Chapter Twenty-Eight
Lance and Morgan sat in the hospital waiting room. Morgan silently contemplated the dark-gray carpet. She hadn’t said a word since a nurse had come for Chelsea’s parents ten minutes before. Morgan’s eyes were dark and far away, and Lance wondered what difficult memory was playing in her mind.
Several hours had passed since they’d seen the video in Tim’s kitchen. A few phone calls had verified that Chelsea had been taken to the hospital. A neighbor had been called to watch the children so that Tim, Patricia, and Rand could go to the hospital.
Lance reached for Morgan’s hand, interlacing their fingers. Hers were cold. “Are you all right?”
“When the chaplain came to the house to tell me that John was dead, I was alone. The girls were there, but I was the only adult. Sophie was still a baby. I don’t even remember the next couple of hours. I don’t know who took care of the children. Maybe the chaplain. Maybe the army officer who came with him. Maybe me.” She paused for a slow breath. “Someone called Grandpa because he and Stella just showed up at the house. I have no memory of the rest of that day. Except for John’s funeral, the next few weeks are hazy.”
Lance squeezed her hand, the pain in her voice breaking his heart. “Maybe that’s for the best.”
“Maybe it is.”
“Chelsea is alive.”
“I know.” Morgan’s voice was soft. “I was just thinking how good it was for Tim to have support. To not be alone. Chelsea is alive, but we have no idea what happened to her. What she went through.”
Lance was betting it had been pretty horrific. Even without seeing her in person, he’d seen her face on that recording. She’d been filthy and battered, her bruised face the color of a raw steak, her features swollen. It had taken Tim a few seconds to recognize her, and he’d been blown away.
A shadow darkened the doorway.
“There you are.” The sheriff walked in. He went to the portable coffeemaker on a table in the corner and brewed himself a cup. He took a chair across from Morgan and Lance. His eyes were troubled, and he held the cup in both hands, but Lance could see the ends of his fingers trembling.
Sheriff King wasn’t easily disturbed. He’d undoubtedly seen many terrible things in his decades in law enforcement. But Chelsea had gotten to him. Discomfort stirred in Lance’s chest. What had Chelsea told the sheriff?
“How is she?” Morgan asked.
“She’s in rough shape, but she’s alive.” The sheriff paused to drink his coffee. “Unfortunately, her captor wore a ski mask, so she can’t describe him other than to say he was six feet tall, maybe a little more, and strong. She didn’t recognize an accent, so maybe he’s from the general area.”
“That description fits Harold Burns,” Lance said.
The sheriff shrugged. “Her description fits a good percentage of the male residents of Randolph County.”
“Do you have men out searching the woods for the place where she was held?” Morgan asked.
The sheriff nodded. “We do, but we have no idea how long or how far she ran. From the injuries to her feet, we think she covered some ground. Miles. It might have been a house or cabin in the woods, and she was held in a shipping container. It’ll be hard to narrow down the search unless we can get more information from her. We’re looking at satellite photos of the area to see if we can see the container, but Chelsea said there are branches that might conceal it.” His big chest rose and fell. He stared into his coffee. The attempted interview had troubled him. “I wish she remembered more details.”
“She’s traumatized.”
“Yes.” He composed his face back into its usual stony mask. “We sent the blanket and the dress she was wearing to forensics. They’ll try and find trace evidence or DNA, but given how far she ran in the woods, I’m not sure how much help anything the techs find will be. When you talk to her, please take notes. Any small piece of information could help us find this guy.”
“Thanks for the update,” Lance said.
The sheriff tossed his empty cup in the trash on his way out.
“What now?” Morgan stood and stretched.
“I don’t know.” Lance got to his feet. “Sharp and I were hired to find Chelsea, and she’s no longer missing.”
“I’m not sure Tim will be needing a lawyer at this point. I don’t know where I stand either.” Morgan paced the room. “Let’s give Tim a little more time.”
They didn’t have to wait long. Tim walked into the room; his eyes looked as if he’d been traumatized. “I only have a few minutes. I want to get back to Chelsea.”
“Of course you do,” Morgan said. “Don’t feel like you need to give us a report. Go back to your wife.”
“She’s . . .” He glanced away, then turned and eased into a chair. Resting his elbows on his knees, he dropped his head into his hands and shoved both hands into his hair.
Morgan moved to take the chair next to him. Without speaking, she put a hand on his back. Tim’s shoulders shook as he cried silently. He lifted his head a few minutes later, his eyes still shocked.
“She was shaking when I went in to see her. So hard.” Anger glittered in his tear-filled eyes. “But she’s strong. Stronger than I ever realized.” Tim leaned back and wiped his sleeve across his face. His eyes were bleak as he said, “He branded her.”
“What?” Lance asked.
“A brand. It looks like an infinity symbol.” Tim sighed. “The doctor said a plastic surgeon will look at it. What if they can’t remove it? Every time she sees it, she’ll be reliving her captivity all over again. She’ll never be able to put it out of her mind.” Tim jumped to his feet and paced the small room. His gaze landed on random spots in the room and flittered away without seeming to register what he was seeing, as if his mind couldn’t process the last few hours. Tim was a man on the edge of the breaking point. “I have to go back to Chelsea. I don’t know what to say to her.”
