“Yes.” A nod. “You know that Elyse and Arthur became my guardians. I grew up with Jill. She’s like a sister.” Morgan broke off, fiddled with the raglan sleeve of her sweater. “Detective Montgomery, please forgive me for being blunt, but you picked a really awkward time to drop by. The holidays are still very painful for me. This year’s worse than usual. And now you show up…” She swallowed. “Please tell me how I can help you.”
“Why is this year worse than usual?”
His gruff question caught Morgan off guard. It was almost as if he knew something she didn’t.
“I’ve been sorting through some memorabilia,” she replied carefully.
“Is that the only reason?”
She’d forgotten what an intuitive man he was. There was no point in supplying half-truths.
“Actually, no. But it’s the only reason that makes sense. The rest—it’s just a feeling. A creepy, unsettled one that’s been hanging on for weeks. There’s no basis for it. I just can’t shake it.”
“Oh, there’s a basis for it. It’s called a mental connection, or a sixth sense, or whatever the hell you call that inexplicable link that sometimes exists.” Detective Montgomery dragged a palm over his jaw.
There was no denying where this was headed, and a cold knot formed in Morgan’s gut. “The reason you’re here—it has something to do with my parents’ murders?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, his mouth thinned into a grim line, his brows drawn. “Nate Schiller didn’t kill your parents.”
Morgan stared at him blankly. She’d heard what he’d said, but his words might just as well have been gibberish.
“You’re wrong,” she said at last. “That’s impossible. He was convicted. He confessed. Plus, the pattern…it fit his MO. The prosecution proved it. He’s guilty.”
“That’s what everyone working the case thought. They were wrong. The same night your parents died, a cop and a gang leader were shot to death in Harlem. The times of the two crimes were concurrent. Which means two separate perps. The D.A. just got new evidence to support that. Nate Schiller was in Harlem that night, which means someone else killed your parents.”
“Oh my God.” Morgan leaned back against the wall, using its solid weight to brace her. “But why would he confess if he didn’t…”
“He knew he’d be doing time no matter what, but perps who kill gang leaders don’t fare well at Sing Sing.” A tense pause. “Are you all right?”
“No.”
He scowled, looking pained and disgusted. “I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that. But frankly, I don’t think mincing words would make it any easier to bear.”
“You’re right. It wouldn’t.” Morgan forced out the next question. “Do the police know who did do it?”
“Not yet. But they’re working on it.”
“They?” Her head came up. “Not you?”
“I’m not with the department anymore. I retired five years ago. I’m on my own now; a PI.”
“Yet you’re the one here, telling me the news.”
“That was my choice. You’ll be getting official word from the D.A. this afternoon. A contact of mine tipped me off. Your parents’ homicides were my case. I feel responsible.”
“You felt responsible then, too,” Morgan reminded him.
She hadn’t forgotten. She’d never forget. He’d been a true hero; a knight in shining armor to a little girl faced with a horror that no amount of time could erase.
She’d been in shock when he’d arrived at the scene. Elyse and Arthur had already been notified. They’d gotten there in a heartbeat. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t respond to them.
Arthur had summoned a grief counselor. But it was Detective Montgomery who’d taken charge. He’d handled things just right, wrapping a blanket around her to stop the shivering, speaking to her in gentle but steady tones. When she’d balked at the Shores’ overtures to take her home, he’d suggested they give her some space. And when she’d stuck to his side like glue, he’d advised Elyse and Arthur to get in their car and follow him to the police precinct.
He’d put her in his car and driven her to the Sutter Avenue police station. She remembered the sign, because its bold-lettered designation: 75th precinct, police department city of new york had looked so official and intimidating.
Detective Montgomery had guided her past the seedy-looking people and up the stairs to a skinny kitchenette that looked like her school cafeteria, only smaller and messier. He’d brought her a hot chocolate and sat down beside her. Then, he’d talked—about his kids, about how he wasn’t living with them right now and how hard that separation was for him, about how no distance could ever break the bond between parent and child.
He told her that her parents would always love her. Always be with her. No matter how far away heaven was from earth.