“How many men live in the house?” Morgan glanced around. On one side of the entry, a staircase led upstairs. On the left was a living room with couches, chairs, and a TV.
“We are at full capacity with twelve men in residence.” Mr. Dougherty walked down a narrow hall. “I’m happy to say all but one of them are at work right now. And the one who is here is sleeping because he works the night shift. Employment is a requirement of residency.”
Morgan followed him.
Lance brought up the rear. “What happens if a resident gets fired?”
“We provide mandatory counseling and job search assistance.” Mr. Dougherty gestured to a small room tucked under the stairwell. “You would be surprised how many large corporations are willing to give convicted felons a second chance.”
Morgan entered first. The office was tiny. There was barely enough room for two narrow wooden chairs in front of a small desk. She sat on the hard seat and set her tote at her feet.
“Excuse the small office. We’ve tried to utilize most of the space for living arrangements. Though the men are housed dormitory-style upstairs, we want the house to feel more like a home than an institution. We don’t use the term halfway house anymore, but that’s truly what we want to accomplish here, providing a halfway point between prison and normal life. Simply turning parolees out on the street with no support or transition doesn’t serve them well.” Mr. Dougherty sidled between the desk and the wall to take his seat. “We provide the closest thing to a real home as possible, but with some rules to ensure they don’t fall right back into their old ways. They need to develop healthy work and life habits.”
“How long do most residents stay?” Lance eased into the chair next to Morgan. His wide frame dwarfed the seat. He looked like a parent at a grammar school teacher conference.
“Sixty days is the average, although that can be extended if necessary. We work with parole officers to develop a reentry plan for each man, but all are required to submit to mandatory alcohol and drug testing, as well as abide by all the specific house rules.” Mr. Dougherty leaned on his desk. “Now, how can I help you? You didn’t come here to learn about transitional housing.”
“We’d like to talk to you about Kirk Meade,” Morgan said.
Dougherty stiffened. “Is he in trouble?”
Morgan answered, “No.”
“Are you investigating Paul Knox’s murder?” Dougherty asked before she could elaborate. “Because the sheriff was already here. He spoke to Kirk, and I answered all of the questions he asked me. The sheriff seemed satisfied.”
“We represent Mr. Meade’s ex-wife,” Morgan clarified. “We’re looking for their son, Evan.”
“I saw the news this morning.” Dougherty’s tone was harsh. “Evan is wanted for Knox’s murder.”
“We believe that Evan is innocent. I can’t imagine anything worse than an innocent sixteen-year-old being put in prison.”
“That would be a terrible thing,” Dougherty admitted in a reluctant voice.
“I knew you, above all people, would understand.” Morgan gave his ego a subtle stroke. “We would like to double-check that Kirk was here that night, and we want to talk to Kirk in case he might have any idea where his son would have gone.”
“You are not the police. I am not obligated to give you any information.” Dougherty folded his arms on the desk. “I understand you want to protect your client. I need to do the same.”
“Of course you do. But a teenager is missing,” Morgan said in a soft voice. “Anything you can share would be appreciated.”
But Dougherty wasn’t buying her altruistic argument. He jabbed a finger at her in the air. “You can call him anything you want. That teenager is the prime suspect. The sheriff said he was armed and dangerous. But you’re working for his mother. You want to pin the crime on Kirk. Well, you can get that idea out of your head. Kirk checked in at seven thirty that night. He didn’t swipe out again until six a.m., when he went to work. Our residents are required to provide us with their weekly schedules. We know where they are at all times.” He checked his watch. A frown creased his face. “In fact, he should be here any minute.”
Dougherty looked concerned about the time. Was Kirk late?
“Does everyone have uniquely coded card keys?” Lance asked.
“Yes,” Dougherty said.
The door chime sounded in the hall. Dougherty went to the doorway and peered into the hallway.
“Sorry I’m late,” a deep voice said. “The alternator in my car went—”
“Kirk,” Dougherty interrupted, “there’s someone here to see you.”
