“I understand your hesitation.” Morgan moved her head to avoid the trail of smoke. “In fact, I applaud your commitment to client confidentiality, but her family and friends are worried about her.”
“I still can’t tell you anything.” Jake lifted a palm. “And Thursday evening was only a few days ago. Maybe she just went somewhere. She’s a grown woman. She doesn’t have to report her every move to her family.”
“But this isn’t typical behavior for Olivia.” Morgan’s voice grew firm. “She missed her mother’s doctor’s appointment.”
“Look, I have family too.” Jake’s gaze shot to his father. Through the glass door, they could see him laughing with his buddies at the other end of the bar. “But I don’t share my daily calendar. Have you thought that Olivia could have forgotten the appointment? No one’s perfect. It’s also possible she simply left town to get away from her stress and all those people asking for things she isn’t delivering.”
Lance waved smoke out of his face. “Why would you say that?”
Jake dragged on his cigarette. The embers burned almost to the filter. “I can’t tell you.”
“We talked to her agent,” Lance said. “She told us Olivia was late with her proposal.”
Jake’s lip curled. “Her agent isn’t any help. Holgersen has always hustled for her clients. She’s pushy and demanding when she wants something for her authors but has no consideration for anyone else. Since her husband left her, she’s gone full bitch. She told me to leave Olivia alone, and then she had the nerve to ride me about contracts for two other authors she reps. The gossip mill says her divorce is getting nasty and she needs money. Whatever the reason, she couldn’t care less about me.”
Because her job is to further her clients’ interests, not yours.
“Did Olivia ever mention that she was concerned about her safety?” Morgan asked. “Or anything that had worried her about her current research?”
“Has she been reported as missing? Are the police involved?” Jake challenged.
“Yes.” Morgan nodded. “You can speak with Detective Stella Dane with the Scarlet Falls Police Department. Would you like the phone number?”
“Um. No.” He paused, as if he was searching for words. “That won’t be necessary.” He dropped his cigarette and ground the butt beneath his heel. “If the police want to talk to me, they can pay me a visit.” He shot them both dirty looks. “Not a lawyer and a PI.”
“You were seen knocking on Olivia’s door Thursday evening,” Morgan bluffed. Technically, the Nova had been seen. They couldn’t prove the blond man driving it had been Jake. Olivia’s neighbor hadn’t seen his face.
Jake froze. “I’m not admitting anything. But bonus time is coming up and having another big deal to take to the acquisitions committee would help.” He studied his shoes. “Money is tight. I’m running the bar and doing my own job. I don’t have time to discover the next great author.”
“So you went to her house?” Lance leaned closer. He wanted a damn confession.
“If she called me back, I wouldn’t have had to,” Jake snapped. He closed his mouth abruptly, as if realizing he had just admitted being at Olivia’s house. “Look, she didn’t answer her door, and I realized how stupid and inappropriate it was for me to be there. I turned around and drove home.”
“What time did you get back?” Morgan asked.
“Around midnight,” Jake said. “The bartender will vouch for me. I borrowed his car.”
Or he’ll lie for you.
“If you find her, tell her to return my calls. I have to go.” Jake turned and disappeared into the bar.
Morgan frowned at the closed door. “Do you think he’ll call Stella?”
“I doubt it.” Lance turned away from the bar. “He sounded surprised that the police were involved, but he didn’t think Olivia being out of touch for a couple of days was a big deal. He clearly thinks she skipped town to avoid her responsibilities.”
“And he’s angry at her for avoiding him. Now that we know about the Nova, maybe Stella will come and see him or get a local cop to talk to him.” Morgan slid her hand through Lance’s arm. “While you were playing the piano, I might have checked the back room and the apartment upstairs. There was no sign of Olivia anywhere.”
Lance looked down at her. “You broke the law?”
“Not really.” Her lips twisted. “The apartment was open, and he gave me permission to use the restroom. He didn’t specify which restroom.”
“That’s a load of bullshit.” He laughed. “You entered a personal residence without permission.” Lance wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed her biceps. “That’s kind of hot.”
Morgan rolled her eyes. “You think everything is hot.”
He leaned close to her ear. “Only everything you do.”
Morgan shook her head. Then she paused midstep and inhaled. “I smell food.”
“It’s only eleven.”
She shoved her hands into her pockets. “I’m hungry. I need extra food to compensate for the lack of sleep.”
“If we get sandwiches to eat on the way home, we won’t have to stop.”
They walked to a bagel place down the block and ordered sandwiches to go. Morgan added cookies, coffee, and a dozen bagels to the order.
“Bagels?”
“For Grandpa.” Morgan collected the bag of bagels and her coffee from the counter. “He says bagels from anywhere other than New York City aren’t real bagels.”
Lance paid and accepted the sandwich bag from the clerk. They carried the white take-out bags back to the Jeep. By eleven thirty, Morgan and Lance buckled into the vehicle.
Lance unwrapped his sandwich on his lap. “What do you think of what we learned today?”
Morgan sipped her coffee. “Olivia kept her work close. No one knew what she was working on. Both her agent and her editor were pressuring her for her new book information.”
