Vulnerable (Morgans of Nashville) (15 page)

“Yeah, sure. Right. What if he’s waiting for you, right?”

“Exactly.” Jake knocked hard on the door, careful to stand just off to the side, his hand on his gun. When he heard nothing, he banged again. “Mr. Murphy, this is Detective Jake Bishop with the Nashville Police Department.”

The manager stood to the right of the detective, hovering close to the wall. “Like I said, I haven’t seen him come back yet.”

Jake always entered a room assuming a loaded gun waited for him on the other side of the door. “Are there any other windows or doors connected to the room?”

“None. Just cinderblock walls.” Barry glanced around as if he expected trouble. “You gonna go in there?”

Jake reached for his cell and dialed. “As soon as backup arrives.”

“Right. Makes sense. He could have a gun.”

“Would you do me a favor and return to your office and wait for the police to arrive? Safer that way.”

Barry shoved out a breath. “Yeah, sure. But can I watch from my office window?”

“I’d get behind the counter.”

“Right.” Barry hesitated, then catching Jake’s gaze, tugged the edge of his shirt over his belly, turned and walked back to his office.

Within seconds, a patrol car pulled up in front of the door, lights flashing. The officer, tall, lean, and very young, reminded Jake of himself when he had first moved to Nashville. He’d been twenty-eight when he opted to give Nashville a chance. Had he looked that young?

The officer got out, and with a nod to Jake, moved to the other side of the door. A second patrol car arrived and took position at the curb.

Carefully, Jake unlocked the door and pushed it open, still angled to the side. When he heard nothing, he flipped on the light and glanced to the left. Seeing nothing, he allowed his gaze to sweep above him and then immediately behind the door. Momentarily satisfied, he moved toward the bed, and while the officer covered him, he glanced underneath the mattress.

“Clear,” he said. The officer moved past him to the bathroom and announced it, too, was clear.

The officer did a second sweep of the room before moving back toward the threshold. Jake thanked him and slowly holstered his weapon. He pulled on latex gloves as he stood in the center of the room. The thick stale air closed in around him. On a dresser next to the television stood a stack of pizza boxes and an ashtray filled with cigarette butts. Rumpled sheets clumped in the middle of the double bed and on the nightstand sat a half bottle of whiskey and several scattered unopened condoms.

An old guitar covered with stickers leaned against the wall. Hard to live in Nashville or hang out with Georgia Morgan and not learn something about guitars. This one appeared to be a low-end model. Georgia would know more than he, but he guessed the sound wouldn’t have been great. But he doubted Elisa cared about acoustics as long as the player was a good-looking guy who paid attention to her.

A shadow appeared at the door and Jake turned to see Rick. “Heard you called for backup. Find anything?”

“Our man Scott Murphy liked his pizza and booze. He fancied himself some kind of musician. It’s been a few hours since the manager has seen him.”

“There was a brief mention of a person of interest in this case on the midday news. Media used Jenna’s sketch,” he said. “Our guy could have heard something and bolted.”

“Or he’s out hunting again. He left his guitar behind. That’s what caught Elisa’s imagination.”

“Maybe he has a few lures he uses to catch a girl’s attention.”

“Maybe.”

Jake rested his hands on his hips, his elbow brushing his gun holster, before moving toward a closet filled with a pile of dirty clothes. He rummaged under the clothes and found a worn black backpack. Carefully, he lifted it so that Rick could get a good look.

“Elisa Spence’s backpack?”

Jake unzipped the bag and pulled out a laptop covered in flower stickers and a single shoe that matched the one found on Elisa’s body. He opened the computer and powered it up. He selected a word document and the first he opened had Elisa Spence’s name at the top. “Call in the forensic team and have them sweep the room. Maybe we’ll get lucky and pull prints off something.” DNA would be collected and tested, but like he said earlier, getting DNA results would take too long for him. Scott Murphy, or whoever the hell he was, could be long gone before they had solid results. Boots on the ground would catch this monster.

