Say You're Sorry (Morgan Dane 1)

They drove away from the business district. On their way, they passed Scarlet Lake. The crisp morning air sent mist rising from the water. It floated over the beach and swirled through the cattails like smoke. He and Morgan both went quiet as they drove past, but the visual was a reminder to Lance of the seriousness of the case. A young girl had been violated and murdered, and her killer still ran loose. If they didn’t find Tessa’s murderer, an innocent man could spend the rest of his life in prison.

And a killer would be free to strike again.

Neither he nor Morgan spoke until they reached the Barone place. Then Lance drew the Jeep to a stop on the shoulder of the road, his gaze fixed on the farm.

“Do you see what I see?” he asked.

It couldn’t be.

What the hell?

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Lance blinked hard, but it didn’t change the sight. The farm looked deserted.

Morgan lowered her window. She tilted her head to the opening. “It’s too quiet.”

He turned past the mailbox into the driveway. There were no vehicles parked near the house. The chicken enclosure and pigpen were empty. No cows grazed in the pasture. The stock trailer and school bus that had been parked alongside the barn were gone.

They got out of the car. Lance led the way to the front door. Who knew what kind of surprises Dwayne Barone, with all of his WSA paranoia, would leave behind? Standing to the side of the doorway, he tucked Morgan behind him and knocked on the door. Nothing but eerie silence greeted them.

Lance walked to the window and peered inside. “The furniture is still here, but they took everything else.”

Wire hung from holes in the wall where the TV and other electronic devices had been installed. Lance went back down the steps. Backing away from the house, he scanned the roofline. “The satellite dish is missing.”

He headed for the barn, already knowing what he was going to see.

“This is creepy.” Morgan followed him.

Watching their step, they checked the outbuildings. Lance took care to inspect every door before approaching and opening it. But nothing happened. Nothing at all.

The entire farm was eerie and silent and empty.

They returned to the car, turning to stare at the vacant buildings.

“Any thoughts?” Lance asked.

“No one takes their pigs on vacation,” Morgan said. “Dwayne likes to live off the radar. Maybe he wasn’t comfortable with our questions.”

“We didn’t accuse Dwayne or his son of anything.”

Morgan’s eyes drifted back to the house. “Maybe one of them did something really bad, and he was afraid we’d find out.”

“Like commit murder. Do you like Robby or Dwayne for the crime?”

“Robby seems awfully small, not much bigger than Tessa,” Morgan said.

“That boy is holding onto a lot of anger, though,” Lance pointed out. “Rage can make someone stronger than he looks.”

“Yes,” Morgan agreed.

“And Tessa wouldn’t know how to defend herself. She was just a kid.” It killed Lance to think of the violence, the pain, the terror that had filled the young girl’s final moments.

Morgan walked toward the back door. “But Dwayne would have no difficulty overpowering a young girl.”

Lance followed her. “With one hand.”

Pausing, Morgan shook her head. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves. We haven’t established that Tessa has ever been to the farm.”

“She knew the Barones’ oldest daughter from church. She didn’t have to come to the house for her to have met Dwayne.”

“His own family is terrified of him. Could they know he’s a killer?”

“Wait a second.” Lance jogged back to the Jeep and retrieved two pairs of vinyl gloves and a small black case from the glove compartment. Then he joined Morgan at the Barones’ back door.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing.” Opening the black case, he selected two slim metal tools.

Morgan reached around him and turned the knob. The door opened. “It’s not locked.”

Eyeing the open door, Lance slid the lock picks back into their case. “I don’t like this.”

Not one bit.

Standing aside, he touched the door and let it swing inward. When nothing happened, he stepped through the opening. The large, farmhouse kitchen was bare. The Barones hadn’t even left dust behind. Morgan pulled on her gloves and walked around the center island. She opened a drawer, then a cabinet. “Everything is gone.”

Lance checked the fridge. “Empty.”

They toured the downstairs, then went up the steps to the second floor. Morgan opened a closet. “How did they pack up and get out so quickly?”

“I wonder what Dwayne will do with the house.” Lance led the way back downstairs and outside. He turned and scanned the surrounding area. There wasn’t another house in sight, just fields, meadows, and woods. “It’s not like we can ask the neighbors about the family. But maybe we can find out which church they attended.”

“It’s worth a try.”

They returned to the Jeep. Morgan climbed into the passenger seat.

Lance slid behind the wheel. “What now?”

“Call the police?”

“And report what? It’s not illegal to move.” Lance started the engine and turned the vehicle around. “Maybe Sharp will have an idea.” He called his boss and put him on speaker.

Lance told him about the Barones’ vanishing act.

“I’ll make some calls. Maybe your mom can think of a way to track them. Even if they want to stay off the radar, it’s almost impossible these days given the amount of electronic surveillance out there. Eventually, they have to stop for gas or pay a toll. Keep me updated.”

Lance ended the call with a thanks. He dialed his mom and explained the situation.

“Let me see what I can hack into,” she said.

“Be careful. Don’t do anything illegal.” Or that might tip off the WSA to her inquiries.

But she made no promises, hanging up with a vague, “I’ll call you.”

Lance pushed the “End” button on his phone. He drove out onto the road and headed back into town. “I hope we don’t totally strike out at Voss’s apartment.”

Dean Voss lived in an older residential section, not far from the business district. Lance pulled up to the curb in front of an old Victorian house that had been divided into apartments.

Morgan studied the doors. “I see units one through four. Dean lives in number five.”

“We’ll look around back.”

They got out of the car and stood on the sidewalk for a minute.

“It’s quiet.” Morgan shielded her eyes from the late morning sun.

Lance checked his watch. Eleven o’clock. “This is a residential block. Everybody’s left for school or work by now.”

They walked up the driveway, which continued alongside the house to a detached single garage in the backyard. A set of wooden steps up the side of the garage led to a white door marked FIVE.

“Bingo.” Lance headed for the stairs.

“Can I help you?” A woman’s voice called out.

Morgan and Lance turned. A middle-aged woman in jeans and a red baseball cap stood on the back porch of the Victorian.

“Yes, you can.” Morgan walked across the yard. “I’m Morgan Dane and this is Lance Kruger. We’re looking for Mr. Voss.”