What I've Done (Morgan Dane #4)(84)

“I have client confidentiality concerns.” Moral superiority lifted Sharp’s chin.

“And I have confidentiality concerns of my own. I do not have excellent sources because I’m careless with their identities. If you want to work with me, you’ll have to give me the same amount of professional respect you demand for yourself.”

“You’re right.” Sharp leaned back. She wasn’t going to put up with any of his bullshit. He was going to have to let go of his need to control everything, or he was going to end up with nothing. “I apologize.”

With a stiff bob of her head, Olivia started the first video. “This is the feed from the camera that covers the tables next to the dance floor.”

Nothing but static showed on the TV screen.

Sharp tossed her a good-faith tidbit. “The same camera wasn’t functioning the night Noah was killed.”

“The club is new. Glitches are to be expected, but it’s disappointing.” Olivia tapped on her keyboard. “Let’s try the video of the club entrance.”

Though slightly grainy on the big TV screen, the image of the front doors of the club began to roll.

Sharp settled back, his irritation with Olivia gone as he focused on the faces of the people arriving at Beats.

His instinct, honed by many years of investigation experience, began to tingle. Thirty minutes into the video, Sharp’s spine snapped straight.

“Isn’t that Noah Carter?” Olivia asked.

“Yes.” Sharp noted the location on the video. “Looks like the whole gang was at Beats that night, just like they said in their initial interview. There’s Noah, Chase, Isaac, Adam, and bingo—Justin.”

Sharp pulled out his phone and dialed Lance, but the call wouldn’t go through. Sharp sent him a text instead.

Justin had crossed paths with Shannon at Beats the night she went missing.





Chapter Thirty-Six

Lance steered the Town Car around a deep pothole in the road leading to Justin’s house. He was unable to avoid the next crater, and the car bounced over it. The car’s undercarriage scraped on a rise in the dirt, and he wished his Jeep’s windshield were fixed. Tall trees lined both sides of the road, casting deep shadows in the fading daylight.

Lance switched on the headlights. “I never like the coincidence of two murder cases so close together, but I never really expected to discover a link this strong between them.”

In the passenger seat, Morgan stretched her neck. “Me either, but for the first time, I’m encouraged about Haley’s case.”

Lance turned onto a skinny gravel driveway and drove a hundred yards. The headlights swept across a barnlike building. Time had faded the exterior to a color between brown and gray. Light seeped through blinds covering the windows, and a Toyota sat in front of the sliding double doors.

Lance parked next to Justin’s vehicle. “Looks like he’s home.”

They stepped out of the car. Lance doubted that the sun penetrated the thick forest even in the daytime. In early evening, damp cold hung in the air. Moss grew between the trees, and a large patch of mold crept up the side of the building.

Morgan rounded the front of the vehicle and stood next to him. She hunched her shoulders against the chill. “I supposed artists like solitude.”

“Serial killers like privacy too.”

Morgan started up the walk, a loose row of broken slate that led from the parking area to the door. “The mere fact that Justin and Shannon were both at the inn at the same time does not make him a serial killer.”

“You’re right,” Lance said. His phone buzzed with a text. “It’s from Sharp. He says Justin was definitely at Beats the night Shannon was killed. Now that puts him at the top of our suspect list.”

They walked to the door and knocked. He didn’t see a peephole or a surveillance camera, but the big picture window provided a view of the front door. Justin would know who was standing on his stoop. The door rolled open. Justin slumped in the opening. Surprise lifted his chin. He obviously hadn’t looked through his window. Had he been expecting someone else?

Lance expected him to shut the door in their faces. That’s what he would have done if he’d been in Justin’s shoes.

“What do you want?” Justin asked. His eyes were red, and ruddy patches covered his face. He’d been crying.

“We have a few follow-up questions,” Morgan said. “It’ll only take a few minutes of your time.”

“I don’t know.” His eyes darting to the woods behind Lance and Morgan, Justin raised a hand to his mouth and bit off a chunk of fingernail. His twitchiness reminded Lance of a drug addict who needed his fix.

Had Lance read him wrong?

He scanned the dim room behind Justin. The inside of the house was as messy as the outside. Clothes, trash, and junk mail had been tossed at random. It appeared as if it had been ransacked, but Lance got the feeling that’s the way it looked all the time. Was Justin normally a slob, or was the neglectful state of his living conditions a sign of depression, drug addiction, or something else?

Justin’s face screwed up with resentment, and he folded his arms over his thin chest. He glared at Lance. “I don’t have to talk to you.”

And yet he’d opened the door when neither of his friends had.

“We know,” Morgan coaxed. “And we appreciate your cooperation.”