“Olivia’s lack of response is creating problems for her editor at the publishing company. And he’s already under an enormous strain with his father’s illness and financial situation.”
“Definitely.” Morgan wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Jake Riley needs money, he was at Olivia’s house the evening before she disappeared, and his stress level is through the roof.”
“But what would kidnapping Olivia accomplish?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe he pressured her for the proposal and lost control,” Lance said. “He’s angry and desperate.”
Maybe he accidentally killed her.
“Maybe,” Morgan agreed. “According to Jake, Kim needs money, but again, it seems like she would need Olivia alive and well to bring in more income.”
“There could be something we’re not seeing.” Lance took a bite of his sandwich.
Morgan stuffed her used napkin inside the empty paper bag. “While you drive home, I’ll search tax records and see if I can find any other properties owned by either Jake or his father.”
Lance backed up the Jeep as far as he could without hitting the vehicle behind him. Then he pulled away from the curb and headed for the Brooklyn Bridge. Jake’s or Kim’s possible motivation might be unclear, but a desperate need for money had driven people to do some very bad things.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Light streamed through the window and fell across his bed. Sharp reached for Olivia. He could almost feel the silkiness of her shining dark hair. But his hand fell on an empty pillow. The past couple of days came flooding back. He wanted to go back to his dream state and pretend she was with him. To drag her out of bed for a morning run. Or even better, to tuck her against him and spend the next hour making love to her.
But he could do none of those things.
She was gone.
He rolled over and pressed his face into her pillow. She only slept at his apartment once a week, but his pillow smelled like her. The faint citrus scent of her shampoo filled his nose, clogged his throat, and opened up the hollow ache around his
heart.
I have to find her.
He simply could not consider a future in which Olivia was not part of his life. Before this week, he’d been more concerned with easing into any commitment. Now he realized all that posturing had been a huge waste of time.
Time he could have spent getting to know her better.
Time he might not get back.
What would he do if he never found her? Or if he did and she was—
With his years as a detective, he understood the odds of bringing her home alive and well were slipping through his fingers like drops of water. Missing persons reports and autopsy photos played a slideshow in his head.
Too many.
When he’d been a patrol officer, he’d performed death notifications after vehicle accidents. He’d thought that was the worst duty. Then Lance’s father had gone missing, and Sharp had learned that not knowing—that never being able to give a family closure—could be just as devastating. Lance and his mother had lived with not knowing what had happened to Vic Kruger for twenty-three years. Sorrow had gnawed at their hope over those decades, until nothing had been left but grief. Lance had moved on, mostly, but Jenny had burrowed into her pain.
Until today, Sharp had not appreciated the depth of the emotional damage not knowing could inflict. But he also couldn’t imagine learning Olivia was dead. Or seeing her naked and bruised body on an autopsy table in the morgue. His imagination superimposed Olivia’s face on victims he had watched being autopsied during his police career. He could smell formalin in his nose, taste decaying flesh in the back of his throat, see organs being lifted from the open abdominal cavity, hear the sound of the bone saw cutting the skull.
He blinked the image away. He needed to get back to the investigation. Letting his brain wander was dangerous. He’d seen too much—knew too much—to deny the possible outcomes. His mind needed to be busy.
At the moment, he’d rather have hope, even if it was dimming by the hour.
The pity party won’t bring her home. Get a grip and get crackin’.
Sharp turned away from Olivia’s pillow, sat up, and swung his feet over the side of the bed. A glance at his phone told him Lance and Stella had left messages for him—and that it was just nearly two o’clock in the afternoon. He’d slept for six hours.
After turning the case over in his mind for several hours, he’d stretched out for a short nap, and he’d slept right through his phone alerts.
He checked the messages. Neither were urgent. Lance and Morgan were on their way back. Stella was attending Olander’s autopsy. She promised to touch base with Sharp afterward.
Grogginess and depression weighted his head as he rose. He needed to get his shit together. He took a cold shower to clear his head. While he was shaving, his phone beeped with a text from Stella. She would pick him up in ten minutes. He wiped the remaining shaving cream from his face and brushed his teeth. After he’d dressed, he almost felt human.
He grabbed two protein bars from his kitchen and went downstairs to the office, leaving the back door unlocked for Stella.
She walked into his office a few minutes later, carrying two take-out cups of coffee. She offered one to him. “I know you don’t normally drink coffee, but I thought you might need the energy.”
“Thank you.” Sharp took the cup. “Rough morning?” Sharp opened a protein bar and sat in his chair. Opening his laptop, he waited for it to boot up.
Stella eased into one of the chairs that faced his desk. “I hate autopsies.”
The image of Olivia’s naked and gray body on a stainless-steel table punched through Sharp’s mental barrier again. He set the bar on his desk and forced down a mouthful of coffee. Bitterness coated his throat and unsettled his stomach. He set down the cup and stood. “I’m getting some water. Do you want anything?”
Stella shook her head.
When he returned with the water, he sat back down and braced himself. “How did Olander’s autopsy go?”