Footsteps approached, and a man stepped into view. One glance at Kirk Meade, and Morgan knew where Evan had inherited his size and athletic body. In tan chino pants and a red polo shirt bearing the ABC Furniture logo, Kirk was a few inches over six feet tall, broad shouldered, and well muscled. He’d clearly lifted weights in prison. He carried a shopping bag from an auto parts store.
Reaching across Lance, Morgan handed him a business card and introduced them. He took the card and read it in a glance.
“You don’t have to talk to them,” Dougherty warned.
“Thanks, Stan, but it’s OK,” Kirk said from the doorway. “I’ll do whatever it takes to help find my boy. I’m worried to death about him.”
“If I were you, I’d have my attorney present.” Dougherty stepped into the hall to give Kirk room.
But Kirk didn’t enter the tiny office. “I appreciate you looking out for me. But they aren’t the police. They don’t have any authority. My ex-wife hired them.”
“Is there someplace where we can talk in private?” Morgan was surprised—and a little suspicious—that Kirk had agreed to speak with them so quickly. Did he have his own agenda?
“What about your room?” Lance asked, no doubt wanting a look at Kirk’s private space.
Dougherty’s phone rang. He excused himself and disappeared down the corridor.
“Not really,” Kirk said. “My roommate works nights. He’ll be upstairs sleeping now.” Kirk raised the bag from the auto parts store. “Let’s go outside. I’d like to get this alternator changed before it rains again.”
He led them back down the hall to the foyer. The door chimed when he opened it. Morgan and Lance followed him outside.
Kirk went down the two concrete steps that led to a brick walkway. “That chime is obnoxious.”
“Is the back door similarly equipped?” Morgan followed him down the steps.
“Yes,” Kirk answered. “The whole place is wired, but the back door has a different sound, more of a buzzer.”
“What’s behind the house?” Morgan spotted a gate that led to a fenced rear yard.
“There’s a back porch for guys who smoke, a barbecue, and a basketball hoop.” Kirk walked down the driveway. “We’re allowed to be outside until curfew, then they lock us in for the night.”
“That sounds restrictive,” Lance said.
“Better than prison,” Kirk retorted. He shot Lance the side-eye. “But yeah,” he admitted grudgingly. “No one gets in or out without everyone hearing the door open. They have my work and visitation schedules too. The supervisor on duty knows where I am at every minute. It’s annoying, but I have to say, when the sheriff came to question me about Paul’s death, I was fucking glad my whereabouts were accounted for. Everyone wants to pin a crime on the ex-con.”
Morgan noted that for a man claiming to be worried about his son, he hadn’t asked them a single question about their search for Evan.
The neighborhood was quiet. At one o’clock in the afternoon, children were in school, parents at work. A few cars were parked at the accounting firm next door.
Morgan did not like to interview people while walking. The side-by-side position did not allow her to read his eyes or body language. But the supervisor had been correct. Kirk was under no obligation to speak with them. She would have to accept whatever condition encouraged him to cooperate.
Kirk headed for the sidewalk. A dark-gray older-model Ford Crown Victoria sat at the curb. “I can’t stand small spaces. I’ll do anything to get outdoors.”
“Understandable.” Wanting to be a buffer between the two men, Morgan fell into step next to Kirk. Lance’s temper ran hot on a good day. This was not a good day.
“I wish I could help search for Evan”—Kirk unlocked the car and popped the hood—“but my car is a piece of shit, I’m under curfew, and I’ve only just reconnected with my son after several years of not seeing him. Tina never brought him to see me while I was away. Not once.” His voice grated on the last sentence.
“Did you ask her to bring him to visit you in prison?” Morgan asked.
“Many times,” he said bitterly. “She claimed he refused to come, but I know she did nothing but bad-mouth me to him the whole time I was gone.”
“Not seeing your son must have been very difficult for you.” Morgan soft-pedaled her next question. “How did Evan act during your first visitation?”
“How do you think he acted?” Kirk’s voice rose. “We hardly know each other. I hadn’t seen him in years. He was sullen and hostile. The first thing he said was that he didn’t want to be there.”
