Morgan averted her gaze from Caryn and looked up at Donnie. “Regular. When have I ever put soy milk in my coffee?”
“Angie’s been doing the soy thing. I forgot,” he replied.
“Medium, okay?”
“I know better than to get you a large.”
Morgan chuckled as Donnie returned to the counter. “This won’t take long, I promise,” she said to Caryn. “Let me ask you a few more questions.”
“Sure.” Caryn shook her head no in contradiction to her answer.
“Look. Do you remember any details about Suzanne? Particularly about their relationship? Was Suzanne cruel to your brother? Did they hike in the woods? What more can you tell me about them?”
“I don’t remember.”
As Morgan observed Caryn, she recognized evasive behavior. Her back was rigid and neck muscles tight. Morgan didn’t want to scare her away. She planned on having solid evidence before arresting anyone because this was the most important case of her life. She played her cards strategically. “Do you keep track of local news, Caryn?”
“I’m more of a big-picture person.”
Morgan noted the shifting back-and-forth of Caryn’s green eyes, the telltale sign of a lie. “Then you didn’t see that we found her body up near Fishers?”
Caryn raised her eyebrows and shook her head.
She thought it unlikely, but perhaps by explaining the horrific details of Suzanne’s discovery, the decaying, rotting corpse, she wanted to shock Caryn into telling the truth. “She may have been buried alive. Someone crushed her face in with a hammer then buried her in the woods. I can’t imagine what a teenage girl could have done to deserve that.”
“People disappear all the time.”
“Like your brother.”
Caryn raised her eyebrows in agreement.
“Your brother, Ekhard, dated Suzanne for what, almost the whole school year?”
“No, I’d remember that. Ekhard didn’t date anyone.”
“You don’t say?” Morgan wrote that down too. It was a flat-out lie, if she could believe the other witnesses.
Morgan looked at the small silver ring that Jeremy had given her and noticed that Caryn, too, wore a sparkling diamond ring on her pinky. It looked like an engagement ring. Hallie’s ring—the one that the Blue Room bartender had seen—had never been found. “That’s a beautiful ring.”
Caryn spread her fingers and looked at her left hand. She took a quick breath and said, “Thank you.”
“It looks very special.”
“It was a gift.”
“Oh?” Morgan was sure there was a story. If someone had given her a ring like that, she’d be sure to tell everyone. “From who?”
“My boyfriend gave it to me a few months ago. Can we get to the point? I need to get back to work.” Caryn looked at her watch.
“We know what the murder weapon was,” Morgan reiterated. “We know what killed Suzanne.”
The response was a glare.
“Where is your brother, Caryn?”
In her seat, Caryn shifted, not uncomfortable but clearly agitated. “I told you I haven’t seen him. We’re estranged.”
With each question about Ekhard, Caryn sat a little taller, so Morgan wondered if she was nervous or hiding something. She hoped this next question would push her over the edge. She switched gears. “You don’t know a woman named Hallie Marks, do you?”
“Did she go to North Side too?”
“No.” It irked Morgan that Caryn remained so calm. “Hallie used to hang out at The Blue Room.”
“That bar’s been around since 1986.”
“You’ve been there?” Morgan asked hopefully.
“I do like jazz. I go there once in a while.”
“Does your brother go there?”
“How would I know?” Caryn had become impatient. “Where is this leading, Detective?”
Morgan dug a photo of Hallie out of her jacket pocket then slid it on the table in front of Caryn. “Do you know this woman?” She watched Caryn’s reaction closely, but Caryn gave her nothing.
“No.” Caryn downed the last sip of her coffee. “I have to get back to work. My lunch hour is over, and I haven’t gotten a thing done.”
Detective Jewel stood up. “One more thing, Caryn. When was the last time you saw your brother, Ekhard?”
“Eighteen years, five months, and twenty-three days ago.” Caryn packed up her computer.
“That long?” To Morgan it sounded like she had counted the days since losing him. If that was the case, she had obsessed about it, too. And that was something Morgan knew a bit about. Obsession could take over a person’s life. “Thanks for meeting with us, Caryn,” she said.
