Her smile faded. “Seriously, you don’t look good.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Lincoln, give yourself a break. Not to be crude, but your insides were on the outside. You can’t expect to recover as if you’d sprained your ankle.”
She had a point. His hand went to the scar on his belly.
“Would you like some tea?” Before he answered, she was reaching into the cabinet for another mug.
“Sure, thanks.” Sharp scratched his arm. The discomfort of asking for yet another favor spread over his skin like a rash.
“You’re not here to discuss my herb garden.” Pouring tea, she seemed almost disappointed at the realization.
Or maybe he was seeing what he wanted to see.
“No.” Sharp got down to business. Murder was a much more comfortable topic of conversation. “I’m here to ask you about an article you wrote about twenty-five years ago.”
He pulled out his phone and showed her the article. She reached for a pair of glasses on the counter and settled them on her nose.
Her brows shot up as she read the screen. “That was the piece that launched my career.”
Sharp nodded. “I’m not surprised. It’s a stunning bit of research.”
The corner of her mouth turned up at the flattery. “But why are you asking about it now?”
“The name Joe Martin came up in an investigation we’re working on. You wrote about his conviction in an article.”
“That was a long time ago.” She waited for more explanation.
Sharp sighed. “You’ve heard about Paul Knox’s murder?”
“The retired deputy who was shot in his own home.” She nodded. “The police suspect his stepson.” Her eyes widened. “You’re working for his mother.”
Why was she always three steps ahead of him?
“How did you know?” Sharp drank his tea.
She lifted a shoulder. “His photo is all over the news, and Morgan would not be able to resist trying to save a teenager with evidence stacked against him.”
“True,” Sharp admitted. “Lance is the boy’s hockey coach. He knows the boy very well and believes he’s innocent.”
Olivia’s full lips pressed into a line. “Lance is prone to emotional decisions, and Morgan will support him regardless of her own opinion. Also, they are both far too sensitive when children and teenagers are involved. What do you think?”
Sharp snorted at her spot-on assessment of Lance and Morgan.
“Honestly, the evidence is rough,” he said. “But I trust Lance’s gut. He takes the time to get to know the kids he coaches. He takes mentoring them seriously. Plus, we’ve found some weaknesses in the sheriff’s case.”
“Now I’m intrigued.”
“I was hoping you would be.”
She smiled. “How is Joe Martin involved?”
“His daughter, Tina, is the missing boy’s mother.”
Olivia’s mouth formed an O. “That certainly does make the case interesting, especially since Joe was released from prison recently.”
“You know?”
“Yes.” She crossed her arms and leaned on the counter. “So why are you here?”
“I want to talk to someone who knows where Joe Martin is and what he’s doing now that he’s out. I know it’s been a long time, but I was hoping you might be able to point me in the right direction.”
She snorted. “You can’t be serious.”
“Martin threatened his daughter. Now he’s out of jail, and her husband was murdered and her son has gone missing. Do you still have any contacts that might help? I’m just looking for a lead here.”
Olivia’s crow’s-feet deepened. “Twenty-five years is a long time in drug-dealer years. They don’t have long life expectancies. I would bet most of the young men I interviewed for that article are dead. In fact, I know some of them are.”
Disappointment filled Sharp. He set down the mug. “Thanks anyway.”
“But I have kept in contact with people on the periphery of that life. If Martin returned to Newark, someone will know.” She set her mug in the sink. “Let me make a few calls. I’ll let you know if I’m successful.”
“When will I hear from you?” Sharp pretended he was only anxious about the case, but he actually enjoyed her company. She was smart, confident, and had a quick sense of humor.
“Tomorrow morning at the latest. Give me tonight.”
“Thank you.” In the meantime, Sharp would return to the background files, murder board, and case reports. He could also stop and check on Jenny for Lance, letting him concentrate on the case.
She smiled, the upturn of her mouth just a little wicked as she walked him back to the front door. “You will owe me quite a few favors. Eventually, I’m going to ask for payback.”
