Chapter Thirty-Five
In the conference room at the sheriff’s station, Morgan kept a hand on Lance’s arm. On her other side, Sharp held his injured arm close and shifted in his chair as if he couldn’t get comfortable.
“I’m trying to solve a murder. Why are you competing with me?” The sheriff paced the narrow space between the table and the wall. “Especially you.” He pointed at Lance. “Don’t you want to know what happened to your father?”
“Of course we do,” Morgan answered, afraid of what Lance might say.
“I went to see Abigail Wright at the Roadside Motel. I asked her for the motel registry for August 10, 1994. Guess what she told me? That you already took it!” The sheriff turned and flattened both hands on the conference table. “This is an active murder case. I should arrest all three of you for impeding an investigation.”
Morgan met his gaze without blinking. “But we might all be more successful if we worked together rather than running parallel investigations.”
“You took evidence from the motel.” The sheriff’s words were measured, as if he was working to keep his voice level.
“And we fully intended to turn it over to you,” Morgan said, producing the large paper envelope from her tote. “Inside you’ll find both the hotel registry and the registration form for Mr. Joshua.”
“Why did you take it?” King asked.
“At the rate potential witnesses are dying, we thought the registry might not be safe at the motel,” Morgan said.
The sheriff snorted. He didn’t believe her.
“We think Crystal Fox was murdered,” Sharp said.
“The preliminary autopsy results are inconclusive.” The sheriff lowered his bulk into his chair and dragged a yellow legal pad in front of him.
Sharp folded his hands. “The Scarlet Falls PD is investigating Jenny Kruger’s supposed suicide attempt as a potential attempted murder.”
“I heard about her overdose.” Sheriff King’s gaze shifted to Lance. “How is your mother?”
Lance lifted a shoulder. “Her condition is still critical.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” The sheriff frowned, picked up a pencil, and made a note on his legal pad. “She seems like a nice lady.”
Sharp outlined the inconsistencies at Jenny’s house. “Don’t you think it’s a little coincidental to have two suicides in the same number of days, both associated with Mary Fox’s case? And what about P. J. Hoolihan and his wife? P. J. knew Mary. Was P. J. tending the bar on the night of August 10? Do you really think they died in a bungled burglary?”
“I never said I did.” The sheriff leaned closer to the table, slid the register out of the envelope, and opened it. “Save me some time. What am I looking for?”
“Brian Leed was Mary’s client and he went by the name Mr. Joshua,” Morgan said. “Mr. Joshua was with Mary on August 10 at the motel.”
The sheriff snapped his pencil in half.
“Brian Leed lied about his whereabouts the night Vic disappeared,” Morgan said. “He wasn’t with Stan. He was with Mary. Brian told us that he dropped Mary off at PJ’s around eight p.m.”
“Hell.” The sheriff scribbled on his note pad with the broken pencil stub. “Is anyone telling the truth?”
“We also learned there was a bar fight on that night.” Sharp jerked a thumb toward the door. “And that a man died in the holding cell.”
The sheriff held up a hand. “Wait. Now you think a bar fight is related to Mary’s murder?”
“We’re exploring all options,” Morgan said. “We don’t have any evidence to link the bar fight to Mary, other than it happened at PJ’s the night Vic went missing, and she was likely there at the time.”
“I’ll look into it.” The sheriff wrote a note and circled it. Then laid his pencil down.
“We’d like a copy of those three arrest reports from the bar fight,” Sharp said.
“No!” The sheriff slammed a hand down on the table. The pencil halves jumped. “Stay away from this case. Do you remember what happened the last time you stuck your noses in a dangerous situation?” King paused for two heartbeats. “I had to come in and save your butts.”
The sheriff had come to Morgan and Lance’s rescue the previous month.
King stood and swept a hand toward the door. “Get out of my station before I find some reason to arrest all three of you.”
Lance opened his mouth. Morgan shushed him with a hand on his shoulder.
“One more thing.” Morgan extended an olive branch. She didn’t think the sheriff would really arrest them. He was just frustrated. They had beat him to several important clues. “Warren Fox’s truck was at Crystal’s house the Sunday before she died.”
