They walked up the dirt tract and paused at the edge of the clearing. In the daylight, the spot should have been pretty. But instead of seeing the play of sunlight on coppery foliage, Morgan’s eyes focused only on the shadows.
Except for the charred wood in the bonfire pit, the clearing was bare. The forensic team had collected the litter as evidence.
Lance moved closer, and the tension in his body told her he felt it too. As much as she hated to admit it, his presence was the only reason she could stand to be in the clearing.
“I’ll start at the clearing, and we’ll work our way to the place where we found the body.” Lance began to shoot photos.
Morgan took a notepad out of her bag and started drawing a sketch. She studied the clearing and surrounding forest. “Her car was parked over there.”
The Accord now sat in the police impound garage. Tessa’s purse had been found on the passenger seat.
She added details to her sketch. “Nick said when he left, Tessa was sitting in her car.”
Morgan went to the spot where the Honda had been parked. A sense of dread slithered through her belly, leaving it cold and empty, as she envisioned Tessa’s last moments. “She’s sitting in her car, crying. She sends the text to Felicity, telling her BFF about her breakup with Nick. Then she calls the Emerson house to talk with Jacob.”
“But Mr. Emerson answered the call.” Lance lowered the camera.
“That’s what he says. What if he didn’t? What if Jacob answered?”
“What if Tessa told Jacob she was pregnant?” Lance said. “And he drove out to the clearing.”
“The police didn’t ask for a DNA sample from Jacob. They were focused on Nick from the very beginning. When the police interviewed Jacob, they didn’t know Nick wasn’t the father of Tessa’s baby. They assumed it was Nick. They didn’t know they were looking for two different men. Plus, Jacob’s father is an attorney. He would never have allowed it. He would have known the implications and demanded a warrant.”
“What are the chances of forcing Jacob to submit to DNA testing?” Lance asked.
“Without new evidence? Slim. Mr. Emerson would fight it for sure. Plus, Jacob and Tessa dated five months ago. She was only eight weeks pregnant. There’s no basis.”
“I watched that fight between Jacob and Nick,” Lance said. “Jacob was angry to see Tessa with Nick. Who’s to say they didn’t have a brief reconciliation over the summer?”
Morgan hated to think of Tessa going out with Nick and cheating on him with Jacob, but Lance’s theory was possible. She couldn’t let her personal relationship with Tessa or Nick get in the way of her investigation. Tessa had cheated on Nick. But with whom?
“We won’t get a court order based on a hunch. We’d have to get some evidence that Jacob and Tessa had had contact . . .” Morgan counted backward. “Mid to end of July.”
“Or evidence she was seeing someone else back in July,” Lance added.
She made a note in her phone. “I’ll need to pick through Tessa’s cell phone records from the whole summer.”
The police had focused on the last few weeks of Tessa’s life. Even after learning of her pregnancy, Horner hadn’t done much to look for the father of Tessa’s baby.
Lance frowned at the lake. “So everyone else leaves. Tessa is alone in her car. Why would she get out of her car?”
“I can think of a couple of reasons.” Turning in a circle, Morgan scanned the forest. “She was mad at her grandparents. She didn’t want to go home. She took a walk to clear her head.”
“Or someone arrived.”
“Someone she knew. Jacob, if we’re thinking he was the father of her baby and that Mr. Emerson lied about handling the call, and that she actually talked to Jacob.” Morgan wouldn’t have gotten out of the car alone in the dark, but she wasn’t a frightened, pregnant teenager.
“Would he really have to kill her if he’d knocked her up? His family has plenty of money. This isn’t 1950.”
“In some ways, social pressure hasn’t changed as much as you might think. I’m sure Tessa was feeling pretty desperate. She hadn’t even graduated high school. Her grandparents are old-fashioned. The stigma of being a teen mom would alienate her from everyone.” Morgan thought of the girls who had gotten pregnant back in her high school days. They’d all dropped out of school, unable to handle being ostracized.
“It was early enough for her to get an abortion, or she could have given the child up for adoption,” Lance said.
