Morgan braced herself for what she suspected was coming: crime scene and/or autopsy photos. This wasn’t her first rodeo. Stabbings could be particularly nasty. A knife could do more damage than a bullet.
The sheriff slid three photographs across the desk. In the first, a young man lay on his stomach, his arms stretched out ahead of him, as if he had been trying to pull himself though the grass. Photo number two was a long trail of blood, and the third picture was clearly where he had been killed.
Morgan had seen many photos of dead bodies, but the sight never failed to twist her heart into knots.
Colgate stabbed the photo of the body with a forefinger. “With three knife wounds, Noah tried to crawl for help, but he bled out before he was feet from the house.”
“Where did the knife come from?” she asked.
“The block on the kitchen counter.”
“Were there any other prints on the weapon?”
“No,” Colgate said in a satisfied tone.
“Not even Noah Carter’s?”
Colgate frowned. “No.”
Interesting.
“This morning, I had to go to Noah’s parents’ house and tell them their son was dead,” Colgate said.
“I’m sorry. That must have been awful for you, and I can’t even imagine their grief.” While she needed objectivity to do her job, Morgan never wanted to lose sight of the fact that cases were about people.
The sheriff’s brows lifted a millimeter, as if he were surprised by her comment. “Haley Powell killed Noah Carter.”
Morgan slid her notepad into her tote and stood. “I need to see my client.”
Colgate pushed off his desk and got to his feet. They left his office, and he led her to an empty interview room. “I’ll have Ms. Powell brought in.”
“Thank you.” Morgan set her tote on the floor next to a chair. She settled at the table with her legal pad and pen. A few minutes later, footsteps shuffled in the hall. Her first look at her client brought Morgan to her feet.
The petite girl wore a skimpy black dress. A blanket was draped over her shoulders, and her eyes were frighteningly blank. Flecks of dried blood dotted the skin of her upper arms and neck. Mascara ringed her eyes, and makeup smeared her face. Two nights in a holding cell would make anyone look ragged, but Haley didn’t look like a suspect. She looked like a victim.
The deputy led her inside the room and steered her toward a chair.
Anger surged through Morgan’s veins. “Remove those handcuffs.”
The deputy spun Haley around like a doll and unlocked the cuffs. The girl didn’t rub her wrists or flex her fingers the way that most suspects did when freed from handcuffs. She just stood there, barefoot and shivering, her arms hanging limply at her sides.
Morgan went to her, wrapping the rough blanket more tightly around her shoulders. “Where are her shoes?”
The deputy shrugged. “Locked up with her personal possessions. The heels were pointy.”
Holding cells were rarely, if ever, cleaned. They were commonly covered in feces, vomit, and urine, and Haley had been left in one in her bare feet. More scare tactics from the sheriff?
The deputy left the room, locking the door behind him.
Taking the girl by the shoulders, Morgan guided her to a chair and eased her down into it. The girl wouldn’t meet her gaze but stared at her hands instead.
“Haley, I’m Morgan Dane. Your mother hired me to be your lawyer. Do you know why you’re here?”
Shrugging, Haley picked at her thumbnail. Blood oozed from the skin. Morgan took the girl’s hands in her own. Haley’s were ice-cold. Her nails had been painted dark blue, but the polish was peeling, and her nails were bitten below the quick.
“How do you feel? When was the last time you took your medication?” Morgan lifted the blanket. She didn’t see any serious injuries, but a few bruises dotted Haley’s pale, bare leg. Her feet were as filthy as Morgan would expect.
Haley’s breath hitched, but she remained silent, shifting her focus from her hands to a spot over Morgan’s shoulder.
Morgan crouched in front of the girl and rubbed her shoulders. “Are you hurt?”
For the first time, Haley’s gaze rose to meet Morgan’s, but the expression in her eyes looked distant. Several seconds passed before Haley seemed to fully focus.
She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
Think?
“Haley, do you know where you are?”
The girl sniffed and nodded. “The police think I killed Noah.” She might be an adult, but her voice was as soft as a child’s.
Morgan’s nerves chilled. “Can you tell me what happened?”
“I woke up. I was naked. There was blood on me. On everything. A trail went out the bedroom door. I followed it. My dress was in the family room on the floor. I couldn’t find Noah. Then I did, and he was . . .” She groaned, bent double, and retched.
Morgan moved a plastic garbage pail from the corner to Haley’s side. But the girl straightened and shook her head.
“You stayed at Noah’s house Friday night?” Morgan asked.
Haley lifted a thin shoulder. “I guess so.”
“You guess? You don’t remember?”
She shook her head. “I was at that new club, Beats, with Piper. I remember talking to Noah. I liked him.” Her chest heaved with a breath. “I think I went home with him. Then I woke up in his bed.”
“How many drinks did you have?” Morgan asked.
“I don’t remember.” She winced. “But I never have more than two.”
Not enough to cause even a petite person to black out. Did her condition affect her ability to metabolize alcohol? Or had she been drugged?
Haley had been seen leaving the club with Noah at one a.m. Saturday morning. If Haley had been slipped a drug, two and a half days had passed since she’d consumed it. That was far too long for many date-rape drugs to remain in her system. But there was still a chance.
Morgan stood, turned, and banged on the door, her own pain numbed by adrenaline and fury. The deputy opened the door.
“I want to see the sheriff,” Morgan demanded. “Now.”
The deputy withdrew. Morgan heard the scrape and click of the door lock.
A few minutes later, the door opened, and Colgate stepped inside.
“Is my client under arrest?” Morgan asked.
“I expect the arrest warrant shortly.” Colgate’s eyes narrowed warily. “The preliminary autopsy just came in. The DA is reviewing it.”
“Haley has no memory of Friday night. She needs to be seen by a doctor immediately.”
“Now she’s claiming amnesia? How convenient.” Colgate all but rolled his eyes. “She didn’t claim to have amnesia when I interviewed her.”
“Someone could have slipped a date-rape drug into her drink at the club. We both know it happens all the time. Or her Addison’s disease could have flared up.”
Colgate looked past Morgan at Haley. His face hardened. “I know you’re a pretty slick lawyer, but even you can’t spin these facts to favor your client. She isn’t the victim here. She buried a knife in Noah Carter’s belly.”
Haley flinched as if he’d struck her.
“She doesn’t remember what happened.” Frustration clipped Morgan’s words. “She needs to be examined at the hospital. Though if she were drugged and/or raped, it might be too late for the lab to confirm because you held her all weekend without doing anything.”
Colgate’s jaw sawed.
Morgan had had it. “If she isn’t under arrest, I’m taking her to the hospital. I also want her to have a SAFE exam.” Sexual assault forensics examiners were specifically trained to collect and preserve evidence of sexual assault. “Regardless of what did or did not happen to Haley, a SAFE nurse is the best chance at recovering trace evidence or DNA.”
Colgate couldn’t argue with that. He propped his hands on his hips. “I’m not letting her out of my custody. I’ll have a deputy take her to the ER, though I think it’s a bullshit claim. She doesn’t have a scratch on her.”
Muttering under his breath, Colgate turned away.
“Time is of the essence, Sheriff,” Morgan called after him. But she already feared it was too late.
Chapter Seven