Dark Room (3 page)

He chuckled. “You’re a pretty good judge of character, Ms. Boutique Social Agent. But you’re giving me way too much credit.”

“I don’t think so.” Morgan drew in a breath, sparks of recall flickering in her mind. “I remember. I might have been a child, but that night is engraved in my mind forever. You took charge. You were ten steps ahead of everyone else. And you didn’t play games. You were a straight shooter. And, yeah, maybe a maverick.”

“There’s no maybe about it. I’m a cowboy. That’s why I left the force and went out on my own. Playing by the rules is not my strong suit.”

“Good. Play by whatever rules you want. Bend them. Break them. I don’t care. As long as you get that bastard.” Morgan grew more intense, taking a step forward and pressing her palms tightly together as she gazed straight at him. “Please, Detective, I’m begging you. Do this. Do it for your own peace of mind. For whatever made you go that extra mile all those years ago.” Her lips quivered and she swallowed, hard. “For the little girl you held together and the haunted woman she’s become. Please.”

A myriad of emotions crossed his face, and Morgan could tell she’d reached him. He was reliving the past, remembering the same agonizing moments she was.

“You believe you can get this guy,” she determined, reading his expression. “I believe you can, too. In fact, I know it. So I’m pleading with you—do it. Take me on as a client.”

He nodded, his jaw set. “All right,” he said gruffly. “You’ve got yourself a PI.”

M
organ sat alone in the conference room for a long time after Detective Montgomery left. Her whole world had been turned upside down. Mixed with the shock and pain was anger. And, on some level, there was also a sense of emotional reinforcement—a confirmation that her feelings of uneasiness and apprehension were founded in reality.

Her parents’ killer was walking the streets—and had been for the past seventeen years.

There was a light tap on the conference-room door, and Jill eased hesitantly inside. “Morg?”

“Come in.” Morgan answered her friend’s unspoken question, even as she continued to stare off into space.

Jill walked over, perching at the edge of the conference-room table. “What’s going on? Jonah says that Pete Montgomery is a detective.”

“He is.” Morgan tilted back her head to meet Jill’s worried gaze. “He was with the NYPD. Now he’s a PI.”

“That much I know. He’s apparently a regular at Grandpa’s deli. He has been for years—with his precinct buddies and with his family. His son’s the photographer Jonah’s working for. What did he want?”

“To forewarn me.”

“About?”

“A major screwup. One that’s going to affect us all and push me beyond what I can handle.”

“Morgan, you’re scaring me.” Jill sank down into a chair and leaned forward. “You obviously know the guy. Judging from what I overheard, he hasn’t seen you since you were a kid. Was he part of the team that investigated your parents’ murders?”

“He was the lead detective. He was also the first cop on the scene, the one who saw me through the initial trauma, and the one who gave your dad updates from day one until Nate Schiller’s arrest, trial, and conviction. As it turns out, it was all for nothing.”

Jill’s eyes widened. “You’re not telling me they’re letting that animal out on parole?”

“No. He’s definitely locked up for life.”

“Then what?”

A shaky exhale. “Schiller’s not the one who killed my parents. He committed all those other murders, plus two more—a cop and a gang leader. But my parents weren’t among his victims.”

“What?” Jill stared. “I don’t understand. They’re just finding out about this
now
?”

“It’s a long story. But, in a word—yes.” In a tone that was devoid of emotion, Morgan filled her friend in. “So we’re back to square one,” she concluded. “No—worse. Now I have to live with the knowledge that whoever really killed my parents is still out there. That he’s been out there all these years. That there might have been other victims since. That there might be more yet to come—” Morgan broke off.

“Stop it.” Jill wrapped a supportive arm around Morgan’s shoulders. “Don’t let your mind go there. Focus on the fact that this screwup’s going to be fixed.”

“Oh, it’s going to be fixed all right,” Morgan agreed. “Because I’m going to make sure of it. I’m not ten years old anymore. I plan to take steps to re
solve this—on my own and by choosing the right pros to do what I can’t.”

Jill absorbed that thoughtfully. “Do those pros include Detective Montgomery?”

“They start with him. He’s key. I hired him on the spot.” As Morgan spoke, her shock and upset began rapidly transforming to proactive determination. “Is Charlie Denton here yet?”

“He just arrived. Do you want me to take the appointment for you?”

“No. I want to talk to him. He works at the Manhattan D.A.’s office. He came on board several years before my father was killed. He knew and respected him. I’m guessing that by now word’s gotten around the office. Maybe Charlie will have an update on what’s being done to reopen the investigation into my parents’ murders. I want to know how riled up his office is, and how much pressure they’re going to exert to get at the truth.” Morgan rose.

