What I've Done (Morgan Dane #4)(59)

“Yeah, I’m Dexter Montgomery.” He coughed, then expelled air smelling intensely of pot. “You can call me Dex.”

“Nice to meet you, Dex,” Lance introduced himself. Then he motioned toward Morgan. “This is my associate, Ms. Dane. We’re investigating possible suspicious activity in the neighborhood last Friday night. We were hoping to get a copy of the video feed from your security camera that faces the street.”

“What kind of suspicious activity?” Dex asked.

“The kind that suggests someone might be casing the neighborhood,” Lance lied. “We’re trying to verify the report now, which is why we’re here. Your camera feed would be most helpful.”

“You can’t be too careful these days,” Dex said. “I’ll cooperate.”

“Thank you.” Lance nodded. “I’ll need the name and number for your security company, and they’ll need your permission to release the video.”

Dex waved. “I handle the cameras myself. They don’t require monitoring. The video feeds automatically upload to the cloud, where they’re digitally stored for thirty days.” He blinked from Lance to Morgan, his brows lifting. “Are you a PI too?”

Morgan smiled. “No. I’m an attorney.”

“Are you a criminal attorney?” he asked in a hopeful voice that suggested he might need one of those.

“I am,” Morgan answered.

“Could I have your card?” Dex’s eyes brightened. “My younger cousin got himself into a jam. He’s a nice kid, but he isn’t the sharpest knife in the block. He needs a good lawyer.”

Morgan dug a card out of her huge bag.

“Maybe you can give him a discount?” Dex asked.

The wind kicked up some dead leaves next to the door. Morgan shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat. “Sure. Have him call me.”

“Where are my manners? It’s cold. Please, come in.” Cheered, Dex backed up and waved them into the house.

Lance and Morgan stepped inside. The door opened into a parquet-floored foyer. With a pronounced limp, Dex led them down a wood paneled hallway into a huge farmhouse kitchen. The slate-colored cabinets and dark hardwood floors showed wear, but the surfaces were spotless. Copper pots hung from a rack over a square island. On its smooth butcher-block countertop, Dex opened a laptop. Flames crackled in a brick fireplace, filling the room with dry heat.

Morgan unbuttoned her coat with a sigh of pleasure. Lance removed his jacket.

Dex cracked open the kitchen window. “Sorry about the smell. I picked up a leg full of shrapnel in Operation Desert Storm. Weed isn’t ideal, but I don’t want to take anything stronger long term. The risk of addiction to opioids is too high. Pot helps me get through the day.”

“My husband was in Iraq,” Morgan said.

“Is he still over there?” Dex asked.

“No.” Her eyes went sad. “He didn’t make it back home.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Dex nodded, his brow dropping with commiseration. “Can I offer you some coffee?”

“No, thank you.” Morgan shook her head.

“Let me get you a copy of that video.” Grimacing, Dex lowered himself onto a stool at the island. He woke the computer and typed on the keyboard. “Do you have a specific timespan?”

Morgan said, “Eight p.m. Friday to eight a.m. Saturday.”

Dex shoved a thumb drive into the USB slot. Two minutes later, he handed it to Morgan, apparently having forgotten that Lance existed.

Whatever worked.

“Thank you very much.” Morgan smiled.

Dex smiled back. He pushed to his feet with a wince, the effort clearly taxing him. “Anytime.”

He escorted them back to the door. “Would you let me know if you determine someone is casing the neighborhood? I can’t afford a breakin.”

“Yes, we will.” Morgan buttoned her coat.

“Thanks for the help.” Lance shook Dex’s hand.

Lance and Morgan stepped outside, and the door closed behind them.

Back in the Jeep, she marked the thumb drive as evidence and noted its origin.

“That was easy.” Lance put the Jeep in gear.

“Yes, though I don’t like lying.”

“But that’s one of the few benefits to not being a cop anymore.” Lance drove away from the house.

“That’s great as long as no one calls you on it.”





Chapter Twenty-Six

“There he is.” Sharp pointed to his computer screen. On the black-and-white grainy night image, a BMW sedan drove through Kieran Hart’s gates.

Excitement rushed through him. Could they have found a viable suspect? He was afraid that he wanted Haley to be innocent so badly, he’d see signs of guilt in everyone else without the evidence to back up the theory. Thankfully, he had Morgan and Lance to keep him in line.

Standing behind Sharp and looking over his shoulder, Morgan said, “Kieran Hart drives a metallic-gray BMW 750i sedan.”

“The license plate matches,” Sharp verified. “It’s definitely his car.”

“What does the time stamp say?” Morgan asked.

“Four o’clock.” Sharp took a screenshot and noted the time and date in the corner of the video.