Tami Hoag - Deeper Than the Dead

“And, if you’ll remember, last night you were telling me he was talking about other bodies in the woods, and that his only playmate is afraid of him.”

Anne sighed. That was all true. But she couldn’t help feeling that being in school with supervision and guidance was a better option for helping Dennis Farman than turning him loose, isolating him, giving up on him. Clearly, no one was there for him at home, physically, emotionally, or otherwise. If she could reach him now, maybe she could turn him around.

“And where is Mr. Dream Detective?” Franny asked. “Has he called you back?”

“No.”

“Well, he needs to get his tight little ass over here to serve and protect or I’m not letting him have his way with you.”

“He’s not interested in me.”

“And who can blame him, Holly Hobbie?” he asked. “Do you have anything in your closet besides these Little House on the Prairie dresses?”

Anne looked down at her outfit-a white puffed-sleeve blouse and a loose navy blue dress that hit just above her ankles. “This is a perfectly nice jumper.”

Franny rolled his eyes. “Only kindergartners and kinky role-playing prostitutes wear jumpers.”

Finally, she found a smile, knowing that had been his intent. Irreverence as diversion.

Sobering, he pressed Dennis Farman’s notebook into her hands. “You have to take this to Garnett, Anne Marie. If you don’t, and something goes wrong with this kid in your classroom… You have to do it.”

Anne looked down at the notebook images of women screaming, blood spurting from their wounds. The first bell sounded. Their warning that lunch period was almost over. Her kids had gym first thing. They would go directly to Mr. Alvarez outdoors.

She sighed and nodded, already feeling Dennis Farman slipping beyond her grasp. “I’ll go now.”

Steve Morgan looked like he’d had a hard night: dark smudges under his tired blue eyes, pallor a little to the pasty side of healthy. He was taking Tylenol as Mendez and Vince entered his office.

Still, he came around his desk and greeted them with handshakes. He was in his thirties, tall and lanky with a firm grip and a full head of sandy, wavy hair.

“Detectives, what can I do for you?” he asked, returning to his cushy leather chair. “Have a seat.”

Vince sat down in one of the two visitors’ chairs as if he was settling in for a long stay.

“Jane Thomas called and filled me in on what’s been going on,” Morgan said. “I’ve been up in Sacramento since Tuesday morning doing some lobbying for the center. I got back late last night.”

“Then you know we’re looking into the murder of Lisa Warwick,” Mendez said.

“Yes. My daughter was one of the kids who found her body. Lisa was the nicest person in the world. Who would want to kill her?”

“That’s what we’d like to find out,” Mendez said. “Ms. Thomas told us you and Lisa worked together on some cases involving clients of the center.”

“Yes. Lisa used to work at the center. After she got her nurse’s degree, she decided to volunteer as an advocate. She worked the evening shift at the hospital. It left her days free.”

“How well did you know her?” Vince asked. “Well enough that she would have confided in you if something had been going on in her life?”

“Like what?”

“Trouble with a boyfriend, someone bothering her at work, that kind of thing.”

“One of the ER docs liked to play grab ass with the nurses,” Morgan said. “Lisa asked me what to do about it. That was maybe a year, year and a half ago. I had a conversation with the man about what a sexual harassment suit could do to his career, not to mention his marriage.”

“And he stopped?” Mendez asked, making notes.

“He left. Took a position on the East Coast.”

“That must have been some conversation,” Vince said.

“I make a living persuading people to see things my way.”

“You must be very good at it.”

“I do all right.”

“Ms. Warwick hadn’t said anything to you about any problems recently?” Mendez asked.

The lawyer shook his head. “I hadn’t seen her for a while.”

“She never called? You never ran into each other?” Vince asked. “Never met for coffee, anything like that?”

Morgan narrowed his eyes slightly. “What are you getting at, Detective?”

“We have reason to believe Ms. Warwick was seeing someone before her death,” Mendez said, watching him.

“I’m a happily married man,” Morgan said. “Lisa was a casual acquaintance. I’m very sorry that she’s dead, and it tears me up to think of what she must have gone through. She was a sweet, gentle person.”

“But you weren’t romantically involved,” Vince said, finding it curious Morgan hadn’t said so himself.

“No.”

“You know we have to ask,” Vince said apologetically.

“I understand that, yes.”

“Can you tell us where you were Monday night through Tuesday midday?” Mendez asked.

“I was at home Monday night. I left early Tuesday morning-around five-to drive to Sacramento.”

“We’ll talk to your wife, of course,” Vince said.

“Of course. I don’t have anything to hide.”

“You didn’t get back until last night?” Mendez asked.

“That’s right.”

“Did you know your daughter had found the body?”

“Yes. Sara-my wife-called and left messages at my hotel. I spoke with her later that evening.”

“But you didn’t come home.”

“I was in the middle of some very important business regarding funding for women’s shelters,” Morgan explained. “Wendy seemed to be fine, considering. Sara was shaken up but able to handle the situation. It didn’t make sense for me to drop the ball and go home.”

“You’re very dedicated to the center,” Vince said.

“They do important work that saves women’s lives and helps them make their lives better.”

“But you’re a man.”

Morgan raised his eyebrows. “Therefore I shouldn’t care about battered women? That’s a hell of an attitude.”

“I only meant that it isn’t often men get involved in women’s issues,” Vince said.

“Abuse isn’t a women’s issue, Detective. Abuse impacts families. Families aren’t gender specific.”

“Does it bother your wife that you give so much time to the center?” Mendez asked.

“Sara is very supportive,” Morgan said, checking his watch. “I’ve got a client coming in five minutes. Is there anything else, gentlemen?”

“You know Karly Vickers,” Mendez said.

“I’ve spoken with her. She was supposed to start work here Tuesday as a receptionist and file clerk. We were closed Monday. Don Quinn’s mother passed away.”

Morgan rose to his feet, signaling the meeting was over. “If I had any idea about any of this-Lisa’s murder, Karly Vickers-I would certainly tell you.”

“If anything comes to mind,” Mendez said, handing him a business card, “please call.”

“What do you think?” Mendez asked as they returned to the car.

“I think he couldn’t get us out of there fast enough,” Vince said. “I think you need to have a chat with Mrs. Morgan.”

Mr. Alvarez, who had played minor-league baseball, had chosen baseball for their gym unit. Mr. Alvarez liked a theme. During the baseball playoffs, they would play baseball. During the football playoffs, they would learn about football, and so on.

Tommy, who was the ultimate baseball fan, didn’t like playing baseball for gym, because they didn’t really play. Mr. Alvarez took time with each batter to help improve each one’s skills-a tall and tedious order for most of the girls, except for Wendy, who could catch and throw because her dad taught her. For Tommy, it was boring. They mostly just sat around.