“The ME officially declared his death a murder. In addition to the ligature marks and torn nails, blood and tissue were found embedded in the noose. Olander had defensive bruises on his arms. He’d also suffered from repeated blows to the abdomen and several broken ribs.”
“They beat him.”
“Yes.” Stella rose and paced, coffee in hand. “But why? Was it punishment? Or did they want information from him?”
“I don’t know.”
Sharp’s phone buzzed. He read the screen. “It’s Ryan Abrams at the ATF.” He answered the call. “Thanks for the call back, Ryan. Detective Stella Dane from the SFPD is with me. She’s working a murder case related to the guns. Can I put you on speaker?”
“Yes,” Ryan said.
Sharp switched the call. “Did you find anything for us?”
“Yes, I did.” Ryan exhaled. “I didn’t find anything on Kennett Olander in New York State, but I found old records from Iowa that associate Kennett’s father with the LMS, a national anti-government militia group.”
“What does LMS stand for?” Sharp asked.
“Last Men Standing,” Ryan said.
Sharp took out a pen and paper for notes. “Where do they operate?”
“They’re a large group, with several thousand members,” Ryan answered. “They prefer rural areas, specifically farms and big patches of wilderness.” Papers rustled on Ryan’s end of the connection. “We’ve uncovered members in fifteen states. It’s a quiet organization. For the most part, they go about their business.”
“Which is?” Stella asked.
“Mostly, they stockpile food, fuel, guns, and medicine to get them through an end-of-days scenario. They run survival retreats and military-style training camps. Members blog and use social media accounts to compare survival tips and techniques. They pop onto the scene every few years when a member gets caught buying or carrying guns illegally. We’ve arrested a handful of members for possession of illegal weapons. The LMS doesn’t believe in registering guns with the government, so their offenses vary according to local laws.”
Every state had different gun laws. In most of New York State, long guns did not need to be registered, and no permit was required to purchase one. But handguns were highly regulated.
Sharp said, “Olander had a stash of illegally equipped AR-15s, ammunition, and some body armor.”
“Sounds like his farm is being used as a storage facility,” Ryan said. “Did you take pictures of the guns?”
“No.” Sharp gave himself a mental kick in the ass.
“Are the LMS involved in money laundering?” Sharp wondered if the Olanders’ association with the militia group explained the cash purchase of the dairy farm.
“We think so,” Ryan said. “They keep their operations small and spread them out, so they don’t draw attention to their activities.”
“Kennett Olander was found hanging from his barn rafters yesterday,” Stella said.
Ryan whistled. “Suicide?”
“No,” Stella answered. “Murder. And the guns have disappeared.”
“He pissed off somebody,” Ryan said.
Sharp tapped his fingers on his desk. “You said the LMS works hard to stay off your radar? What did you mean by that?”
“Rather than living in large easy-to-find compounds, they spread their resources and people out,” Ryan explained. “Even if we uncover one site, we only find a small portion of their armaments, and they utilize the Dark web for activities they want to keep secret.”
There were three levels of the internet: the Surface web, the Deep web, and the Dark web. The Surface web was the normal searchable internet most people accessed every day. The Deep web was a layer of the internet that couldn’t be accessed through search engines. Most of these sites were legitimate, such as online bank accounts that required registrations, logins, and passwords to protect customer information. But users of the Dark web purposely hid their identities and spoofed their locations with encryption tools. The anonymous nature of the Dark we
b made it the ideal tool for criminal activity.
Sharp had encountered a local militia group in a previous case. “How many militias can operate in one area?” he asked.
“The number of anti-government militia groups has doubled over the past decade. A few individuals in the LMS have been convicted of weapons offenses, and several members have gone missing or turned up dead. But we haven’t been able to prove the organization orchestrated any of these crimes. LMS discourages members from drawing too much attention to themselves or to the group. On the surface, they’re all about education and survival training.”
“Can’t you follow the money?” asked Sharp.
“They used to run their money through the Caymans and Swiss banks, but international banking laws have changed. It’s harder to hide funds these days. We now believe they buy and use legitimate businesses to cover their activities. As I said before, they make a serious effort to stay off the radar of law enforcement.”
“Would having your son convicted of murdering his wife annoy the group leadership?” Sharp asked.
“That’s exactly the kind of attention they don’t want,” Ryan agreed.
Sharp gave Ryan the basic details of Erik’s murder conviction. “Is that enough to earn a death sentence from the group leadership?”
Ryan paused. “I don’t think so. I feel like there should be more. Guns, money, serious betrayal.”
“We don’t know how all of this might be connected to our missing reporter,” Stella said. “I’d like to send you a list of the people involved in this case and see if you recognize any of their names.”
“Sure,” Ryan said.
“Thank you.” Stella’s phone rang. She excused herself and left Sharp’s office to answer the call.
Ryan continued, “As I said, we’ve had suspected members turn up dead, but we’ve never been able to trace the killings back to anyone in the group.”
“What if a member wants out of the organization?” Sharp asked.
Ryan sighed. “With some of these organizations, there’s only one way out.”
“And Olander found it,” Sharp said. “Thanks for your help, Ry.”
Save Your Breath Page 19