Possessing Morgan:
A Matter of Conviction
by Aurelia
Part 10
See Part 1 for Disclaimers
Chapter 10
“Mr. Vaughan. We have a few more questions for you. Take a seat and we’ll get started.” Morgan waited for him and his lawyer to be seated before adding an afterthought. “And, ah, thank you for coming in on such short notice.”
“Detective, are you alright?”
“Yes. Just an accident. Ah, thank you for asking.” This was not going to be easy, she knew that. Despite everything, Morgan liked the old man more and more, and maybe being this close to the case was not a good idea. She glanced over at the seated ADA and Andrea nodded for her to continue. She placed three sheets of paper on the table between them, sliding them over for Vaughan to see. She waited patiently while he reached into his pocket and took out his glasses, perching them on his nose before picking up the papers and giving them a cursory glance.
“In the course of our investigation we have come across something that is… curious. These are the banking statements from the household account, your personal account and Mrs. Vaughan’s personal account, as you can see. In the last several weeks there have been an unusual number of very large fund transfers from your personal account and household account... into Mrs. Vaughan’s personal account. Can you shed some light on the reason?
“Detective, I am well aware of my wife’s… predilection… for spending money.”
“But in those amounts and that frequently, Mr. Vaughan?”
He took another look at the bank statements, his eyes widening for a moment. “Er… no, Detective. She usually only takes the odd ten thousand or so.”
Odd ten thousand??? Oh, please…if I ever wanted to be odd, please let me be odd with ten thousand… Morgan wouldn’t even have a spare ten thousand to be odd with if the mood ever struck.
“As you can see, this is more than just the odd ten thousand or so. She’s withdrawn nearly two hundred and fifty thousand dollars over the last couple of days alone. Were you aware of this?”
“Apparently not, Detective.”
Vaughan’s attorney reached across him for the pages lying there but his hand was stopped by a wrinkled hand slamming down on top of his. Marks could see that Vaughan was annoyed. The old man stared angrily at him and shook his head. It seemed his curiosity was going to have to wait.
Morgan smiled inwardly at the interaction. Good for you, Arthur… “I would be thinking about changing my accountant if he didn’t pick up on that.”
“My accountant has instructions to let me know of transactions in amounts over fifty thousand dollars. As you can see, each transaction was under that amount. There was nothing to trigger the alarms.” Vaughan studied his accuser. “He did nothing wrong, Detective. He was only following my instructions to the letter.”
“But that number of transactions in that short amount of time? Shouldn’t that have drawn someone’s attention?”
“My accountant only looks over the personal books once a month, Detective. He had no reason to draw my attention to it. Also, there is still another day or two before his review is due.”
“Who is aware of these arrangements?”
“Just my family, and the accountant of course.”
“Someone who is aware of how the account is monitored withdrew a million dollars in the last few weeks without you knowing it. I would say it’s time for a review of your security measures, don’t you think?”
“Are you accusing my accountant of some financial misdealings? I’ve known the man for 10 years and he has always…”
“Mr. Vaughan, I’m not accusing anyone at this point. I’m just looking at my options here. This money transfer could be a completely separate deal altogether and not tied into the, ah, incident. I was just drawing your attention to the fact.” A fact Morgan thought begged for more research. “So, no one else comes to mind?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Mr. Vaughan, you recently contacted your attorneys for a family matter, did you not?”
“I was going to change my will. And before you ask, I was going to make provision for Rose McManus in it.”
“Arthur!” Marks, the most reserved lawyer in history of the New York Bar, spoke for the first time.
“Everything is fine, Clifford.” He looked at the wiry man, staring him down.
“Was this change family knowledge?”
“Not that I know of. Not even Rose was aware of what I was going to do.”
“And why was Rose McManus being provided for, Mr. Vaughan? It’s for the record.” She looked into his eyes. I’m sorry.
“Rose was my illegitimate child, Detective. I was just trying to provide for her future well being.” He smiled gently back at her. Apology accepted.
“One final thing, Mr. Vaughan. Has anyone in your family been in treatment for, say, drug or alcohol addiction?"
