Chapter Four
Morgan led the way into Sharp Investigations. The PI firm occupied the lower half of a duplex on a quiet street a few blocks off the main drag of Scarlet Falls. Lance’s boss lived in the upstairs unit. Downstairs, the two-bedroom apartment had been converted into professional space. Morgan had taken over the spare office. Though they were separate entities, private attorneys often required the services of PI firms. Being under the same roof was convenient, and the rent was cheap. With a brand-new practice, Morgan’s cash flow was tight.
A few sharp barks greeted them. Rocket, the white-and-tan stray dog Sharp had recently adopted, rushed them, wagging and snuffling at Morgan. A bulldog mix of some sort, her sturdy body was filling out nicely with regular meals.
Sharp met them in the foyer. “The client’s name is Tim Clark.”
In his midfifties, retired Scarlet Falls police detective Lincoln Sharp was fit and wiry. He wore his more-salt-than-pepper hair buzzed short. After twenty-five years on the force and another five running his own private investigation firm, Sharp sized people up with gray don’t-mess-with-me eyes that didn’t miss a thing. His lean, hawkish features looked tough, but Sharp was a total marshmallow on the inside.
“Clark?” Morgan crouched to greet the dog. “The name sounds familiar.”
“It should,” Sharp said. “His wife disappeared last Friday. It was on the news.”
“Now I remember.” Morgan recalled the news report. Young mother vanishing into thin air, her car found in the middle of nowhere.
The case had made headlines only briefly, until a police shooting over the weekend had garnered more public attention.
Morgan and Lance followed Sharp into his office, and he introduced them.
In his late twenties, Tim Clark had messy brown hair that fell to his shoulders. He hadn’t shaved in a few days, and his button-up shirt was as wrinkled as a sheet of aluminum foil that had been crumpled into a ball and smoothed out again.
He stood to shake their hands. “Thanks so much for seeing me. I should have called for an appointment, but honestly, I haven’t been thinking straight.”
Sharp took his seat behind the desk, and Lance leaned on the wall.
Tim eased back into his seat. An infant carrier sat at his feet. From the blue blanket tucked around the baby, Morgan assumed it was a boy.
“How old is he?” she asked.
“Four months.” Tim’s eyes misted. “His name is William. I’m sorry I had to bring him. My daughter is with my neighbor, but Will is colicky. No one wants to watch him.”
“It’s not a problem,” Morgan said. “I have three kids.”
The baby stirred and made a snuffling sound, and Morgan melted a little as she settled in the chair next to Tim.
“What can we do for you, Tim?” she asked.
“I’m not sure.” Tim rocked the baby seat with his foot. “My wife went out last Friday night to meet a friend for a glass of wine. She never arrived at the restaurant.” His voice faltered. “No one has seen her since.”
Morgan leaned forward. “I’m so sorry about what happened, but why are you here?”
His eyes went bleak, and he stared at the baby at his feet. “Because the sheriff has spent more time investigating me than trying to find my wife.”
On the armrest, Tim’s hand curled into a tight fist. His eyes lifted, and behind his despair, a fiery hint of anger flared. “I don’t know exactly what I need, but I saw you on the news last month, in that case where the police arrested the wrong man. You proved them wrong. I need you to help me. My wife has been missing for five days, and the sheriff is never going to find her if he refuses to look beyond me for suspects. And that innocent man last month went to jail. I can’t afford to let that happen. My kids need me.”
The air seeped out of Morgan’s lungs, leaving her hollow. She had no way of knowing if Tim was guilty or not. He wouldn’t be the first husband to kill his wife and then report her missing.
What if the sheriff was right? One of her greatest fears in practicing private law was that she could be responsible for keeping a criminal out on the street. She knew it would happen eventually. Criminals lied. It was what they did.
Morgan’s family sent criminals to jail. They didn’t keep them out. But last month’s case had eliminated any opportunity of her working in the prosecutor’s office. That bridge hadn’t been burned. It had been incinerated. She’d been hoping to work mostly civil litigation, but small-town lawyers couldn’t afford to be too picky. She could not pay her bills without clients.
The baby made another little noise.
The daylight pouring through the window showcased the deep bags under Tim’s eyes. He hadn’t slept in a while. Morgan clearly remembered her youngest child’s colic. It had seemed endless, even though John had been home to help for most of it. Poor Tim was doing it alone.
And he clearly did need her help.
Every defendant deserved good counsel, and her job as a defense attorney was to represent her clients to the best of her ability. She needed to have faith in the legal system.
She folded her hands in her lap. “So the sheriff has not officially cleared you?”
“I don’t know.” Tim lifted a shoulder. “He says he’s investigating other people, but I don’t believe him. They don’t seem to have any clues. Maybe if they’d actually tried, if they’d actually investigated someone besides me in the very beginning, they would have found her by now.”
Tim’s eyes glistened with moisture. He turned away and closed them for a few seconds.