He found several rumpled receipts on the floor. One was for burgers. Another was from a drug store where he bought bandages, antibiotic ointment, and candy. The last for rope from a hardware store. “We need to check each store and see if they had surveillance cameras rolling at the time of his purchase.” He’d learned firsthand after knocking on shop doors for surveillance footage that many stores didn’t have cameras. And if there was a camera in place, there was no guarantee it was hooked up. These days, with the economy tightening, expenses got cut, and that included surveillance cameras.

* * *

Jake arrived at the downtown offices of Walter, Owen & Davis, a Nashville law firm that specialized in entertainment law. He had traced Tim Taylor, Mike’s best friend at St. Vincent, to this firm where he worked as a law clerk while attending law school at Vanderbilt.

He stepped out of the sleek elevator and approached the receptionist, a slim petite blonde with green eyes the color of emeralds. She wore a blue silk blouse and a black pencil skirt. A strand of pearls dangled around her neck. She was as sleek as the office.

She smiled up at him. “Can I help you?”

“I called earlier. I’m Jake Bishop with Nashville Homicide. I’m here to see Tim Taylor.”

“Right. Tim. Let me buzz him.” Manicured hands picked up the phone and she pressed several numbers before an extension buzzed. “Detective Bishop. Of course.” She hung up. “He’ll be right out.”

“Thank you.”

She rose, running her hands over her narrow hips.

“I’m Alexandra Jones. Call me Alexandra.”

He nodded.

“I’ve been trying to guess why homicide would want to talk to Tim. He’s about the most mild-mannered guy you’d ever want to know.” Her smile widened. “But isn’t that what they say about all the serial killers?”

“I wouldn’t know. And my questions for him are very routine.”

“I heard about that girl they found in the park? You working that case?”

“I am.”

“Terrible. Such a young girl.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Footsteps sounded in the hall and a tall young man wearing a dark suit, white shirt, and red tie approached Jake. His hair was cut short and neatly parted.

“Detective Bishop. I’m Tim Taylor.”

Jake shook his hand wondering if Tim looked all that young or if he was just getting older. Second time today. Hell, maybe he was losing a step. “Thank you for seeing me. Is there a place where we can talk in private?”

Tim glanced toward Miss Jones who stared boldly at them. “Sure. There’s a small conference room.”

Jake followed Tim to a small paneled room furnished with an oval oak table surrounded by eight leather chairs.

Tim reached for the phone. “Would you like coffee? My assistant can bring it.”

“No, thank you.”

Tim sat at the head of the table and Jake sat in a chair angled to his right and ran his hand down his tie as he crossed his legs. “I’m here to talk about Mike Marlowe.”

“I figured as much. I must have talked to ten cops after he vanished. Mr. Marlowe took me out for drinks a few weeks ago to talk about Mike.”

“What did he want to talk about?”

“Same old thing. First, we talked about how great Mike was on the football field.”

“He was the quarterback and you were the receiver.”

“Exactly. Then he asked if I ever thought about Mike and was there anything that I remembered that might help find him.”

“What was your response?”

“Frankly, I don’t think about Mike. Occasionally a reporter will call, but I don’t even take those calls anymore. I don’t see the point in dredging up the past.”

“What do you think happened to Mike?”

Tim leaned forward, tapping an index finger lightly on the table. “I think he pissed someone off.”

“Enough to kill him?”

“Yeah. He was a bully. And he could be a real dick. Don’t get me wrong, I loved playing ball with the guy and we partied more than a few times. His old man’s money made him a spoiled brat.”

“You tell that to Marlowe?”

“I tried once but he didn’t want to hear it. Death has done Mike’s reputation a favor. All the people that hated his ass in school were the first to light candles at his vigil. They were the first to go after Amber.”

“Why did they go after Amber?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I think mostly because it was easy. She really couldn’t defend herself. Sadly, if she’d been the one to die in the woods there wouldn’t have been as big a fuss made. She was a nobody.”

“Marlowe doesn’t like her.”

“Hates her guts is more like it. Once, after Mike vanished, he nearly drove her off the road with his car. He’d have done it if a cop hadn’t seen what was happening and stopped. Marlowe found a way to smooth it over so the charges never got filed.”

“What did you think about Amber?”

