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TWENTY-NINE

SHERIFF HUDSON

The Morgan Foundation receptionist scurried off a couple minutes ago to see if Sarah was available to speak with us. I told her we’re willing to wait, no matter how long it takes. I need answers, and I can’t afford to come back another time to get them. Olson and I decided to show up at her office rather than bring her in for questioning because we figured she might be a little more forthcoming if the visit was less formal and on her own turf. The elevator dings, and the doors open behind us. I turn to find a man dressed in khakis and a button-down. His eyes widen when he looks up from his phone, noticing our presence. He forces a tight smile and a quick nod before speed-walking past us. This isn’t an uncommon reaction when we show up somewhere unannounced, which is exactly why I wanted to arrive unannounced. Sarah always has all the right answers, and the last thing I want to do is give her time to prepare even more perfect ones.

“Think she’s going to make us wait?” Olson asks.

“No, they never do.”

In my experience, people want us gone as quickly as possible. Two fully kitted-up cops standing in the middle of an office for a long time only makes things more uncomfortable for everyone. It just fuels gossip and theories as to why we’re here.

The receptionist returns and waves for us to follow her. “Sarah can see you now,” she says. “Would either of you care for a beverage?”

“No,” I say.

“I’m good,” Olson adds.

“Are you sure? We have coffee, bottled water, tea, and kombucha. We also have beer, wine, and prosecco on tap.”

Olson and I shake our heads but exchange an envious look. We don’t have that type of beverage selection down at the station. It’s Folgers or water from the drinking fountain. Guess we’re on the wrong side of the justice business.

We weave our way through the large open-concept office, around desks, tables, and even sitting areas with ridiculous ball-shaped chairs. The layout and décor are more fitting to a tech company than a nonprofit. Heads pop up from laptop screens as employees do a double take upon seeing two uniformed officers waltz through their workspace.

The receptionist knocks lightly on Sarah’s office door and then outstretches an arm, directing us inside. Sarah doesn’t acknowledge us when we enter and instead keeps her eyes on her computer screen, typing away. Unlike the rest of her employees, she’s unfazed by our appearance here—or at least she’s pretending to be.

She beckons us farther into her office with a wave of her hand, eyes still on her monitor. “Please sit down,” Sarah says, pointing to the two chairs positioned in front of her desk.

The receptionist closes the door behind her.

“Sarah, this is Chief Deputy Olson,” I say as we take our seats.

She finally pulls her eyes from her screen and looks to Olson and then at me. “Nice to meet you, Chief Deputy Olson, and nice to see you again, Sheriff Hudson.”

We nod and return the greeting.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of two such esteemed officers of the law making an in-person visit to my office?”

Olson has had little to no interaction with Sarah, and I can see by the look on Pam’s face that she’s thrown off by the mixture of supreme confidence laced with sarcasm and wit coming from the woman in front of us. But I know Sarah very well, and if I want to get anything of value out of her on the Stacy Howard disappearance and the Kelly Summers case, I’ll have to play her games—otherwise, she’ll shut us out cold. She may already have. As a lawyer, she knows knowledge is power, which is why she holds it tight.

“I’m sure you’re aware at this point that we’ve reopened the Kelly Summers investigation,” I say, figuring I should start with the likely reason she assumes we’re here.

“You mean the murder your department helped wrongfully convict my husband of? The same one in which one of your colleagues concealed exculpatory evidence as well as his sexual involvement with the victim. That investigation?” She cocks her head to the side, studying our faces.

“Just because a piece of evidence was...” I put my hand up to stop Olson.

“No, Sheriff Hudson, please let her continue.” Sarah gestures with her hand.

Olson looks to me for guidance on how to proceed. I shake my head softly, signaling for her to drop it. If Sarah wants to play it like this, then we need to dial her back.

“Obviously, in light of everything that’s happened since the withheld evidence was made public?—”

“Yes, the suicide attempt plus the manslaughter charges certainly don’t help the county’s image at all,” Sarah interrupts. “How’s the former sheriff doing by the way? I hope he’s recovering quickly because I have a lot of questions for him.”

“Actually, that’s one of the things we wanted to talk to you about, in addition to the Kelly Summers investigation.”

“I already answered every single question your sheriff’s department could throw at me a dozen years ago. If you want to know more about the Kelly Summers case, I suggest you go ask the guy who withheld evidence from it.”

“We can’t,” I say.

“And why’s that?”

“Because he’s dead,” Olson answers before me.

Sarah’s mouth parts but then snaps closed. Her eyes swing between us, slightly squinting. “So, you’re telling me that the man who led Kelly Summers’s investigation and the only person that could answer for key evidence having been withheld is dead? Right before the county will most likely be hit with a mountain of lawsuits due to his shoddy police work? If you ask me, that sounds rather convenient for the Prince William County Sheriff’s Office,” she says, leaning back in her chair.

“It’s actually not at all convenient for us,” I respond, narrowing my eyes to match her demeanor.

Sarah turns her head toward me slowly. “Oh yeah, and why’s that, Sheriff?”

“Because Stevens was murdered. Someone slit his throat while he was asleep.” I’m only telling her this because I need Sarah to grasp the severity of the situation. Public information be damned.

“Okay, so what’s this have to do with the Summers case?” she asks, indifferent to the gruesome details I just revealed. Then again, she’s a lawyer; she’s heard about many murders in gory detail over the years, including one in her own home.