“Ahh, a couple of years ago my daughter was in a private rehab center in England for a drug problem. Oh, and my wife was in a facility recently for trouble with alcohol. Why are you asking me this?”
“You were drugged, Mr. Vaughan, with Ibogaine, a hallucinogen used in the treatment of drug and alcohol addiction. While the drug is being tested here in the US, it is not FDA approved, but it is widely available overseas.”
“Drugged? What...? Wait. Back up a minute... are you suggesting that someone in my family set me up, Detective?”
“It’s looking that way, Mr. Vaughan.”
“But… but why?” It was killing Morgan to see the lost look on his face. Obviously, the idea of someone close to him going to such lengths to bring him down had never occurred to him.
“Money can be a big motivator, Mr. Vaughan. You did say you were going to change your will.”
“But no one knew of my plans.”
“Maybe they overhead you speaking with your lawyer and decided they couldn’t risk you keeping that appointment.” She paused for a moment, waiting to have his attention again. “Mr. Vaughan, at the present we will not be arresting you. Evidence leads us to think that you may not have been responsible for the death of Rose McManus.”
“How so?”
“As I was saying earlier, you were drugged. There were traces of Ibogaine found in your blood work and also in the glass that was beside your bed.” There also was no gun residue on either of his hands or his pajamas, but this was not information Morgan was ready to reveal at the moment. The autopsy report for Rose McManus had shown traces of chloroform and slight bruising around her neck, suggesting she had been subdued prior to the shooting. Green eyes found blue before she spoke. “That, among other things, leads us to believe that someone went through a lot of trouble to make it appear you shot and killed Rose McManus.”
He looked up at her, stunned. “Do you need me for anything else, Detective?”
“No, Mr. Vaughan. That should be all for now.” I think I’ve done enough damage for one day…
Morgan escorted Arthur out, the lawyer staying behind for Mrs. Vaughan’s interview. She guided him carefully to a chair in the corridor, instructing a uniformed officer to get him a cup of coffee to calm his rattled nerves. “Are you alright?” she whispered.
“No. I feel like I’ve been stabbed through the soul.” Now this Morgan understood firsthand, the loss of innocence of someone entrusted with everything. She made a move to go back to the interview room but an aged hand stopped her. “Will you come to see me when this is all over?”
“That might not be a good idea, Mr. Vaughan.”
“Arthur… please, and just to talk.”
“Alright, when it’s all over.”
“Thank you, Morgan.”
“You’re welcome… Arthur.”
Morgan detoured to the room on the other side of the one-way mirror before returning to face the wife. “Captain, can we get someone to recheck the wife’s financial statements? See if we can pick up some kind of trail on where that money went.” Somehow she already knew the money was long gone. “Thanks. I better not keep Connie waiting…”
Morgan entered the interrogation room, focusing her attention on Connie Vaughan and her lawyer, who was seated beside her. On the other side of the table sat Andrea, a file of papers spread out in front of her. All eyes turned to her as she approached the table.
“Mrs. Vaughan, as I am sure Mr. Marks has already mentioned, we’ve found some interesting transactions within your personal banking account. Would you care to enlighten us?” She passed over the same papers she had shown Arthur only minutes before.
Connie Vaughan studied the sheets the looked up startled. “What??!? I… I didn’t authorize that!” She appeared genuinely confused, her normal air of snobbishness falling like a brick, leaving her wide open.
Marks took the opportunity to peruse the documents, eagerly reading the information he had been forbidden to see moments before.
“Mr. Vaughan stated that only family members were aware of the financial arrangements with the accountant concerning withdrawals. As you can see, those amounts did not exceed the limit needed to red flag an inquiry. Only family members knew... ma'am.”
“But… but…”
Morgan leaned over the table, resting her good hand on the wood. “The money is in YOUR account, Mrs. Vaughan. One million dollars was withdrawn in a matter of a few weeks. If we take a look back even further into your account what else are we gonna find, Mrs. Vaughan?” She tapped her finger on the bank statement sitting on the table. “Here are at least one million good reasons for setting up your husband, Mrs. Vaughan.”
Connie Vaughan looked at her lawyer, who sat quietly while the detective laid out her case. “But he would have given me that money if I’d asked for it!”
