The house they arrived at was nothing out of the ordinary. It was well looked after with a nice front lawn and a waist-high chain-link fence surrounding the perimeter. Morgan swung open the gate and gaped up at the three-story house, recalling the days when he and Rachel had lived in something so normal. What they lived in now was far from special, but it was a lot more spacious. It had to be, especially now that they had a kid together.
Gary led the way, pounding on the front door while Morgan hung back. A large woman with a double chin opened up, cowering behind her door as best as her width would allow. She assessed the pair of them from sunken eyes, her pale skin giving her a nocturnal look.
“Mrs. Patterson?” Gary said.
“That’s right. Are you the detective I spoke to on the phone?”
Gary nodded. “Detective Lee.”
“Come in, then.”
Morgan followed in silence, letting Gary do the talking as they walked in single file down the narrow corridor. He shut the door behind him, cutting off all light except the one at the far end of the hallway where Mrs. Patterson was leading them. They came out in a dingy kitchen, dry cereal crunching underfoot. There was a sour smell—old milk, perhaps—and Morgan limited his breathing to short inhales while they all took seats at the round table.
“When did you report your vehicle stolen?” Gary asked. He had the information in a notebook in his coat pocket, but Morgan guessed he just wanted to hear it for himself.
“Oh, a couple weeks ago.”
“And where was the last place you saw it?”
“Outside. It was parked.”
Morgan glanced around the room while the two of them went through the dull, unhelpful ritual of getting their facts straight. Unless anything leapt out at him as a lie, there was nothing for him in this conversation. Not yet, anyway. Not until he could ask about the British woman.
That voice still haunted him. Did she really have Mason Black in her possession? What was he supposed to tell his client? Amy was a nice girl, and Morgan didn’t want to get her hopes up by making her think her father was still alive if he wasn’t. That was the thing with psychopaths—you couldn’t trust them as far as you could throw them. Morgan had no reason whatsoever to believe the kidnapper, and he wouldn’t do so until he saw Mason with his own two eyes. If that was ever going to happen.
They eventually settled into silence, Gary studying his notebook while the black-ringed, panda-like eyes of Mrs. Patterson watched him like she was getting answers. Poor thing, Morgan thought. This meeting wasn’t in place to give her an explanation; it was to clarify some facts in hope that they could squeeze some kind of clue out of her. Which didn’t look likely.
“Mrs. Patterson,” Morgan said, leaning forward and tucking his hands together on the table. “You said you didn’t see or hear anything out of the ordinary that night, but what about the days leading up to it? There was no sign of hotwiring, so the thief must have your car key.”
The woman looked up at the ceiling without moving her head. It was like she was searching her brain for answers that she couldn’t otherwise get. “No, nothing seemed unusual to me.”
“No interactions with a British woman?”
“Definitely not. Why, should I have?”
Morgan chewed his lip and sat back, hopeless. As he did so, Gary startled and stood up, digging into his pocket and retrieving a cell phone. The light brightened his face, and he excused himself, answering it before he left the room and leaving them in silence.
The woman adjusted her blouse and leaned forward, stray wisps of dry hair dangling over her white face. “Are you sure I can’t get you some coffee?”
“No thanks,” Morgan said. There was no way in hell he would drink anything from a kitchen this dirty, but he appreciated the icebreaker. All he had to do was make some small talk until Gary came back to them. “He really is a good detective, you know.”
“Who? Your partner?”
Morgan didn’t want to let on that he wasn’t a cop, so he just nodded.
“I can believe it. He seems very professional.” Mrs. Patterson tucked the wandering hair over her ear, revealing a series of piercings through her lobe. “Is it true that this woman—the one who took my car—used it to commit some kind of crime?”
“Where did you hear that?”
“People talk. Especially in this end of town.”
“There’s only so much I can say. We should wait for—”
Right on cue, Gary stormed into the room. His usual smile had disappeared as he thanked Mrs. Patterson for her time and waved Morgan toward the door, the cell phone still in his hand. “We have to go,” he said. “Right now.”
Morgan knew something was wrong. Thirty years of friendship made his tones and expressions as recognizable as his own. He stood up, excused himself from the table, and followed Gary out of the front door, struggling to keep up. “Will you slow down?”
“I can’t,” Gary said. “Urgent business.”
“Whatever that means.” Morgan went with him to the car, but he didn’t get in until he got answers. “Don’t just lead me blindly into… whatever this is. Tell me what’s going on.”
Gary leaned over the car from the opposite side. “They just found the stolen car.”
Morgan recoiled, shocked. “They did?”
“Right next to a dead cop’s body. Which means this is going to become a homicide investigation real soon, and security is going to tighten up. Now get in. We need answers before I’m told to keep my distance from you.”
Not needing to be told twice, Morgan climbed into the car and buckled up. Soon, every move he made would be against MPD rules, and that was typical. The way he saw it, the police had rules to abide by, and that kept them from making certain moves with any kind of urgency. He, on the other hand, was free to do whatever he liked, as long as he didn’t break any laws. But with the way things were going—and how desperate he was to locate Mason Black—he would do just about anything to get results. “Let’s go.”