Vulnerable (Morgans of Nashville) (5 page)

She stood in front of a clear fingerprint fuming chamber where a cup rested in the center. “We’re not partners.”

He couldn’t resist. “Deke wants us to talk to Amber Ryder.”

She opened a white packet of fingerprint developer, which was basically superglue, hung it in the chamber, and closed it. The packet would release dense fumes that would attach to the oil left behind by the fingerprints.

“When can you set up an interview with Amber?” He picked up a clear plastic jar filled with graphite that was also used to lift fingerprints.

“I can call her now.”

“She came to you on your turf. Invaded your space,” he said. “Next time we meet on our turf.”

“Here at the station?”

“Not yet. Pick a restaurant. A place where the food isn’t good.”

“There’s a diner in East Nashville. Smilie’s. Awful food.”

“I know the place. Smells like bleach half the time. It’ll work.”

She took the graphite jar from him. “Why?”

“This is our case. We’re in control. Not Amber.” He winked at her, his annoyance fading. Lately, he always got a little juiced when she was close. “I’m good at what I do, Georgia.”

She jabbed, “I’ve no doubt.”

“When this is all over, we should get dinner.” He imagined himself tossing a ball in the air and swinging, aiming for the fences.

“You’re not getting in my pants.”

Feigning hurt, he dropped his voice a notch. “One mention of dinner and your mind heads straight to the gutter. A guy like me has standards, too.”

She turned her attention back to a dozen paper bags tagged as evidence. “Go away.”

Annoyed she could segregate him so easily from her life, Jake slid his hand into his pocket and fingered the small pocketknife he always carried. “Send me the case notes. Set the meeting up for tomorrow. Early.”

“Done.”

“You’re a peach, Morgan.”

Frustration rumbled in her chest. “Why are you still here?”

* * *

Dalton Marlowe stood in front of the large picture window of his penthouse condominium overlooking downtown Nashville. From up here the lights on Broadway blinked distantly and brightly and reminded him of sparkling gems. He liked looking down on Broadway’s loud and bustling honky-tonks, which ran from the banks of the Cumberland River eight blocks west. From this vantage, he didn’t have to deal with the tourists and beggars who often crowded the streets. He liked the distance his money afforded him.

He raised a glass of bourbon to his lips and sipped, savoring the burn in his throat. Today was a day he’d have avoided if at all possible, but no matter how much money he made or how big he grew his business, there was no stopping the calendar.

Today was October second. In a little over a week his son would celebrate his twenty-third birthday. He tried to imagine what Mike would look like these days. He was a tall and muscular teen, but his face was round with enough baby fat to remind Dalton that his kid was still just that—a kid. Five years since Mike had hiked into the woods with those two other kids. Five years since his son vanished and his life fell into limbo.

From the moment he woke up on that day five years ago, he sensed trouble. Mike was hungover and in a foul mood. He skipped school the day before. It was the second time that week and Dalton had been annoyed as hell.

“When are you gonna get your shit together, Mike?” he shouted as the boy had cradled his head in his hands. “Keep this crap up and you’re going to get kicked off the football team.”

“Jesus, Dad, do you have to shout so much? I’m the f-ing star. I’m not gonna get kicked off as long as I keep throwing passes for TDs.”

“Don’t assume you got a lock on life. With me behind you, it might take you longer to fuck up your life, but keep at it, and you’ll find a way.”

“Dad,
stop
talking. My head is pounding.”

Dalton was frustrated and angry, because it sickened him to see so much promise get flushed down the toilet. He slammed a few doors and left his son asleep in his room. He went into the office and spent the better part of the day seething and thinking of ways to jerk a knot in that kid for his own good.

And then he came home to silence. He didn’t panic at first. Hell, he was relieved to have a drink and eat his dinner in peace. At midnight, his anger simmered again and by two in the morning he decided to cut Mike off from his allowance. And then before dawn, worry tightened his gut. It wasn’t the first time the kid had stayed out all night but that night brought a persistent worry that chewed at him relentlessly.

The next morning he received a call from Emma Reed. Her daughter Bethany had been on the science trip with Mike. Her voice was steeped with stress and worry when she told him that Bethany had not come home either. His annoyance gave way to enough worry that he started calling around. When he found out Amber Ryder was one of the three kids on the trip, his blood boiled. Mike was forbidden to see her, and yet, the kid went behind his father’s back. Knowing Amber Ryder was in the mix ramped up worry tenfold.

