Lance worked on his laptop. “Stan and Brian still live in town. Their addresses haven’t changed in the last five years. I found an obituary for Dorothy Finch. Phil Dryer no longer lives at that address.”
Under Find, Sharp wrote Phil Dryer.
As always, Morgan was making her own notes. “What else did Vic do? He must have had hobbies, other acquaintances. Were he and Jenny socially active back then?”
“Stan and Brian were the full extent of Vic’s social life,” Sharp said. “They played baseball and hung out at PJ’s.”
“Is that the same PJ’s that’s on Fletcher Avenue?” Morgan asked.
“That’s the one.” Sharp nodded. “It’s still in business. Still owned by the same family.”
Morgan turned to Lance. “What do you remember of your dad’s friends?”
“Not much,” Lance said. “Stan was single back then. Brian’s wife’s name was Natalie. Their kids were younger than me. Two were in diapers the last time I saw them.” Lance shook his head, his mouth flattening as he remembered the sheer, stark loneliness after his dad went missing. “They didn’t come around after my dad disappeared.”
Sharp took a deep breath. “There were some things we’ve never talked about. At the time, you were just a boy. You had enough to cope with, and I didn’t want to burden you. But now, if you really want to dig in to your dad’s disappearance, you’ll need to prepare yourself for the less pleasant details.”
Lance straightened. His gaze met Sharp’s briefly before he nodded. “I knew you kept things from me. Maybe I didn’t want to hear the truth if there was no real chance of finding out what happened to him. But now there is, and it’s time.”
Over the years, he’d actively avoided learning more about the case. It was almost as if he knew the facts would change his memories of his childhood. No doubt he’d painted the period before his father vanished with a rose-colored brush. Understandable, since the years afterward had been hell.
“All right.” Sharp took a deep breath. “Your father’s friends, Stan and Brian, told me that Victor had been concerned about his wife’s mental health. She had already begun exhibiting signs of anxiety and depression. She was still teaching at the community college but was struggling. They also said that your dad’s company was having financial problems. He was worried about getting laid off. On top of all that, your mom’s spending was getting out of control.”
Lance digested the information. Bits of memory moved and clicked into place like a Rubik’s Cube. “So his disappearance didn’t cause her illness.”
“It didn’t,” Sharp agreed. “But it sent her into a rapid downward spiral.”
Given that information, the Krugers’ marriage hadn’t been the episode of Leave It to Beaver that Lance had always believed. Now that he thought about it, this version made more sense.
“Stan and Brian said Vic was unhappy,” Sharp said. “He didn’t know what to do about Jenny’s problems. He was drinking too much.”
Lance turned toward the board, away from Sharp. He’d always known he didn’t have the full scoop. But none of this explained how a young woman had ended up in the trunk of his dad’s car.
“Let’s divvy up our tasks,” Sharp said. “I’ll search online records and the Social Security Death Master File for Vic’s old boss, Phil Dryer. I can also make a few calls and see if there are any good rumors floating around about the case.” Sharp knew everyone in local law enforcement who’d been on the job more than five years. “We need fresh background checks on everyone involved, and we obviously can’t ask Jenny to do them for us.”
“I’ll take care of those. I’m not as fast as my mom, but I can get the job done,” Lance said.
“Someone needs to go down to the county clerk’s office and check vital records. We need to find out if Phil is still alive. If he is, I want to talk to him. Maybe now that he no longer works for UpState Insurance, he’ll be more willing to share information than he was back then. I’d really like to know how precarious Vic’s job really was. Phil would never give me a straight answer about the financial health of the company.”
“Aren’t vital records available online?” Morgan asked. “If he died, the county will have a death certificate on file.”
“In Randolph County, you can request them online, but you might not receive them for a week or a month . . . or ever,” Sharp said.
Morgan nodded. “I have to go to the courthouse to file a discovery motion for a DUI case I’m working on. It’s Esposito’s case, and the DA’s office has been slow to send me information.”
“What a jerk.” Sharp shook his head. “Lance, go with Morgan to the courthouse. You can check vital records while she’s filing her motion. I don’t want her alone until her stalker is brought in.”
Chapter Eleven
Morgan filed her discovery motion, then took the elevator to the ground floor and navigated the maze of hallways that led to the wing of the courthouse that housed the county clerk’s office.
Walking briskly, she turned down a corridor. A man stepped out in front of her, and she bumped into him.
She stumbled and dropped her tote. Thankfully it was zipped, and its contents remained secure.
“I’m sorry.” She drew back.
Esposito.
The last person she wanted to see.
She stooped to recover her bag. Standing, she said, “Excuse me.”
He blocked her path, hogging the hallway. “You’re always so focused. What are you doing here, Ms. Dane?”
She swallowed a smart retort. Antagonizing Esposito would not help matters. But his arrogant attitude slid under her skin like a big, fat splinter.
Morgan settled for, “I’m in a hurry. Is there something you need to discuss?”
“You should check that attitude.”
“I should check my attitude?”
Esposito’s black eyes went beady. He glanced up and down the hall and lowered his voice. “You need my cooperation.”
Morgan felt her eyebrow shoot up her forehead. What is it with this guy?
“I can make your life very difficult.” He leaned closer, too close. He needed a breath mint. “We can do every single case the hardest way possible.”
Enough was enough.
Morgan put a hand six inches in front of her to keep him from leaning any closer. She hated games. She just wanted to do her job. “First of all, back off.”
He didn’t. Instead, his eyes glittered with amusement as he shifted his weight farther forward, until his chest pushed against her hand. “You aren’t a prosecutor now. You are a lowly defense attorney, a bottom-feeder. Your clients are the scum of the earth.”
“Like the innocent kid you tried to railroad into a plea deal?”
His face reddened.
“What do you want?” she asked, her temper running short.
“Don’t ever go out of your way to try and make me look bad again.”
Morgan stiffened her arm to resist the press of his body weight. “I didn’t have to do anything. You made yourself look bad. Next time you want to push hard on a case, verify your evidence first. Bluffing is a gamble. Yours didn’t pay off this time.”
“I’m warning you, counselor.”
“Warning me of what?” Morgan asked. She could not roll over for him. Her career would be over. “I take the law very seriously. My clients deserve the best defense I can give them. I will make you prove your case every single time.”
His lip curled away from his teeth. “You’re making a mistake.”
He tried to take a step forward, to invade the last few inches of space between their bodies, but Morgan moved her hand into a horizontal position, until the tips of her fingers aligned with the hollow at the base of his throat. His forward momentum pressed her fingers into his jugular notch. Her fingertips sank into the soft flesh.
Gagging, he jerked backward. “You bitch.”
A flash went off, followed by Lance’s voice. “Hey, Esposito, why are you practically standing on top of the lady? I hope to hell you’re not trying to intimidate the defense counsel, because that’s what it looks like in this picture.”