What I've Done (Morgan Dane #4)(49)

Morgan moved on to study the rest of the kitchen photos.

A bag of potato chips, the open end rolled up and fastened with a paper clip, sat on the kitchen counter. A close-up shot of the kitchen sink showed a Ziploc bag of water and two glasses sitting in the bottom. An empty plate and a jar of peanut butter sat on the counter. Every piece of evidence was marked with a yellow evidence tag.

“The Ziploc bag was probably the ice pack he made for her. She also said he gave her water and potato chips.” Morgan pointed at the screen.

“He took out an empty plate and peanut butter.” Lance leaned over her shoulder. “Did someone come to the door before he finished putting his snack together?”

“Kieran?” Morgan asked. “Maybe he followed them from the bar.”

“Possible, but why would Noah let him in?” Sharp’s brows knitted. “Do they know each other?”

“We’ll have to ask Kieran when we see him.” Morgan wrote the question down.

Sharp continued. “If someone else killed Noah, he didn’t get out of the house without blood on his clothes and shoes. He could have tracked it into his car.”

Morgan followed Sharp’s train of thought. “If we find a suspect, a search of his car and house might turn up physical evidence. The problem is that we’d have to find enough probable cause to convince the sheriff a search is necessary and a judge to issue a warrant.”

“Yes,” Sharp said. “But I’ve worked with Colgate over the years. He’s a veteran cop, not a politician. He thinks Haley is guilty right now, but unlike the last DHIC, he won’t suppress evidence to get her convicted.”

Morgan gave Lance a questioning look. “DHIC?”

“Dickhead in charge,” Lance translated.

Sharp nodded. “If we get real evidence on a plausible suspect, Colgate will ask for a search warrant to look for bloody shoes and clothing.”

“Unfortunately, our theories don’t demonstrate probable cause.” Morgan closed her laptop. “It’s time to head to the crime scene. Let’s go find some evidence.”





Chapter Twenty-One

Lance parked his Jeep outside Noah Carter’s rented house. Crime scene tape fluttered from the doorway. He dug in his glove compartment for shoe covers and gloves. Sharp parked his Prius next to them. Lance took a camera from the center console. They would take their own pictures.

A sheriff’s deputy pulled in next to them. He got out and unlocked the door. Though forensics had finished collecting evidence, the sheriff had not yet released the scene. Booties and gloves were no longer required. Lance handed them out anyway. They had all seen the crime scene photos of the kitchen. No one wanted to step in blood, even if it was dry.

The deputy unlocked the door, then stepped back. “I’ll be in my vehicle. Let me know when you’re ready for me to lock up.”

Clearly, he had no burning desire to see the kitchen again. Lance couldn’t blame him. Lance followed Morgan and Sharp into the house. He was glad the cop stayed outside so they could speak freely without worrying about him overhearing.

The front door opened into a foyer with a small formal living room on the right. They walked down a short hallway to the family room. A couch faced a flat-screen TV. The room was neat and uncluttered, with no knickknacks aside from a few framed photos—about what Lance would expect from a young bachelor.

Morgan reviewed Haley’s memory of leaving the club, tripping, the ride home. “After Noah brought her chips, water, and an ice pack, Haley remembered kissing him on the sofa. Then she blanks out. She assumes they had sex but has no memory of it. But in the morning, she found her dress on the floor in here.”

They moved on to the kitchen. Lance went through the doorway and stepped to the side to make room for Morgan and Sharp. They stood in silence several minutes, taking in the scene.

“I can’t believe Haley was strong enough to overpower a healthy young man,” Lance said. “She barely weighs a hundred pounds. Noah had at least a fifty-pound weight advantage and six inches of reach on her.”

“Haley isn’t any kind of athlete either,” Morgan said. “If anything, she’s fragile.”

“He was stabbed in the front of the body.” Lance studied the space. “He must have been facing his killer at the time. Did he not see the knife coming? The dress wasn’t covered in blood, so she was naked when she supposedly stabbed him. She wasn’t hiding the weapon in her clothes.”

“Let’s run the mechanics of the prosecutor’s case,” Sharp suggested. “Noah was at the counter preparing a snack. Haley came in and grabbed the knife from the block without him seeing. He turned around and she stabbed him before he realized what was happening.”

“That’s the only way I see this occurring.” Lance realized with a sinking feeling that Sharp’s explanation was too plausible and would not help their defense.

From the expression in Sharp’s eyes, he knew it as well.

Sharp examined the spray of blood on the wall, then pointed to a spot on the floor in the middle of the largest bloodstain. “He would have been standing there. These spatters of blood”—he pointed to two groups of small blood spatters on the cabinets—“were the first two stabs. They didn’t cause much external bleeding, but a few drops would have flicked off the blade as it was pulled out of his body. The larger spray was from the last and fatal stab wound.”