“What can I do to help?” Jill asked, spreading her hands in a helpless gesture.

“Just give your mom a call. Ask if you can postpone your dinner. I’d like us all to sit down and discuss this situation as soon as Arthur’s plane lands. Is that okay?”

“Absolutely.” Jill looked relieved at being given a concrete task she could wrap her hands around. “I’ll call Dad first. Maybe he can catch an earlier flight. The sooner he hears about this, the better. If anyone can light a fire under the right asses, it’s him. But, Morgan, in the meantime maybe you should wait before jumping in with both feet.”

“I can’t.” Morgan squeezed her arm, already heading for the door. “Your heart’s in the right place, and I love you for it. But if I don’t
do
something, I’ll fall apart.”

Jill nodded mutely, watching her friend hurry from the room, shoulders rigid with purpose. She wasn’t fooled by Morgan’s burst of adrenaline or show of bravado. The blow she’d just been dealt was crushing. Her emotional state had been fragile enough before Detective Montgomery arrived. And now? Now her one source of comfort had been obliterated.

Reaching over, Jill scooped up the telephone and punched in her father’s number.

SEATED IN WINSHORE’S
cozy waiting room, Charlie Denton shifted in his chair. The espresso Beth had brought him offered little appeal. For the conversation he was about to have, a few shots of whiskey wouldn’t be strong enough.

He’d been a prosecutor for almost twenty years. He was tough and thick-skinned, with no problem about going for the jugular. It took a hell of a lot to rattle him, and rarely did confrontation throw him off balance.

This time was different.

It hit way too close to home.

Setting down his cup, he reached around to massage the back of his neck. The sooner he got this over with, the better.

From across the hall, he heard the intercom on Beth’s desk sound.

“Yes?” she asked, having picked up the phone. “Of course. Right away.”

A minute later she appeared in the doorway. “Mr. Denton? Morgan’s ready for your meeting. I’ll show you up.”

“Thanks, but that’s not necessary. Second-floor sitting room, right?” He waited for Beth’s nod. “I had my original interview there. I know the way.”

With that, he hustled up the staircase, stopping only when he’d reached the second door on the right.

It was ajar, and Morgan was seated on the taupe microsuede sectional, her forehead creased in thought, an open file on her lap.

She was a beautiful woman. Fine-boned, delicate, with a rare combination of gentleness and intensity that was both reassuring and sexy. Ironic that she could be so oblivious to it—oblivious to so many things—she, who was highly intelligent and intuitive when it came to reading others.

He stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him. “Hi.”

“Hello, Charlie.” She looked tired. And pale. The anniversary of her parents’ murders was coming up. She had to be hurting.

He was about to shove that pain in her face.

“Sorry about changing our meeting time,” he began. “It’s been a day from hell.”

“I hear you.” She gestured toward the overstuffed club chair situated diagonally across from the sectional. “Have a seat.”

He perched at the edge of the cushion, gripping his knees and leaning toward her. There was nothing to be gained by delaying the inevitable. So
he plunged right in.

“The reason I pushed back our appointment today is that I’m not here to discuss my social life. I’m here to discuss a plea bargain the Brooklyn D.A. struck this morning. It directly affects you. It concerns your parents’ murders and who did—or didn’t—commit them.”

She went very still. “Go on.”

“Nate Schiller’s confession was bogus. He didn’t do it; he was too busy killing a cop and a gang leader at the time of your parents’ homicides.” Charlie paused to gauge Morgan’s reaction, interpreting her silence as initial shock. “I’m sure this news is hitting you like a ton of bricks, and for that I apologize. As for why you’re hearing it from me, there was a daylong political haggling session between my office and the Brooklyn D.A. Our side argued professional courtesy; theirs argued professional jurisdiction. Our side won. So here I am.”

To his surprise, Morgan gave a humorless laugh. “Your side won. But you lost. What happened—did you draw the short straw?”

“Huh?” Whatever he’d been expecting, it hadn’t been this.

“Who am I kidding?” She answered her own question. “The D.A. just handed you your instructions and showed you the door. It makes perfect sense. You and I are acquainted. We have a comfortable, positive working relationship. Plus, you knew my father, maybe even worked a few cases under his direction. Therefore, you were the logical choice to break the news to me. How civilized of both D.A.s. Or how self-serving, depending on how you look at it. Is it
my
reaction they’re worrying about, or is it Arthur’s? Because I’m stunned and unnerved. I have been for the past few hours, since I got word. As for Arthur, he doesn’t know yet. But if I had to venture a guess, I’d say he’ll be infuriated to find out that my parents’ murder investigation was botched and that whoever really killed them is still out there walking the streets.”

