Save Your Breath (Morgan Dane #6) - Melinda Leigh Page 0,33

moved over the page as she skimmed. “Oh. Wait. Here’s a surprise. Olivia was the one who brought the juror issue to Mrs. Olander’s attention.”

Lance doubled-checked the calendar. “That was Monday.”

“Yes.” Morgan underlined her note. “The same day that Mrs. Olander made the appointment with me. Mrs. Olander had said the information came from a television interview.”

“Maybe I can find it on YouTube.” Lance went to his computer, opened YouTube, and typed in the search bar. Even knowing the subject of the interview, it took him several tries to locate the video. “Here it is. It’s part of a series on injustice in the justice system.”

He pressed “Play” and they watched the six-minute clip. Two women sat in chairs angled toward each other. The host, a sharp-looking man in his forties, wore a gray suit. He summarized the charges against Erik Olander. Four minutes in, they got to the meat of the discussion.

The host leaned forward. “Tell us about the domestic abuse you suffered.”

The jury foreman, a middle-aged woman in navy-blue slacks and a pale-blue blouse, shook her head. “A jerk I used to date slapped me once during an argument. He was arrested, and I broke up with him. That was the end of it. It was a onetime assault, not a case of prolonged domestic abuse.”

The interviewer pressed his lips flat. “When the judge asked you if there was anything in your past that could prevent you from being impartial, you didn’t bring it up.”

“It happened more than twenty years ago,” the juror said. “It didn’t even occur to me.”

The interview went on for another minute, but there were no more revelations.

“It sounds like we need to talk to Mr. Olander.” Lance closed his computer. “Olivia met with both Erik’s parents, right?”

Morgan checked the binder. “Yes. He was there, but I might not be the right person to approach Mr. Olander. His wife committed suicide minutes after I refused to take her case. I doubt he’ll want to see me.”

“I’ll do it,” Sharp said. “First thing in the morning.”

“I’ll go with you,” Lance volunteered.

“All right.” Sharp shrugged.

“I’ll contact both Olander’s and Franklin’s attorneys in the morning.” Morgan set the marker on the whiteboard ledge. “I’m going back to the files. I’ve only skimmed the surface of these cases.”

Sharp said, “If someone involved with one of them took Olivia, she must have rattled him.”

“I can’t see why anyone would be nervous about a closed case.” Lance crossed his arms. “Unless the wrong person was convicted of the crime.”

“And the real killer doesn’t want that made public because he likes walking around scot-free.” Sharp shifted forward and pressed the button on the side of his cell phone. “It’s two a.m. She’s been gone for twenty-four hours, and we have no idea where to look for her.”

Chapter Thirteen

Morgan lifted her head from the table. Early-morning light brightened the office kitchen to a hazy gray. She massaged an ache in her neck, rolling her head to stretch the cramped muscles. Her face itched, and she reached up to peel a sticky note from her cheek. She must have fallen asleep while reviewing files.

She glanced down at Olivia’s thick Olander binder. Her own laptop was open beside it. Lance had copied Olivia’s digital files and emailed them, so Morgan had all of the information in one place. Olivia’s research was extensive and often repetitive. Each source was verified multiple times, each fact triple-checked.

Olivia had also requested the official courtroom transcripts for both cases. Except for special cases and juvenile records, trial information was public record and was available online for a fee. Olivia had received Cliff Franklin’s trial transcript electronically. As Erik Olander’s conviction was recent, his trial transcript had been ordered but not yet received. Olivia had accessed and downloaded the digital audio recording of the trial, but Morgan could not listen to all ninety hours of it. She didn’t need a law clerk. She needed seven.

It would take her the rest of the week to get through all the pages of the Olander file alone, and the Franklin case was just as complicated. Morgan did not have time to review all of Olivia’s documents.

Morgan’s eyes burned, and she’d only read a portion of the material. Since she didn’t have a law clerk, she would utilize the next best thing—her grandfather, a retired NYPD detective.

She stood and stretched her arms toward the ceiling.

“You’re awake.” Lance walked through the doorway. One side of his short hair was mussed, suggesting he’d also dozed off.