Page 13 of Beyond Her Reach (Bree Taggert #10)
Defense attorney Morgan Dane brushed a coffee cake crumb off the skirt of her navy-blue suit. Her husband, private investigator Lance Kruger, appeared in the doorway of her office. “Busy?”
He had blue eyes, blond hair, and the body of a Hollywood action star. He looked a little like Brad Pitt but bigger and buffer. How did he end up with her? Morgan was as athletic as a newborn giraffe.
She waved a hand over her legal pad full of notes. “Not drastically. The prosecutor received his continuance on the Johnson case.”
“Good.” Lance walked into her office. “Because I need a favor.”
She smiled. “Anything.”
He rounded her desk and planted a kiss on her mouth, one of the perks of working in the same building.
She rented an office from Lincoln Sharp, Lance’s PI boss.
Since she often required PI services, the situation was ideal.
Plus, she loved having her husband close all day.
She considered herself to be a very lucky woman.
Not just because Lance was a total hottie, but because she’d found true love twice in her life.
Most people never found it once. She’d been widowed years before, her soldier husband dying overseas and leaving her with three little girls to raise on her own.
She’d trudged through a deep depression before coming out on this side.
Then Lance came into her life. Now she intended to make the most of every moment of her second chance at happiness.
“Did you see the news about that woman who was murdered in her home the other night?” Lance didn’t sit.
“I just got a call from a guy on the hockey team, Troy Ryder. He’s at the sheriff’s office.
They want to question him about her murder.
” Lance played in an adult hockey league and coached in a youth hockey league for underprivileged kids. “He needs a lawyer.”
“Right now?”
“Yes.”
Morgan rose, swept her notes into her drawer, and locked it. “Does he know not to answer any questions until I get there?”
Lance nodded. “I told him not to say a word to anyone.”
“Good.” Morgan changed the flats she wore in her office for a pair of heels. After donning her suit jacket, she grabbed her giant tote bag, shoved her flats inside, and headed for the door. “Let’s go. You can tell me the rest in the car.”
Lance grabbed his jacket and her black overcoat from the closet. Since his boss was out of the office, Lance locked up on their way out.
He drove while she touched up her makeup.
Her attention to her looks wasn’t pure vanity.
She’d learned long ago that the way she presented herself mattered.
A put-together appearance was interpreted as successful and confident, which translated to competence in the public eye.
Her suits were tailored. She wore classic jewelry: a single strand of pearls and tiny gold hoop earrings.
She checked her hair. Since she’d been to court that morning, it was bound in a smooth and elegant chignon.
Not that Sheriff Taggert—Bree—would be impressed by Morgan’s accessories.
Morgan knew the sheriff professionally and personally.
Bree’s niece was the same age as Morgan’s oldest daughter.
As a sheriff, Bree was all business. Morgan would always remain wary—a defense attorney and a law enforcement officer were in an adversarial relationship by design—but she respected the sheriff for her integrity and intelligence. Bree wasn’t driven by arrogance or ego. She would be tough but fair.
But the media would most likely be pursuing the latest development in the murder case, and Morgan always wanted to show the press her cool, competent, kick-ass defense attorney persona.
“There’s not much to tell.” Lance headed out of Scarlet Falls toward the neighboring town of Grey’s Hollow, where the sheriff’s office was located.
“It didn’t seem like Troy knew all that much about the case, other than the woman he’s been dating for about six weeks was found murdered and he feels like he is the prime suspect. ”
“Did the sheriff say that?”
“I don’t know.”
Morgan doubted it. Bree would be careful with her words.
“That doesn’t necessarily mean they have evidence against Troy.
The spouse or boyfriend is always on the primary suspect list when a woman is killed.
” With good reason. Statistically, more than half of female murder victims were killed by an intimate partner.
Men were more likely to be killed by strangers.
Lance continued. “The call was quick, but he sounded worried, which is not like Troy at all. His nickname on the team is Iceman.”
“That’s a Top Gun reference, right?”
“It is.”
Morgan considered the movie. “Is he as arrogant as the character?”
“No, he’s more introverted than arrogant. But he’s able to keep his cool to an annoying degree.”
“So not impulsive or violent?”
“He didn’t lose his cool if we lost or anything, but he wouldn’t hesitate to deliver a hard body check either.”
