“Uh, maybe. Him or somebody else.”
I need to tell Logan about Mel’s affair, but I’ll do that when I have more time to explain.
“Just get back here, okay?”
“I will, butplease—keep trying Halligan.”
As I hang up, I assure myself that even if we don’t hear back from Halligan, Pendergrass will contact him tonight. But what if there’s no evidence pointing to murder? I have to figure out who Riley spoke to right after the rape.
I dial Morgan next.
“What now?” she says instead of hello.
“I’m sorry, but I have some terrible news. Riley is dead—a suicide, it seems. She was found this afternoon.”
Pendergrass made it clear that I shouldn’t share specifics about the scene, and other than with Logan, I don’t intend to do that.
“My God, that’s horrible,” Morgan says.
“I know. Look, I’ve been a total nuisance so far, but can you meet with me one more time? There’s something important I need to ask you.”
I could ask now, of course, and make everything easier for myself, but this needs to happen in person, I think. Morgan must be sick to death of me, maybe ready to blow me off, and if I talk to her face-to-face, it will be easier for me to press if I have to.
“Is this really necessary?”
“Yes,please.”
I hear a sigh of frustration. “All right, then. Where?”
I have nothing in mind, but then I remember Craig mentioning in the car that Edgerton wasn’t far from Barrow, the town where Morgan and I had met.
“Any chance you can meet me at that diner again?”
“Bea’s? Yeah, I suppose. But not till around, uh, eight forty-five or so.”
“That’s okay. I’ll head there and wait.”
As soon as I arrive at the diner, I order a grilled cheese sandwich and coffee from the twentysomething waiter. I’ve arranged for a taxi to come back for me at 9:15—because I can’t imagine Morgan wanting to give me any more time than that.
My phone’s low on battery, so I update Logan by text rather than calling.
Back at 10 or so. I have some new questions for Morgan Kroll and we’re meeting in a few minutes.
Whatquestions?
Pls just be patient. I’ll explain later.
The diner is only a quarter full, people finishing what, for the region, might be a late dinner. I think again of Bas, perhaps getting ready for bed. I feel desperate again to call him and describe this new hell, but what right do I have at this moment to ask for any comfort? What if that right is gone for good? It’s quite possible I’ve ruined things with him, with no way to repair the damage—and I won’t know for sure until I get back to Uruguay.
I quickly shoot him a text on WhatsApp that I know he’ll see first thing in the morning.
Hope you’re still on the mend. So much happening here. Will call early tomorrow. I love you.
At 8:50, Morgan pushes open the diner door and strides in my direction. She’s in blue jeans, a tight black turtleneck, and a thin blackpuffer vest. As she nears the table, I see she’s not wearing her red lipstick tonight, so I’ve probably dragged her here from home.
“I can’t believe it,” she says, sliding into the booth and shaking her head. “Though maybe I should have seen it coming.”
The waiter returns to the booth immediately, and this time Morgan orders a Diet Coke.