He called the cops, who dispatched officers to the park immediately. The first forty-eight hours were full of hope that the kids would be found. Percy Warner Park was a couple thousand acres and getting lost would be easy to do. The weather wasn’t bitterly cold, so he suspected the kids would be uncomfortable but would survive.

When search patrols found Amber, he and Emma were hopeful. But then Amber insisted she did not remember. Hope cracked and then crumbled with each passing day.

And now the fifth anniversary loomed.

Five years without his boy. Five long years. He never thought he’d miss the arguments, the piles of dirty laundry, and the thud of Mike’s size thirteen feet. But he missed it all. He ached.

He kept tabs on Amber for the last five years, putting detectives on her, thinking she’d make a mistake. Confess her sins to someone. But she never had. She always maintained she did not remember. She went about her life as if none of this happened.

Life. Mike and Bethany remained missing. They weren’t living their lives as God had intended. But Amber was, and she was back in town.

“You’ll pay for all this, you little bitch.”

* * *

That evening, Georgia stopped at the Chinese takeout restaurant just after nine and ordered stir fried vegetables, sauce on the side, and two egg rolls. Climbing the steps to her apartment, she realized how little time she spent there. No doubt, if not for this case, she’d have opted to work or sing. Every candle could only take so much burning and hers was just about extinguished.

She kicked her front door closed and set down the bag. Turning, she flipped the two dead bolts and then slid the chain in place. She’d upgraded all three of the locks when she moved in, knowing it was likely against the rental company’s policy, but figured it was easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.

She kicked off her shoes and pulled the rubber band from her hair, letting the red curls tumble over her shoulders. Her apartment was small, not more than seven hundred square feet with a living area, small dining space, and a galley kitchen. The furnishings in the den were nice but incomplete. When she first moved into the apartment, she was excited and ready to make it her own. She received approval to put up wallpaper on an accent wall and choose paints for her bedroom and bathroom. However, she discovered after painting one wall she did not have the patience for decorating. She could collect fingerprints for hours but putting a roller in paint and then to the wall was mind numbing. No wonder painters drank.

And so the paint cans were sealed up and the unopened rolls of wallpaper still leaned against the wall.

The furniture, straight from the factory showroom, created more of a department store feel than a designed, chic space. Feng Shui it wasn’t. But her one saving grace was the dozens of framed family pictures featuring her brothers, her parents, and even an old publicity still of her birth mother, Annie.

She set the food in the small kitchen and moved to her bedroom where she changed into an oversized Titans T-shirt and a blue pair of workout shorts that dated back to college.

Grabbing a plastic fork from the takeout bag, she didn’t bother with a plate as she moved straight to the small couch and sat down Indian style. She grabbed the remote and flipped on the cooking channel. Whenever her brothers caught her watching a cooking show they laughed. Her cooking skills fell far short of her mother’s culinary talents and though her brothers always smiled when they ate her cooking, she never missed the hesitations and grimaces. Why couldn’t she be more like her mother? Why did she always choose singing in a smoky honky-tonk over decorating or cooking? Why wasn’t she patient or even-tempered?

She stabbed a plump piece of shrimp. “Sorry, Mom. I’m trying, but I don’t ever think I’ll be you.”

Georgia popped the shrimp in her mouth. She ate in silence for a few minutes and watched Bobby Flay battle it out with an amateur cook for bragging rights. Growing restless, she switched the channel to the country music channel. With her appetite satisfied, she brewed a strong cup of coffee and reached for one of the last file boxes. She had read through the box’s content once before, but she wanted to be ready for her meeting tomorrow with Amber and Jake, which she confirmed hours ago by phone when Amber finally returned her call. Jake had his files. Tomorrow was set.

Flipping off the lid, she reached for the first slightly yellowed file and opened it. Though her father’s reports were typewritten, Buddy never missed a chance to double back and write more notes in the margin. Dark bold handwriting punctuated with question marks filled the edges of his interview assessment of Amber Ryder. “Consistent. Unwavering. Credible?”

In the body of his report, Buddy stated that the seventeen-year-old was “openly upset that she can’t remember.” He noted she cried often and asked if there were drugs available or hypnosis, anything to make her remember. She appeared desperate to find her friends. She couldn’t remember how she fell. Her last memory had stretched back to days before the fateful hike.

All this was consistent with the story she told Georgia yesterday.

Georgia sat back knowing the process of recreating a cold case took time. Her eighty-plus hours had given her a basic overview of the case so that she could discuss it, but so far nothing jumped out at her as a new development. Her hope was that the DNA retesting would also shed more light.

