Chapter Twenty-Two
At nine thirty Friday morning, Lance followed Morgan into her office and watched her get settled. “Good morning.”
She set her bag and stainless steel travel mug on her desk, removed her coat, and hung it in the closet. Her pants and suit jacket were black, and so were the circles under her eyes.
Worry pulled at him. She’d spent hours the previous day hashing out the details of the reward offered by Rand with the sheriff’s department. As predicted, the sheriff was pissed off, but he’d taken on the responsibility. The hotline was supposed to be up and running, and a press conference was scheduled for that evening. Morgan would have spent the night drafting rough statements for Tim and Rand.
No doubt she’d been up late reviewing notes on the case as well. And they’d split the job of writing up the reports on yesterday’s interviews. With her grandfather not able to drive, taxiing Sophie to preschool and Gianna to dialysis also fell on her shoulders.
She raised her coffee cup to her lips and drank deeply.
“Are you all right?” Lance asked.
“Sophie had a night terror.”
“What is a night terror?”
“She was thrashing around and screaming in her sleep.”
“Oh, hell.”
“Yes. ‘Hell’ sums up my night perfectly.” Morgan tilted her head back and drained her mug. She crossed the room to the Keurig machine on her credenza. Setting her mug under the spout, she plugged in a pod and pressed the “On” button. “She woke the whole family. I had to bring her into my room for the rest of the night. Sharing a bed with Sophie is like sleeping with an octopus on Red Bull.”
Sophie was an unpredictable, sensitive, out-of-the-box child. She experienced life with an emotional meter permanently set to high. She loved powerfully and without reservation. And held a grudge, like the one aimed at Lance for claiming some of her mother’s attention, with the steadfastness of a SWAT sniper locked on a target.
“Poor kid. She must have been a mess,” Lance said.
“Not at all.” Morgan drummed her fingers on the credenza as the coffeemaker gurgled. “A night terror isn’t the same thing as a nightmare. She slept through the whole thing and woke up in a great mood surprised to be in bed with me.”
A smile tugged at Lance’s mouth. “Then poor you.”
Morgan sighed. “Night terrors are named appropriately. It was terrifying to watch. I’ve been awake since three.”
“Morning,” Sharp said as he walked in, drawing up as he scanned her face. “You look terrible.”
“Thanks.” Morgan laughed. She lifted her refilled mug and inhaled, her eyes closing in a way that was almost sensual.
“I told you that stuff was bad for you.” Sharp lifted his mug. Large red letters on the black ceramic read PRIVATE DICK. It had been a gift from his cop buddies when he’d retired from the force and opened the investigation agency. “Are you sure I can’t replace that poison with organic tea and a protein shake?”
Morgan clutched her cup closer, protecting it like a starving wolf standing over a fresh kill. “Hands off the coffee.”
Sharp backed away, shaking his head. “Caffeine overloads the adrenal system. In the long run, you’ll end up more fatigued. Ask Lance.”
“Lance is not getting in the middle.” Lance turned to face the whiteboard.
Sharp walked up to stand next to him. “Are we still waiting on an ID of the body?”
“I just talked to the sheriff,” Morgan said. “The woman’s face and hands were badly damaged by animal activity, and her lower jaw is missing. The medical examiner was going to start on the autopsy first thing this morning. He has Chelsea’s medical and dental records. If it’s not Chelsea, he should be able to rule her out, even if he can’t identify the body.”
An autopsy could take anywhere from two to four hours. Difficult and damaged remains complicated the process. A preliminary report wouldn’t be ready until the next morning, but the county ME would not leave the Clark family hanging any longer than necessary. If he could rule out Chelsea, he’d let them know ASAP.
“The ME likes to get an early start,” Lance said. “We’ll hear from him in the next couple of hours.”
“Are we ready for the press conference?” Sharp asked.
“I need to talk to Tim and Rand this afternoon, but everything is set up with the sheriff’s office.” Morgan took her place behind her desk. “Now what?”
“We were hired to find Chelsea,” Sharp said. “We assume the body isn’t hers until we hear otherwise.”