When Donnie returned with two steaming cups, Caryn dismissed herself. Morgan felt confident that Caryn had more information than she was letting on. She waited for her to leave, keeping an eye on her empty paper coffee cup.
Once she’d left, causing a flurry of jingling doorbells, Morgan dug the cup out of the trash can to submit for DNA tests.
CHAPTER 29
MORGAN
“No disassociated DNA was found under Hallie’s fingernails,” Donnie said.
Disappointed, Morgan said, “I know. I saw that report. The murderer wiped Hallie’s fingertips with a concentrated oxidizer.”
The lingering smell of pizza wafted from the cardboard box on the dining-room table. Morgan pushed away her plate of crusts. The detectives had gone to Donnie’s house to kill two birds. Angie and their daughters wanted to spend the evening with Donnie, and he and Morgan needed to organize their notes and come up with a plan.
“This is no average criminal, that’s for sure.” Donnie yawned.
“Just to be clear, the follow-up investigation for Hallie Marks is associated with Suzanne’s death as well. We’re treating the two crimes as a single investigation.”
“Right,” Donnie said shortly, then changed the topic. “So tell me …” He raised his eyebrows.
“What?”
“You know. What’s going on between you and Rob Gibson?”
Morgan leaned back in the dining-room chair, unable to put off answering him. Donnie had pressed the issue relentlessly. She covered her face with her hands and, with a dramatic exhalation, mumbled, “We’re dating.”
“What was that?” Donnie leaned forward. “It sounded like you said you’re dating him.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Brushing her hair back, Morgan pulled the rubber band from her hair and retied her ponytail.
“Good. Good. That’s good. Rob is a great guy.” Donnie nodded with enthusiasm.
“Then can we get back to work?” Morgan smiled. Donnie cared, but their discussions about her private life remained skin deep. She’d said enough. She picked up her dog-eared notebook with the faded picture of a kitten on the cover. “Something’s nagging at me.”
“What’s that?” Donnie leaned forward, more interested in the leftover pizza.
“Where is Ekhard Klein?” Morgan asked.
Donnie stood and, hovering over the table, examined the remnants of the pizza. “Disappeared. I looked for records too. He’s vanished. Not an easy feat in this day and age.” He picked two circles of pepperoni from the last piece.
“But, why?” The enigma that was Ekhard had become a hole in the investigation.
“Perhaps he killed Suzanne then went into hiding. If I was eighteen and killed someone, that’s what I would do.” Donnie stood up straight. “Did Trina Kierra know what happened to him?”
“She said they were never friends. She also said everyone hated Suzanne.” Talking about it triggered a memory. “Also, Trina told me that Suzanne’s plan was to humiliate Ekhard. I wonder if Ekhard found out about that. What if he knew, then took her to the woods?”
“That’s an interesting scenario. I like it. Write that in your little book.” Donnie pointed a finger at Morgan’s pen. “We could put out an APB with high school photos of him. See if anyone has seen him in Indy. If he’s n
ot here, we may have to reach out to the US Marshals and turn this into a fugitive investigation.”
“I’m not ready to turn the investigation over to another division.” The mention of U.S. Marshals reminded Morgan that she wanted to apply there. Hunting fugitives was a dream job for her. Perhaps when this was all over? Morgan dug the familiar notebook out of her pocket and stared at it. She wasn’t done yet; she had an idea to bounce off Donnie. But because she suspected what his reaction might be, she wanted to segue into it gently.
He sat back in the chair and stacked file papers that had been spread around his plate.
“So … I found a couple cases that might link us back to Hallie Marks. If Suzanne and Hallie Marks were killed by the same man, then he may have killed others too.”
Donnie stared at her, tired of the conversation, or just plain tired. Morgan couldn’t tell anymore.
“In 2013, Jenny Delacourt was beaten in the face. The strike pattern was similar …”
Peppered with sarcasm, Donnie threw another name into the mix. “Don’t forget Sarah Evans,”
“Yes, you’re right.” Morgan picked up the ballpoint pen and opened her tattered book. While flipping through it, she explained, “But Jenny Delacourt survived. If we could talk to her, show her pictures …”
Donnie glared at her and at the notebook. “Are you okay, Mo?”