This case had a pull. It had sunk its claws into her; she would stick with it until she figured out what had happened to those missing kids.

* * *

Candlelight flickered from a few small half-melted candles. Light danced on the walls of the small cave and Elisa’s pale lifeless body lay prone, hands crossed over her chest. The space was so small one could not stand up straight for fear of scraping the rocky ceiling.

In the moments before life had left Elisa, their minds were painfully close. They were one. They shared the same desires, the same fears.

Letting go of her was harder than imagined. Maybe it was because a shared resemblance to Bethany stirred too many memories.

“You look so happy now. No more worries about who is the smartest.”

The cave’s cool temperatures would keep her safe, intact for several days. Even now, other than the stiffness of her limbs and the pulling around her mouth, she looked alive, her eyes partly open, staring sightlessly. She looked almost as if she could rise up and beg for more affection.

But a kiss to those lips found only coldness. Her chest did not rise and fall. Her spirit had left.

In the distance the wind cut through the trees. It would be dawn soon. As tempting as it was to linger, it was time to say good-bye. She’d been dead three days and soon the cops would be looking for Elisa and this area would be ground zero.

The blue ribbon of bruises around Elisa’s neck hugged the pale skin like jewelry. “I won’t ever forget you. We are together in my heart. Like the others.” A glance toward the back of the cave found a narrow entrance walled up five years ago with neatly stacked stone. Dangling from one of the jagged rocks on the right was a gold pendant and chain that glistened in the soft candlelight. For five years it hung here undiscovered and untouched.

“I know you miss me, too. Don’t think I forgot. I remember it all. In fact, I think about you every day. Of all the people in town, I know you especially are glad I’m back.”

 

“D
amn it!” Joey ran through the park, his fingers wrapped around the dog leash, searching the woods for his golden retriever, Cooper. Experience told him not to let the dog off the leash. But as Joey and Cooper moved deeper into the woods, the animal pulled more and more, wanting to run. And so Joey, feeling for the dog, let him go.

The dog never looked back and took off like a bat out of hell into the woods. In the distance, the dog barked, his cry high and desperate, the sure sign he was on the trail of a squirrel or rabbit. Joey peered into the thicket. “Cooper, come here!”

The dog yelped and barked but showed no signs of returning. Checking his watch and knowing he only had an hour to shower and get to work, he moved into the thicket, cursing as the branches pulled and tugged at his jacket. “Shit, I know better than to turn that dog loose.”

Joey picked up his pace, cutting through the woods until he came to a small clearing. He spotted the dog’s full golden tail wagging as he poked his head into a grouping of rocks. Cooper pawed at the rocks, sending a few tumbling. Maybe a nest of rabbits, he thought. Cooper barked louder.

Hoping the dog would remain distracted, Joey hurried and quickly grabbed hold of its red collar. He pulled hard to free the dog’s head from the small opening. When he did, Cooper looked at him, wagging his tail as if he’d found the mother lode.

Joey clicked the leash onto the collar. “Remedial training for you, pal.”

Cooper strained at the leash as he lunged again for the hole.

Curious, Joey rubbed the dog on the head and peered past him into the dark hole. A few inches closer and he was struck by the smell. “Something sure died in there.”

Cooper pawed at the rocks, barking to be released.

Joey fished his cell out of his back pocket, turned on the flashlight app, and cast it in the opening. The first time he looked, the dog nudged him from behind almost knocking him over. Joey pushed the dog aside and peered into the darkness.

His light bounced off jagged rocks, a dirt floor, and then . . . a bare foot, a leg, and a woman’s torso.

“Holy shit!” Joey shouted backing up as fast as his feet would carry him. In his haste, he dropped the leash, giving Cooper free rein to burrow into the hole again.

Joey quickly grappled for the leash and pulled the dog out of the hole. When the foul scent from the hole hit his nose again, the bagel he ate an hour ago twisted into a hard knot.

Hands shaking, he dialed 911. Cooper barked louder. When the operator answered, he sucked in a breath as he now dragged the hell-bent dog from the cave. “I’m in Percy Warner Park. And I think I just found a dead body.”

* * *

Jake Bishop arrived at the forensic lab with two hot cups of coffee. He drank his black and he knew Georgia drank hers with cream and two sugars. He wasn’t foolish enough to think a coffee peace offering would sweeten her mood, but the much-needed jolt of caffeine would take the edge off her customary morning bad humor.