“How sad.” Morgan meant sad for Evan, but she didn’t specify. She wanted Kirk to talk to her. She wanted him to feel safe and think he was running the interview.
“It was. A boy needs a father.” Kirk opened the bag and removed what looked like a small ratchet.
Morgan pressed. “How was he when you saw him Sunday night?”
“The same. Still sullen. Still hostile.” Kirk turned to the car. “He wouldn’t put down his phone. He sat across from me in the booth and ignored me.”
“That must have been frustrating.” She wanted to see his face to gauge his honesty, but he kept his head bent over the engine.
“I couldn’t believe the rudeness. I took the phone, put it aside, and told him how disrespectful he was acting.” Kirk swapped tools for a shiny new wrench. “His mother obviously didn’t teach him any manners.”
“What did Evan do?” Morgan asked.
Kirk’s lips pressed flat as he met her gaze. “He crossed his arms and said it wasn’t his choice to come. That I could make him show up, but I couldn’t make him talk.”
“Teenagers can be emotional,” Morgan said.
“He should still be respectful.” A slight gleam of anger brightened Kirk’s eyes. The wrench hit the palm of his hand with a solid smack. He was furious that Evan had rejected him. “All I want to do is get to know my son better.”
Lance jumped in. “Sunday night was the last time you saw him?”
Kirk nodded. “And he hasn’t opened up enough for me to know anything about his life, so I wouldn’t even know where to look for him.”
“Well, we certainly appreciate your speaking with us,” Morgan said.
Kirk turned back to the engine. “Like I said, I’ll do anything to find Evan.”
“I’m sure you would,” Morgan lied.
“I wish I could have been more help.” Kirk applied force to the wrench. Morgan couldn’t help but think that the heavy tool would make an excellent weapon and could be legally carried in an automobile, even by an ex-convict. He went back to work.
A metallic scraping sound gave Morgan goose bumps. “Thank you for answering our questions.”
Kirk acknowledged her statement with a wave of his wrench.
Morgan and Lance went back to the Jeep. Lance slid behind the wheel and slammed the door harder than necessary. “What a selfish little prick. Does he really think we’d fall for that woe-is-me story?”
“I think he does.” Morgan fastened her seat belt. “Tina said he could be charming. He has the supervisor fooled.”
Lance started the engine. “He was working hard to hide his anger with Tina.”
“Yes, and he never asked what we were doing to find his son. Kirk was only thinking and talking about himself.”
“He had no real concern for Evan.” Lance tapped a finger on the steering wheel, his voice dripping with disgust. “His son was an afterthought.”
“I agree,” Morgan said. “But knowing he’s a jerk doesn’t help us find Evan. What did you think about the home’s security?”
“I wasn’t impressed. The system is dated.” Lance checked the rearview mirror. “I could get in and out without anyone knowing.”
“We didn’t really learn anything from his interview.”
“Sure, we did.” Lance pulled away from the curb. “When he led us outside, he didn’t swipe his card to exit the house.”
Morgan replayed their exit. “You’re right. The door opened without a swipe.”
“It’s against fire code to lock people into a structure,” Lance said. “I’ll bet swiping out is a requirement but not necessary to actually unlock the door. I’m not convinced his alibi is as strong as the sheriff thinks. Kirk is resourceful. I’ll bet he could figure out a way to slip out of the house.”
“But how would he get back in?” Morgan asked. “The door chime is loud.”
“True.” Lance glanced back at the house. “Maybe he didn’t use the door at all. Maybe he went out through a window. Some of the upstairs windows opened onto the first-floor roof. If his roommate works the night shift, then Kirk would have been alone. From what I could see of the window contacts, they were standard magnetic sensors. Alarm systems are designed to keep people out, not in. Window magnets are mounted on the inside of the frame, and they can be fooled with a magnet.”
“Do you think Kirk could have bypassed the window sensor, slipped out and killed Paul, then snuck back in to the group home with no one knowing?”