“Smokin’ hot. Freaky chick. Liked the guys and drove them nuts.”

“She slept around?”

“She did her share. We all knew she was working her way up the food chain, determined to land with the rich guy . . . Mike.”

“And she got him.”

“Hook, line, and sinker. He used to talk about her in the locker room. Said she was a freak in bed.”

Locker room talk about a girl wasn’t his idea of reliable. Oversexed teenaged boys exaggerated. “Did you ever sleep with her?”

His face paled. “No. Not that I didn’t want to or would have said no, but she was with Mike.”

“What do you remember best about her?”

“One time at lunch break junior year, we were sitting outside and Mike was harassing Bethany. The girl looked ready to cry. Amber appears and gives Mike a piece of her mind and then puts her arm around Bethany and tells her not to worry.”

“Mike ever talk to you about the field trip into the woods.”

He shook his head. “He didn’t want to do it. Thought science was for pussies. But he needed the grade to get his old man off his back and not take his fat allowance away. They fought tooth and nail over the money. Mike kept saying it was his and Marlowe reminded him he didn’t get a dime until he was twenty-three.”

“Did you know Amber is back in town?”

He shifted as if he’d been jabbed. “I didn’t know that. Is that why you’re here? Did she remember something?”

“She says she’s not remembered a thing. I’m here because we found Bethany and Mike’s remains in the park. They’ve been dead five years.”

“Shit.”

Jake let the comment sit there and waited for Tim to make a move.

Again, the finger tapped on the table. “You know Mike hired someone to take his SATs for him.”

“I didn’t know that. Who did he hire?”

“Bethany.”

“How do you know this?”

“He got drunk and talked.” The phone buzzed and Tim picked it up. “Right thanks.” He hung up. “I’ve got to get back. We’re getting briefs ready for a case.”

As the two rose, Jake pulled out a card. “We’ll talk again, Mr. Taylor. I’m not going away.” He held out a card. “Call me if you think of anything.”

Tim had to reach out to get the card. “I will.”

Miss Jones asked Jake if he needed anything else as he was leaving. He smiled and kept walking. He hated lawyers.

* * *

Georgia arrived at the medical examiner’s office just after four. It wasn’t customary for techs to attend an autopsy. That was the jurisdiction of the medical examiner, but she wanted to be present when Dr. Heller provided a detailed analysis of Bethany Reed and Mike Marlowe’s bones found in the cave. As she moved toward the glass partition separating the lobby from the receptionist, she heard, “Georgia.”

She turned to see Deke standing by the wall, leaning, his phone in hand scrolling through e-mails. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

A smile traced his lips as he pushed off from the wall and moved toward her, his strides long and purposeful. “Doesn’t surprise me to find you here.”

“Don’t tell me you want in on the analysis? That’s a lot of science and technical stuff and you’re all about following the interviews.”

“Even an old dog can learn a trick or two.”

“I think of the science end of this case as mine.”

“Yours?”

“Sure.” Every time she looked at Deke she saw their father Buddy and felt as if she needed to justify herself. “If not for me opening the cold case, none of us would be here.”

“True. True enough.” He raised an index finger, just like Buddy used to, pointing to her as if he’d just remembered an important detail. “Alex called me last night. Leah’s finalizing the details of their Christmas wedding.”

Brother Alex, TBI agent, was a man of few emotions and often came across as unfeeling. What few realized was that his emotions ran bone deep for his job, his family, and now his fiancée, Leah. She was a veterinarian who was bright and vibrant. When Georgia saw her with Alex, it was easy to assume Leah’s life had been charmed. A closer look revealed scars, sliced into her by an ex-husband, and now so carefully hidden with special makeup.

“Right. I have to get by for the last fitting of my bridesmaid dress. I keep putting that off.”

Deke shifted. “Right. Well, she wants to know if you’re bringing a date.”

“A date?” Color rushed her cheeks as she stared at the brother so like her father and thought about Jake, not expecting some kind of commitment. “No. No date. Wearing a bridesmaid dress is traumatic enough.”

He looked at her as if he picked up the shift in her vibration. “You sure? No plus one?”