Morgan stared at her, completely disgusted. God, you’re nothing more than a prostitute, Connie. Sex for money. A lot classier than the ones on the street, but a hooker all the same. Morgan barely kept a straight expression as she thought of how this woman was screwing Arthur in more ways than one.
“But you couldn’t depend on that with the change of his will, could you?” Morgan turned her back to the blonde, facing Andrea and giving her a slight wink.
“He was going to change his will?”
“Oh, come on now. You’re his wife.” She wandered towards the mirror on the back wall, pretending to straighten up her non-existent lipstick in an exaggerated fashion, grinning at the Captain standing behind the one-way mirror. She swiftly turned. “You knew he was going to make some changes. You couldn’t risk losing what you thought you had.”
“Losin’ what I had? What the fuck are ya talkin’ about lady…? There ain’t nuthin’ he wouldn’t do for me. I love my husband.” Connie’s voice rose to a tight screech, her carefully hidden Brooklyn accent rising rapidly to the surface like oil on water.
Morgan internally cheered. So, home girl has come out to play.
“I’m sure you do, Mrs. Vaughan.” Morgan’s voice dripped with sarcasm, making it very clear to all her opinion on the matter. She looked over at her partner standing silently in the far corner, his arms crossed over his chest. In an abrupt change of questioning, she continued. “You were recently in rehab for… problems with alcohol, Mrs. Vaughan?”
The platinum blonde blinked for a few moments, trying valiantly to regain her composure. She was rattled and everyone knew it. Connie looked at her lawyer, silently begging for him to intercede on her behalf. “Ahh… yes. Why is that important?”
“Tell us about it.”
“Ahh, it was a private therapy group.”
“Using an experimental drug?”
“I believe so.”
“Ibogaine, was it not? It is a natural hallucinogenic that has the unexpected side effect of neutralizing withdrawal symptoms of both drug and alcohol addiction. Most effective, I believe.”
“Yes.”
“Are you still taking Ibogaine, Mrs. Vaughan?”
“Yes, I am currently involved in a very scientific study for the medication.”
“Mr. Vaughan had Ibogaine in his system, Mrs. Vaughan. The water glass found beside his bed was loaded with the drug.”
“Get to the point, Detective.” Finally Mr. Marks spoke, drawing an angered look from his client.
Morgan dug into her pocket to find her bottle of pain killers. Her wrist had been getting steadily more painful as the interview wore on, putting her patience on a knife edge. Before she exploded she popped a tablet into her mouth, washing it down with a mouthful of cold coffee from her stained mug. “Do you know what I think happened, Mrs. Vaughan? You overheard your husband was planning to change his will. Not willing to risk losing it all, you planned his little exit out of the picture. You systematically siphoned off funds up to the morning of the murder. This particular morning was the cook’s shopping day, so only the maid was left in the house. You subdued her while your husband was asleep. He woke up, drank the spiked water then went back to bed. Later, you woke him up again, telling him of noises downstairs. He was so out of it he believed he heard it too. But you knew it was the Ibogaine. You played into his hallucination, sending him down to find the maid on the floor. You followed him downstairs and after he collapsed on the floor in shock you took his gun, shot the woman and placed the gun back in his hand. You waited for the delivery boy to deliver the groceries, as he always does, and find the body, thereby giving you a witness to your husband with the gun in his hand. You went upstairs and phoned your lawyer, who just happened to arrive before the police did. How convenient.”
Mr. Marks snorted, “That’s quite a work of fiction there. Is that it, Detective?”
“Possibly, Mr. Marks. There is more than enough forensic evidence to make us doubt Mr. Vaughan’s participation in the murder. There is, however, a growing pile of evidence to point toward Mrs. Vaughan here.”
“It’s not true.” Connie turned to her lawyer. “Clifford, I didn’t do this. Help me.”
“Sergeant, you either arrest Mrs. Vaughan now or we are walking out the door.”
“You are free to go for now, Mrs. Vaughan, but I reiterate, do not leave the city.”
The tall, gaunt attorney escorted his charge from the room to meet up with Arthur in the hallway sipping his coffee. Morgan stood at the door, watching them all leave and wondering at the sad state of this particular family. Rich or poor, human nature rears its ugly head in all walks of life. She felt a new but unmistakable presence stand next to her. “What do you think, Counselor?”