Morgan doubted the sheriff hadn’t investigated anyone except Tim, but the spouse was always the primary suspect. Sadly, nearly one half of all female homicide victims were killed by their intimate partners. When Chelsea wasn’t found within the critical twenty-four- to forty-eight-hour period, any cop holding the case would have investigated Tim.
“Where were you Friday night?” Morgan was blunt.
But Tim didn’t miss a beat. “I was at home with the kids.”
“Can anyone verify that?” she asked.
“Bella and I had a video call with my in-laws around eight thirty for about fifteen minutes or so. After that, it was just me and the kids.”
“How old is Bella?”
“Three.”
Too young to provide an alibi.
“So you’ll help me?” Tim looked hopeful.
Morgan shared glances with Sharp and Lance. They were both on board. She looked down at the baby. He needed his parents. “Yes.”
The decision felt right. Better that she take the risk of representing the wrong client than turn her back on someone who needs her.
“Oh, thank God.” Tim relaxed as if the strength had gone out of his body.
“Now, tell us what happened Friday night.” Morgan gestured to a legal pad on Sharp’s blotter. He handed it and a pen to her.
Tim repeated his opening statement.
“Who was she supposed to meet?” Morgan asked.
“Her friend Fiona West,” Tim said. “They’ve been close since we moved here two years ago.”
“How did they meet?” Morgan made careful notes.
“Yoga class,” Tim said. “Before Chelsea had William, she went to yoga twice a week. Balanced Yoga. It’s next to the bank on Second Street.”
Tim took a shaky breath and continued. “When she didn’t come home, I called her. She didn’t answer. I sent texts and left messages. When she didn’t respond, I called her friend. Fiona said Chelsea never showed up at the restaurant. She assumed something had come up like the last time they’d had plans. Then I tracked Chelsea’s cell phone to her car. It was parked down the road from the train station in Grey’s Hollow. I called 911, then drove up and down that road until the sheriff’s deputy came. I didn’t see anything. As soon as it got light out, I searched again.” He struggled to hold back a tear as he glanced down at his son. “Good thing William likes car rides.”
“Is there any reason your wife would have gone to Grey’s Hollow or taken the train somewhere else?” Sharp asked.
“No.” Tim’s face tightened with frustration.
“Why is the county sheriff handling the case and not the Scarlet Falls PD?” Sharp asked.
“I called 911 from Grey’s Hollow,” Tim explained. “The sheriff’s department responded.”
Grey’s Hollow didn’t have a police force. Crimes in that section of the county were investigated by the sheriff’s office. Typically, once a department had a case, they kept it.
Tim continued. “Sheriff King says there’s no sign of foul play, and it isn’t against the law for an adult to leave home. That’s why I came to you.”
Lance shifted his position. “Has the sheriff’s department looked at her phone and computer?”
“Yes,” Tim answered. “They have both her laptop and phone. But I already looked at both devices and found nothing. I doubt the sheriff’s office has anyone more qualified than me.” Arrogance laced Tim’s tone.
“They have a protocol to follow,” Morgan said.
Tim wasn’t giving the county forensics techs enough credit. They were highly qualified.
“What exactly do you do, Tim?” Lance asked.
“I’m a wireless telecommunication engineer,” Tim said. “My employer, Speed Net, is working with the university on research to develop the next generation Wi-Fi.”
Maybe Tim had a reason to be a little arrogant about his tech skills.
“Must be interesting to work on the cutting edge,” Sharp said.
Tim shrugged. “It is. It’s also demanding.”
“We’ll need your employer’s contact information,” Lance said. “And we’ll want to interview your boss and coworkers.”
“All the information is in here.” Tim slid a file from his diaper bag and set it on the desk.
“I doubt the sheriff will give you her electronics back just yet,” Sharp said. “That’s too bad. I know you’re a computer expert, but we’d still like to look at your wife’s digital history. I’m sure you’re great with computers, but we know what to look for.”
“I’m willing to try anything,” Tim said. “Chelsea’s laptop and phone both backup to a cloud account every twenty-four hours. I can access everything that was on her computer from mine.”
“Perfect. Do you know what kind of initial physical search the sheriff conducted of the area where you found your wife’s car?” Lance asked.
Tim sniffed and reeled in his emotions. “The police searched the neighborhood. They drove along all the roads for a few miles in each direction. They put out some sort of alert to other police departments. They brought in a dog.”
Sharp rubbed his buzz cut with a palm. “The dog didn’t pick up anything?”
Tim shook his head. “Nothing.”
“Do you know what the sheriff is doing now?” Sharp asked.
Tim shook his head. “He doesn’t tell me much.”
“We’ll contact the sheriff and get an update,” Morgan assured him. “Do you know if the sheriff’s department interviewed any of your neighbors?”
“He did,” Tim said. “A few people dropped by to let me know.”
There were up to ninety thousand active missing persons cases in the United States at any given time, but missing adults often took a back seat to missing kids, homicides, robberies, and assaults. Without clear evidence of foul play, it was unlikely Chelsea’s case would take priority.