“I’m fine, why?”
He concentrated his gaze on the book. “I’m worried that you’re too emotionally invested in this case.”
Morgan looked up from her notes. “What?”
“You know what I mean,” he said.
Fay.
“Stop it,” Donnie said. “I see what you’re doing.”
Morgan didn’t stop. “Jenny’s husband was a drug dealer. Blaine Delacourt took the rap for it. His involvement with local gangs turned him into a likely suspect. Yet he pleaded innocent …”
“You’re trying to link these cases to your friend Fay.”
“Listen, Jenny survived! She’s still alive!”
“Mo.”
“I can interview Jenny …” She needed to convince him of this.
“Morgan!”
“What!?” She barked. She locked her undivided attention onto Donnie.
Donnie placed his hands on the table and leaned toward her, mollifying. “I’m not sure this is connected. If you take this route, I can’t support it.” He glanced toward the kitchen door before adding, “Angie and I have been talking.”
Morgan had an idea where this was going.
“I’m taking Holbrooke’s position when she retires at the end of the year.”
“I figured.” She looked down at her lap. She ached at the prospect of losing her partner. Who could fill his place?
He continued. “You’re grasping at nothing. Random slayings.” In a low, convincing voice he said, “You need to take one possibility into account.”
She didn’t want to hear it, but the question fell out of her mouth regardless. “What possibility?”
“There’s a possibility that Fay’s killer will never be caught.”
Morgan slammed her notebook closed. “No, Donnie. I’ve got a weird feeling about this one. There’s something missing that I can’t put my finger on. Look, I understand you think Bloomington is too far from the trail, but I’ve been mapping out these crimes on a timeline. Let’s say the killer went to school at North Side, then he went south and left a body trail.”
“Then there could be others,” Donnie argued. “But not Sarah Evans. Brian Carter is serving a life term for her murder. And I still have faith in the system. Carter was tried and convicted. Take these people off your list.”
Her face heated with anger. “If our serial-killer theory holds, he’s the wrong guy. Come on. The system fails sometimes. We have to look at this through a different lens.”
His tone was sharp, aggravated. “Right. Then the FBI or US Marshals needs to get involved.”
“Never mind then.” Morgan closed the kitten notebook and slammed it down on the table again.
Donnie shook his head. “Our lives could be so much easier if we turn it over …”
“Don’t say it again, Donnie.” Morgan lowered her voice to a near whisper. “No fucking way. This is my deal. I’m going to find this f-----.” Red-faced, she looked over her shoulder. Angie stood in the doorway, her long straight light-brown hair a shade lighter than it had been two weeks ago.
“How late are you two working?”
“I don’t know, honey. Till we get it figured out.” Donnie stretched his arms over his head.
How can Donnie, of all people, think I won’t find Fay’s murderer? Morgan thought she’d never get through to him. Now she wanted to be done with the conversation and stood up to clear their plates. “Thanks for letting us do this here, Angie.”
“It’s no problem. The girls are always looking for an excuse to eat pizza.” Angie collected the pizza box and two glasses, then followed Morgan into the kitchen. “Are you making any progress?”
“I think so. We’ve created a timeline, so to speak.”
“You’ve created a timeline.” Donnie followed them to the kitchen.
He was a smart cop, and Morgan respected him because he had mentored her. In the past he had always guided her in the right direction. But now, the dynamics between them were changing. Morgan rinsed the plates in the stainless-steel sink. Steam rose from the hot water; so, too, did Morgan’s temper.
“Morgan,” Donnie’s tone softened. “Can we please work on one case at a time? Let’s solve these two before assuming that the rest are linked to it.”
After stacking the plates in the dishwasher, Morgan spun to face him. “But it’s right in front of us. He … she … the killer is here. I can feel it.”
