Tina opened her mouth, then shut it again. Her eyes closed for a second, then opened full of grief. “Maybe he can’t.”
The sheriff sat back and scratched the gray stubble on his chin. “When was the last time you spoke to your father?”
Tina stiffened. “What?”
“Your father.” The sheriff’s eyes gleamed with interest. “It should be an easy question.”
“I haven’t seen my father in twenty-five years,” Tina stammered, clearly blindsided by the question.
“How is Mrs. Knox’s father connected to Paul’s murder?” Morgan asked.
“We don’t know,” the sheriff answered, then continued to question Tina. “Did Paul know about your father?”
“He did,” Tina said. “Kirk and my father were the reasons he was going to put in a security system.”
“I’m not following,” Morgan interrupted. “How is Mrs. Knox’s father relevant to Evan’s disappearance or Paul’s murder?”
“Joseph Martin was recently released from New Jersey State Prison after serving the entirety of a twenty-five-year sentence for murder and drug charges.” Though answering Morgan’s question, the sheriff never took his eyes off Tina. He tilted his head. “Is there a reason you didn’t tell me about your father yesterday?”
“I didn’t think of it,” Tina said. “For the first few weeks after he got out, I didn’t sleep, and Paul went to bed with his gun tucked under his pillow. But it’s been over six months. I haven’t received any threats or contact of any kind.”
The sheriff flattened his palm on the table. “Do you know where he is?”
“No,” Tina answered. “And if Joe doesn’t know where I am, I’m not telling him. I changed my name when I moved to Grey’s Hollow for that very reason.”
“How did you know he’d been released?” The sheriff tapped a finger on the table.
Tina’s gaze skittered away. “I was notified.”
“Through VINE?” the sheriff asked.
“Yes.” Tina stared at her clasped hands on her lap.
Victim Information and Notification Everyday was an automated system where crime victims could register to be notified if an offender was released or transferred. Offenders did not know who registered for notification. VINE was created after a Kentucky woman was murdered by her former boyfriend shortly after he was released on bail. No one told her he had been released. He had previously been jailed for kidnapping and raping her.
“VINE is for victims,” the sheriff said. “Why were you registered?”
Tina lifted her chin and looked him square in the eyes. “Because I testified against him.”
Chapter Twelve
Lance slid his phone under the table and sent Sharp a quick text, giving him the new information on Tina’s background. Then Lance copied the message and sent it to his mother. Name changes were public information, like birth and death records, but Lance’s mother might have to verify the paperwork with the county.
Lance wanted Tina’s entire story double-checked. The bombshell she’d dropped had been a nuke. Her middle-class working-mom persona didn’t mesh with that of a drug dealer’s daughter.
Across the table from him, her body was a rigid line. Her face was tight, and two angry flushes of pink were the only spots of color on her face. “I was born in Newark, New Jersey. When I lived there, Newark had one of the highest murder rates in the entire country. The whole city was one giant drug market. People were getting shot every other day. Also, Joe wasn’t really a father.” She said his name with disdain. “My mother was fifteen when he knocked her up. He had other girlfriends—and other kids. He didn’t care about any of them. He used the boys as runners and lookouts, grooming them to work in the business—the girls got worse.” She looked away, the pain on her face disarming before she completely shut down.
Her eyes went blank. Lance had seen that expression before—one devoid of any emotion—on the faces of victims who’d suffered extreme trauma. He didn’t want to imagine how she’d been used by her drug-dealing father.
“You have siblings?” The sheriff slid a small notepad and pen from his pocket.
“I don’t know.” Tina’s voice was flat. “The two boys close to my age were both shot before they turned thirteen, but I had an older brother, Aaron, who was still living when I left. I had a half sister too, but she and her mother disappeared. I don’t know what happened to them.”
“Your father murdered someone?” Morgan asked.
