“Thank you for the information.” Morgan didn’t discuss any possible lawsuit on Nick’s behalf. She was determined that Nick would never return to jail. “I’d like to see the surveillance footage of the incident.”

“Of course.” But the sheriff didn’t apologize for the stabbing. The man was smart enough to know that an apology could be interpreted as an admission of fault and that Morgan would likely file a civil suit on Nick’s behalf.

“Thank you,” Morgan offered.

“You’re welcome. Let me know if you need any more information.” The sheriff ended the call.

Morgan summarized the call for Sharp and Lance. “The man who stabbed Nick was in special forces. How do we find out if he served with Dean Voss?”

“We need to talk to Voss’s wife,” Lance said. “She might either know Menendez or someone else who served with her husband.”

“Good luck.” Sharp turned back to the board. “I have a meeting scheduled this morning with Jamie Lewis’s parents. Then I’m going to see what else I can learn about Menendez.”

“Any luck finding Jamie?” Morgan asked.

“No,” Sharp said. “The last time anyone saw her was the night Tessa disappeared.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.” Morgan stood, slinging the strap of her tote over her shoulder. “I hope nothing’s happened to her.”

Morgan and Lance went out to the Jeep. They drove the first few blocks in silence.

She stared out the passenger window as they drove through Scarlet Falls. Close to the town center, homes were large and well-kept, with wide porches, trimmed shrubs, and neat patches of green grass. But who knew what was happening behind those freshly painted closed doors? She lowered her window a few inches. The crisp morning air smelled of dead leaves and wood smoke. The tension between her and Lance crackled like a bonfire. Had she damaged their relationship?

She glanced sideways at him. “I hope I didn’t ruin our friendship.”

“You didn’t.” But his body language contradicted his words. The muscles of his jaw clenched, and his fingers tightened on the wheel for just a second. If she hadn’t been watching for it, she wouldn’t have noticed.

She turned away to stare out the windshield, exhaustion sliding over, weighting her limbs like a thick comforter. She shook it off. Repairing their relationship would have to wait. Nick’s case needed all her energy.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Mrs. Voss lived in a development of small homes on postage-stamp lots. Upkeep was a mixed bag. Some lawns were mowed and raked, others overgrown. Lance parked at the curb of a small bungalow. No peeling paint or dangling shutters, but the grass needed mowing. He surveyed the surrounding houses but saw no sign of Dean Voss.

Across the street, a police car sat at the curb. Lance recognized the young cop in the driver’s seat. Really? Horner had put the rookie on duty to watch for an ex-special forces soldier?

Lance scanned the property. “I guess Mrs. Voss hasn’t had time to mow the lawn.”

Morgan gathered her tote. “If one of my neighbors had grass that high, Grandpa would be at their door asking if everything was all right. Then he’d have seen to the grass.”

“Either this isn’t that kind of neighborhood or Mrs. Voss isn’t that kind of neighbor.”

Two doors down from the Vosses’, a garage door opened and a man emerged to fetch his garbage can from the curb.

“Let’s find out.” Morgan got out of the car.

She and Lance walked toward the neighbor. The sky was overcast, and the lack of sunlight made the morning feel cool.

“Hello,” she called.

The neighbor was middle aged. He wore khaki pants and a blue polo shirt with the logo for an electronics store on the chest.

Morgan made the introductions. “Do you know the Vosses?”

“I’m Ned Burke,” the neighbor said. “I know them just enough not to want to get closer. They aren’t very friendly, and the husband is a hothead. I just moved in last March. Couldn’t open my windows. The whole neighborhood could hear them fighting. It’s been quieter since he moved out. I heard he completely lost his shit. Doesn’t surprise me.”

“Have you seen Dean since?” Morgan asked.

“Yes.” The neighbor nodded. “He came a couple of weeks ago to bang on her door. I went outside to ask him to keep it down, and he told me if I didn’t mind my own fucking business, he’d make me.”

Lance didn’t like the image of Voss he was forming in his head, a man with a violent temper who’d been trained to hurt people. “What happened?”

“I called the police.” The neighbor huffed. “They didn’t respond for fifteen minutes. He continued to harass his wife until he heard the sirens. Then he took off.”

“Have you talked to Mrs. Voss recently?” Morgan asked.

“No. I’m staying out of it.” The neighbor pulled a set of keys from his pocket. “I have to get to work.”

“Thanks for the help.” Lance handed the neighbor a business card. “If you see Dean around, would you give us a call?”

The man tucked it into his pocket. “Sure. Right after I call the cops. But if I were you, I wouldn’t be looking for Dean Voss. That man is nuts.”

The uniform was standing outside his car when they walked back toward Voss’s house.

“Can I see some ID?” the rookie asked.

Lance pulled his license from his wallet. “Don’t you remember us?”

“I still need your license number.” The rookie took Morgan’s ID as well. “Wait here.” He took their IDs back to his car. He returned a few minutes later and handed their documents back to them. “Thank you.”

Morgan and Lance went to the door. Lance pressed the doorbell. The window curtains to the left shifted. A few seconds later, the door opened as far as the chain would allow. A woman’s thin face appeared in the gap.

“Mrs. Voss?” Morgan asked.

The woman’s nod was uncertain and full of suspicion. “Who are you?”

Morgan introduced them. “Can we ask you a few questions about your husband? We had an encounter with him a few days ago.”

“You’re the people he shot at?” Mrs. Voss asked.

“Yes,” Morgan said.

The door closed, the chain scraped, and Mrs. Voss opened the door wide. “I suppose I owe you a few minutes.”

“Thank you.” Morgan stepped over the threshold.

The living room was dark, the curtains and blinds closed.

Mrs. Voss led them into a tiny but tidy kitchen. The vinyl floor was spotless and the countertops gleamed in the overhead light. A spray bottle of cabinet cleaner and a pile of rags sat on the floor. She sat at a round oak table and folded her hands in front of her, their skin red and irritated.

“I don’t know what to do, so I clean.” She rubbed at her knuckles. “I’ve been afraid to leave the house, even though the police are following me everywhere. Yesterday, I went to the store. I was so scared, I barely managed to get milk and bread before I had to leave.”

“There’s a police officer right out front.” Morgan slid into the seat next to her.

Mrs. Voss blew out a quick breath. “They don’t know Dean. If he wants to get me, one uniformed officer won’t be able to stop him.”

“You don’t have to convince us that he’s dangerous,” Morgan said. “He tried to kill us.”

Mrs. Voss shook her head. “If Dean wanted to kill you, you’d be dead.”

“How good of a marksman is Dean?” Lance leaned on the counter. He’d suspected Voss had intentionally missed them.

“Dean hits what he aims at. Every time.” Mrs. Voss rubbed her hands together.

“Has your husband always been violent?” Morgan asked.

Mrs. Voss plucked a tissue from the box and blotted her eyes. Her voice grew harsh. “No. This all started last winter, when that little bitch accused him of kissing another student.”

Morgan leaned her forearms on the table. “You don’t think Dean was guilty?”