“I don’t see how that could possibly be related,” Lance said.
“He was arrested during a bar fight on August 10.” Sharp paused. “At PJ’s.”
“Oh.” Lance dropped into a chair and rubbed his temples. “Brian said he dropped Mary at PJ’s around eight p.m.”
Grandpa shuffled some papers. “Lou Ford was arrested at eight thirty.”
Morgan tapped a pen on her desk. “If Brian was telling the truth, Mary might have seen the fight.”
“Then what? How does Mary end up dead?”
“She saw something?” Lance suggested. “Maybe there was more to the bar fight than the cops were told. Who was the arresting officer?”
Sharp consulted his notes. “Deputy Owen Walsh. Owen retired and moved to Florida a few years ago. Ford’s family sued the sheriff’s department.”
“What were the grounds for the lawsuit?” Morgan perked up.
Sharp continued. “The other two men were taken directly to the ER for stitches. Ford appeared to be uninjured, just intoxicated. He was brought to the sheriff’s station and put in the holding cell, where he died. The ME found a head injury during the autopsy. The family won a small civil settlement. Ford had a long history of drunk and disorderly conduct. This wasn’t his first bar fight. Multiple witnesses stated he was the aggressor. The jury was unsympathetic. They found for the plaintiff, but the settlement was too small to matter. No charges were ever filed on Deputy Walsh, though the department changed several policies as a result of the case.”
“We need to talk to Owen Walsh.” Lance said.
Sharp nodded. “I already left a message on his cell phone. Ford was fifty-five years old and unmarried when he died. His sister brought the lawsuit against the sheriff’s department. I’m trying to track her down. She moved out of the area. I’ll keep following up with Owen Walsh and Ford’s sister.”
“This case keeps getting more complicated,” Morgan said.
“But wait. There’s more,” Sharp added. “I also found out that the ADA plea bargained Ricky Jackson’s case. He has to complete a drug rehab program.”
“That the kid who was robbing Crystal’s house while her body hung dead in her bedroom?” Grandpa asked.
“That’s the one.” Lance cracked his shoulder. “We should talk to Mr. Jackson again. When we interviewed him, we didn’t know Warren might have molested Mary when she was a child.”
Grandpa slumped in his chair. Despite the brighter look in his eyes, his shoulders sagged.
She put her hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” He patted her hand.
“Lance and I will take you home,” she said, worried.
Grandpa didn’t argue, which meant he was truly exhausted.
“Morgan and I will pay Warren another visit.” Lance stood and rolled his neck.
“I didn’t get to review these.” Grandpa held up a stack of papers. “Can I take them home with me?”
“I’ll make you copies.” Sharp took the pages and carried them out of the room. He brought them back a few minutes later and put them in a folder for Grandpa. “Thanks again for your help, Art.”
Sharp didn’t look healthy either. His face was drawn and pale, and he moved with the stiff gait of an old man. Morgan was running on coffee, and Lance had to be feeling the effects of too little sleep and too much stress.
But they had no time for a break. The killer was ahead of them at every step of the investigation.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Lance carried the bag of groceries he and Morgan had picked up for Elijah Jackson to the old man’s doorstep. The afternoon had turned gray and cold. Shivering next to him, Morgan knocked.
The old man opened the door and motioned them in. “Come in.”
Mr. Jackson’s eyes misted as Lance brought the groceries inside. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“You don’t have to.” Lance followed him down the hall into the kitchen and set the bag on the counter. A small fire smoldered in the next room.
Morgan unbuttoned her coat, started to take it off, then slipped it back onto her shoulders.
Lance took off his leather jacket and hung it on the back of a chair. The inside of the house wasn’t much warmer than outside. Did the old man have heat except for the fireplace? Lance walked to the window. A small pile of wood was stacked beside the rear porch. A very small pile.
Mr. Jackson smiled as he lifted a sack of coffee from the bag, then unloaded the rest of the food. “Pie! I haven’t had pie in ages. Sit down. I’ll make a pot of coffee.”
Lance had voted to stick to staples. Morgan had insisted coffee and pie were staples.
“Thank you, but we can’t stay,” Morgan said. “We just wanted to ask you a few quick questions.”
“Ask me anything you want. I’m going to make coffee. I’ve been out for a month.” The old man’s mood seemed lighter and his posture straighter as he filled the coffee machine. He opened an upper cabinet.
“We heard Ricky was offered an alternative sentence of drug rehabilitation,” Morgan said. “That’s good, right?”
Mr. Jackson paused, leaning both hands on the counter. “It would be, if they helped get him into a program. And if I could afford to pay. Ricky doesn’t have insurance, and every center I called today is booked for months. He has to stay in jail until he gets into a program. I know he can’t be trusted out on his own, but someone at church told me he can get heroin in jail. I never imagined such a thing. I’d love to get him help. I lost my son to drugs. I’d do anything to get my grandson back.”
“There are centers that charge on a sliding scale based on how much you can afford,” Morgan said. “You should be able to do an online search. That should speed things up, though he’ll probably have to wait his turn. Space is limited.”
“I don’t have a computer.” Mr. Jackson took a mug from the cabinet. “I suppose I could go down to the library and use the one there.”
“I can help you with that,” Morgan volunteered. As always.
He smiled at her. “You would do that?”
She nodded. “I could look up the information faster than you could drive to the library.”
“You’re a doll,” Mr. Jackson said.
Lance moved the conversation along. He had no doubt Morgan would be semiadopting Mr. Jackson, like she did everyone else. “We wanted to ask you about Crystal’s husband.”
“Warren?” Mr. Jackson’s face pinched. “He’s useless.”
“Have you seen him around Crystal’s house lately?” Lance asked.
Mr. Jackson poured a mug of coffee and inhaled over the cup. “Warren is always hanging around. I assumed they were getting back together.”
“Did you see him the day Crystal died?” Lance asked.
“No, but he was there last Sunday. I saw his truck at her house on my way home from church.” Mr. Jackson sipped, his eyes closing in satisfaction.
“Did you ever see Warren threaten Crystal?” Morgan asked.
Mr. Jackson set down his mug. “No, I didn’t spend any time with either one of them. I’m sorry. I really can’t tell you anything else. Are you sure you don’t want pie?”
“No, we need to leave, but thank you for your help.” Lance put on his jacket. “We’ll see ourselves out.”
Morgan followed Lance, then turned back. “One more question. Did you ever suspect Warren molested Mary when she was a child?”
Mr. Jackson frowned. “No, but I wouldn’t put it past him.”
“Thank you again,” Morgan said.
They left Mr. Jackson cutting a slice of pie, almost giddy.
“I told you coffee and pie were important,” Morgan said, sliding into the passenger seat of the Jeep. “That poor man has very few pleasures in life.”
Lance drove toward the recycling center. He glanced at the clock. Two p.m. “We can still catch Warren at work. Once he gets home, he’ll never open his door to us.”
Lance drove to the recycling center and parked the Jeep. He climbed out of the vehicle.