“I’ve no doubt my father murdered many people. But I personally witnessed him kill one man who worked for him. The man tried to skim money off Joe’s cut. Stupid.” Tina stared down at her hands again. “Joe and a couple of his other men took him into the basement. They beat him, and then they put two bullets into his head. I was in the basement when they came down. Joe didn’t know I was there or he probably would have killed me too.”
Shot in the head. Just like Paul. Just like the body the Redhaven police pulled from the Deer River.
“How old were you?” Morgan asked.
“Sixteen at the time of the murder.” Tina rubbed her hands. “Eighteen by the time it went to trial.”
“Why were you in the basement?”
Tina’s mouth twisted into a crooked frown. “Ironically, I was hiding from Joe and his men.”
The girls got worse.
“Did he threaten you?” the sheriff asked.
“Joe didn’t have to threaten anyone.” Tina stared back at him, her eyes wide. “Joe was a known drug dealer. The police had been trying to convict him for years. I’d been taken into the police station for questioning before. The cops would threaten me with prosecution of all sorts of crimes, but I knew what would happen if I told the police anything. He ruled the whole neighborhood with terror. It was commonly known how he treated those who betrayed him. Anyone who even thought about snitching on Joe was killed in a way that deterred anyone else from considering testifying. Being imprisoned for life was not nearly as terrifying as being beheaded with a chain saw or dismembered alive.” She stopped and swallowed.
Lance’s gut wrenched. It was no wonder Tina had a hard time trusting anyone.
“Could you please get Tina some water, Sheriff?” Morgan asked.
The sheriff got up and left the room, returning in a minute with water bottles. He passed them out.
“Yet you agreed to testify against him,” the sheriff prompted as soon as he’d sat down.
With a single nod, Tina continued talking in a flat voice. “I was at a point in my life when the idea of dying seemed better than living.” She paused to meet each one of their eyes for a second, almost in challenge. “When I was fifteen, Joe gave me to one of his lieutenants as a reward.” Her entire body shuddered with revulsion. “Tyson had appetites. A year of being raped and beaten regularly had changed my perspective.”
She stopped to drink water. She screwed the top back on the bottle and set it on the table with a solid thunk. “Joe’s weakness was his ego. He was confident that I’d never turn on him. At the same time, he was sadistic and enjoyed hurting and humiliating people. He had no respect for women and focused on putting his sons to work in his business. He never considered that he’d made my life so miserable that I no longer feared death—or him. I testified. He went to prison.”
“But he never threatened you directly?” the sheriff asked.
Tina shook her head. “You would not ask that question if you’d seen the look in his eyes as I testified. He would have loved nothing more than to strangle me with his own hands at that very moment. Several of his lieutenants were in the courtroom. One of them mouthed ‘You’re dead’ over and over.”
The sheriff’s face was grim, but he didn’t look shocked. How much of Tina’s story had he known? “Where did you go after the trial?”
“When I was younger, I worked under the table when I could and put away as much cash as possible, although Tyson found one of my hidey-holes once and beat me for keeping the money from him. After that, he required
me to hand over my pay each week, but I always held some back.” Tina picked up the bottle and began to peel off the label. “After the trial, I took the money I’d hidden and ran. I used the cheapest forms of public transportation, mostly transit trains and buses, and paid cash for everything. This was before 9-11. Transportation security and rules were more relaxed back then. I spent the first month just running. Never staying in the same place more than one night. I didn’t have enough money to take me a great distance away, but the rural nature of Grey’s Hollow made it feel much farther from Newark than it really was. Still, I was looking over my shoulder for a long time.”
Morgan folded her hands on the table. “Did the prosecutor’s office try to get you into the witness protection program?”
Tina’s snort was filled with disgust. “Like I would have trusted them with my life. They put me in a safe house before the trial and had to move me three times because my location was leaked. I was better off on my own.”
“But you haven’t heard from Joe since he was released?” Lance wanted Tina to be clear.
“No.” Tina shook her head. “I hope he doesn’t even know where I am, which is why I didn’t want anyone asking questions back in Newark. I don’t want anyone reminding Joe that I exist or telling him where I am.”