Lance nodded. “Exactly.”
“That would also explain why Kirk didn’t ask what we were doing to find Evan. Maybe he already knows where Evan is hiding.”
“That’s possible. Kirk feels like a good liar.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Sharp drove to Olivia Cruz’s address, pulled to the curb, and parked his Prius behind hers.
He had been inside her house once before. The quaint white bungalow seemed incongruous with Olivia’s polished urban style, and yet she looked right at home in it. But then, Olivia Cruz was full of contradictions.
Not that he knew much about her. He hadn’t allowed himself to investigate her background. He already had an unhealthy—maybe even unnatural—interest in her, like a male lion taking interest in a female tiger. It happened in the artificial environment created in zoos but never in the wild.
He found her attractive, and he didn’t like it.
Not at all.
Nor did he like that she was going to see him looking like shit. Again. Her visit to the hospital the day after his surgery and been enough humiliation. But this was the situation fate had put him in, and sitting at the curb in front of her house was stupid.
He grabbed a jar of organic raw honey sitting in the console cup holder before getting out of his Prius. Though still overcast, the morning sky gleamed on solar panels mounted on the roof. Sharp walked through the opening in the picket fence that surrounded the property. Instead of a lawn, neat patches of herbs thrived on both sides of a brick walkway. He knew about the garden from his daily drive-by, but seeing and smelling an herb garden were two entirely different experiences. He inhaled. His nose detected basil, mint, and rosemary. Water bubbled from a small solar-powered stone fountain. Around it, the daisylike flowers of Roman chamomile bloomed. A patch of lavender rioted about a rain barrel in the corner.
He knocked on the front door. Footsteps approached and stopped, and he pictured her looking through the peephole. The door swung open.
“Lincoln, how nice to see you.” The genuine smile on her face pleased him.
Olivia was in her midforties, with just a few crow’s-feet around her deep-brown eyes. She wore faded jeans and a loose tank that showed off her tanned, toned arms. Her dark-brown hair was tied back in a long ponytail.
�
��I should have called ahead.” But deep down, Sharp had been hoping to catch her in some activity or state that would make her less attractive.
Because you are an ass.
“It’s fine.” She stepped back and opened the door wide. “Please, come in.”
He offered her the jar as he crossed her threshold, as if a little honey could put a ding in the debt he owed her. “I bought a case at the farmers market yesterday. I thought you might like some.”
“Thank you.”
Taking the jar, she led him down the bamboo-floored hall to the kitchen. A small porcelain teapot and a single mug sat on the recycled glass island. Above it, bunches of basil hung upside down, drying. The scents filled Sharp’s nose, and he instantly craved Italian food.
“Your herb garden is impressive,” he said.
“Thank you. I’d never gardened before my aunt left me the house. I was appalled to learn how many chemicals are required to grow a pretty lawn. The herb garden is low maintenance, and I like to use my own when possible. Then I’m sure it’s organic.” She nodded toward a kitchen window that looked out into a small yard. “I’ve branched out into vegetables this year. But I’m currently engaged in a hostile battle with a very clever groundhog.”
Sharp wandered a circle around the center island. “How’s the book?”
“Done and sent off to my agent.” She sent him a wry smile.
“What will you do next?”
“Wait to hear from my agent, clean my garage, look for a new project.” Setting the jar of honey on the counter, she frowned at him. “You look pale. I hope your recovery is going well.”
Sharp felt the flush heat his face. “I’m fine.”
Her elegant eyebrow arched. She didn’t believe him. “You look exhausted.”
“I shouldn’t,” he admitted. “I’ve done little but sleep, eat, and go to physical therapy for the past three months.”
“You’re obviously pushing yourself too hard.” She stressed obviously like he was a moron. “It wasn’t too long ago that you were mostly dead all day.”
He couldn’t help but smile at The Princess Bride reference. But today, he was too tired for the verbal sparring that he usually enjoyed with her. Not to mention the fact that he wasn’t supposed to like her.
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