Chapter Eighteen
“What’s going on, Tim?” Morgan zipped her skirt.
Still flushed and hot from Lance’s touch, she bottled up her irritation. But really, why couldn’t the sheriff just work and play well with others? Dressed, she picked up the phone and turned off the speaker.
“I don’t know what to do.” Desperation raised the pitch of Tim’s voice.
“Slow down, Tim,” Morgan said in a firm voice. Her client wasn’t thinking straight. He needed direction. “What’s going on?”
“The sheriff wants me at the station. He refuses to say why.” Tim’s words were nearly drowned out by crying, too much crying to be made by one baby.
“Who’s crying?” Morgan asked.
“Both the kids,” Tim answered. “The deputy scared Bella. She thinks he wants to take me away.”
Temper heated the back of Morgan’s neck. “Where is he now?”
“In the foyer. I’m in the living room, trying to calm down the kids. My in-laws went out to have more flyers printed. They’re not answering their cell phones. I told him I needed to wait until they came home, but he said he could call child services to take care of the kids. What am I going to do? Can they really take my kids away?”
Morgan blew a hard breath through her nostrils.
“I want you to ask the deputy if you are under arrest.” She seethed. Either the sheriff was holding back a giant piece of information or he was merely trying to intimidate the harried father. Either way, she was done playing nice.
“What?” Tim sounded shocked.
Morgan repeated her instructions in a louder voice. “Trust me. Do it now.”
Over the connection, a little girl wailed, “Don’t take my daddy!”
Morgan assumed Tim had joined the deputy in the foyer. The baby’s cries intensified, each child feeding on the other’s hysteria. She barely heard Tim shouting the question. The deputy’s reply was drowned out.
“He says no,” Tim yelled into the phone.
“Tell him you will meet him at the station as soon as your in-laws come home. Then tell him to leave your house. Be polite but firm.”
“Are you sure?” Tim asked.
Morgan answered, “Completely sure.”
A few seconds later, a door slammed, the little girl’s wails quieted to whimpers, and the baby’s cries diminished.
“Thank you.” Tim sounded stunned. “I didn’t know I could do that.”
“Most people don’t.”
In Morgan’s experience, law-abiding citizens didn’t know their rights. Criminals, however, were well versed in the legal process.
Morgan said, “I’m on my way over. Don’t talk to anyone or do anything without me.”
She ended the call. After slipping her feet into her heels, she grabbed her tote bag and headed for the laundry room. “Can I collect my wet shoes when they’re dry?”
Fully dressed, Lance was right behind her. “Of course.”
She turned. “I wish . . .”
“Yeah. Me too.” He leaned down and kissed her softly on the mouth. “At some point, we will have an hour to ourselves. I promise.”
“I know.” The sigh rolled through her. “But I really wanted it to be today.”
The corner of his mouth lifted in a wry smile. “Me too.”
She snagged her trench coat from the peg, then slid her arms into the sleeves.
Lance grabbed a jacket from a peg. He was wearing his gun again. “Are we going straight to Tim’s?”
“Yes.” In the car, she flipped down the mirror in the visor. Her hair was a disaster. She finger-combed it and wound it into a quick twist, digging a few hairpins from the bottom of her bag. She applied fresh lipstick and flipped the mirror closed. “Ready.”
“You certainly are.” Lance drove to Tim’s house.
Tim’s in-laws had returned and were in the kitchen with the children when Tim let Morgan and Lance into the house. Chelsea’s parents looked shell-shocked.
Patricia shifted the baby over her shoulder. “What’s going on?”
“That’s what we’re going to find out,” Morgan said.
Bella cried when Tim said goodbye.
He crouched down and hugged her. “I’ll be back soon.”
“Promise?” She sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve.
“Promise.” Tim kissed his daughter on the head then straightened. “Let’s go.”
He kept his eyes forward until they were outside. They got into the Jeep, and Tim stared at his house from the back seat. “Why would he treat me like this?”