Morgan answered, “There’s nothing you can say that will undo what’s been done. Just tell her you love her. She’s going to need you.”
“You’re right. Thank you.” He headed toward the door.
“Is there anything we can do?” Lance was just as worried about any immediate physical threat to Chelsea’s life. “Is the sheriff putting a guard on her?”
Tim nodded. “He’s posting a deputy outside her room tonight.”
Hopefully, the sheriff would be willing to continue to protect her until the man who kidnapped her was caught.
“What do you want to do about the press conference?” Morgan asked. “It’s scheduled for seven o’clock.”
Lance checked the time on his phone. It was after six. His stomach rumbled, as if it had just learned it was time for dinner. Had they eaten lunch? The day was a blur.
Tim looked unsure. “The sheriff said he’d handle updating the press, but he suggested someone be there to represent the family. I don’t really want to leave Chelsea, and her parents aren’t in any condition to be on camera. But what happens to the reward now that she’s been found?”
“The primary purpose of the press conference was to appeal to the public for help in finding her. The details of the reward were never publicized, so we can just pull the offer now that she’s been found,” assured Morgan.
Tim shook his head. “Chelsea’s dad wants the reward to remain in place for information leading to the arrest and conviction of the man who kidnapped Chelsea.”
“All right,” Morgan said. “I’ll rewrite the statement we drafted earlier.”
“So, you’ll handle the press conference for us?” Tim asked.
“Yes,” Morgan said.
“Thank you. Very much. We really appreciate your help. None of us are thinking clearly right now.” Tim left.
“I need to get to the press conference.” Morgan picked up her bag.
“I’ll take you.” He wasn’t happy that she was, once again, volunteering for publicity. But she was going to do her best for her client. And Lance would stick close.
They left the hospital, making their way through the parking lot. Back in the Jeep, Lance started the engine. “Do you need to stop at the office?”
“There’s no time.” Morgan opened her bag, combed her hair, and fixed her lipstick. “This should be quick. I’ll give a simple statement about the family being joyful over Chelsea’s return and appeal to the public to respect the family’s privacy. The sheriff will have to field questions about the actual investigation.”
Lance drove to the municipal building, where the sheriff had arranged for a room for the press conference. By the time they arrived, the press was already gathering and setting up. At least a dozen stations were represented. Chelsea’s disappearance hadn’t garnered this much attention, but then how many kidnapping victims escaped their abductors. Having been missing for a week, no doubt most people had written Chelsea off as dead.
Morgan walked toward the front of the room. Lance took a place near the wall, out of the line of media fire but close enough to be supportive.
Sheriff King stepped up behind a podium. Morgan took her place next to him. They tested microphones, and then the sheriff took the lead, introducing himself and Morgan, then reading a prepared statement. “Chelsea Clark was found on the side of Breakneck Road this morning by a passing motorist. The sheriff’s department is grateful that she is alive and reunited with her family. We are still investigating her disappearance, and we’re determined to bring her kidnapper to justice.”
The press jumped in with questions immediately. “What is her condition?”
The sheriff answered. “Mrs. Clark is stable.”
A reporter in the front row stood. “Where has she been all week?”
“It appears that she was kidnapped and held captive by an unknown person,” the sheriff said.
“Was she released? Did she escape?” another reporter asked.
The sheriff leaned closer to the mic. “It appears that she escaped.”
“What does that mean?” the reporter sounded almost hostile.
The sheriff tensed. “It means I can’t give any further information about an ongoing investigation.”
A tall thin man pushed his way to the front of the crowd. “Is this case related to the woman’s remains that were found in Black Run State Park?”
“No.” The sheriff looked taken aback. He wasn’t openly challenged often. “At this time, we have no evidence to link the cases.”
Thin Man continued. “Do you have a description of who took Chelsea Clark?”
Clearly irritated with the reporter’s relentlessness, the sheriff stiffened his shoulders. He inhaled, inflating his chest and sitting taller. He tried to stare down Thin Man, but the reporter’s expression remained smug.
When the sheriff spoke, his words were careful, measured, and full of authority. “Chelsea Clark was abducted last Friday night and held for six days by a man wearing a mask. She never saw his face.”
Thin Man changed the target of his inquiry. “Ms. Dane, as the family’s legal representative, can you divulge any details? The public has a right to know if they’re in danger.”
“Chelsea’s family is grateful to have her back and are focused on her well-being. They ask for the understanding and prayers of the community,” Morgan said. “If you want details about the case, ask the sheriff.”
Thin Man wasn’t deterred. “Is there a serial killer in Randolph County?”
The sheriff leaned close to the mic. “We don’t have evidence to suggest the cases are connected or the inclination to leap to such a conclusion at this time.”
Except that two women, approximately the same age and physical description, had been kidnapped and beaten.