?” Lance hadn’t noticed any obvious impairment when he’d spoken to her.

“She had six kids so she can’t be too frail. Pregnancy and childbirth aren’t for the weak.” Morgan’s finger skimmed the paper. “She doesn’t appear in many places. Birth certificate, Social Security registration, marriage certificate, the birth certificates of her six children. And that’s all the information on her. She owns no vehicles or real estate.”

“She doesn’t have a job, she doesn’t drive, and she lives a good distance from town. Mrs. Barone doesn’t get out much.”

“The oldest daughter is eighteen. She doesn’t have a driver’s license either.”

“Robby does,” Lance said, “though he’s only sixteen.”

“Yes. And while Robby attends Scarlet Falls High, all five girls are homeschooled.” Morgan frowned and a deep-in-thought line creased above the bridge of her nose.

“Homeschooling is getting more and more common.”

“It is, but in this situation, it feels more like Dwayne doesn’t like the women to have outside contact.”

Lance agreed, and he didn’t like the impression he was forming of the family.

Morgan continued. “Dwayne David Barone is fifty. He’s worked for Marker Construction for twenty-five years. His position is listed as supervisor. The house is in his name only, as are the cable and utility bills. There’s no mortgage. The property operates as a farm and produces a small income. All taxes are current.”

“So no red flags about Dwayne Barone?”

“No.” Morgan glanced at him. “Except for the lack of information about him. Also, there are no credit cards issued to any of the Barones.”

“That’s unusual,” Lance said. “Mrs. Barone was awfully anxious for me to leave before her husband came home.”

“Possible domestic violence?” Morgan suggested.

Lance nodded. “My impression of her was that she was scared.”

“There’s no record of domestic disturbances or arrests or restraining orders,” Morgan said. “But just because no one ever reported a crime doesn’t mean one never occurred. Plenty of domestic abuse victims are too intimidated to call the police.”

Lance turned into the driveway. Robby’s Toyota sat next to the house. A Ford Bronco in remarkable condition for its age was parked in the shade cast by the barn. The hood was up, and a man leaned over the engine. The German shepherds went ballistic, and the man straightened and stepped away from the vehicle.

That can’t be Robby’s father.

Lance estimated him at six-six and two hundred forty pounds. Dwayne’s middle name should have been “The Rock” instead of David. He took a few steps away from his vehicle, his posture relaxed but ready, his stance almost military-like.

“There’s no record of Dwayne serving in the military?” Lance navigated around a rut in the gravel lane.

Morgan checked. “No.”

Lance stopped the Jeep next to the Bronco and got out of the vehicle.

“Hello,” he said.

“Can I help you with something?” Dwayne held a torque wrench in one hand. Grease stained his gray coveralls, and his shaved head gleamed. He set his wrench in the toolbox at his feet, took a bandana from the back pocket of his coveralls, and wiped his hands. Despite the sweat, Mr. Barone was a cool customer.

“Yes.” Lance took a business card from his pocket while Morgan made the introductions.

“I’m representing Nick Zabrowski,” she said.

Dwayne shook their hands. “What can I do for you?”

“I’d like to ask your son, Robby, a few questions,” Morgan said.

Dwayne’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why?”

“I’m interviewing all of the kids that attended the lake party on Thursday night.” Morgan smiled.

“He already spoke to the police.” Dwayne shifted his weight onto his heels and crossed thick arms over his chest.

“Yes.” She nodded. “We know. But I need to question everyone involved in the case in order to prove Nick is innocent.”

“The police seem to think he’s guilty,” Dwayne said.

Did Lance hear a slight echo of distrust when Dwayne uttered the word police?

Morgan nodded. “They’ve made a mistake.”

Lance played his card. “It doesn’t seem to concern them that they might have the wrong man.”

Dwayne didn’t bite on the comment, but a flicker of irritation accompanied his almost imperceptible nod.

“Is Robby here?” Morgan’s gaze drifted to the house.

“He is. I suppose if I don’t let you talk to him, you’ll get a subpoena?” Another interesting fact about Dwayne Barone: he knew a thing or two about the law.

“Yes. I wouldn’t have a choice. It’s my job to give Nick the best possible defense.” What Morgan didn’t say is that she’d probably depose Robby if he had anything relevant to say today.

“I’ll get him. Wait here.” Dwayne’s request was clearly an order. He stalked away and went into the house.

“I guess we’re not getting an invite inside,” Lance said. He’d really wanted a look at the family dynamics, a chance to poke around their home.

“No. That’s clear,” Morgan agreed.

Two minutes later, Dwayne returned with Robby in tow. Their relationship could be summed up by the bow of Robby’s head and the hunch of his shoulders. Dwayne stood at the boy’s side, one enormous hand dwarfing the boy’s shoulder. The contact could have been intended as comfort, but Robby seemed cowed.

“Hi, Robby.” Morgan introduced herself and Lance. “I’m representing Nick.”

“I know who you are,” Robby mumbled.

“Mind your manners.” Dwayne’s fingers tightened, and a brief wince crossed Robby’s face before he smoothed it over.

“I need to ask you a few questions,” Morgan said.

Robby lifted his eyes. There was no sign of cockiness in them, only defeat and humiliation. “Yes, ma’am.”

“When did you arrive at the party?” She began with routine facts to get the interview warmed up. Robby’s answer agreed with everyone else’s.

“Tell me what happened between Jacob and Nick.” Morgan’s head tilted. If Dwayne hadn’t been there, intimidating the hell out of his son, her gentle voice and demeanor would have encouraged Robby to talk.

But Dwayne was there, with his anvil-size hand as a constant reminder of whatever order he’d given his son.

“I don’t know.” Robby’s eyes drifted to his left sneaker.

He knows plenty.

“You saw the video, right?” Morgan prompted. Smart of her not to inform Dwayne that Robby had been the one to show the video to Lance.

“Yeah,” Robby admitted. “Jacob and Nick got into it.” His voice sharpened when he said Jacob.