Charlie stared. “You already knew about Schiller?”

“A friend told me. He wanted to spare me the pain of hearing about it from a stranger, or worse, from the press.”

“I see.” A long pause as Charlie regained his composure. “You either have a very well-connected friend, or we have some serious leaks. This news wasn’t supposed to get out before you were told—personally.”

“I’m sure that’s true. But at this point, it’s immaterial.” Morgan forced a tight smile. “Stop looking like you’re about to face a firing squad. I don’t believe in shooting the messenger. The news is out, its initial impact over, and I’m still in one piece.”

He eyed her speculatively. “We’ve never really spoken about your parents, other than the niceties. You know I was fresh out of law school when I came on board at the Manhattan D.A.’s office. Your father was an icon. Every newbie hero-worshipped him, including me. He was a brilliant prosecutor, with dead-on instincts. I never met your mother, but I heard she had a heart of gold.”

“She did.”

Charlie blew out his breath. “Their murders sent shock waves through the entire system. I can’t imagine what it did to you. You were a ten-year-old kid. Not only did you lose your parents, but you were at the crime scene.”

“I found their bodies,” Morgan supplied tonelessly. “And you’re right. You can’t imagine. But you can guess. It changed me forever.”

“And now you’ve got something new to deal with—this news about Schiller.”

“True. But my coping skills are a lot stronger now. So’s my will. I’m not going to sit passively by and let the job of finding my parents’ murderer become another item on someone’s to-do list. I’m going to move it along.”

That got Charlie’s attention. He went very still. “Meaning?”

“Meaning I’m going to start out by assessing just where this matter stands in the various law enforcement offices.” It was her turn to lean forward. “Tell me, Charlie, how ticked off is the Manhattan D.A.? Angry enough to push Brooklyn to initiate a whole new investigation? Or is this a back-burner case, icon or not?”

He was walking a thin line and he knew it. “I’m not sure how this will play out. The old-timers are ripping. Especially the ones who were close to your father. They want resolution. The younger crowd’s a different story. They only know Jack Winter as a name. Bottom line is, reopening the investigation will require resources. Lots of them. It’s been seventeen years. The trail is cold. So is the case.”

“We could heat it up. Or rather,
you
could.” Morgan reacted to the wary expression on Charlie’s face. “I’m not suggesting you play Deep
Throat. Or even that you step on toes. I’m just asking that you dig up a little information for me about what cases my father was working on at the time of his death.”

“Who might have had it in for him, you mean.”

“Exactly. It would be a start.”

“I’m sure Brooklyn’s Cold Case Squad will kick in and cover that territory.”

“Eventually. Once the turf war is over and the files are dusted off. I don’t want to wait for that. I want to cut through the red tape. Starting with the old-timers, as you put it. You could talk to them, see what you could find out.”

“There are two problems with that strategy. For one thing, whatever cases your father was handling are now spread out all over the place—from solved and filed away, to cold and in storage, to wide open and reassigned. And for another thing, you’re assuming this crime was a personal vendetta. It could still be a robbery gone bad.”

“We won’t know until we check. But that brings us to the third problem—or rather, the
fundamental
problem—the one that’s really causing your reluctance. Politics. The battle over which jurisdiction gets—or wants—this case. Till you’re sure of that, you run the risk of pissing people off. Well, relax. I’ll take care of it. I’ll talk to Arthur. He’ll make sure you’re given the green light, and that just enough of the powers that be are made aware of that.”

A hollow laugh. “You make me sound like a self-serving bastard.”

“No. Just a guy who values his professional future. I don’t fault you for it. Now, will you help me?”

Charlie steepled his fingers in front of him, lowering his gaze to study them. He couldn’t look Morgan in the eye and remain unswayed. Actually, he couldn’t remain unswayed even without eye contact. Too many personal feelings were involved here—complex, multifaceted personal feelings. Staying impartial was an impossibility. It had been then. It was even more so now.

He lifted his gaze to meet hers. “I’ll see what I can find out.”

HEATHROW AIRPORT WAS
a zoo—wall-to-wall travelers all scrambling to get to and from their destinations.

Lane Montgomery just wanted to get home.

He shifted in his seat, glancing at his watch to see how much longer it would be before boarding time. As far as he was concerned, it couldn’t be soon enough. Talk about jet lag. He’d been to Beirut, Istanbul, Athens, Madrid, and now London, all in ten days. He was cranky, bone-weary, and overtired. All he wanted was an hour in his Jacuzzi, and eight more between his sheets.