Bree was in no rush to release the vehicle. She suspected as soon as Alyssa had wheels, she’d disappear. As long as Bree was holding her vehicle, clothes, and phone, Alyssa would likely stay put.
“But I don’t have anywhere to stay.” Alyssa’s voice rose. “Or anything to wear.”
“I appreciate how inconvenient this is for you. How about I put you in a hotel tonight, and we see how much progress the techs have made in the morning?”
“I don’t know.” Alyssa picked at her forearm.
“It’s just for a night or so.” Bree had no ability to hold the girl against her will, but she also didn’t want to lose touch with her only witness to a shooting, especially when she didn’t know if Alyssa’s case was related to the dead body at the boat ramp.
“OK, I guess,” Alyssa said in a reluctant tone.
“Good.” Bree also thought the girl could use a hot shower and a clean, warm bed. She hated to think of her out on the street again. “Speaking of your phone, could I have your access code?”
“Why? I hardly use it.”
“It has GPS, right?”
“Yeah,” Alyssa said. “But I use it as little as possible.”
“Who do you call?”
“Mostly work. Lately, Harper too. That’s about it. I don’t really have anyone else to call.”
“You said Harper had money.”
“Yes. From her job.” But the confidence had dimmed in Alyssa’s voice. Was she thinking of aspects of Harper’s behavior that didn’t quite add up? “It’s all my fault that Harper is missing.”
“Why do you think that?”
“I didn’t help her.” The girl shifted in her chair, as if unable to get comfortable—with her body or her actions. “I saw him shoot her, and I hid. Like a coward.”
Maybe she ran before the shooter saw her. Maybe she just didn’t want to admit she’d abandoned her friend that quickly.
“You called 911,” Bree said.
“But I should have done something.” She inhaled a long, quivering breath.
“Like?”
Alyssa’s brows lowered in a troubled look. “I don’t know.”
“What do you think would have happened if the man who shot Harper caught you?”
“He would have shot me too.”
“And then who would have called for help?” Bree pointed out.
“No one.” Alyssa’s voice sounded as small as Kayla’s.
“That’s right. So, no one would be looking for Harper right now. You and she would both just have vanished.”
But Alyssa didn’t seem reassured that she’d done the right thing.
Bree understood. She knew what survivor’s guilt felt like because she felt it every day. Bree hadn’t even been there when her sister died, but she should have been. Now Bree was alive, and her sister wasn’t.
She said a silent prayer that Harper hadn’t met the same fate, and that Alyssa would have an opportunity to alleviate her guilt with a long conversation with her friend.
“I have some other news for you,” Bree said.
Alyssa’s forehead creased.
“You know we used a K-9 to follow the shooter’s trail?”
The girl nodded.
Bree continued. “We found a body. Not Harper’s. A man’s.”
“The man who shot her?” Alyssa asked, eyes wide.
“No. This man was dead before you called in the shooting.”
Alyssa’s forehead furrowed. “Then who is he?”
“We don’t know—yet.” Bree watched her closely but saw no signs of deception. The girl looked genuinely confused. “You don’t know anything about another man who might be missing?”
Alyssa shook her head.
“OK. I don’t have any more questions right now. I’m going to leave you here while I find you a hotel room and finish up some paperwork. Are you hungry?”
“No, but why are you being so nice to me?” The girl’s expression became guarded.
Bree gambled with the truth. “I want you available to answer more questions. As our investigation proceeds, I’m going to need your help.” Bree hoped she’d find Harper alive, but if not, she might eventually need the girl to identify the shooter.
“OK.” But Alyssa’s eyes grew worried, as if she had seen the shooter more clearly than she’d admitted.
She was the sole witness to a murder, and thanks to reporter Nick West, everyone knew, which made Alyssa a potential target.
CHAPTER TEN
By the time Matt walked into the sheriff’s station, it was nearly dinnertime. “Hey, Marge.”
Marge left her desk and approached the reception counter. “Where’s Brody?”
“Home.”
“I heard he was limping today.”
“Yeah.” Matt hadn’t realized how accustomed he’d become to having the big dog with him most of the time. “Nothing’s broken. He’s on painkillers and seems to be resting comfortably.” But Matt would still worry. Brody was a huge part of his life. “The vet is concerned about arthritis, though, in the shoulder where he took the bullet.”
“Poor boy.” Marge’s eyes went soft. “I’ll bake him some homemade biscuits. He’s a hero.”
“He is,” Matt agreed. “I’m here to see the sheriff.”
Bree had left a message asking him to stop by ASAP.
“Go on back. She’s expecting you.” Marge stepped back and buzzed him through the door that separated the lobby from the rest of the station. Like everything else about the department, building security was outdated. If someone really wanted to get in, all they had to do was vault over the counter.
He walked past the main room, where Jim Rogers was working on a computer. His eyes narrowed as Matt approached. Before Matt reached his desk, Rogers got up and strode away, heading for the rear exit.
Jackass.
You’d think Matt was the one who had shot Rogers, not the other way around.
Matt knocked on Bree’s office door.
“Yes,” she answered.
Matt opened the door.
She looked away from her computer. “Matt, thank you for coming.”
Matt eased into a chair facing her huge desk.
“How is Brody?” Bree asked.
“OK. Home resting.”
“But you look worried.”
“He’s not getting younger,” Matt admitted to himself as much as to Bree.
“I’m sorry.”
“Did the ME ID the body yet?” Matt settled into the cushion. Part of him wanted the answer to his question. The other definitely did not. He dreaded the thought of telling Mrs. Whitney that her grandson was dead. He wanted to find the boy alive. But Bree hadn’t asked him to come to the station for a social visit, as much as he wished she had.
“No. I’m still waiting.”
He breathed but knew the reprieve wouldn’t last. Eli’s medical records should have some means of identifying the body. Matt pushed it out of his mind. There was no point obsessing over something that hadn’t happened yet. “You didn’t answer my question earlier. Is everything at home all right?”