Haley seemed to deflate even more. “You realize social media is my whole job.”
“I’m sorry.” Morgan commiserated with her. “It’s just temporary. Social media is not a place you want to go right now. Trust me. Have you talked to your employer?”
“Not yet,” Haley said in a soft voice. “I’ll call tomorrow. Though I can’t go to work, so I might not even have a job anymore.” Even if she was ultimately found innocent, Haley’s life would be forever changed by the murder charge.
“Yes. That’s very likely.”
“You’re going to find out what happened to me, right?”
“We’re going to do everything we can,” Morgan said. “I want you to see a psychiatrist. If you experienced some sort of trauma, the right doctor can help with the aftereffects and perhaps help you recover the missing pieces of your memory.”
“I’m not sure I want to remember.”
Morgan thought not knowing would be worse, but maybe Haley’s mind had blocked the event because she couldn’t handle the truth.
“OK.” Haley reached for a game controller on the table. “I’m going to play some Call of Duty.”
Morgan would have thought a good book or favorite movie would have been better, but to each her own.
“Make sure you eat and get some rest.” Morgan stood and returned to the kitchen.
Sharp and Lance sat at the island drinking steaming liquid from white mugs.
Standing at the stove, Eliza lowered the flame under a pot. “How is she?”
“She needs some time to decompress.” Morgan gathered her notepad and tote.
“I know.” Eliza stirred the contents of her pot. “I just don’t know what to do to help her.”
“You’re doing everything you can.” Sharp lifted his mug.
“Morgan and I had planned to visit the club tonight.” Lance stood and carried his cup to the sink. “It opens soon.”
“I’ll stay with Eliza and Haley,” Sharp volunteered.
Eliza shook her head. “I called the security firm who handles Wild’s New York office. They’re sending a bodyguard this evening. He should be here within the hour.”
“That wasn’t necessary.” Sharp sounded irritated.
“It is,” Eliza said. “I’ve already told you that I won’t take advantage of you, Lincoln. Besides, you’re only one man. The agency will rotate bodyguards every twelve hours so one will always be on guard. And this leaves you free to investigate.”
All sounded like rational reasons, but Sharp did not look pleased.
“Please have Haley call me if she remembers anything else.” Morgan donned her coat. Then she and Lance walked toward the front door.
“I’ll stay here until the bodyguard arrives.” Sharp followed them to the foyer. He gave Lance the combination to the rear gate and a clicker to operate the gate at the bottom of the driveway.
Outside, Lance took a flashlight from the Jeep’s glove compartment.
Morgan followed him around the back of the house to the rear gate.
Lance opened the combination lock, and they walked through. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”
“No, but the fresh air is clearing my head.”
The trail was wide, and although it sloped downward, the descent was gradual. But fifty feet into the walk, Morgan’s head began to ache. Taxing herself was not the smartest decision.
She paused. “I’m going to head back. I’ll meet you on the road at the other end of the trail.”
Lance walked her back to the gate and watched her go through.
She slid behind the wheel of the Jeep, drove through the main gate, and stopped at the base of the driveway. Protesters shouted and waved signs but moved out of the way. A dark-gray sedan approached.
The sedan slowed as it neared, stopping as a few protesters cleared the road. The light from the gate shone into the vehicle. Morgan stared through the windshield, not believing what she was seeing. The driver of the sedan was Esposito.
What was the ADA doing near Eliza’s house?
Chapter Sixteen
Lance shone his light over the edge of the overlook’s metal barrier. The light didn’t reach the bottom of the ravine. How deep was the drop?
He tossed a pebble over the side and listened for the sound of it hitting the bottom.
Deep enough that a fall would be deadly.
He backed away from the curved metal barrier and crossed the twenty-five-foot-wide clearing to the path on the other side. The trail that led up to the road was steeper but shorter. He emerged on a small gravel parking area. His Jeep was the only vehicle in the lot.
Morgan got out and went around to the passenger door.
“You OK?” he asked.
“Yes, but oncoming headlights are rough on my headache.” They climbed into the vehicle.
Lance put the Jeep into gear. “The hike isn’t hard, but the overlook could be dangerous in the dark. The barrier isn’t very high.”
“Good to know. Guess who I just saw?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “Esposito.”
“The ADA?” Lance steered the Jeep onto the road.
“I looked up his address while I was waiting for you.” Morgan pointed. “He lives right down the road, which explains why he was so angry when the judge granted Haley’s bail.”
“I’m sure he’s not happy about the protesters and media in the neighborhood.”
While Lance drove to the nightclub, Morgan filled him in on her interview with Haley.
“I’m hoping more of her memories return,” she said.
“It’s possible.” Lance turned onto the street that led to Beats. The nightclub was located in a renovated warehouse. The buildings on either side were vacant, and the parking lot was nearly empty.
Morgan scanned the area. “I’ll bet this area is deserted late at night.”
“No other businesses to borrow surveillance videos from.” Lance parked, and they went inside.
Expecting a blast of dance music, he was relieved that the club was relatively quiet.
“Thankfully, the music isn’t on full blast yet,” he said. “My ears are too old for that.”
“Clubbing never appealed to me either,” she agreed. “At least, not since the girls were born. In college, it was fun.”
At almost eight o’clock, the club was mostly empty. Three young women drank wine in a booth just behind the bar. In front of a big-screen TV, a small group of young men, probably college students, drank beer and watched a basketball game.
Morgan led the way toward the bar. She flashed a smile at the blond bartender. He wore jeans and a T-shirt bearing the club’s logo, a red EKG line of heartbeats with Beats scripted into the spiky lines. Usually, men of all ages straightened up and paid attention when she approached. But tonight, the baby-faced bartender actually winced as he looked at her eye.
“Man, that looks like it hurts.” He tilted a tall glass under the tap of a craft beer.
“It does.” Morgan sighed. Her fingertips went automatically to the bruise on her temple.
Lance read the bartender’s name tag. Bingo. Todd was the bartender they were looking for.
“Do you have a few minutes to answer a couple of questions about last Friday night?” Morgan asked.
“The night of the murder?” Todd frowned at her, then at Lance. “I already gave the police a statement.”
“We’re not cops. I’m a PI. I’m investigating the murder.” Lance slid his business card across the bar, along with a folded twenty-dollar bill. He left out the defense attorney part. Without knowing how a witness stood on the murder, it was best to avoid giving away which side they were on.
“Seriously? Cool. I never met a PI before.” The bartender pocketed the cash. “I guess I can talk as long as I can keep filling orders. Weeknights are usually slow.”
Morgan took a stack of photos from her tote and lined them up on the bar as if she were dealing cards. Noah. Haley. Piper. Noah’s three friends. “Do you recognize any of these people?”
The bartender glanced over, then pointed at Haley’s photo. “This is the crazy chick who killed this dude last Friday night.” He shifted his finger to Noah’s picture.
Not the answer they were hoping for.