Save Your Breath (Morgan Dane #6)(72)

And that explained why Joe hadn’t heard them calling for him.

“You never spoke to Olivia?” Sharp hooked a thumb in the front pocket of his jeans.

“No.” Joe leaned on the counter, spreading his palms wide. “I prefer email and text. I don’t like to talk on the phone. Even with hearing aids, it’s hard for me to distinguish words without having lips and facial expressions to read.”

Sharp’s head tilted. “The night Brandi Holmes was kidnapped, your brother said he was here with you. Was he?”

Joe stared at his dog. “As I said in my testimony, I don’t wear my hearing aids at night. In fact, I don’t like to wear them at all. They aren’t like glasses. Hearing can’t be returned to twenty-twenty. I’ve never been able to get used to the way they amplify sound. There’s always distortion and background noise. And it’s like wearing plugs in your ears all the time.”

“You didn’t give your brother an alibi?” Sharp asked.

“How could I?” Joe’s voice rose. “Even if I had wanted to, it was impossible.”

“But did you want to?” Sharp pressed.

Joe blinked. “I wish I could have given him an alibi.”

Lance switched gears. “Olivia found a technical issue with the evidence presented in your brother’s trial. Did she mention it to you?”

Beads of sweat broke out on Joe’s forehead. A vein on his temple throbbed. “No.”

Is he lying?

“What was wrong with the evidence?” Joe asked.

Lance explained about the break in the chain of custody of the hair samples.

“I don’t understand all that technical legal crap, but my brother will never get out of prison.” Joe shook his head, as if trying to convince himself.

“What if he could get an appeal?” Lance asked.

“It’s been years,” Joe stammered. “Could that even happen?”

“I don’t know,” Lance said. “But Olivia was onto something. And now she’s missing.”

“Well, Cliff is in prison. He didn’t take her.” Joe began to pace. He propped one hand on a hip and swept the other through his thick black hair. Distress radiated from him in waves.

“You’re sure you didn’t meet with her?” Sharp asked.

Joe stopped, his mouth dropping open as his gaze darted back and forth between Sharp and Lance. “You can’t think I had anything to do with her disappearance.”

That was exactly what Lance was thinking.

He leaned forward, placing both palms on the smooth wood. “Why does the thought of revealing an evidentiary error bother you? Do you believe Cliff is innocent? Is he going to be mad you didn’t give him a better alibi? Has he been locked up for three years for a crime he didn’t commit?”

Joe swallowed. “This conversation is over. Get out.” His voice roughened. Sensing her master’s emotions, the dog rose to her feet, her attention riveted on Joe.

Sharp didn’t break eye contact with Joe until Lance guided him toward the front door. They walked outside into the cold night air. They didn’t speak until they reached the car.

Sharp unlocked the vehicle with his fob.

“Let me drive.” Lance walked to the driver’s door.

Sharp didn’t argue and climbed into the passenger seat. “What did you think?”

“I’m not sure.” Lance turned the vehicle around. “He wasn’t happy about the idea that his brother’s conviction could be overturned.”

“Does he really think his brother is guilty or did Joe kill Brandi? Maybe he doesn’t want the case reopened?” Sharp leaned his head on the back of the seat. “We don’t have anything to tie him to Brandi or any of the other missing women.”

Lance steered the Prius onto the main road.

“Maybe we haven’t looked hard enough.” Sharp reached for his phone. “When he said he wished he could give his brother an alibi, he was lying his ass off.”

“Where to?” Lance asked.

“The office,” Sharp said. “I want to review everything we have on Joe Franklin and touch base with your mother and Stella. I also have to call Olivia’s sister and give her an update.”

Lance planned to call Morgan to let her know he’d be sleeping at the office. Sharp was losing control, which was understandable under the circumstances. But Lance wasn’t leaving him alone.





Chapter Thirty-Two

Morgan stirred. Pain in her neck jolted her awake. Sitting up in the hospital recliner, she blinked at the dawn light pouring through the open blinds.

A nurse was checking Gianna’s vital signs.

“You’re awake.” Gianna smiled.

Morgan rubbed at the cramp between her neck and shoulder. “How do you feel?”

“Fine,” Gianna said, though pain shadowed her eyes. “You should go home and get some sleep.”

“I just had some.” Morgan checked her watch. She’d slept at least five hours after Gianna had been brought back to her room after surgery.

The nurse left the room.

“Morgan, I appreciate all you do for me,” Gianna said.

“It’s my pleasure—”

“Let me talk.” Gianna rubbed the edge of the clear tape over the new catheter in her chest as if it itched. “A little more than two years ago, I didn’t care if I lived or died. Then Stella saved my life and helped me get clean. I had no faith in myself, but Stella did. I had no money. Kidney failure was a hard thing to accept. Even if I’d wanted to get some job skills and make something of myself, I was way too sick to work.” She dropped her hand to toy with the edge of the blanket. “I was pretty depressed, maybe even more than when I OD’d. That was an accident. I was careless with my life because I didn’t have much to live for. But after I got out of the hospital, I had to make a choice. Did I want to live or not? Dialysis requires commitment. It sucks, and if I didn’t really want to live, why bother? I could just stop going. No one could make me.”