Page 16 of Witness To Murder
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“I don’t think Detective Lambert believes my story.” After a five-second lapse, she turned back to Owen. “Maybe you don’t, either, but you just haven’t told me.”
“Well—” he shut off the engine “—I have found no reason not to believe your story.”
“So you’ve looked,” she countered. “Into my background.”
“I have. It’s necessary to find and consider all that the police will be studying.” He offered a reassuring smile. “But don’tworry, you have a very good record, save for that brief period related to Painter. Even then, it was only your involvement with bad characters that reflected poorly on you. So you can rest easy. There is no evidence whatsoever that you are not the person you purport to be.”
“But I was a terrible person.” She looked him directly in the eyes. “I caused my father’s death, and that was very bad.”
“We all have our own way of looking at ourselves, our individual scale of standards. Some of us set unreasonable expectations for what we can do or did. Some too easily accept blame for the actions of others. It’s part of what makes us who we are. You, Leah Gerard, are a good person who made a foolish mistake at a very young age. What you have now is a big problem looming over you like a dark cloud. We’re going to alleviate that problem, and we’re going to start right now.”
She nodded, her eyes a little bright, and reached for the door.
They walked side by side to the front door of the small cottage. Since there was no doorbell, Owen knocked. Two more knocks were required before a voice called out, “Coming.”
Leah’s relief was palpable. Owen flashed her a smile to reassure her. All they had to do was ask the right questions of the right people, and they would find the answers they needed. That was always the most direct route to resolving a case.
The door opened and a petite woman with gray hair and keen brown eyes looked from Owen to Leah. “Leah! How nice to see you.” She instantly drew Leah in for a hug. “You should have called.” She patted her loose shoulder-length hair. “I would have prepared myself for visitors.”
“You look wonderful as always,” Leah insisted. She glanced from Mrs. Morris to Owen and back. “This is my friend Owen, and we’re looking for Isla. Have you spoken to her since Saturday?”
A frown marred the older woman’s features. “I haven’t, and I’ve been worried.” She offered a smile for Owen before shifting her attention back to Leah. “Please, come in. Would you care for some coffee or tea?”
“No thank you,” Leah said.
“None for me, thank you,” Owen echoed.
Mrs. Morris ushered them inside, closed the door and then took a seat. The door opened right into the small living room. It was a cozy space with lots of clutter—“collections,” the lady of the house would likely call them. Bells, little statues of animals.
“Sit wherever you’d like,” she insisted.
Owen chose a side chair while Leah settled on the sofa with her friend’s mother. His goal during this visit was to watch the older woman closely for any tell that she might be holding back or not speaking the whole truth.
“I’m so worried about her,” Leah said. “She never ignores my calls or texts. Do you think something happened with her work at the hospital?”
According to Leah, Isla worked part-time at Northwestern Memorial ER. The background search confirmed as such. She’d moved to that job four years ago, leaving Mount Sinai. It was possible she’d had to work double shifts, but this was well beyond those hours. Only a crisis would keep her there for going on seventy-two hours. The hospital was on his list of places to potentially visit today.
“She hasn’t called me back either,” Mrs. Morris said, her face pained. “She’s supposed to have lunch with me today, but I haven’t heard from her.”
Leah looked to Owen. “This isn’t like Isla at all.”
“It is not,” Mrs. Morris confirmed. “She is always on time. Never misses an appointment. Really, I’m not just saying that because she’s my daughter. This truly is most unusual.”
Owen pulled out his cell phone and showed her a picture of Raymond Douglas. “Have you ever seen this man?”
Mrs. Morris took the phone and studied the image. “I don’t think so.” She frowned, shook her head slowly. “Is he a friend of Isla’s?” She passed the phone back to him.
If she recognized Douglas, she hid it well. Owen deferred to Leah for the answer to the woman’s question.
“Isla told me she and Raymond—that’s the man in the photo—have been friends for years,” Leah explained. “She orchestrated a blind date for me with him.”
Mrs. Morris’s brow furrowed in concentration, as if she were trying to recall the name. “Perhaps he’s someone she knows from the hospital or school.”
“Perhaps,” Leah agreed.
She knew this was not the case, but Owen understood there was no reason to upset Isla’s mother further. Owen inquired, “Mrs. Morris, did Isla mention any trips she intended to take or issues she needed to resolve?”
