Let Me In - Adam Nicholls (e book reader pdf .TXT) 📗

While the Metropolitan Police Department were keeping Mr. Cole occupied with a barrage of questions about his wife, Morgan used that time to swing by Pizza Palace and request some printed images of the surveillance footage. There hadn’t been much to go on other than a jagged outline of the killer’s jaw, but at this point anything would help.

After he’d obtained the pictures—not without a small service charge from Mr. Morales, of course—he’d climbed back into his car and taken the long route to Emma Cole’s house, hoping to burn enough time for the police to leave. Unfortunately, by the time he arrived and parked across the street, he was still surrounded by the vehicles of officers and investigating detectives. It made Morgan realize just how awful it would be for Mr. Cole, not only having to deal with all the questions—spouses were always looked at first in these scenarios—but then putting up with some additional inquisition from himself.

But it had to be done.

It was another thirty long, tedious minutes before the police left the Cole house, which was a grand colonial sitting at the back of a long driveway that had a stone water feature in the middle. Morgan thought this looked a little tacky, but who was he to judge? Rachel was in charge of their home designs, and for good reason; he couldn’t tell the difference between a patio and a porch, even now, as he watched six officers and a detective stepping off one before heading back to their cars.

Morgan waited in the dark, keeping low to avoid detection, but when the detective reached his car and held open the door, he looked around at the scenery, catching the dark outline of Morgan’s face. Morgan seized it, knowing it would change nothing, and gave a sarcastic wave with a big, fake smile.

The detective looked away and then left the scene.

When the coast was clear, Morgan grabbed the file of pictures and made his way up the long driveway, admiring the grandeur of the house. It screamed money, which didn’t really feel like Emma’s background, though he’d only had the honor of talking to her for a couple of minutes. He tried his best to remember how polite she was and hoped the man she’d married was even half as helpful as she’d been.

Knocking on the door, he waited in silence.

It was soon opened by a man in his thirties with slicked-back hair and a goatee. Morgan pictured him as some kind of stockbroker or investment banker, though most of that impression came from the quality of his home. The man stood quietly with his mouth agape.

“Mr. Cole?” Morgan proceeded.

“Yes?”

“My name’s Morgan Young. I spoke to your wife only minutes before… you know. Maybe I could have a few minutes of your time?”

The man eyed him with fierce skepticism, leaving the door open only slightly. “You’re not with the police, are you?”

“No, sir. Well, not officially. I was hired by a homicide detective to track down this…” He had to stop himself from saying killer, not wanting to alarm the poor guy, but no other word came to mind. “I know this must be hard for you, and you’ve probably answered a thousand questions already, but five minutes of your time could help me in ways you’d never believe.”

The man paused, watching Morgan like he was about to do something wrong. It seemed as though he was going to slam the door, which made it all the more surprising when he opened it up and waved him inside. When Morgan entered, the man pushed the door closed and folded his arms, leaning against the wall in the hallway.

It was obvious they’d go no further into the house.

“You spoke to my wife?”

Morgan nodded, shuffling the file into his other hand. “As I said, I’m investigating the DC Carver, and she said she had some information on the victims.”

“Yeah, she went to high school with them. The police think he took her.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” Morgan said. And he did—there was no reason to believe the man who’d taken her was anyone other than the DC Carver, especially since these women had all attended the same school. “Mr. Cole—”

“You can call me Matthew,” he said, moisture glistening in his eyes.

“Matthew, then.” Morgan glanced away to give him a chance to dry his eyes, and he pulled the pictures out of the file, handing them over. “I’d just like to confirm something with you about the man who took her. These were taken from a pizza place, and this man had been linked to the previous murders. I know it’s hard to identify a hooded man, but is there anything about his size or shape that might ring a bell?”

Sniffling, Matthew took the pictures and studied them, bringing them too close to his face. It was probably an attempt to hide his tears, but if any man had a reason to cry it was him. “The police already asked me this, but it’s hard to say. This is a different angle though, and I don’t think… Hmm. Maybe.”

Morgan’s ears pricked. “Maybe what?”

“Maybe I do know him.”

That was all it took to set Morgan’s heart racing like a prize-winning horse. He adjusted his stance and stepped closer. “Are you sure? Please understand that this man has murdered four people, and it’s highly likely he’s the one who kidnapped your wife. If you know anything about him, it’s in your best interest to say.”

Squinting, Matthew studied harder. “I’m pretty sure I hit this guy once.”

Morgan felt a surge of electricity. “Recently?”

“No, no. In high school.”

“He went to your high school?” This was too good to be true.

“I never saw him except for the one time, but it’s a big school. He was following Emma around once. Wouldn’t leave her alone, you know?” Matthew lowered the picture and raised his knuckle, showing off a scar in the shape of a white dent. “See that? I swung for him and he ducked, so I caught the wall. Will never forget that. But if this bastard has hurt her…”

“She might be okay,” Morgan said, as much as he doubted it.

Matthew returned to studying the photo, his expression turning from one of hopeful remembrance to disappointed submission. Huffing, he swung the file back into Morgan’s chest, turning his head. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this. It feels too much like false hope.”

“It could help.”

“Sure, it could, but I don’t know his name.”

“You know his face though?”

Matthew threw up his hands. “I recognize it at best.”

It was easy to understand his pain, and Morgan didn’t want to press. This poor guy was already going through enough, and pushing him further wasn’t likely to help anyone. Giving in, he reached into his pocket and grabbed a business card, handing it over. “Okay, Matthew, I’m going to leave you alone. My number is on there. Please call if you need anything. Anything. Even if it’s just a shoulder to cry on.”

Sniffling again, this time wiping his eyes with his sleeve without trying to be discreet, Matthew took the card and opened the door. “Thank you, Mr. Young. I’ll be sure to let you know if I think of anything important. I just want my wife back.”

Morgan stepped outside, a pang of sympathy striking him like a dart. It wouldn’t help to make false promises, but he had to say something, even if it wasn’t much. “I know you do.” He finally settled for, “I’m doing everything I can to make that happen.”