But Lance bet Joe already knew. In today’s world of the internet, cameras, and constant connectivity, it wasn’t that hard to find someone if they weren’t making a massive effort to stay hidden. Tina had put down roots.
The sheriff stood. “Thank you for coming in, Mrs. Knox. I’m sure I’ll have more questions.”
Morgan followed Tina around the table toward the door.
Lance hung back. “I’ll meet you at the car.” He handed Morgan the keys to his Jeep. He wanted to have a cop-to-former-cop chat with the sheriff. He leaned close to her ear. “There are questions Tina should probably not hear.”
Nodding, Morgan took the keys. “We’ll be out back.”
After the women left, the sheriff crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Lance. “What do you want?”
“The truth.” Lance went for it. “Is Evan your only suspect?”
“No, but he is on the list.” The sheriff dropped back into his chair. “Mrs. Knox wants to downplay the friction between Evan and Paul, but the neighbor heard the yelling and saw the boy take a swing at Paul. I’d call that a fight, even if Evan was the aggressor.”
“Mrs. Knox explained the incident.”
“Which doesn’t change the fact that the kid is a hothead with impulse control issues.”
“He isn’t normally,” Lance argued.
“But he could have been Monday night.”
It was times like this when Lance missed being on the police force. He didn’t enjoy being locked out of an investigation, begging for scraps of evidence. “What can you tell me about the autopsy? Frank would have moved Paul to the top of the list.”
The sheriff sighed. “I can’t share the results of the medical examiner’s preliminary report at this time. After we’ve made an arrest, the suspect’s attorney will receive the autopsy information.”
Frustration filled Lance. Colgate wasn’t going to cooperate. But Lance would find Evan if he had to go over, around, or through the sheriff’s roadblocks.
“Maybe the shooting was an accident,” Colgate suggested. “Accidental shootings happen to experienced gun handlers. By Mrs. Knox’s own admission, Evan is a beginner.”
Lance pictured the position of Paul’s body. The shot to his abdomen had to have come first. The heavy bleeding indicated that Paul’s heart had been pumping after he’d been shot. He’d definitely been alive. The bullet to Paul’s head had hardly bled at all. That had likely stopped Paul’s heart. Plus, the centering of the shot indicated the killer was close. Lance envisioned the killer standing over Paul, watching him bleed, and firing the head shot at close range while Paul lay helpless. The belly shot could have been an accident, but there was no way the head shot was unintentional. That had been a cold act, one that put Lance in mind of an execution or a hired killer.
This had been nothing short of murder.
“Do you really think a sixteen-year-old kid could have shot Paul in the head?” Lance asked.
“I’ve seen worse.”
Sadly, so had Lance.
The sheriff tapped the manila file folder with a finger. “Maybe Paul and Evan got into a fight when Evan missed curfew. He’d ignored Paul’s texts and calls. He was angry with his father and transferred that anger to Paul. The Glock was out because Paul had been cleaning it. Evan picked it up and shot Paul. He has a history of impulsive behavior.”
“But I know this kid. He didn’t do this.” Lance paced the length of the table and back.
“You’re letting your personal feelings interfere with your objectivity. If you were one of my deputies, I’d pull you from the case. You can’t ignore evidence.” Colgate’s voice was calm and reasonable, the exact opposite of the emotional turmoil in Lance’s head.
But Lance’s instincts were screaming that they were missing the biggest part of the case, and Colgate was focusing on the pieces of evidence that supported his narrative.
The sheriff continued. “Paul was killed with a 9mm bullet, which is the same caliber as his own Glock. Paul’s weapon is still missing, so we don’t know if he was shot with his own gun or simply another gun of the same caliber.”
“9mm is a common caliber,” Lance argued. “If there aren’t two guns, then why is Evan bleeding too?”