“True. But I’m sure she was still panicked about the pregnancy.” Morgan’s heart ached when she thought about Tessa going through her personal crisis alone. Her grandmother was too out of touch to be a confidant.
“Could she have threatened the father?” Lance said.
“If a paternity test proved Jacob was the father, how would that have affected his plans for law school?”
“Doesn’t seem like enough motivation to kill her,” Lance said. “Legally, the most Jacob could have been forced to provide is financial support. No one could force him to raise the child. His family could afford to pay Tessa.”
“That’s how you and I would approach a critical decision, but we’re talking about two teenagers. Tessa clearly engaged in risky behavior.”
“Like unprotected sex,” Lance said. “She was sleeping with Nick and at least one other boy.”
“Exactly. Plus, they all admitted to drinking beer. Jacob said he drank a couple of beers. Maybe it was much more,” Morgan added.
“That all said, we don’t know for sure that Tessa was killed because she was pregnant. We have no evidence that she told anyone.” Lance took a few shots of the opposite side of the clearing. “The police have held that piece of information back from the press. No one has mentioned it, not even the Emersons.”
“If she told the father and he killed her because of it, it’s not knowledge he would admit to having.” Morgan walked across the clearing to the entrance of the game trail. “She got out of her car. They argued. She ran, and he chased her.”
What had it been like for Tessa that night? Alone in the dark.
Lance snapped a few pictures of the area where the Honda had been parked. Then he followed Morgan down the game trail to the edge of the lake. Trampled cattails and torn pieces of crime scene tape marked the location where Tessa’s body had been found.
Other than the limp, dirty yellow tape, the only other sign that a young woman had been killed there was a small memorial of teddy bears, notes, and flowers at the water’s edge.
A chill swept over Morgan as she stared at the patch of thick reeds that Tessa had lain in. Standing in the safety of daylight and Lance’s company, she could barely restrain the urge to run. “The mud here is too wet for footprints. Any imprints would have filled in.”
“The police didn’t find any on the bank either. Too much sand in the soil, and there were so many tire tracks and footprints at the clearing.”
“The police had no way of knowing who came before or after the party.”
“Why did she run in this direction?” Mud sucked at Morgan’s shoes as she picked her way toward the water and the broken path of reeds that had led to Tessa’s body. “On the other side, there’s a path that leads to the public parking lot, the gazebo, and picnic tables.”
Lance followed her. “There wouldn’t have been anyone there at that time of night to help her. She was running blind, terrified out of her mind.”
But Tessa had barely made it out of the clearing. Morgan stared at the lake, aware in every fiber of her body that a young girl had been brutally murdered on that very spot of marsh. Tessa’s blood had leaked from her body and soaked into the mud. Had she been awake? Had she known she was dying?
Alone in the dark.
They were quiet for a few minutes. A breeze rushed through the reeds, their heavy heads swaying.
The snap of a twig made them both jump. Lance spun toward the sound. He wrapped one thick arm around Morgan, sweeping her behind hi
m.
“What is it?” The hairs on the back of Morgan’s neck lifted as she peered around his body and whispered, “A deer?”
“I don’t think so.” Lance’s gaze swept the trees as he and Morgan backed toward the game trail. “Someone is out here.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Lance’s hand automatically went to the Glock at his hip.
The sound had come from deeper in the woods.
“Let’s go back to the Jeep.” He steered Morgan down the path toward the clearing, keeping his body between her and the origin of the noise.
He should have listened to his instincts when they’d first gotten out of the car. But he’d thought they were both spooked by the scene itself.
Oh hell, they still could be.
Morgan pointed toward the impromptu shrine. “Looks like plenty of other people have been here. It’s probably just someone who wants to pay his respects. Or satisfy his curiosity.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Lance said. Was their visitor Jamie Lewis? She’d been at the party, and no one seemed to know how she’d gotten there. Could she be hiding out here in the woods?
“Should we call the police?” Morgan asked as they stepped back into the clearing. Out of the underbrush, they turned and headed for the grass and dirt tract where they’d left the Jeep.
