A second line of blood led from the smear out the open door. This trail was not composed of dots but one long streak. Through the doorway, Haley could see the large backyard and the woods in the distance.
The blood crossed the threshold and continued onto the porch.
Her legs threatened to give out as she stumbled out the back door. At the bottom of the porch steps, she saw him.
No.
Her breath froze in her throat. Her knees buckled. The sky spun. She put a hand on the nearby railing to steady herself.
Clearly crawling or dragging himself, Noah had turned right, toward the nearest neighbor’s house, but he hadn’t gotten far. He was sprawled on his side, his arms flung forward. His eyes, once a warm brown, were empty and opaque. He was wearing the same dorky Doctor Who T-shirt she’d thought was so adorable the night before. Saturated, the spinning TARDIS was barely recognizable.
Numb, she sank to her knees beside the body. The cold didn’t register on the bare skin of her legs. One hand reached for Noah. She brushed a lock of hair off his forehead. A bug crawled across his face. She snatched her hand away as if burned.
She sank back onto her heels. Gasping, she stared down at her open palms and the blood on her hands. A scream ripped from her throat.
What have I done?
Chapter Two
“Lincoln Sharp, private investigator.” Closing the door on the March wind, Sharp assessed the woman in the foyer of Sharp Investigations. “How can I help you?”
“My name is Olivia Cruz. You can call me Olivia.” She unbuttoned her khaki trench coat. Black slacks and a pale-blue blouse draped a fit-looking body. She was short, even in her pointy high heels. Her dark eyes, deep-brown hair, and olive skin suggested some Hispanic ancestry. “I’m looking for Morgan Dane.”
Morgan, a former prosecutor turned criminal defense attorney, rented an office in Sharp’s converted duplex.
“Ms. Dane isn’t in this morning. You should call and make an appointment.”
“I tried that.” Olivia slid her hand into a sleek black bag and withdrew a business card. “She hasn’t returned my message.”
Sharp read the card she handed him.
“You’re a reporter,” he said with disdain.
If she had told him that when she’d introduced herself, he wouldn’t have let her through the front door. Her small smile said she knew it.
Damn. He was too old to get fooled by a pretty face.
“Yes.” She nodded, completely ignoring the obvious contempt in his voice. “But at the moment, I’m working on a true crime book about the Chelsea Clark kidnapping.”
Several months before, Morgan had been hired by Chelsea Clark’s husband. In turn, Morgan had engaged Sharp Investigations to find the missing woman. The man who had kidnapped Chelsea had committed suicide in prison, so there was no upcoming trial that would prevent Morgan from discussing the case. But Sharp still doubted that Morgan would speak to a reporter. She respected the Clark family’s privacy, and frankly, the case had been horrific. Who would want to dredge it all up again?
A reporter looking to cash in on the suffering of others, that’s who.
Sharp reached for the door, anxious to get rid of her. “Look, Ms. Cruz—”
“Olivia,” she said.
Sharp ignored the correction. Reporters were best dealt with on a strictly professional level.
“I don’t interfere with Ms. Dane’s decisions,” he said. “I’ll give her your card and pass along the message.”
But she didn’t budge. “She’s currently representing Roger McFarland.”
Morgan had only taken the case a few days before, and it wasn’t very high profile. The fact that Cruz knew about it gave him pause. He remained silent, however. Once again, Morgan had hired Sharp Investigations to do the legwork. As her agent, he was bound by her client confidentiality.
“You don’t have to respond.” Ms. Cruz waved a hand. “I have some information on Mr. McFarland that Ms. Dane will want.”
Sharp gritted his teeth. “How did you come by this information?”
“I have my sources.”
Irritated, Sharp gave her his interrogation stare, a permanent byproduct of his long police career. But she was clearly not intimidated by his bad attitude.
Unfazed, she continued, her tone cool. “I am offering this information to Ms. Dane as a show of good faith.”
Suspicion rattled in Sharp’s gut. He had no love for reporters. They stuck their nose in cases where they weren’t wanted, publicized sensitive information, and generally mucked up investigations. As a defense attorney, Morgan had had her own share of difficulty with the media. It was no wonder she wasn’t taking any calls from members of the press.
“No strings attached.” Olivia caught and held his gaze.
He had a well-developed bullshit meter, and he didn’t sense any duplicity in her. But then she’d played him well enough to get in the door, hadn’t she? That didn’t happen very often.
And she was a reporter.
“McFarland lied during his arraignment.” Olivia grew serious.
Sharp kept his cop face firmly in place.
But shit.
Ms. Cruz’s head tilted, as if she were trying to see through his stony expression. “I know you frequently work with Ms. Dane. I also know you and your partner have been talking to Roger McFarland’s associates, so I am assuming you were therefore hired to work the case.”
“You seem to know a lot about us.”
Arrogance quirked the corner of her mouth. Then she grew serious again. “A client’s perjury creates a serious ethical dilemma for a defense attorney.”
Morgan took ethics very seriously.
Sharp sighed. “If you give me the information, I’ll relay it to her.”
Olivia pursed her lips, seemingly considering his offer. Then she nodded. “McFarland was convicted of felony battery six years ago in Florida.”
McFarland had neglected to list a Florida residence under previous addresses. Private investigators did not have access to the FBI’s national criminal databases and had to rely on regional sources. Sharp had run a search for criminal records on McFarland in New York State. He’d also checked for arrest records with the sheriff’s office and conviction records with Randolph County. Sharp would have eventually uncovered the residence gap and the felony conviction, but searches took time.
“He attacked his girlfriend in a jealous rage when she broke up with him,” Olivia said. “He beat her up pretty badly. Yet during his arraignment here in New York, he denied having any prior felony convictions.”
Because McFarland knew the prior conviction for a similar violent crime would diminish his chances of being granted bail. A battery charge in Florida was the equivalent of assault in New York. Bail would be revisited after this morning’s preliminary hearing. Prior convictions were one of the court’s main considerations when granting bail. Sharp knew that Morgan would not lie in court, but her job was to do everything in her power to defend McFarland. Telling the court about the previous felony would harm her client. Ethical dilemma indeed.
“Did he do time?” Sharp asked.
She shook her head. “He made a deal, got probation, and paid a fine. The girlfriend refused to testify.”
She’d probably been too scared.
Since both prosecutor and defense had only been working McFarland’s case for a few days, neither side had completed their investigation. Morgan didn’t even have all the discovery documents yet. Ninety percent of cases were plea-bargained. No one would bother with the substantial effort involved in preparing the case unless it appeared they would go to trial. The sheriff’s department or prosecutor’s office should have discovered the Florida conviction, but occasionally, details got lost in the county’s massive caseload.
“Do you have anything else to add?” Sharp asked.
“Only this.” Her mouth tightened with resolve. “I cannot in good conscience sit on this information. My source at the courthouse says McFarland’s preliminary hearing is on the docket for midmorning and will probably be heard between ten thirty and eleven.”
Sharp glanced at his watch. Nine o’clock.