Sharp opened the door and glanced over his shoulder at her. “As you wish.”
The last thing he heard as she closed the door was a burst of laughter.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The Nelson house was nothing like Morgan expected. Rylee’s street could have been a Hollywood set for suburban America. The traditional two-story was well maintained, from its clean white siding to its freshly painted, deep-green shutters. The shrubs were trimmed, the lawn was mowed, and flowers lined the stone walkway that led to a wide front porch.
A gray minivan sat in the driveway, and the front door stood open.
Morgan could see through the screen into what appeared to be a living room. “Someone is here.”
Lance parked in front of the house, and they got out of the Jeep. Morgan led the way to the front porch and knocked on the wooden edge of the screen door. A young man of about twenty came to the door.
He frowned. “Can I help you?” His tone suggested suspicion.
Morgan introduced them and offered him her card. “We’d like to ask you a few questions.”
He ignored the card. “Questions about what?”
“We’re looking for Evan Meade,” she said.
“I don’t know where Evan Meade is.” He moved backward and reached for the wooden door as if to close it.
Lance stepped forward. “Does Rylee?”
The young man stopped and squinted at them through the screen. “Why would my sister know where Evan Meade is? We only know his name from the news.”
“Rylee knows Evan.” Morgan sensed deep distrust. “We’re not the police. I’m a private attorney working for Evan’s mother. She wants to find her son. She’s terrified something has happened to him. Surely you can understand that.”
The young man hesitated, then exhaled and nodded once. “OK.” He glanced over his shoulder and scanned the room behind him before he opened the screen door.
“Thank you.” Morgan stepped over the threshold into a painfully neat living room that smelled of fresh furniture polish. The furniture was old-fashioned and worn but clean. A soft blue sofa and flowered wing chair faced a TV in the corner of the room.
“I’m Rylee’s brother, Trevor. Please sit down.” Trevor gestured to the sofa.
Morgan perched on the edge. A spring poked her in the butt.
Lance sat next to her. “We were hoping to speak with Rylee’s parents.”
Trevor settled in the wing chair, his arms crossed over his body. “Our parents died in a car accident last year.”
“We’re so sorry for your loss,” Morgan said.
Trevor’s eyes misted. His throat shifted as he swallowed and regained control. “We’re lucky. Mom and Dad were savers, not spenders. They had life insurance policies. We could stay in the house.”
Morgan sensed there was much more to the story . . . and that Trevor was desperate. “But something else happened?”
His eyes filled with doubt, as well as the yearning to have someone on his side.
“The responsibility of your sister’s well-being must seem overwhelming at times,” she said. “And you must feel very much alone.”
His shoulders sagged. “I’m a business major at the universit
y, and I work part time as a cashier at the grocery store. Rylee picked up a job at the pizza place in town to help out. As long as we stick to our budget, we scrape by.” Temper flared his nostrils. “But one of our neighbors called Child Protective Services, saying my sister is being neglected, which is a total lie. Now we have this social worker who shows up randomly to inspect the house. She’ll drive by the house late at night, hoping to catch Rylee alone. I don’t even know which one of the neighbors is calling.”
Morgan knew that once a family got caught in the social services snare, it was all but impossible to escape it. “Does the neighbor have any specific concerns?”
“I don’t know.” Trevor’s arms dropped to his thighs. “No one will tell me. The social worker keeps telling me if I don’t fully cooperate, she can take my sister away. She talked to the school and interviewed my other neighbors. It’s humiliating.”
And frightening, no doubt.
“I’m sorry this is happening to you,” Morgan said. “Does Rylee get into trouble at school?”
“No. Never. Her grades took a dive right after our parents died, but that’s understandable. She worked hard this semester to bring her grades back up.”
Trevor was at a distinct disadvantage if a social worker wanted to bully him. CPS would not tell him who made the report, and it was very difficult to prove one hadn’t done something wrong.