“And say what? We heard a twig snap while we were out in the woods?” Lance put Morgan in front of him and glanced over his shoulder. He couldn’t see anyone, but damn, he could feel eyes on him.
“Good point,” Morgan said. “But we need to know who’s been hanging around the crime scene.”
“You’re right.” He led the way back to the Jeep. “Let’s allow whoever was here to think we left. Maybe they’ll come out of hiding.”
They returned to the Jeep. Lance turned the vehicle around and drove back toward the main road. When the tires rolled onto the pavement, Lance headed for the public recreation area on the shores of the lake. He parked in the gravel lot. A small beach and the lake lay in front of them. To one side, the gazebo and narrow dock stretched out onto the water. On the other side of the beach, picnic tables clustered under the trees. He removed his binoculars from the console.
“Should we try to sneak up on whoever is out there?” she asked.
“Yes.” He handed the binoculars to Morgan. “First, let’s watch the woods and see if our exit flushed anyone out of their hiding spot.”
They watched and waited. Lance scanned the trees with his camera. Morgan used the binoculars. After fifteen minutes, nothing had moved that was larger than a squirrel. Lance set down the camera. “I don’t see anyone. Maybe there wasn’t anyone there. Can we be that paranoid?”
“I know I can.” Still carrying the binoculars, Morgan opened her car door. “Let’s get a look at the clearing from this approach.”
They got out of the vehicle and walked to the beach. They passed the picnic tables and gazebo. The beach was a man-made sandy spot a hundred feet wide. At the end of it, the shoreline reverted to dirt, weeds, and cattails, then gradually eased back into forest.
“There’s the trail,” Morgan said in a low voice, pointing.
A rough footpath led through the trees. Lance kept a sharp eye out, but saw no one as they walked through the woods to the clearing.
“That was much closer than I remembered.” Morgan paused at the edge.
“Teenagers never use the public area. It’s safer to use the dirt lane and park in the woods. The police have to go out of their way to see them.”
“Some things never change,” Morgan said as they turned back. At the beach, she raised the binoculars to her face again, sweeping the shoreline. She pointed to the woods on the opposite side. “Do you see something black and shiny?”
Lance followed her gesture and spotted another opening in the trees. “Yes.”
“How do we get over there?”
“I’m sure there are game trails all around the lake.”
Morgan started forward. “The police focused on the clearing and the wooded area immediately around it. I saw no statements or pictures from the other side of the lake.”
“No reason to. The body was located. The scene secured.”
“A suspect identified almost immediately,” Morgan added.
They found a path that meandered along the bank. Twenty minutes later, they stood on the opposite bank, staring at a makeshift camp. A black two-man tent had been pitched in a stand of pines. Ashes filled a stone-rimmed circle. A tiny plume of smoke drifted from the center, as if the pit had recently housed a fire. Lance glanced inside the tent. A sleeping bag, cooler, and battery-operated lamp made a cozy space. Next to the sleeping bag, a small shovel, a backpack, and a box occupied the corner.
“Someone’s been camping,” Morgan said. “Can you see what’s in the pack?”
Lance gently lifted the flap. Inside the bag, he saw a pair of jeans, several sweatshirts, and a winter coat. “Clothes.”
“Female or male?”
“Hard to say.” Lance shifted the pack to see more of the items. The clothes looked large, but Jamie Lewis was tall and most photographs he’d seen of her showed her dressing grungy. “There’re also matches, nylon rope.”
“Let me see. Maybe I can recognize the brands.” Morgan leaned over the bag.
A shot rang out through the woods. Lance dove on top of Morgan, pulling her to the ground and covering her with his body. His heart went into a full sprint, his pulse echoing in his ears, blocking out sound like the bass line at a rock concert.
“Did someone shoot at us?” she asked from under him, her voice filled with disbelief. “Or was that a firecracker?”
