Secrets Never Die (Morgan Dane #5)(51)

Next to her, Lance tapped an impatient boot on the cement. But they didn’t have to wait long. A tall, thin man opened the door. Behind him, a chime echoed in the house.

“I’m Morgan Dane, and this is my associate Lance Kruger. We’d like to speak with the supervisor, Mr. Dougherty.” Morgan offered him a business card. She had called ahead, so Dougherty should have been expecting them.

“I’m Stan Dougherty. Please come in.” Mr. Dougherty moved back to allow them inside. “Welcome to A Hand Up.”

“Thank you for seeing us.” Morgan stepped into the foyer, well aware that Dougherty had no obligation to cooperate. Lance crossed the threshold to stand next to her.

“We’re always happy to explain what we do.” Dougherty closed the door. “We’re very proud of our work in the community.”

“How many men live in the house?” Morgan glanced around. On one side of the entry, a staircase led upstairs. On the left was a living room with couches, chairs, and a TV.

“We are at full capacity with twelve men in residence.” Mr. Dougherty walked down a narrow hall. “I’m happy to say all but one of them are at work right now. And the one who is here is sleeping because he works the night shift. Employment is a requirement of residency.”

Morgan followed him.

Lance brought up the rear. “What happens if a resident gets fired?”

“We provide mandatory counseling and job search assistance.” Mr. Dougherty gestured to a small room tucked under the stairwell. “You would be surprised how many large corporations are willing to give convicted felons a second chance.”

Morgan entered first. The office was tiny. There was barely enough room for two narrow wooden chairs in front of a small desk. She sat on the hard seat and set her tote at her feet.

“Excuse the small office. We’ve tried to utilize most of the space for living arrangements. Though the men are housed dormitory-style upstairs, we want the house to feel more like a home than an institution. We don’t use the term halfway house anymore, but that’s truly what we want to accomplish here, providing a halfway point between prison and normal life. Simply turning parolees out on the street with no support or transition doesn’t serve them well.” Mr. Dougherty sidled between the desk and the wall to take his seat. “We provide the closest thing to a real home as possible, but with some rules to ensure they don’t fall right back into their old ways. They need to develop healthy work and life habits.”

“How long do most residents stay?” Lance eased into the chair next to Morgan. His wide frame dwarfed the seat. He looked like a parent at a grammar school teacher conference.

“Sixty days is the average, although that can be extended if necessary. We work with parole officers to develop a reentry plan for each man, but all are required to submit to mandatory alcohol and drug testing, as well as abide by all the specific house rules.” Mr. Dougherty leaned on his desk. “Now, how can I help you? You didn’t come here to learn about transitional housing.”

“We’d like to talk to you about Kirk Meade,” Morgan said.

Dougherty stiffened. “Is he in trouble?”

Morgan answered, “No.”

“Are you investigating Paul Knox’s murder?” Dougherty asked before she could elaborate. “Because the sheriff was already here. He spoke to Kirk, and I answered all of the questions he asked me. The sheriff seemed satisfied.”

“We represent Mr. Meade’s ex-wife,” Morgan clarified. “We’re looking for their son, Evan.”

“I saw the news this morning.” Dougherty’s tone was harsh. “Evan is wanted for Knox’s murder.”

“We believe that Evan is innocent. I can’t imagine anything worse than an innocent sixteen-year-old being put in prison.”

“That would be a terrible thing,” Dougherty admitted in a reluctant voice.

“I knew you, above all people, would understand.” Morgan gave his ego a subtle stroke. “We would like to double-check that Kirk was here that night, and we want to talk to Kirk in case he might have any idea where his son would have gone.”

“You are not the police. I am not obligated to give you any information.” Dougherty folded his arms on the desk. “I understand you want to protect your client. I need to do the same.”

“Of course you do. But a teenager is missing,” Morgan said in a soft voice. “Anything you can share would be appreciated.”

But Dougherty wasn’t buying her altruistic argument. He jabbed a finger at her in the air. “You can call him anything you want. That teenager is the prime suspect. The sheriff said he was armed and dangerous. But you’re working for his mother. You want to pin the crime on Kirk. Well, you can get that idea out of your head. Kirk checked in at seven thirty that night. He didn’t swipe out again until six a.m., when he went to work. Our residents are required to provide us with their weekly schedules. We know where they are at all times.” He checked his watch. A frown creased his face. “In fact, he should be here any minute.”

Dougherty looked concerned about the time. Was Kirk late?

“Does everyone have uniquely coded card keys?” Lance asked.

“Yes,” Dougherty said.

The door chime sounded in the hall. Dougherty went to the doorway and peered into the hallway.