“We’re not sure it has anything to do with it, but with the investigation reopened and Stevens dead, we’re running out of people to question, so I’d appreciate your cooperation.” I press my lips together and hold her gaze.

Sarah nods and flicks a hand. “Please proceed then.”

I slip a pen and a pad of paper from my front pocket. “The night Kelly Summers was murdered, you previously stated that you were out at a bar in DC, having drinks with your then assistant, Anne Davis. Is that correct?”

“Yes, that’s correct, and Anne has corroborated that as well. In fact, she works here with me and can verify it again if you like.” She begins to rise from her chair.

“No, no. That won’t be necessary.” Olson gestures for her to sit back down.

It’s clear Sarah is still toying with us. She’s pissed, and she wants us to know it—so she’ll continue to jam it down our throats every chance she gets.

“What time did you go home?” I ask.

“I don’t remember, whatever I said twelve years ago.”

I glance at the pad of paper. “A little after midnight,” I say.

“Sounds about right.”

“And where did you and Ms. Davis have drinks?”

She shrugs. “I don’t remember, whatever I said twelve years ago.”

I pull my lips in. This line of questioning is a dead end. If I’m being honest, this whole investigation is. It’s been too long, and the work that was done is a mess and mostly incomplete, thanks to Stevens. He didn’t even ask Sarah or Anne where they were having drinks for Christ’s sake.

“Did you ever provide proof of your whereabouts or were they ever verified?” Olson asks.

“Besides a direct statement and an eyewitness account from an upstanding citizen with no criminal record?”

“Yes, do you have a receipt from any of the bars you were at that night?”

“Do I have a receipt from a bar that I was at twelve years ago?” Sarah rolls her eyes and begins to shake her head. “Unfortunately, I only save my receipts for eleven years.”

Olson presses on. “Were you aware that Adam was having an affair prior to the murder of Kelly Summers?”

“Do you think I would still have been married to him if I knew?”

“We understand that you have filed for divorce from your current husband, Bob Miller,” I say, changing the subject to what we’re really here for. “Is that correct?”

Sarah’s eyes flick to me, slightly tightening. “Yes, that’s correct.”

“Care to share the reason for your separation?” I ask.

“I’d prefer not to, but if you must know, Bob had an affair,” she says, lifting her chin and resituating herself in her seat.

“Do you know a woman named Stacy Howard?”

“Not personally, no, but I’m aware that’s the name of the woman my husband had an affair with,” Sarah says, holding my gaze.

“Can you tell us where you were last Monday night between the hours of five and ten?” I ask.

She’s quiet for a moment, thinking over her answer. “I was here at work until closer to six, then I went home and had dinner with Bob and my daughter. Afterward, I cleaned up, played with my daughter, read a little, and I was in bed by ten.”

“What time did Bob arrive?”

“Around seven thirty.”

“With your daughter?” Olson confirms.

“Yes. He picked her up from a friend’s house and drove her home,” she says.

“And what time did Bob leave?”

“Shortly after nine. Is there something I should know, Sheriff?” Sarah tilts her head.

“Stacy Howard was reported missing, and from our understanding, Bob may have been the last person to see her. Do you know if the two of them were still seeing each other?”

“I don’t know. You’d have to ask him,” she says.

“Bob stated he hadn’t seen Stacy in weeks, do you believe that?” Olson chimes in.

“I don’t believe anything my husband says.”

My radio crackles to life. Chhhhkkk. “Lieutenant Nagel for Sheriff Hudson, over.”

“Go for Sheriff Hudson.”

“Sir, we need you down at the salon on Center Street.”

“Why? What’s up?”

“That B&E is looking more like a possible 187.”

Shit. Just when things didn’t seem like they could get any worse. “Sorry, but we’re gonna have to cut this short,” I say, already standing from my seat. “I appreciate your cooperation today, Sarah, and we’ll be in touch if we have any additional questions.”

“I’m a very busy woman, Sheriff, so I would appreciate a heads-up the next time you decide to drop in,” she says, already averting her attention back to her computer.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” I nod and turn to leave with Olson in step right behind me.

In the elevator, I press the button labeled Lobby . When the doors close, I ask, “What do ya think?”

“Sarah’s a real treat.” Olson smirks.

“I warned you about her. She’s tough.”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Ya know, the timing of Sarah’s story does align with Bob’s, but it still leaves his whereabouts before seven thirty p.m. and after nine unverified, so he has opportunity there.”

“But we don’t know the exact time Stacy went missing either. We could assume it was shortly after five, while she was in the vicinity of her home, which was her last known location based on cell records, or perhaps it was later in the night and her phone died or was shut off,” Olson says.

“True. Well, we’ve got eyes on Bob as of this morning, so hopefully we get a lead there.”

“I did find one thing strange about Sarah’s interview.”

I tilt my head. “And what’s that?”

“She didn’t ask how Stevens died.” Olson raises a brow.

“Huh?”

“You told her Stevens was dead, and Sarah’s first response was to insinuate that his death was convenient for our office. She wasn’t shocked in the slightest.”

“So, you think Sarah already knew Ryan had been murdered,” I say.

“It sure seemed that way, and the only way Sarah would know is?—”

“If she was tipped off,” I interject.

“Or she was a part of it,” Olson offers.