She zipped her makeup bag and stuffed it back into her tote just as Lance turned into the sheriff’s station parking lot. “How well do you know him?”
“We play hockey together, go for beers occasionally with the team, but we aren’t best bros.” Lance paused. “Troy can be aloof when you first meet him. He’s awkward in social situations and with new people. Once you get to know him, he warms up.”
“I’m assuming he’s single if he’s dating,” Morgan said. “Do you know if he has ex-wives or ex-girlfriends?” If an ex would vouch for him ...
“I don’t know.”
“What do you talk about when you hang out?”
Lance lifted a shoulder. “Mostly sports.”
“If I had drinks with a group of women, we would know all about each other’s families within an hour.”
As Morgan expected, media vans clogged the parking lot at the sheriff’s station. She slipped out of the passenger seat and into her role. She strode across the asphalt, her strides long, her head high, her game face firmly into position.
The reporters swarmed her before she reached the door. She stopped as microphones were shoved at her face.
“Ms. Dane, is Troy Ryder your client?”
They already know Troy’s name.
“Yes.” Morgan turned to face the press. “You’ll have to give me some time. I haven’t met with my client yet today. I’ll give you a statement after I do.” With that, she turned toward the sheriff’s station. Lance stuck close, always prepared to clear a path for her, but the reporters gave her room.
The sheriff’s staff recognized her, and she was quickly ushered into an interview room. Lance paced while Morgan removed her coat, took a legal pad and pen from her tote, and sat patiently. A few minutes later, a deputy escorted a tall, bearded man into the room.
“The sheriff will be in shortly.” The deputy withdrew.
Morgan sized up her client. His clothes were understated but pricy.
He was not handcuffed, and he carried a bottle of water in one hand.
He did not appear to be under arrest. But then, forensics and autopsy reports wouldn’t be completed yet.
It would take time for the physical evidence to be processed.
Lance shook hands with him and introduced him to Morgan. Troy didn’t look worried. Instead, his face was blank—no, detached. He rested his folded hands on the table like they were in a stock portfolio meeting. “I didn’t do anything to Kelly.” His eyes narrowed, his voice remained low and level.
Wishing her client were showing some sadness or shock at the death of the woman he’d been dating, Morgan glanced at the camera in the corner of the ceiling. The light was red. Off. Not that she thought the sheriff would intrude on her client meeting. But it paid to be careful.
He stared at her, the directness in his gaze almost disconcerting. “You’re going to get me out of here today, right? I can’t stay in jail. I have money. I can pay.”
Money always helped, but her new client needed a dose of reality.
“If the sheriff had enough evidence to arrest you, she would have. But don’t get cocky.
She’s going to ask you questions. If I don’t want you to answer, I’ll stop you.
Keep your answers short and to the point.
Don’t elaborate. Do not offer any additional information. ”
Troy didn’t move, but he was clearly thinking.
“Tell me what happened today,” Morgan said.
“There’s nothing to tell.” He shifted backward, resting his hands lightly in his lap, as if he were in a board meeting instead of a police interview. “I was out at my cabin at Blackbird Lake. When I drove home, the sheriff was at my house.”
“You don’t know why?” Morgan asked.
“She said the woman I’ve been dating, Kelly Gibson, was murdered.”
“You didn’t know about it before she told you?” Morgan asked.
“No.”
A knock sounded, the door opened, and Bree walked in.
Morgan switched positions to sit at Troy’s side, and the sheriff dropped into the chair facing him, setting a notepad on the table in front of her.
Lance retreated to lean on the back wall.
Taggert read Troy his Miranda rights, had him sign an acknowledgment, and listed interview attendees’ names for the record.
Instead of waiting for the sheriff to initiate the interview, Morgan took the offensive. “Why is my client here?”
Bree began. “The body of Kelly Gibson was found yesterday at approximately ten thirty a.m. At the scene, the medical examiner determined the time of death to be between noon and six p.m. on Monday.”
Morgan took notes. “Cause of death?”
“The autopsy is currently underway,” the sheriff said. “But her throat was cut.”
Troy made a choking sound.
“The autopsy isn’t complete?” Morgan’s pen stopped moving. She lifted her brows. “Again, why is my client in the sheriff’s station when you don’t even have a solid cause of death? Did the ME even confirm the death is a homicide?”
Though throat cutting was a rare method of suicide, it wasn’t impossible.