“Let me get my laptop and we’ll go over the background checks.” Lance went to his office and grabbed his computer. Last night, he’d made his first foray into Chelsea’s work files. Two hours of reviewing financial statements and tax documents had left his eyes crossed and his head aching. He’d found nothing suspicious, but he’d barely covered 10 percent of the material.
On the way back into Morgan’s office, he opened the file his mother had e-mailed him that morning. “We’ll start with Fiona West, Chelsea’s best friend. There’s nothing even remotely interesting in her background. In her interview, Fiona claimed that Tim and Chelsea were having marital problems. Tim worked too much.”
“That’s what Tim said in our initial meeting,” Uncapping a marker, Sharp wrote a note under Fiona’s name on the board. “Who’s next on your list?”
“Kirk Armani.” Morgan opened her file. All her papers were neatly sorted, hole-punched, and affixed in the proper place. “According to Tim’s boss, Kirk has a crush on Chelsea.”
“Kirk seemed very uncomfortable when we asked him about her.” Lance set the laptop on the corner of Morgan’s desk.
Morgan shook her head. “The very act of being interviewed would create stress for Kirk. Did your mother find any red flags in his file?”
“No,” Lance admitted. “We’ll put him aside for now. Moving on to Tim’s boss, Elliot Pagano.”
Morgan flipped through her paperwork. “What do we know about his wife’s death?”
Lance scrolled. “His wife died in a car accident last year. She was under the influence of OxyContin when she got behind the wheel. Not enough to kill her but enough to impair her driving. Her death was ruled an accident, not a suicide. She had family money and did invest some of her funds in Speed Net as a start-up, but most of her estate was tied up in a trust specifically designed to keep spouses from inheriting family money. Elliot didn’t receive any of it. Her life insurance policy was held by the family trust.”
Sharp’s marker hovered over the board. “How tight was his alibi?”
“Vacuum sealed,” said Lance.
“Damn.” Sharp moved Elliot’s name down the suspect list.
Lance continued. “Elliot became a multimillionaire when he sold his interest in TechKing, the company he started with Levi Gold.” Lance skimmed the report, pulling out the information his mother had highlighted. “But it’s interesting that Speed Net’s main competition is Levi Gold’s new company, Gold Stream.”
“And Elliot mentioned that Levi had a grudge against him.” Morgan tapped a pen on her legal pad. “They had a falling-out over the sale of TechKing.”
“Did Gold get screwed on the sale?” Sharp asked hopefully.
“No,” Lance said. “They both made a hefty profit.”
“Crap.” Sharp made a note between Elliot and Levi’s names and connected it to both men with arrows. “What do we know about Levi Gold?”
Lance clicked on the photo in the file and turned the laptop to face Sharp then Morgan.
Levi Gold was a paraplegic.
“So Levi Gold didn’t personally kidnap Chelsea,” Morgan said.
Sharp’s mouth flattened. “No, but he’s rich. He could hire someone to do his dirty work. Where is his company based?”
“New Jersey.” Lance rubbed his eyes. He’d worked late and had gotten up well before the sun rose. He eyed Morgan’s coffeemaker but decided it wouldn’t be worth the argument with Sharp. “My mom is working her way through the list of Speed Net employees, but so far she hasn’t found any red flags.”
“Do we keep Tim on the list?” Lance asked. “His alibi is a three-year-old.”
“Unless he was willing to leave his daughter alone, I don’t see how he could have managed it.” Morgan shook her head, then stopped suddenly. “Is there any possibility that Chelsea actually disappeared earlier? We only have Tim’s word that she left the house at eight.”
Lance sifted through Chelsea’s phone records. “Fiona talked to Chelsea at seven. The call is verified right here.”
“Hold on.” Sharp came to stand in front of Morgan’s desk. “Can you hand me the report on my canvas of Tim’s neighborhood.”
“Here.” Morgan handed it over.
Sharp flipped to the second page. “Bill Hanks lives two doors down from Tim and Chelsea. Bill was just coming home from bowling when he saw Tim putting the kids in the car. He remembered because he thought it was strange for Tim to be taking the kids out when it was nearly midnight. According to Tim, Chelsea had said she’d be home around ten. There were multiple, verified texts and calls from Tim to Chelsea between ten and eleven. Tim left audible messages. His call to Fiona was also verified. There was no activity on Chelsea’s phone, but phone records show that Tim made those calls from home. Some of the location services were disabled on both phones, so we can’t determine where they were when they weren’t in use.”