“I don’t know.” In the passenger seat, Morgan turned to face him. “Here are the rules. If I tell you not to answer a question, don’t. You not only cooperated in the sheriff’s investigation; you initiated it. In fact, you are the one who is unsatisfied with the way he is handling your wife’s disappearance. You’ve hired a private firm because he hasn’t made satisfactory progress on the case.”
“OK,” Tim said. “But I don’t understand. All I want to do is find my wife. Why won’t he look for her?”
“I’m sure he is.” Morgan tapped a finger on her leg. The sheriff should be sharing more of his investigation with the family, but she suspected something had happened to initiate the sheriff’s call to Tim.
Once at the sheriff’s station, Morgan, Lance, and Tim were escorted to an interview room by a deputy.
“The sheriff will be back soon,” the deputy said.
Sheriff King isn’t even here?
Seeing the deputy’s grim face as he closed the door sent a chill rippling up Morgan’s arms.
What had happened?
Had they found Chelsea?
“I’ll get us some coffee.” Lance left the room for a few minutes, returning with three Styrofoam cups.
Tim didn’t drink his, but he held it between his palms and stared into the cup, barely moving, while they waited. Ten minutes later, the sheriff opened the door and walked in. Tim jumped, the feet of his plastic chair squeaking on the floor with the jerk of his body. His coffee sloshed over the rim of the cup, and he set it down on the table.
The sheriff’s boots were muddy, and his hair mussed, as if he’d been outside. The grim set of his face put Morgan on alert.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting.” He settled his bulk in the chair across from Tim. Though his eyes flickered at Morgan with annoyance—no doubt he didn’t appreciate her challenging his authority—when his gaze settled on Tim, it was with empathy. “Thank you for coming in, Mr. Clark.” He sighed, his big chest expanding and deflating. “I want you to brace yourself.”
Morgan stiffened. Next to her, Tim’s hands curled around the arms of his chair.
The sheriff continued. “This afternoon, the body of a woman was found by a pair of hikers.”
Oh, no.
Morgan’s mind spun. Keeping her ears tuned to the sheriff, she turned to her client. Tim blinked. His head shook slightly, as if he didn’t believe what he was hearing.
“The first thing you need to know is that we have not identified her yet. We do not know for certain if this woman is your wife,” the sheriff continued.
Tim’s features were frozen, the color draining from his face until he was the pale gray of day-old snow. When he finally opened his mouth, his voice was a tight rasp. “But it could be?”
“It’s possible,” the sheriff said. “The age bracket fits, and she was blonde.”
The air whooshed out of Tim’s body with an almost inaudible moan.
Morgan touched his forearm. His hands clenched his armrests tightly enough to raise the tendons on the backs of them and turn his knuckles white. She leaned closer. “Are you all right?”
Tim didn’t react. His eyes were fixed in horror on the sheriff, who was watching him with sympathetic—and assessing—eyes.
And Morgan got it.
Sheriff King had wanted to see Tim’s reaction. King had wanted to be the one to deliver the news. So he’d done his best to isolate Tim so he didn’t find out another way.
As if he was following Morgan’s train of thought, the sheriff said, “I didn’t want you to hear this on the news, which is why I sent a deputy to get you immediately. When I left the scene, the first reporters were showing up. It won’t take long.”
Morgan had proudly worked many cases on the side of law enforcement, but in the last few weeks, she’d seen the flip side of criminal law. How people who were supposedly considered innocent were treated. And what she’d learned so far wasn’t pretty.
The sheriff could have gone to Tim’s house, or he could have sent another officer. Dragging Tim in hadn’t been necessary.
“Do you know how long she’d been out there?” Lance asked.
“Hard to say.” The sheriff shook his head. “Coyotes had dug up—”
Tim made a soft, choking noise.
“Sheriff,” Morgan said in a reproachful voice.
The sheriff blinked at her. “Sorry.”