He found her in deep thought sitting at her desk in the corner of the lab slumped over her files. She pulled up her hair and had already stuck a couple of pencils into the topknot. The look appealed in a hot, schoolteacher kind of way.

He set the coffee beside her. “Thanks for the synopsis and list of witnesses. Very detailed. After Amber, I want to talk to Tim Taylor, Mike’s best friend. And Mike’s father and the teachers at his school as well.”

She reached for the coffee, sipped and nodded. “Thank you. Why Tim?”

“Here to serve, Ms. Morgan.” He hesitated, enjoying his coffee before he answered. “Tim spent a lot of time with Mike. If anyone knew if the kid were into something that got him killed, Tim would know.”

“Okay.” She glanced up at him, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. “You’re smiling. Why?”

He sipped again, letting the question skitter past. “What did you find in the files last night? Anything new?”

“How do you know I reviewed them?”

Laughter rumbled in his chest. He set the cup down. “Right. You took the night off and did what, washed your hair or had some
me
time?”

“Funny.”

“You’re a Morgan and Morgans work. So what did you find?”

A frustrated shake of her head released a curl that she had tucked behind her ear. “I’m not sure I found anything. Much of what I reread were Buddy’s notes about Amber.”

Buddy Morgan. Hell of a cop and a man who two years after his death still cast a long shadow. “And what did he tell you about her?”

“The kid must have been interviewed dozens of times. Homicide cops, missing person cops, psychologists, and prosecutors. Buddy, like all the others, made her go over her story from beginning to end.”

“And?”

She took several more sips. “She never varied. Not once. She was adamant that she couldn’t remember what happened.”

“And Buddy believed her?”

“He could find no reason not to believe her. She never wavered, never gave them any reason to doubt her.”

“Maybe she’s a good liar.”

“Or maybe she’s telling the truth. Maybe she was a kid who went into the woods and something terrible happened and she escaped only to be roasted by her rescuers.”

Georgia Morgan could be a hardass on the job. He witnessed her going toe-to-toe with cops who violated her crime scene. She didn’t care whom she pissed off or irritated when it came to protecting evidence. But when it came to the injured, she might not gush or show much emotion, but deep feelings simmered under that thick skin.

For some reason, she might have a blind side for Amber. “So what is it about Amber Ryder that’s gotten under your skin?”

The frown deepened and she rose from her chair. “She’s not under my skin.”

“Right. What is it?”

She shoved out a sigh, shaking her head as she paced. “She seemed a little lost to me, that’s all.”

“And what does that have to do with anything?”

“I don’t know. There’s something vulnerable about her.”

“Please don’t tell me you have a gut feeling about her.”

She grimaced. “No. Not exactly.”

“Don’t be ashamed of it. Instinct is powerful.” But it was always important to verify those intangible feelings with facts. Hard evidence earned convictions.

He continued. “I’m worried there’s something we haven’t explored with Amber. The sooner we talk to her, the better. If anyone’s story might have changed in the last five years, it would be hers.”

“Why do you say that?” Georgia asked.

“She might not remember the story she told back then. Or,” he said with a nod to her, “some of the memories might have returned.”

“You think she’s making it all up?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t have to. It’s written all over you.”

Now she believed she could read him. “I never question you when it comes to forensic data and science. Hands down, you’re one of the best. But when it comes to people, you’re in my backyard.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“I am. And any self-respecting detective wouldn’t take anyone else at their word when it came to a key witness. What time are we meeting her?”

“In a half hour.”

“Not much of a heads up.”

“If you can’t make it, I’ll take care of it.”

“Nice try. I’ll drive.”

She hesitated as if she wondered if this was an issue worth battling.

He laughed. “Think you can tolerate surrendering control of the wheel?”

She studied him, her eyes narrowing. “Let’s go.”

* * *

When Jake and Georgia arrived at the diner, it was eight in the morning. The tiny restaurant on the side of I-40 smelled of greasy fried eggs, overdone pancakes, and bacon a little too extra crispy. Behind the packed counter stood three short-order cooks who faced a hot grill, each flipping and preparing meals with precision and speed.

Georgia’s stomach grew unsettled as she smelled the strong scents of grease and bleach. Tightening her hand on a backpack that served as purse and go-bag equipped with a camera and a few basic necessities she always carried, she realized a few nuked leftover veggies for breakfast would have to hold her.

She approached the hostess, digging deep for a smile. “Table for three.”

The hostess studied her seating chart and shook her head. “It’s a half hour wait.”

“Half hour? Who sits for a half hour eating breakfast?”