“So the sheriff was right when he said that Tim was where he said he was Friday night.” Morgan finished her coffee and set the mug aside.
“We verified that Chelsea didn’t leave her house before seven p.m., that Tim was at home to Skype with his in-laws at eight thirty, that Tim’s phone was at home between eleven and twelve, and that Tim left the house close to midnight,” Sharp said. “The hours in between eight thirty and eleven are still murky. Can we think of a motivation for Tim to make his wife disappear?”
“It’s not money,” Lance said. “They don’t have much, and her life insurance is minimal.”
“What if their marital problems are worse than anyone thought?” Sharp suggested. “Maybe Chelsea was going to leave Tim and take the kids back to Colorado.”
“There would be legal issues with her taking the kids to another state,” Morgan said.
“But her parents have more money than Tim and can afford better lawyers.” Sharp wrote DIVORCE? in black marker under Tim’s name on the whiteboard.
“The reports on Tim’s family are interesting.” Lance scanned a report his mom had flagged. “Both Tim’s father and brother have served time in state prison. His mom’s drug-dealing charge was pleaded down. She served a year in a county facility for women. Tim’s brother missed his last meeting with his parole officer.”
Sharp marked their names with an asterisk. “They’ve asked Tim for money in the past. Maybe they decided he needed to share his newfound success.”
Morgan tapped her pen. “Tim hasn’t received a ransom demand.”
“Maybe they’re waiting for the publicity to die down,” Lance suggested.
“Or for us to go away,” Sharp added. “I know a PI in Colorado. I’ll give him a call. I want eyes on Tim’s family.”
Lance leaned over his laptop and opened another computer file. “Next up is Chelsea’s boss, Curtis MacDonald.”
“Chelsea wanted to talk to him about something important. We have no indication of what that was.” Morgan turned to Lance. “What about the data on Chelsea’s computer and smartphone?”
“Nothing unusual,” Lance said. “Mostly she was interested in mom-type topics. Colic, infant development, sibling relationships, etc.”
“Assuming the dead woman isn’t Chelsea, do we still think there’s any chance that Chelsea left on her own?” Sharp asked.
Morgan shook her head. “In my opinion, no.”
Lance thought of the pretty blonde woman. Was Sheriff King right? Was she hiding out somewhere, depressed, suicidal, angry with her husband and determined to teach him a lesson? “My gut agrees with Morgan. Everyone we asked says Chelsea would never leave her kids.”
“The pendant’s broken chain and the hairs ripped out by the root support her being forcibly taken,” Morgan said.
Sharp nodded, his eyes grim. “Then we’re all in agreement on that. Unless Chelsea had some kind of psychotic breakdown, she wouldn’t intentionally abandon her family.”
Lance returned to his list. “I saved the best for last. Harold Burns?”
Sharp crossed his arms across his chest. “Level-three violent sex offenders aren’t magically cured. They’re a public threat as long as they’re loose.”
“Studies are mixed,” Morgan argued. “We can’t assume he’s guilty because he was confrontational.”
Sharp widened his stance. “He didn’t peep in windows. He committed a violent rape. He used a gun. He threatened and choked his victim.”
“I agree. I saw too many repeat offenders of all types to believe any violent criminals should be out on the street. But anyone on the sex offender registry is going to react when an investigator comes calling to talk about a missing woman.”
Lance paced, picturing the way Burns had intimidated Morgan. “Even if Burns is likely guilty of something, we can’t assume Burns is guilty of this crime.”
“How far from Burns’s home address and the auto shop was the body found?” Sharp asked. “I’m going to get a map.”
“I have one right here.” Lance clicked through and pulled up a map of the area. He placed a pin on the location near the state park where the body was found. Then, he marked the other two addresses. “The body was found less than two miles from the auto shop. If you went through the woods behind the salvage yard, eventually you’d end up in the state park.”
Morgan’s phone buzzed. “It’s the sheriff.”
Lance stopped. Had the ME identified the body?