After Fay died, Morgan had had a series of emotional setbacks. When she was diagnosed with PITS—a post-traumatic stress disorder associated with Fay’s murder and with Morgan being so close to her when she died—the psychiatrist had told Morgan that she had a hole in her memory. She explained it away as the shock of losing her friend. “The memories will return some day,” the doctor had said. She had dismissed Morgan’s visions and dreams as forms of an imagined psychic bond between them. Because of this, Morgan lacked trust in her own gut feelings.
When the possibility entered her mind that Ekhard could have changed his name, she didn’t tell Donnie. Fay’s boyfriend Larry had disappeared, and investigators said he changed his name and left the country. Or left Indiana. She thought Ekhard could have killed Fay too. But she wouldn’t mention that to Donnie either. It was a crazy idea and she knew it.
They faced off. Morgan saw Donnie’s point of view but wouldn’t relinquish her own.
“Okay, guys,” Angie said. “It’s late. Get some rest and in the morning look at it with fresh eyes.”
“What’s wrong, Dad?” Annabel, Donnie and Angie’s fourteen-year-old daughter stood at the bottom of the stairs. “Don’t fight with Mo.” She hopped to Morgan’s side.
Morgan smiled up at Annabel, who she’d known since the girl was four years old. She had sprouted in the last few months; she was taller than her older sister Etta, and now, taller than Morgan too. Thin, with graceful arms, she had on a pair of red pajama pants and a matching Elmo T-shirt.
“Dad says you’re always right,” Annabel revealed.
Morgan looked from Annabel to Donnie, her eyebrows rising to her hairline.
“He says it all the time. He trusts your instincts, and so do I.” Annabel gave her a quick, generous hug.
“Thanks, Annabel. I’m glad someone trusts me,” Morgan said with a spoonful of smug.
“Annabel, whatcha need, sweetie?” Angie asked.
The girl shrugged. “I heard them arguing.”
“We’re not arguing. We’re just expressing our opinions,” Donnie said to his daughter.
“Strongly,” Morgan added. She thought they were arguing too. Her mouth stretched wide with a yawn that she coul
dn’t hide. Three late nights with Rob this week had made her irritable.
“You’re investigating that cheerleader from North Side High School, aren’t you? She was, like, my age.” Annabel’s brow creased with worry.
“Don’t you have a test tomorrow? I was just coming to say good night,” Angie said.
“Daddy, you’ll find the person who did that, won’t you?” Annabel pressed.
Donnie soothed Annabel’s worries. “It was a long time ago.”
Still, his daughter fretted, “It’s really scary how she died. Kids at school said someone hit her with a sledgehammer.”
This time, Donnie looked at his partner.
“It was on the news,” Morgan said.
His comforting voice lifted the tension in the room. “That’s not true. It wasn’t a sledgehammer. Those reporters don’t know anything. They just like to talk and talk.” He embraced his daughter, and she hugged him back, wrapping her arms around his wide middle.
“You’ll protect us, won’t you, Daddy?”
“You got that right, sweetheart.” Donnie gave her another bear hug. “Baby Bell, Morgan is solving that case. She’s figuring it out.”
Heat rose to Morgan’s face now for a different reason—embarrassment. Donnie’s unspoken apology went straight to her heart.
“All right, off to bed.” After saying good night, Angie whisked Annabel away and followed her up the stairs.
“Annabel is growing up.” Morgan watched them go.
“Scares me.” His gaze lingered on his wife and daughter.
With a gentle concession, Morgan said, “No. Don’t be scared. You and Angie are doing a great job. Both your daughters are strong young women. You should be proud.”
Uncertainty clouded his expression.
“It’s true.”
“Annabel trusts your judgment.” Light returned to Donnie’s eyes.
Morgan’s mouth curled upward; she couldn’t help it. She shook the crumbs off the pizza box over the sink and set it near the recycling bin. Still, she needed closure. “So where are we with this thing?”
Donnie let out a long breath. “As long as we talk to each other and communicate …”
Her head hung in exhaustion. The search was taking a toll. She had a plan, and she would stick to it no matter what Donnie said. For now she conceded, “Let’s run a few more searches for Ekhard, then put out an APB.”
Best Kept Secrets Page 13