“We don’t know that Evan was shot. You saw the broken glass in the kitchen. Maybe Paul and Evan got into a physical fight. Evan could have no more than a bloody nose.” The sheriff studied Lance for a few seconds. “Why do you think Mrs. Knox is holding back information? She didn’t tell me about the fighting between Evan and Paul. She also forgot to mention her father is a recently released felon.”
“She didn’t think either one of those things was related to Evan’s disappearance.”
The sheriff’s head-tilt and eyebrow-lift said he didn’t believe Lance’s answer. “Or she is worried that her son is guilty, which would also explain why she called you before she called the police when she found Paul’s body.”
Lance had no comment. Most people would have called 911 first.
“She knew you’d bring a criminal defense attorney.”
“Tina had no way of knowing that when she called me,” Lance said.
“It was a good bet. You and Ms. Dane live and work together. You always support each other.” The sheriff gathered his papers, indicating their discussion was over. “Finding Evan would be a hell of a lot easier if Mrs. Knox didn’t make me drag every bit of information out of her.”
Lance left the conference room more frustrated than when he’d gone in. The sheriff was right on all counts. Evan was a natural suspect. He’d been at the house at the time of death, which gave him opportunity. Paul’s gun provided the means, and the argument with Paul was motive.
But Lance couldn’t believe Evan capable of murdering Paul. The boy was an impulsive hothead, not a cool, cunning killer. Anything Evan did would have been unplanned and sloppily executed.
Which actually described the sheriff’s theory of Paul’s murder perfectly.
Chapter Thirteen
Sharp’s feet hit the pavement in a sloppy rhythm. His stride felt sluggish. He’d waited until the sun went down to run. Why the hell did he feel like he’d been run over by a bus?
The heat wasn’t helping. Well into the evening, the temperature was still above eighty degrees, and humidity hovered somewhere around 1,000 percent. He felt like he was jogging through soup.
He passed the bank and turned right. His duplex sat in the business district of town. He loved the convenience and small-town ambience. Old houses lined the streets. Branches of mature trees arced overhead. Before he’d been injured back in March, he’d run a brisk five miles every day and hit the gym a few times a week for strength training.
His strides slowed at the next intersection. From the corner, he could see Olivia Cruz’s little white bungalow at the end of the block. Olivia had provided a few key pieces of information in their last case. In turn, Morgan had granted her an interview for the true crime novel Olivia was writing about one of Morgan’s previous clients, with the client’s permission of course.
But the flow of information hadn’t been even, and Sharp was in Olivia’s debt.
Since he’d been given the go-ahead to jog, he’d jogged down her street every day. Before that, he’d driven past at every opportunity . . . like a teenager with a crush. He was a former cop. She was a reporter. The word rumbled through his head with the same distaste as demon.
There was something seriously wrong with him.
He put his perverse attraction aside and turned his feet in the opposite direction. Not because he didn’t want to see Olivia—because he was an idiot and totally did—but because he didn’t want her to see him in his current state of physical inadequacy.
By the time he’d slowed to a walk a block away from his place, sweat soaked his T-shirt and the humidity clogged his lungs. Two miles had seemed like seven. He climbed the steps to his second-story apartment and went inside, grateful for the air-conditioning. He filled a glass with water. A quick rush of fatigue hit him. Even alone, he was embarrassed that he had to sit down, drink the water, and wait for the weakness to pass.
Needing energy, he whipped up a high-calorie, nutrient-dense protein shake. He took the drink with him to the bathroom. Stripping off his wet clothes, he stepped under the spray. The ropey pink scar that wrapped around his belly itched when the water ran over it.
The calories in the shake gave him some pep, but he still wanted to take a nap more than go back to work. However, he dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, then filled a travel mug with green tea before heading out the door. He’d promised Lance he’d check on Jenny tonight. He’d be damned if he’d let Lance down. He’d been enough of a deadweight for the last three months. Lance had completely carried the business for the first two months, and even then, Sharp had returned part time for the next four weeks. The injury had kicked his ass much harder than he’d anticipated.
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