“I know that. I talked to her neighbor. Do you think I’m sitting on my hands all day? I’m investigating the case.” The sheriff’s eyes were dark, and Morgan sensed his patience was depleted.
Time to go.
If they weren’t under arrest, technically the sheriff couldn’t hold them or make them answer questions, but they did have to respect his authority. This was all a balancing act.
“Please call us if you have any other questions,” Morgan said. “We want to cooperate fully with your investigation. Like I said before, we could accomplish much more as a team.”
He glared.
“We gave you Brian,” she reminded him.
Sheriff King looked only slightly less furious as they filed out of the conference room. Morgan wasted no time herding Lance and Sharp out the door before either one of them said anything to set the sheriff off again.
They walked across the parking lot toward their vehicles. The temperature was dropping as the sun set.
Sharp paused next to his Prius. “If the sheriff is not going to give us those arrest records, we need access to the police blotter. Nowadays, many police departments post their arrests online. But years ago, the Randolph County Times used to publish police activity on a weekly basis. They used to call it ‘The Weekly Round Up.’”
“I don’t suppose those archives are online?” Morgan shivered and stuck her hands in her pockets.
“No.” Sharp shook his head. “I suspect I’ll have to dig through the old microfiche files in the library basement.”
Morgan stamped her feet. “I didn’t even know microfiche still existed.”
“It does here. The basement of the library is circa 1979. Randolph County doesn’t have the funds to tackle old records.” Sharp stretched his arm, as if it was stiff. “They’re busy trying to stay afloat. I’ll let you know what I find.” He glanced at his phone. “My battery is dead again. I need to pick up a new phone.”
“Any luck with the deputy who arrested Ford . . . Owen Walsh?” Morgan asked.
“No. I left another message,” Sharp said. “He hasn’t returned my calls. I’m going to call an associate in Florida and ask him to interview Walsh. It’s harder to ignore someone who is standing on your doorstep. I’ll let you know if I hear from him. I’m meeting the boys at The Pub for an early dinner. Maybe one of them remembers the case.”
The boys were all over fifty. Sharp met regularly with his retired or almost-retired local law enforcement buddies.
“Do you still want to look for Warren Fox?” Lance asked Morgan.
“Yes.” Morgan hugged her coat tighter around her body, then pulled up her map app. Her phone calculated new directions from their current location. “I don’t like not knowing where Warren is.”
“Or what he’s doing.”
Morgan’s phone rang in her hand. “It’s Stella.” She answered the call.
Stella sounded rushed. “I just got off the phone with the Redhaven police.” Redhaven was a small town about fifteen miles from Scarlet Falls. “They arrested Tyler Green yesterday around noon for violating a restraining order against his ex.”
Morgan froze. “Did you say noon?”
“Yes.” Stella’s voice darkened. “Tyler Green didn’t send you that package yesterday.”
A nasty wind nipped at Morgan’s exposed face. “Shit.”
“You be careful,” Stella said.
“I will.” Morgan ended the call. A chill slid through her bones, and she fastened the top button of her coat. “Did you hear Stella?”
Lance’s face was set. “Yes.”
Morgan shoved her hands into her coat pockets. “If Tyler isn’t my stalker, then who is it?”
“I can think of one other person who is both angry and petty.” Lance crossed his arms.
A scene in the courthouse popped into her mind. Morgan hunched against the wind. “Esposito?”
“He tried to bully you,” Sharp said.
He had.
“But he’s the ADA . . .” Morgan had a hard time believing the new prosecutor would be that angry she’d outmaneuvered him.
“He looks like the type who doesn’t like to lose,” Lance pointed out.
Sharp added, “He didn’t care about guilt or innocence, only about winning his case.”
“He’s a good candidate,” Morgan agreed.
“One more thing. Esposito was handling Tyler’s case,” Lance said. “Do you think it’s possible he reduced the assault charges against Tyler out of spite? Maybe that was part of a grand plan to harass and intimidate you.”
“Ninety percent of cases are plea bargained. We can’t prove Esposito had any motive in letting Tyler out beyond getting the case cleared.” But it made perfect sense. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything she could do about it. Criminal charges were at the discretion of the prosecutor’s office. “Look, we have to put my stalker on the back burner for now. We need to focus on figuring out who’s killing people.”