Page 30 of Death in the New Year

“Interesting names,” she said, attempting to smile. “This is my husband, Andrew Morgan.”

“Mr. Morgan,” nodded Gaspar. “Please have a seat. I can only assume this is about your brother.”

“I’m afraid so,” said Allison. “Andrew knows my history, but I’m going to fill you in on it as well. Morley is four years older than me. He was always aggressive, fighting at school, fighting at home. But there was good reason for that.”

“For what? The fighting?” asked Ian.

“Yes, sir. Our parents were what a psychologist described as softly abusive. They were careful to never leave marks on us, but they abused us all the same. If we didn’t do what they wanted, we went without food. If we made them angry, we were tied to the bed until we messed ourselves.”

“There’s nothing soft about that,” said Nine. “That’s abuse all the way.”

“I know that now,” she said, nodding as her husband squeezed her hand. “When my brother went to jail, I thought my life was going to get better, except it got worse. No one wanted to foster the kid sister of a murderer. The places I was sent were nightmarish, but nothing compared to what I had coming.

“At fourteen, I was on the streets. By the time I was fifteen, I was working those same streets selling my body. My pimp was especially fond of using my body any way he could think of.”

“I’m awfully sorry, Mrs. Morgan.” She nodded, and her husband pulled her closer.

“Looks like you have a great support system now,” said Ian.

“Andrew is the best. I told him right away about my life and what it was like. Of course, I wasn’t able to hide the scars, so he knew there was something wrong. I was able to run away from the man who was abusing me and start a new life. I finished high school, got my degree online, and met Andrew. That was when I heard they were releasing my brother from prison. I couldn’t believe it.”

“Had you stayed in touch?” asked Nine.

“No. I tried not to. My life was horrible, but as I started making changes, I knew what my brother was capable of. He planned the murders of our parents. Instead of going to the authorities or asking for help, he simply planned the murder and followed through with it.

“Andrew is a very successful businessman, and Morley knows it. He’s been blackmailing me for money for the last four or five years. A few days ago, he called demanding more money so he could change his look and leave the country for a while. I refused.”

“What did he say?” asked Ghost.

“He said I’d pay one way or another. I told Andrew, and he increased the security around our home.”

“Do you live in the area?” Nine asked her husband.

“No. We live in northern Illinois not far from Chicago. Andrew has hired additional security for our home, as well as brought in dogs. We already had three. Now we have five. It feels a bit like a zoo,” she said with a sad smile.

“I know that feeling,” scoffed Gaspar. “Do you have any idea of where your brother may be staying or where he might go?”

“He’s always been super resourceful. He can be charming and calming one minute, then, well, then he can be this monster the next. He may have fooled some poor lonely widow or widower and is staying with them. He’s a runner, so he’s in better shape than people think.”

“We’ve seen him jogging,” nodded Ian.

“Jogging? No. No, Morley is a runner. He’s competed in multiple marathons, half-marathons, and other races. He’s good, very good. He’s even won his age division a few times. He might be wearing clothing that hides his true physique.”

“She’s right,” said Andrew. “I ran with him once and could barely keep up, and I was a collegiate cross-country champion.” The four men stared at one another, then back at the couple before them.

“Shit.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Zeke, Trak, and Wilson stared at the burnt ashes that were once the church of Reverend Sizemore. There was nothing left. He must have used an accelerant to ensure that everything was lost.

“I think we stay together,” said Zeke. “Slow jog around the radius of the area we’re looking.”

“Hey, guys, the reverend’s sister showed up with her husband and gave us some good information. The reverend isn’t a jogger. He’s a runner. Full-blown, hardcore, marathon guy. He’s won a few races. So, his slow jog routine is all a front.”

“Thanks, Sly,” said Zeke. “I guess we get warmed up. This could turn into our own marathon.”

It was still cold, but at least the sun was shining. People were trading out holiday decorations for New Year’s decorations, some even swapping it all out for Mardi Gras already. Passing one of the small homes, the men noticed three women seated on the front porch shucking beans.

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