“Did you check your credit card statements for a train ticket?” she asked. Chelsea’s car had been parked so close to the train station.
“Yes. The last charge on her credit card was at the grocery store last Thursday,” Tim continued. “The police looked at the surveillance tapes from the train station. They said no one who looked like Chelsea got on the train that night. She never carried much cash. If Chelsea wanted to take the train, she would have bought the ticket online. That’s what we usually do.”
Unless she didn’t want anyone to know where she was going.
But Morgan didn’t say it. There wasn’t enough evidence to make assumptions. The sheriff’s office had made the usual ones, and that by-the-book approach hadn’t found Chelsea. It was time for some fresh blood—and brains—on the case. She didn’t want Tim to have to live in limbo for the next twenty years.
Morgan glanced at Lance. His face was a tight mask, but emotion clouded the blue of his eyes. Since his father had gone missing many years ago and had never been found, this case would bring up unpleasant memories for him.
Tim tapped the file on the desk. “I brought copies of everything the police asked for: phone records, a list of her family and friends, our employers, bank and credit card statements, social media account information. I copied everything I gave to the police.”
The baby began to fuss, starting with bleating cries that quickly escalated to wails.
“I’m sorry.” Tim removed a bottle from the diaper bag, unstrapped the infant, and picked him up. He offered the baby the bottle. “But I’m at least grateful that he’s decided bottles are OK. The first two days Chelsea was gone were a nightmare. I thought he was going to starve.”
The baby drank in greedy gulps. Tim sat back, and Morgan’s heart squeezed.
Sharp took the folder and opened it. He thumbed through the papers. “Does Chelsea have an alcohol or drug problem?”
“No,” Tim said. “She hasn’t even had a glass of wine since she got pregnant with William. Friday night would have been her first. She’s fitter than I am. She runs almost every day. She loves to hike. As a couple, we’re about as boring as it gets.”
Sharp made a note on a legal pad on his desk. “How long have you and Chelsea been together?”
“Five years,” Tim said. “We met senior year of college in Colorado.”
“Why did you move to New York?” Sharp asked.
“I was offered a job with Speed Net. The move was a little risky, but the company has enormous growth potential. The payoff could be huge. We only had Bella at the time.” Tim’s gaze dropped to the baby. “In hindsight, leaving Chelsea’s family has been really hard.”
Morgan stared at the baby for a few seconds, empathy tugging at her. “Tell me about Chelsea’s family. Is there any friction there?”
“Not that I know of. Chelsea is an only child. Her father is a chiropractor. Her mother is a teacher.”
“Is your family in Colorado as well?” Morgan asked.
“Yes, but I was glad to leave them behind.” Tim raised his chin, his jaw tightening. “My parents are alcoholics and drug addicts. My father served time for burglary. Mom sold heroin out of our kitchen, and my brother was in prison for armed robbery when I left the state. I don’t want my family anywhere near my wife and kids. That has been the one additional benefit of moving east. Back home, they’d occasionally call or show up at our apartment looking for money. I haven’t had any contact with them since we moved here—though I’m a junior so my father’s records are constantly crisscrossing with mine.”
Morgan made a note to find out if Tim’s parents were still in Colorado. Who knew what kind of schemes three criminals in need of cash could hash out? Especially if they resented the one member of the family who’d successfully navigated the straight and narrow.
“Did you bring a photo of your wife?” Sharp asked.
“Yes.” Shifting the baby around, Tim reached down and produced a photo from the diaper bag. “This is Chelsea.” His hand trembled, just slightly, as he handed it across the desk to Sharp, who studied the picture with a frown.
Tim pushed his hair off his face. Then he squeezed the back of his skull for a few seconds, as if the pressure of his fingers would help hold it together.
Sharp passed the photo to Morgan. Wholesome and fresh-faced, Chelsea was a pretty young woman with long blonde hair, even white teeth, and big blue eyes. In the photo, she stood on a mountaintop. The background was pure blue sky and more mountains rolling into the distance.
“That was taken last year. We were hiking in the Catskills.”
Morgan handed the picture to Lance. He took the photo by its edges and studied it.
“How was Chelsea’s mental state after William’s birth?” Morgan remembered the chaos of her third child’s birth. There had been days she’d functioned like a zombie on autopilot. “Did she have any signs of postpartum depression?”
Tim sighed. “The sleep deprivation has been hard on her. I wouldn’t call her depressed, but she’s definitely frustrated. We both know William’s colic is temporary, but some nights it doesn’t feel that way.”
So, Chelsea Clark was a physically fit, mentally exhausted woman who was making the best of a tough situation.
Until she disappeared into thin air.
Morgan’s youngest child had been an infant when her husband had been killed in Iraq. Sophie had no memory of her father. Morgan’s middle child struggled to recall him, and even her oldest, now six, studied John’s picture every day in fear that she would forget her daddy. Would Tim’s children suffer the same way?
Not if she could help it.