“Hey, Margie.” Sharp leaned on the counter.
Margie rested both hands on her hips. “Lincoln Sharp. I haven’t seen you in ages.”
Sharp inclined his head beyond the counter. “There’s a reason for that.”
Margie’s head shake said it all. “It isn’t personal. He doesn’t believe in the whole concept of private investigation. I’d tread extra carefully today if I were you.” Margie dropped her voice. “He just canceled his annual hunting trip because of this case. This will be the first deer season he’ll miss in fifteen years. He is not in a good mood.”
Was he ever?
“Thanks, Margie,” Sharp said.
Margie continued to shake her head as she gestured over her shoulder with a thumb. “Go on back. He’s expecting you.”
The sheriff greeted them with a nod and a grunt in the corridor. King had showered, shaved, and donned a fresh uniform, but his eyes were weary. He hadn’t slept much, if at all. He issued commands to a deputy at his side. “Put Sharp in room one, Kruger in room two, and Ms. Dane in my office.”
Only Morgan warranted a title.
“You realize neither Mr. Sharp nor Mr. Kruger will answer any questions outside of my presence,” Morgan said without moving.
The sheriff muttered something that sounded like oh, hell under his breath. “I give up with you three. Just go in there.”
With a frustrated wave, he motioned toward an open doorway on their left. Lance led the way into a cramped conference room full of stale air and the smell of burned coffee.
The sheriff came in behind them. The office chair squealed as he dropped his bulk into it. “No doubt you’ve had plenty of time to get your stories straight anyway.”
“Mr. Sharp and Mr. Kruger gave full statements last night,” Morgan pointed out. “Were there any discrepancies?”
“No,” the sheriff admitted.
“Before we get started, I have news for you.” King nodded at Morgan. “I had a talk with Tyler Green about your stalker problem. He claimed not to know anything about it. But the most interesting takeaway from our conversation was that he has struck a deal with the prosecutor’s office.”
“What deal?” Morgan stiffened.
“His case was given to Esposito, who offered him reduced charges for time served.” The sheriff’s frown deepened. “I impressed upon him the importance of staying far away from you if he wanted to avoid further incarcerations. But Tyler isn’t known for his self-control or intelligence. Please be careful.”
“Thank you,” Morgan said. “I appreciate the notice.”
King nodded, then turned to Lance. “Now back to the case. Do you remember going to PJ’s when you were a boy?”
“Yes,” Lance said.
Sheriff King cocked his head. “Your dad went there a few times a week. Mary Fox worked there. Do you remember her?”
“No.” Lance shook his head. “I was ten.
All he remembered was that the burgers were huge and he could watch TV while he ate.
“Your father’s friends remembered Mary. You talked to them yesterday, right? Brian and Natalie Leed and Stan Adams?” the sheriff asked. “How well do you remember them from your childhood?”
“I have some memories.” Lance shifted his weight. The hard plastic chair dug in to his back. “But once my dad went missing, I didn’t see any of them.”
The sheriff leaned forward. “Do you remember your mother acting strangely back then?”
“No,” Lance said. His father had hidden that well.
“Do you remember your father being depressed?” the sheriff asked.
“No,” Lance answered.
“Kids don’t always know what’s really going on with their parents.” The sheriff leaned back and crossed his arms.
Discomfort swam around in Lance’s chest. Where was the sheriff going with his questions?
King turned to Sharp. “Your original reports mentioned that Vic was upset, depressed about his wife’s deteriorating mental health.”
Sharp nodded.
“Mary Fox had a prior arrest for soliciting.” The sheriff scrutinized their faces, one at a time. “But I suspect you already knew that.”
Discomfort curled Lance’s fingers into fists. Next to him, Morgan must have felt his tension building. She pressed her leg against his, a silent plea for him to cool it.
“Where are you going with these questions, Sheriff?” she asked.
Sheriff King straightened. “Once we cleared the mud from the vehicle, we found a brick on the floor on the driver’s side, as if someone had used it to jam the gas pedal down so the car would drive into the lake all by itself.”
Lance’s gut twisted. He wanted the sheriff to get to the point, but his mouth would not form words. He felt like King was toying with him, leading him along, like a cow being coaxed into the slaughterhouse. They all knew Mary hadn’t driven the car into the lake.
“Yesterday, the dive team scanned the lake bottom where we found the car. They found no other remains.” The sheriff leaned forward, his elbows hitting the table. “You’re sure you haven’t heard from your father over the years?”
“What?” Shock freed Lance’s voice. “No.”
“How about your mother?” King interlaced his fingers. “Are you sure she hasn’t heard from him?”
“Yes.” Lance’s spine snapped straight.
“I’m giving this to you.” The sheriff pulled a folded paper from his pocket and dropped it on the table. “These are the things I’d like from your mother. Either you get them for me, or I’ll be forced to go to her.” His big hand settled on top of the page. “I’m doing my best to be considerate of her fragility, but I can’t let it undermine the investigation.”
Morgan beat Lance to the paper. He kept his eyes on the sheriff while she unfolded and read it. “He wants the last twelve months of your mother’s e-mail and phone records.”
“My mother is a victim here.” Anger replaced Lance’s unease.
The sheriff held up a hand to cut him off. “Here’s what I think might have happened. Your dad was depressed and lonely. He turned to Mary for comfort, maybe even paid for it. But she was known for being less than kind. Maybe Mary threatened to tell your mother. Maybe Vic strangled her, put her in his trunk, and sent his car into Grey Lake. Maybe that’s why your father left town, never to be seen again. And if Vic is alive, I also have to wonder if he’s contacted your mother over the years.”
Lance surged to his feet. Morgan had him by the arm on one side, Sharp on the other.
Morgan was whispering in his ear. Her tone was calming, but Lance couldn’t hear the words over the roar of fury in his head.
She shoved her way in front of Lance, blocking him with her body. “This interview is over, Sheriff.”
“My father was a victim.” But Lance’s voice was strained. Could the sheriff be right? How much did Lance really remember about his dad? Some of his memories had already been proven false.
“Will you call your mother about these records or should I?” the sheriff asked.
“I’ll do it.” Lance forced the words out of his locked jaws.
The sheriff’s posture eased and his tired eyes gleamed with satisfaction. He didn’t retreat from his position or his statement. “I think your father skipped town because he’d committed murder. Now I need to know if your mother was an accomplice.”