Jake moved toward the hostess, a tall leggy blonde with ample perky breasts, a bright smile, and red manicured nails. He glanced at her name badge and smiled. “Cassie, I don’t suppose we could get a table for three.”

Cassie moistened red lips while counting out three menus. “I can get you a table, doll.”

He winked. “You’re the best.”

Annoyance stabbed at Georgia. Did the man ever throttle it back?

Jake glanced past her out the picture window and nodded. “My guess is that blonde walking toward the door is her.”

Georgia turned to see Amber. She wore jeans, an oversized gray top, and cowboy boots. Her blond hair was swept into a ponytail that caught the sunlight, and she moved with a self-confident ease.

“Amber,” she said. “Glad you could make it.”

Amber tightened her fingers around the strap of her purse, nodding as she approached. “Thanks for taking a look at the case.”

“Detective Bishop would also like to talk to you.”

“Sure. I’ll talk to whomever you say.”

His gaze sharpened and the easy friendliness faded. He might have been joking seconds ago, but he was all business now.

“I’m Detective Jake Bishop. You must be Amber Ryder.”

She raised her chin a notch as little bits of tension worked their way through her body. “Detective.”

The three moved through the diner, following the hostess who seated them and gave each a laminated menu. As tempted as Georgia was to eat something, this meeting was business, not pleasure. She ordered coffee and a bagel. Jake asked for coffee, black. At first, Amber ordered only coffee, but when Jake insisted she eat, she added on pancakes.

When the coffees arrived, Jake sat back in his seat. The sharpened angles of his face softened and his posture relaxed. Anyone glancing at him now could easily imagine they were just three friends sitting down for a coffee and talking about the weather.

Jake grinned, his demeanor relaxed. “Georgia tells me you’ve been going to school in Dallas. Graduated?”

“At the end of last summer.” She sipped her coffee.

“And working, too, I hear?”

“An account manager in an advertising company.”

“That sounds exciting,” he said scratching the side of his head. “Have you been back to Nashville since you left five years ago?”

“No. I don’t think I’d have returned if Georgia hadn’t called.”

Jake turned his cup so that the handle faced right. He picked it up and sipped. “You still keep tabs on the case?”

“At first, I checked online a lot. It was kind of an obsession. Those missing kids were friends of mine. I’ll never forget them. But life does move on, and I started checking less and less.” She swiped away a small blond ringlet from her eyes.

“No one else has contacted you?”

“I received texts. I told Georgia about the old ones and showed her the latest. For whatever reason, some people attached themselves to the case and contact me as if we know each other.”

“Seems all the more reason to steer clear of Nashville.”

“I couldn’t stay away. If I can help find my friends then I will.” She fished her phone from her purse and scrolled through messages. “I received another text last night. I didn’t recognize the number, but I think my arrival has been noticed.”

“What did the text say?” Jake asked.

Amber turned her phone so he could see the message. It read:
You should be with Bethany and Mike
.

Jake frowned. “Have any idea what that means?”

“No, but it gave me the creeps,” Amber said. “There were plenty of people that didn’t believe my story, including Dalton Marlowe. I was harassed a lot. Amazing how unkind people can be. The constant harassment was a big part of the reason I left.”

“Do you recognize this number?”

“No.”

Jake tapped his finger on the table by the phone. “Do you mind?”

Amber shrugged. “No.”

He picked up the phone and hit redial. The phone rang five times but no one answered, and no voice mail picked up. He set the phone back down on the table between them.

She glanced at the display. “I called it back a couple of times, but no one answered. I even searched it on the Internet, but I couldn’t figure out who owned the number.”

“I’ll search it.”

Amber shook her head. “I thought five years was enough time. People would forget and leave me the hell alone.”

“It was a high-profile crime. And some people never move on.”

Jake sat back and waited as if he had all the time in the world. Georgia had seen him do this before when interviewing a suspect. Patient and easygoing, he rarely raised his voice with an interviewee and had a way of drawing them closer as if they could trust him. Sly as a fox, as her dad used to say.

The waitress, a brunette with a petite, full build, arrived with their order, setting a big pile of pancakes in front of Amber and the bagel in front of Georgia. She smiled at Jake as she reached for a coffeepot and warmed up his cup. “I’m sure I can get you something, hon.”

Jake grinned. “Thanks, but I’ve got to watch my weight or I’m gonna lose my boyish figure.”

The waitress laughed, her cheeks blushing as she tucked a curl behind her ear. Did the man enchant every woman? “Baby, you look just fine to me.”