Say You're Sorry
Page 13“I understand and respect that.” Horner nodded. “Now, what can I do for you?”
Lance pulled his phone from his pocket. “Actually, I have something for you.” He opened his YouTube app and handed the phone over the desk. “If you look at the time stamp on the video, it appears this was taken at the lake Thursday night.”
Horner’s eyes brightened as he watched.
“It’s easier to see on a bigger screen, but that’s Tessa Palmer trying to break up the fight,” Lance said.
Horner swiveled to face the desktop computer on the other leg of his L-shaped desk. He opened his browser and pulled up the video, freezing on a frame of Tessa between the two boys. “This looks like her boyfriend, Nick Zabrowski.”
“It does.”
“How did you find this?” Irritation flattened Horner’s mouth.
“I ran across it while working a missing-kid case. Jamie Lewis. It was just uploaded today.” There was no reason for Lance to maintain client confidentiality since Jamie was already an open case for the SFPD.
“Do you know who took this video?” Horner asked.
“No.” Lance debated about giving Red’s plate number to Horner. But the police could subpoena YouTube for the account details of the person who’d uploaded the video. And Lance might need more information from Mr. Noneofyourfuckingbusiness to find Jamie. The kid would be less cooperative if Lance gave him up to the police. He’d keep the kid’s ID in his back pocket for now.
“Thank you for bringing this to my attention. If you run across anything else, I’d appreciate a call.” Horner held out a hand.
Lance shook it. “Of course.”
“I want to let you know that I’ve requested to add a third detective and two more uniforms to our force. The recent rise in crime supports the budget increase. We have the full support of the mayor. Of course, the council is holding back on the approval until after the election, but I feel confident that once the mayor is reelected, Scarlet Falls will be hiring.”
“I’ve little doubt the case will be closed within the week.” Horner’s eyes shone with a predatory gleam.
“You have a good suspect?”
Horner smiled, his teeth as Hollywood-perfect as his hair. “All I can say is that it will all be over soon. This video will help. Thanks again. I won’t forget your cooperation when that position opens up, if you’re still interested in becoming a detective, that is.”
“I’ll give it some consideration,” Lance said.
He left the chief’s office with a head full of questions. He called Sharp from the car and updated him on the meeting. “Why is Horner taking a personal interest in the Palmer case?”
“Because he knows the girl’s grandparents and so does the mayor. They belong to the same fancypants country club. Plus, Horner’s a total publicity whore.”
“That explains a lot.” Lance told Sharp about Horner’s vague job offer.
“You’re really still interested in working for him?” Sharp asked.
“Maybe.” Yes.
“Remember, you don’t get to pick your cases. Go back to work for Horner, and you’ll be at his beck and call.”
“As opposed to being at your beck and call?” Lance joked.
“You’re comparing me to Horner? That’s an insult,” Sharp retorted. “You realize Horner stole this case from Stella because of the good press it will give him and the mayor.”
“Yes. I heard they’re waiting on a DNA test.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“I have my sources.” Sharp stopped by the local watering hole frequented by his former cop buddies a few times a week to pick up gossip. The Pub stocked an organic ale just for Sharp.
“Can you find out who owns this vehicle?” Lance gave him the plate number of Red’s Toyota.
“Will do. I’ll text it to you.” The line beeped, and Sharp said, “I have another call coming in. See how many of those other kids at the party you can ID. Somebody has to know where Jamie Lewis has been hiding.”
“On it.” Lance ended the call and set his phone on the console. He recognized three people on the video: Tessa, Jamie, and Nick. The only one of those three he could actually speak to was Morgan’s neighbor. He turned the car toward her house.
Chapter Eight
Rain tapped on the kitchen window. Morgan sipped a cup of coffee and read her emails from the DA’s office and the Human Resources department. Filling out employment and insurance forms made her new job real, and the first glimmer of interest in something outside the walls of the house flickered inside her.
Next to her, Sophie ate one tiny triangle of her peanut butter and jelly sandwich and worked on a drawing. Morgan glanced at the picture. The wild arcs of color were typical Sophie.
Fresh bursts of sadness and anger shot through her.
Once Tessa had been a little girl, coloring at her kitchen table. She should have had a long, happy life.
Morgan blinked away an image of the girl’s ruined body, the same picture that appeared in her nightmares over and over every time she closed her eyes.
Sophie looked up from her lopsided rainbow. As usual, tangled hair swayed around her daughter’s face. “I’m too old for naps.”
Morgan ignored the protest. “I’ll hang your rainbow on the fridge. Let’s go.”
Sophie slid from her chair and headed for her bedroom, feet dragging. But a morning of pre-school had worn her out and she was asleep in minutes. Her face was flushed, and Morgan suspected a back-to-school cold was looming. She paused to watch Sophie sleep for a few minutes. Awake, the child wasn’t still long enough. Her rosebud mouth was relaxed, giving her an innocence she rarely had when up and moving.
Soon, Sophie would be too old for naps. Like her sisters, she would outgrow rereadings of Goodnight Moon and the need to have her toast cut into perfectly even triangles. Morgan was going to miss these small, peaceful bits of time.
She pushed back at the creep of sadness.
Life didn’t stand still. She was moving forward.
Pulling the bedroom door almost closed, Morgan went back to the living room. Grandpa was in his recliner. He set aside his iPad. “I give up. The security camera isn’t working. I’ll have to check it tomorrow.”
Morgan pictured him climbing a ladder. “Why don’t you call the alarm company? That’s what we pay them for.”
“You’re right.” Grandpa gave her his full attention. “Are you all right? You haven’t been out of the house in days. It’s not healthy.” Grandpa was never afraid to say it like it was. “You never called Lance back, did you? He was worried about you.”
Morgan hadn’t returned his call. She’d also ignored messages from several neighbors, all presumably wanting to gossip about Tessa.
Grandpa frowned. “We haven’t even talked about Tessa’s death.”
Morgan didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t want to think about it. She’d relegated Tessa’s murder to the dark corner of her mind reserved for grief. But it was there, hovering, waiting for a trigger, which is why she’d successfully avoided the Internet and filled the last few days with craft projects and kiddie cartoons.