“When did this start?” Morgan asked.
“About a month ago.” Trevor leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “I feel like we’re being watched all the time.”
“Do you have an attorney to protect your interests?” Morgan asked.
“I can’t afford an attorney,” he said.
“Would you allow me to contact social services on your behalf? You have rights, which I doubt they’ve made clear. They also have a limited amount of time to complete their investigation and declare the claim vindicated or unfounded.”
Trevor shook his head. “I can’t pay you.”
“That’s all right,” Morgan said. “It will not take up much of my time.”
Trevor licked his lips. He seemed to be making a decision. “I don’t normally accept charity, but I’ll take your offer. I can’t let them take Rylee. I’m all she has.”
And Morgan suspected the emotional dependence went both ways. Rylee was all Trevor had as well.
He got up and paced the area between the coffee table and the TV console. “The county sheriff left a message for me last night and another this morning. I haven’t had the guts to call him back. I’m afraid of what he’ll say. And when Rylee came home from work last night, she said a deputy had come to the pizza parlor looking for her in the afternoon. She hadn’t started her shift yet. She was so scared, she hid in the bathroom, and the other workers told the deputy she wasn’t there.”
All of this explained why she had run from Morgan and Lance. No doubt, the sheriff had also tracked Rylee through Evan’s cell phone records.
“He probably wants to talk to Rylee about Evan,” Morgan said.
“It’s not my neighbor’s CPS complaint?”
“I don’t think so.” Morgan assumed Rylee had not mentioned their conversation in the pizza parlor parking lot but decided not to bring it up. She needed Trevor to trust her.
Trevor exhaled. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your offer to help us. It bugs the hell out of me because I know the sooner I finish school, the better I’ll be able to support my sister. If I continue as a full-time student, I’ll graduate before Rylee starts college. I’ll be able to help with her tuition. She’s not athletic. She’s smart and gets good grades but not the kind that are going to win her merit scholarships.” He shook his head. “I’m not criticizing my sister. I’m not a genius or an athlete either. We’re regular people. Our parents taught us that if we worked hard, we could get ahead, but I’m starting to feel like that’s not true.”
“I’ll call CPS and see what I can do.” Morgan suspected the report was unfounded, but she made no promises. The home appeared orderly and clean. Trevor seemed sincere, and Rylee had acted to protect her brother. But Morgan had learned many years ago that situations were not always as they seemed. There was a small chance that the neighbor was right, which was the reason CPS was required to investigate every claim. “But I’ll be honest with you. Even if the accusation of neglect is declared unfounded, reports remain on file for years. Until she’s eighteen, you’ll have to be very careful.”
Trevor dropped back into the chair. He pushed a hand through his short hair. “So I should call the sheriff?”
“Yes,” Morgan said. “It’s never good to ignore the sheriff. If I’m wrong, and the call is about the neglect complaint, tell the sheriff I’m your attorney, and we’ll schedule an interview when we’re all available.”
The screen door opened, and Rylee walked in. She wore a frayed denim miniskirt and a black T-shirt. Her gaze landed on Lance and Morgan. Her face drained of color, and she spun, her hand reaching for the door as if to run through it.
“Wait!” Trevor called. “Ms. Dane is a lawyer. She’s not with CPS. She’s going to help us.”
Rylee did a slow turn on the balls of her feet, her face still pale. She walked to her brother’s side. He took her hand and squeezed it.
She looked down at Trevor. “Really?”
He nodded.
“We’ll get to the bottom of the complaint,” Morgan assured them.
Now that she’d seen the siblings together, she wanted to protect them even more. Rylee showed no fear or hesitation with her bother. They had a strong bond, and she clearly trusted him. Maybe the neighbor had been convincing. The CPS worker could be trying to do her best.
