He glanced down at her yoga pants and water-splotched sweatshirt.
“Why don’t you change? I’ve got this.” He called over his shoulder to Mia and Ava. “Grab your gear, girls. I’ll take you to the bus.” He leaned in to give Morgan a quick kiss. “Remember, after we interview Noah’s friend Isaac this morning, we’re visiting the crime scene. I wouldn’t wear anything fancy.”
Instead of heading to her room to change, Morgan walked out of the bathroom, leaned on the wall, and watched him contain the chaos. He handed Sophie off to Gianna, then gathered kids, coats, and school gear like a pro before herding her two older girls to the bus.
When the door closed behind him, Morgan changed into dark jeans, boots, and a sweater.
He was waiting in the foyer when she came out of her room.
“Ready?”
“Thank you for that.” Morgan couldn’t help but think how much easier mornings would be if he were always here.
Lance held her coat open for her. “I love the girls, and you are not feeling your best.”
“No, I am not.” She slid her arms into the coat sleeves.
“Morgan!” her grandfather called from the living room.
She poked her head into the room. “Yes?”
“One of these camera feeds is blank.” He looked up from his laptop. “And I don’t see one for the restroom hallway at all. I’m sure they have a camera in that area.”
She crossed the floor to stand at his side. “Which one is blank?”
“One that covers the tables alongside the dance floor”—he pointed to static on his computer screen—“which is where most of the patrons are drinking.”
“And the one that would have shown if someone slipped a substance into Haley’s drink.” The ache in Morgan’s head echoed. “We cannot get a break in this case.”
Chapter Nineteen
Lance followed the GPS directions to Isaac’s neighborhood. Worried, he glanced at Morgan, who was talking on her phone and rubbing her temple. It was only nine thirty in the morning, and she was already in pain.
She lowered her phone, irritation brightening her eyes. “The sheriff’s secretary says he’s too busy to speak with me. She suggested I set up an appointment to meet with him in a few weeks. If I need to discuss the case sooner than that, I should contact the prosecutor.” Morgan shoved her phone into her bag. “She implied that he’s prioritizing the Shannon Yates investigation.”
“I’m not surprised.” If Lance were in the sheriff’s big ugly cop shoes, he would also want to focus on the unsolved case. “Colgate thinks he’s caught Noah’s killer and wants to focus on the active investigation.”
“I’m not surprised either. But I suspect he won’t meet with me because he doesn’t want to discuss any potential weakness in his investigation. He’s overextended.”
Lance said, “It’s safer to pass you off to the DA.”
“Who is even less cooperative.” Morgan swiped both hands down her face. “The police were much more helpful when I was a prosecutor.”
“You’re on the other side now.” Lance wondered again if she was happy with her new career.
They turned into the development and passed two homes still under construction. Isaac’s white colonial-style house was brand spanking new. The landscaping consisted of mud and weeds, and the front window still sported a sticker.
He spotted two security cameras under the eaves. “This place looks expensive. What does he do for a living?”
“He’s a software engineer.” Morgan washed two pills down with a bottle of water. Then she gathered her tote and climbed out of the car.
Lance joined her on the sidewalk.
“According to his police statement, Isaac has been friends with Noah since college. I doubt he’ll be very cooperative.”
“I’m surprised he agreed to the interview.” Lance started up the driveway.
“Yes. Me too.”
“Give Esposito another week,” Lance said, “and he’ll make sure he tells everyone they are under no obligation to speak with us.”
They walked to the door and knocked. The door swung open, and a young man stared down at them. Isaac McGee was a gawky six feet, two inches tall with a goatee and black hair pulled back into a ponytail.
“I’m Morgan Dane.” She handed him her card. “Thank you for agreeing to speak with us.”
Isaac nodded curtly. “You might as well come in.”
Morgan stepped over the threshold. Lance stuck close. Isaac’s face pinched. He was clearly not happy to be speaking with them, not that Lance could blame him. Who would want to talk to the lawyer representing your friend’s alleged murderer?
“Nice house.” Lance took in the dark hardwood floors and high ceilings. “When did you move in?”
“January.” Isaac led them down a wide hallway. The corridor opened into a large kitchen with an attached living area. An L-shaped sectional sofa faced a giant TV. A set of triple sliders overlooked the backyard. The property backed to woods. Even without proper landscaping, the view wasn’t bad.
Lance stopped short. He’d expected Isaac to be alone, but two young men sat at a rectangular dining table. A bottle of whiskey and three empty shot glasses served as the centerpiece. The glasses looked clean. They hadn’t started drinking yet. Maybe they were saving the whiskey for after the interview.
Lance knew the men from their photos. They were Noah’s friends who had gone to the club with him. Justin O’Brien was the skinny redhead. A graphic artist, his eyes were red-rimmed and watery. The short, pudgy guy was Chase Baker, a programmer.
Isaac took his place at the head of the table and nodded toward two empty chairs at the opposite end. Morgan and Lance eased into seats. The tension in the room was palpable. It would have been preferable to meet with the young men individually, but technically, they weren’t required to speak to the defense counsel until the trial. Lance and Morgan would have to take whatever interviews they could get.
Justin’s fingers curled into fists on the table. “My lawyer said we don’t have to talk to you at all.”
“This is true.” Morgan set her bag at her feet and removed her notebook and pen. “You are under no obligation to meet with us now. But you will eventually have to answer my questions in court.”
“Look, we’re just doing our jobs.” Lance splayed his palms toward the men. “We need to verify the facts you already gave the police, and we’ll be out of your way.”
“Wouldn’t you like to be absolutely sure the right person is held responsible for Noah’s death?” Morgan added.
Isaac shot her a look. “Seriously? I watched the news. She was there with Noah. Her fingerprints were on the knife.” He ticked off his points on his fingers. “And his blood was . . .” He swallowed and looked away, as if unable to continue.
All over her.
Isaac swallowed. “I heard on the news that she says she doesn’t remember anything. Is that true?”
“You can’t believe everything you hear on the news,” Lance said.
Without medical tests proving she’d been drugged, Haley’s memory loss sounded fabricated. They needed a better defense, something a jury might actually buy.
“So it’s not true?” Isaac’s jaw stiffened.
“She remembered some things,” Lance answered vaguely.
“At this point, we have more questions than answers,” Morgan chimed in, “which is why we’re conducting a full investigation.”
Chase’s eyes hardened with anger. “Don’t bullshit us. Are you going to try and get her off on an insanity plea? Because that’s not right. She should pay for what she did.”
Morgan let Chase’s statement fade without comment. Noah’s friends were venting, which was totally understandable. She let a few seconds pass, hoping everyone had settled enough to get the interview back on track. “Tell me about Noah. How long have you known him?”
Isaac exhaled audibly through his nose. “We all met at the university.”
Chase nodded, his jaw clenching.
Morgan continued. “Did he have hobbies?”
“Video games,” Isaac said. “That’s about it.”
“No outdoor sports or physical activities?” Morgan asked.