“Could my client have some water?” Morgan asked, furious. They’d all seen Tim’s response to the news. He was obviously shocked. He did not need to know that wild animals had mauled the body.
“Of course.” The sheriff got up and left the room.
Tim shoved his chair back, bent at the waist, and buried his face in his hands. His breathing was too fast and shallow.
Morgan put a hand on his arm. “Take a deep breath and hold it for a few seconds. You’re going to hyperventilate. There’s no point in assuming the worst. Hang on until we get more information.”
Without lifting his head, he nodded.
The sheriff returned with several bottles of water that he set on the table. He dropped back into the seat facing Tim.
Tim sat up, his face contorted with the effort of controlling his emotions.
“What do you know about the woman?” Lance asked.
The sheriff lifted a shoulder. “Not much other than she was blonde and the medical examiner thought she was in her twenties.”
Tim’s eye twitched. He didn’t need to hear every detail at this time. Morgan could fill him in on the details when the preliminary autopsy report was finished.
Morgan handed Tim a bottle of water. “Why don’t we go into the hall for a couple of minutes?”
Tim twisted off the cap and took a mouthful of water. He seemed to have trouble swallowing. He lowered the bottle and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “No. I want to hear everything.”
“Are you sure?” Morgan asked. “It’s not necessary. You might be torturing yourself for no reason.”
Tim pressed his palms to his eyes for a few seconds. When he lowered his hands, he’d regained his composure. “Where was she found?”
“Route 87, in Black Run State Park,” the sheriff said. “I know this is hard. I’ll let you know as soon as I have more information to share.”
“Thank you.” The words caught in the back of Tim’s throat, and he stared at his water without drinking, seemingly lost.
“Let’s get you home before the press shows up.” Morgan didn’t want Tim to have to run a gauntlet of reporters, cameras, and microphones to get into his house.
Nodding, Tim stood. He wobbled a little and put a palm on the table to steady his balance.
“Oh, Tim,” the sheriff said. “Before you leave, I need you to officially state that this belonged to your wife.”
He set a small paper evidence bag on the table. Opening the metal clasp, he dumped the contents on the table. The bird pendant slid a few inches across the smooth fake wood surface. “Does this look familiar?”
Tim paled and sucked in a sharp breath. Leaning harder on the table, he reached forward to touch the pendant then paused, his hand hovering a few inches above the silver bird.
“You can touch it,” the sheriff said. “It’s already been processed.”
“It’s Chelsea’s.” Tim picked it up by the chain. He straightened. Draping the necklace across his palm, he stroked the tiny silver bird. “She never takes this off. Her parents gave it to her when she graduated high school.” He looked up, his eyes bleak. “This was near where her car was found?”
“Yes,” the sheriff answered.
“So she was there, anyway.” Tim closed his eyes for a few seconds.
With a quick look at Morgan and Lance, the sheriff added, “Maybe.”
The sheriff was holding back. Morgan searched his face. He had more information than he was giving them.
“How long until we know?” Tim asked in a too quiet voice.
“Worst case scenario, we have to wait for a DNA analysis, which could take weeks. But it’s possible we’ll know much sooner.” Could the sheriff be any more vague? But then again, maybe he had good reason.
The police had Chelsea’s fingerprints. The body must have been in bad shape if the sheriff wasn’t sure that they could be compared. Rodents sometimes nibbled on fingertips. Bears and coyotes dismembered and disseminated bodies. The medical examiner might not even have all of the remains. While Morgan believed in being honest with her client, Tim didn’t need to know any of these things. Not yet, anyway. If the body was positively ID’d as Chelsea, then he’d learn all the gruesome details. Until then, what was the point in causing him more distress?
“Oh, no.” Tim started for the door. “I have to get home before Rand and Patricia see this on the news.”
Her parents would be devastated.
What were the chances that the body of another blonde woman would turn up the same week that Chelsea disappeared?