“Gunshot.” Lance would never confuse the sound of a gunshot with anything else. Pulling his handgun, he scanned the little camp but saw no one to shoot back at. A tent didn’t provide much cover. He spotted a fallen tree. “Can you belly crawl?”
“Yes.”
Lance nudged her toward the moss-covered log. “Get behind that.”
The half-rotted log provided inadequate cover but hiding behind it was better than being completely exposed. Morgan wiggled her skirt higher up her thighs and snaked forward in an impressive army crawl.
The telltale clack of a bolt-action rifle made the hair on Lance’s neck stand straight up. Another shot pinged into a tree ten feet to his left. Morgan moved faster. More concerned about her than himself, Lance kept his bigger body between her and the origin of the shots as he followed her. In two minutes, he had her wedged between the log and his body. He dug his cell phone out of his pocket, called 911, and reported shots fired.
He ended the call and whispered in Morgan’s ear, “Police won’t be here for at least ten minutes. Then they have to find us in the middle of the woods.”
“And who knows how the shooter will respond to their arrival.” She lifted her head an inch off the ground. “We should move.”
If the shooter decided to circle around and come at them from the rear, they were sitting ducks. Footsteps crunched in leaves. The sound grew louder, as if the shooter was approaching.
“Move.” Lance pushed her forward.
Morgan crawled. When they’d reached the safety of a large oak tree, they got to their feet behind the massive trunk. Lance glanced around the trunk. Another shot zipped into a neighboring tree. Bark chips flew through the air.
“He’s following our movements,” Morgan said, her back pressed to the trunk. “Why isn’t he hitting us?”
“Either he isn’t a great marksman or he doesn’t want to hit us.” Lance bet on the latter. Each shot seemed to be the same distance away.
“Why are you shooting at us?” Lance yelled.
“Get away from my camp!” a male voice shouted.
“We just want to talk to you,” Lance answered, trying to pinpoint the location of the shooter.
Clack clack. Another bullet hit the neighboring tree almost exactly in the same place as the previous shot. The shooter was putting his b
ullets in precise locations.
Was he trying to drive them away or pin them down?
“You’re thieves!” the man yelled. “You’re here for my valuables.”
Valuables?
“Let me try,” Morgan mouthed. She cleared her throat then called out, “If you stop shooting at us, we’ll leave. We stumbled on your camp by accident. We mean you no harm.”
“Leave me alone,” the voice shifted from angry to sad.
Morgan frowned. “We understand, and we’re sorry we disturbed you.”
A few seconds of eerie silence followed, then the heart-wrenching sound of sobbing.
“We’re unarmed, and we don’t want to take your things,” Morgan said, her voice sympathetic and calm.
But the shooter’s cries were anything but stable. “She’s dead. She’s dead. Dead, dead, dead.”
Lance and Morgan shared an uh-oh glance. Whatever slim grasp their gun-toting camper had on reality, he was losing it.
“Keep talking,” Lance whispered. “I’ll try to get behind him while you distract him.”
Morgan nodded, raising her voice to ask, “Who’s dead?”
“The girl. So pretty. So young. No one can help her now.” The voice rose with anger.
“Did you see who killed her?” Morgan asked.
“So much blood.” The sobbing ceased, the voice shifting to a disturbing singsong. “Everywhere.”
Carefully placing each foot on solid, debris-free dirt, Lance kept his footsteps silent. He slipped behind another tree, then another. With painstaking steps, he worked his way through the trees.
“I’d like to talk to you,” Morgan said. “Would that be all right?”
“No. No talking.” The shooter howled. “Just leave me alone. I want to be alone. I can’t hurt anyone if I’m alone.”
Lance eased around the trunk of a tree and got his first glimpse of the shooter. A man dressed in desert camos sat with his back to a tree. A bolt-action hunting rifle rested across his thighs. He’d streaked his face with dirt as camouflage. His eyes looked wild and white against the dirt. The circles under his eyes were so dark and deep, he could have been a cadaver. Underneath the dirt, his cheekbones stood in sharp relief to his skeletal face.
Say You're Sorry (Morgan Dane Book 1) Page 20