Save Your Breath (Morgan Dane #6) - Melinda Leigh Page 0,57
In theory, it’s smart. There’s no obvious trip wire, and the assailant can be far away from the scene when the bomb goes off. But you got lucky. The sensor picked up your movement while you were still a good distance from the bomb. If you two had been closer when it went off, you would have gotten faces full of shrapnel.”
Considering a bomb had detonated and they had suffered only minor injuries, Morgan felt very lucky indeed. “I would have expected a larger explosion from a pipe bomb.”
“We’ll know more when we’ve fully investigated, but I suspect the bomber didn’t use enough explosive.” The fire chief shrugged. “Whether that was intentional or not is the question.”
“We have the security camera feed showing the bomber in action.” Lance lifted his phone. “Unfortunately, you can’t see his face or vehicle, but I’ll email it to you.”
“The arson investigator and bomb squad are still working the scene. I’ll let you know when we have answers.”
“Can we go inside?” Morgan asked.
The fire chief looked back at the duplex. “The explosion was limited in scope. There’s no structural damage, except to the porch. We’ve roped off the front porch and lawn. Forensics needs to comb the grass. Stay off the lawn and use a different door.”
Lance and Morgan left the Jeep at the end of the street and walked back to the office. They stood on the sidewalk and stared at the gaping hole in the front porch.
“And how is this tied to Olivia’s disappearance?” The afternoon waned, and the shadow of the building fell over Morgan. She shivered. “Is this a warning?”
“I think it’s a good bet that our investigation provoked this attack.” Lance pointed to the blackened porch. “But who did we trigger?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Slow down.” In the passenger seat of the unmarked sedan, Sharp scanned the side of the road. “We should see Joe Franklin’s driveway any second. There it is.”
A break in the forest marked the entrance to the property. Stella turned the vehicle, but a heavy gate barred the way. Two signs hung on the gate: BEWARE OF DOG and NO TRESPASSING. A split rail fence surrounded the property. On the other side of the gate, the driveway curved sharply to the right. The house was not visible.
“Franklin must be a very private man.” Stella lowered the window and pressed the intercom button on a kiosk alongside the driveway. No one answered. She pressed the button again but received no response.
Sharp climbed out of the car.
Stella joined him a moment later. “We can’t go around that gate without a warrant.”
Sharp wished he’d come alone. He’d be over that gate in a heartbeat. “I don’t see how we’re going to get one.”
“We need evidence. We don’t have anything even remotely close to probable cause.”
Sharp walked to both sides of the gate and tried to peer through the woods, but the trees were too thick. With most houses, a cop could walk up to the front door and knock. But the fence and locked gate created an expectation of privacy. They were stuck.
“We’ll have to come back.” Stella turned around.
Sharp hesitated. “We need to talk to Joe Franklin.”
Stella headed for her car door. “I’m sorry, Sharp, but we have to obey the law. This is private property. We cannot enter without a warrant.”
Is Olivia somewhere on the other side of that gate?
Sharp did not miss the intricacies of police procedure. Stella’s hands were tied. As soon as possible, he was coming back without her.
They climbed into the car, and Stella drove to Ronald Alexander’s house. The Olanders’ former foreman lived in a small ranch-style home not far from the dairy farm. The house was basic, no frills but well maintained.
She pulled to the curb alongside the mailbox. They got out of the vehicle and stood on the sidewalk.
The curtain shifted in the window as they approached the front door. Stella knocked, and a haggard-looking woman answered the door. Her gray-streaked hair was scraped away from her face and bound in a tight knot. She wore old jeans and dirty sneakers. Deep frown lines bracketed her mouth, and Sharp doubted the crow’s-feet around her eyes had been caused by too much smiling.
Standing in the doorway, she narrowed suspicious eyes at them. When her gaze settled on Sharp, she clutched the edges of her cardigan sweater together. When she spoke, she directed her question to Stella. “What do you want?”
“Are you Mrs. Ronald Alexander?” Stella asked.
The woman hesitated, then gave them a single small