Save Your Breath (Morgan Dane #6)(33)

They followed a dirt footpath from the house to the barn.

“From the smell of this place, I wouldn’t want to buy their milk.” Sharp skirted the carcass of a large rat. A scurrying sound inside the barn wall suggested there were live ones as well.

“Agreed,” Lance said. “Let’s hope the place was better maintained when they were in business.”

“I doubt it. This looks like long-term neglect.”

They walked into the large indoor enclosure that had housed the animals. Even with the cows gone, the pungent scents of manure and urine bit into Lance’s nostrils. Cobwebs clung to the few pieces of rusted equipment that remained.

The center space was two stories high. On either side, the building had two floors of offices and storage. Windows overlooked what appeared to be the area where the cows had been milked. Across the back of the building, a catwalk connected the two sides and presumably gave management a bird’s-eye view of the operation.

The barn was empty except for a few feral-looking cats. Lance poked his head into an office. Dust coated the file cabinets and battered desk. A gray tabby arched its back and hissed before darting through an open doorway into an adjoining office.

“I guess Mr. Olander isn’t here.” Sharp walked outside and headed back toward the house.

“We’ll have to try again.” Lance fell into step beside him. “Maybe we should call first.”

“When you warn suspects, you give them the opportunity to hide the incriminating shit.” Sharp liked to drop in on people.

“True. But consideration can produce cooperation. We aren’t police anymore. We can’t compel anyone to talk to us.” Lance stopped. “Wait. Do you have some reason to suspect Olander took Olivia?”

“No, but it would be easy to hide a woman in a big empty place like this.” Sharp turned in a circle.

“What would be his motivation?” Lance asked.

Sharp propped one hand on his hip. “Mrs. Olander came to Morgan’s office alone. Why didn’t her husband go with her? Maybe Mr. Olander didn’t want to appeal his son’s case.”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“Maybe he killed his daughter-in-law.”

“Do we have a reason why he might have done that?”

“No.” Sharp was reaching. “What if he knows his son is guilty, and he helped him try to cover it up?”

“That sounds more plausible.”

Sharp resumed walking. “Let’s go look at the other house.”

Lance followed Sharp to the footpath to Erik’s house. They peered through each window and moved on. The rooms seemed empty, not just of people but of personal possessions as well. The furniture had been pared down to the bare essentials, and cardboard moving boxes were stacked in what Lance assumed was the family room at the back of the house.

“This window is unlocked. Give me a boost.” Sharp tugged on a pair of gloves and pushed up a window sash. “We have the place to ourselves. We might not get this opportunity again.”

Lance boosted him over the sill. Then he returned to the rear corner of the building to watch the long driveway in case Mr. Olander came home. Sharp returned in fifteen minutes. “I checked the closets, attic, and basement. She’s not here. Let’s look next door.”

They jogged across the meadow and repeated the process at the main house, except Sharp had to jimmy a window to gain access.

“There’s no interior basement door,” Sharp said as he climbed out of the window and dropped onto the grass. He reached up to close the window.

“It’s an old house. It was common to only have an exterior entrance to the basement.”

They moved to a set of bulkhead doors around back. A chain and padlock secured the handles.

“We’ve already searched ninety percent of the property. We can rule out this last space pretty quick.” Sharp took lockpick tools from his wallet and began to work on the lock.

Lance didn’t bother to argue. This was not a normal investigation. If there was any chance—no matter how remote—that Olivia was in the Olanders’ basement, then they would look.

Sharp had the padlock off in two minutes.

“Wait.” Lance pulled gloves from his pocket and put them on.

They each grabbed a handle. The doors were rusted around the edges but opened easily. Wooden stairs descended into darkness. Sharp took a flashlight from his jacket pocket and shone it into the opening. All they could see was a few square feet of hard-packed earth and footprints.

“Someone’s been down there recently.” Sharp descended the steps with no hesitation. He shone the flashlight straight down and examined the footprints in the dust. “Looks like the same pair of boots made all these tracks.”

Lance followed him, switching on his own flashlight. Partitions divided the basement into what appeared to be storage areas. Shelves covered with dusty boxes lined the first area. Block print labeled the boxes as CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS and ERIK’S LITTLE LEAGUE TROPHIES.

Lance lifted a few lids. The labels seemed to be accurate.

They moved to the next section, a huge shelved closet where labels on the shelves indicated the family had stored a large quantity of nonperishable food. A box of MREs and a few mason jars of home-canned tomatoes and peaches remained.

The last area held four old steamer trunks.