Social workers were just like any other group of people—a mix of good, bad, and lazy. Some were dedicated to protecting children. Some were average and simply showed up, and a few abused their power. Unfortunately, one bully in a position of authority could do irreparable harm.
“Ms. Dane and Mr. Kruger want to ask you about a boy named Evan,” Trevor said to his sister.
She tried to move away, but he held on to her hand.
“Have you seen him?” he asked.
“No.” Rylee didn’t fidget or look away. Her posture had relaxed once she accepted that Morgan and Lance were on her side. A lock of short purple hair fell into her eyes, and she brushed it away.
“Why didn’t you tell me about him?” Trevor asked.
“He’s been arrested a few times.” Her eyes brightened with anger. “I knew you wouldn’t want me to see him.”
“That’s right!” Trevor’s voice rose. “I can’t have you dating a juvenile delinquent with all the CPS stuff going on.”
“See?” Rylee jerked her hand from his grip.
Trevor jumped to his feet. “Rylee, this kid is wanted by the police for murder.”
Her chin snapped up. “This is why I didn’t tell you about him. I knew you’d be mad.”
Trevor fought for control. “I’m not mad. I’m terrified.”
“Evan is innocent.” Rylee started to cry. “I’m sorry. I screw everything up.”
Trevor put an arm around her shoulders. “It’s OK. We’ll deal with it.”
She sobbed into his shirt.
“Rylee, I’m only trying to protect you.” Frustration underscored Trevor’s tone. “I’m trying to keep us together.”
Tears wet her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I just—” Her breath hitched. “Most of the kids around here have perfect lives. They don’t get what it’s like to have your whole life disintegrate. Evan has his own shit to deal with. He understands. Mostly, we just talk.”
“You can always talk to me.” Trevor looked hurt.
“It’s not the same.” Rylee’s purple hair swayed as she shook her head. “You act like a parent now.”
Trevor couldn’t win.
“It’s important that we find Evan,” Lance said. “He’s been hurt, and he’s in danger.”
“We want to he
lp him,” Morgan added. “He’s in a situation he can’t manage by himself.”
“I haven’t seen him.” Rylee chewed on her lip. “But I wish I had. I’m worried about him too.” Her eyes turned angry. “The police are stupid. Evan would never have hurt Paul.”
“You sound sure,” Morgan said.
Rylee nodded. “I never met Paul, but I know that Evan liked him. His real father is a jerk. Evan knows the difference.”
“Do you have any idea where Evan might go if he wanted to hide?” Morgan asked.
“No.” Rylee shook her head.
Morgan’s years as a prosecutor had made her adept at spotting a liar, except for the occasional sociopath. Rylee seemed to be telling the truth. So no one had seen Evan. Morgan wished the kids were lying. At least that would be a lead she and Lance could follow. But now they had nothing.
They left the house and returned to the Jeep.
“Now what?” Morgan asked. “We seem to have hit a wall. Evan has to be somewhere.”
Lance’s phone beeped. He pulled it from his pocket and answered the call. “Hi, Mom. You’re on speaker. Morgan is here too.”
“Hi, Jenny,” Morgan said.
“Hello, Morgan dear,” Jenny began.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been over.” Lance set the phone on the console. “I didn’t want to give you the kids’ germs. And now we’re caught up in this case.”
“Honey, you’re doing exactly what you should be doing. I’m fine,” Jenny assured him. “Now, I have some good news and some bad news for you.”
“Tell us the bad news first,” Morgan said.
“Sam Jones, the man who filed the excessive force complaint against Deputy Springer, was a transient. One of the reasons the complaint was dismissed was because Sam disappeared. I spoke to his lawyer. He has no idea where Sam might be.”
Could Sam be holding a grudge?
“What’s the good news?” Lance asked.
“I found a piece of land at Lake George owned by Robert Springer.” Jenny gave them the details on the property.
“Thanks, Mom.” Lance pulled away from the curb. “I’ll be over to visit as soon as I can.”
Secrets Never Die Page 17