“I think Mrs. Vaughan looked a little shaky, Detective.”
“Hmmm… What are you going to do?”
“Well, I’ll present the evidence to the DA with my recommendations and we’ll go from there.”
“And what do you recommend?”
“It’s a good theory, Detective, but will it stand up to cross examination?”
“I don’t know, but it’s all we’ve got for now.”
“So, it looks like Mrs. Vaughan is free for the moment. Let me know of any new developments, will you?”
“No problem, Counselor.”
“I guess I’ll see you out front then.”
“Excuse me?”
“You know, Hair-Washing-Wednesday!”
“Andrea, look, I don’t think it’s a good idea…”
“I’ll go home then. You meet me at my hotel room. Be there or else…”
Morgan knew for a fact it was a bad idea but her hair really did need washing, and Andrea did offer. Maybe this one time, then she could make arrangements with her hairdresser to get it washed and braided. Yeah, that would work. She watched the woman walk away, her eyes riveted on the gentle sway of her ass.
“So, Red, that was interesting.” Henry quickly hid a smirk as he noticed where his partner’s eyes were glued.
“It’s called fishing, Henry. Send out a line and see who nibbles.”
“Well, just be careful you don’t snag yourself a shark there, Morgan.”
“I better find my harpoon then there, matey.”
* * *
Morgan spent the rest of the afternoon looking over other cases that had been pushed aside for the Vaughan incident. Besides making a phone call to arrange for Chelsea Vaughan to come in for further questioning on Monday morning, proceedings had stalled while they tried to track down where all that damned money had gone.
She tried to keep busy as the clock slowly ticked on, not wanting to think about what was going to happen tonight. Would it be a replay of last night? She hoped not. It had been both painful and tortuous. She wasn’t sure she could keep this woman at arm’s length if Andrea decided to try and kiss her again. Secretly she hoped she would, but if the counselor knew that it would eventually lead to somewhere they shouldn’t be.
Morgan could feel the pressure in her head, but the pain was held at bay by the medication. This woman was becoming a serious distraction and she was able to think of nothing else. It was like standing in quicksand. She was slowly sinking into a situation that seemed to be inevitable, and fighting it was only speeding up her own demise.
For a moment she thought of just sneaking off early, escaping home, but she knew Andrea would come after her. Moving the confrontation from one place to another gave her no advantage at all. All that emotion flying around because she had tried to sneak away would only escalate their heightened awareness of each other. No, whichever way she looked at it, whether she liked it or not, there was only one outcome between the two of them.
* * *
Morgan’s knuckles hovered at Andrea’s hotel door. Twice she had tried to knock but hesitated. Just as she was about to walk away, the door swung open revealing Andrea barefoot in jeans and a loosely hanging blouse, the soft texture of the material dropping and softly molding itself to her frame. Her face was without make up and her blonde locks had been left to dry naturally, changing the normal business style to a soft wave framing her petite face. So beautiful. Morgan was now absolutely one hundred percent positive that this was definitely NOT the place she should be.
“What?” The small blonde looked down her body.
“Nothing,” she whispered dreamily. “Nothing at all.”
“Good.” Andrea could see that she had made the right impression. “Good. Come on in.” She shifted aside to let Morgan pass. Why did it seem like a first date? All this awkwardness and politeness, it was getting on her nerves.
“I… ahhh…” Morgan looked at the floor. “I didn’t imagine you would own a pair of jeans.”
“What did you expect? All business suits and high heels?”
“Pretty much.”
“You know, it’s very un-American not to at least own one pair of jeans.”
“But it doesn’t necessarily go hand-in-hand with the rich and famous, ya know?”
“You mean the Southern rich and famous. You still think of us as Gone With The Wind types? Debutante balls and the Ladies Auxiliary? Not this little black duck.”
“Little black duck? Are you still the little Southern Rebel, Andy?”
The counselor thought for a moment. “I suppose I am. I was a little black duck in a group of two. Maybe that’s why my mother is so intent on me being married with kids. Dad was an only child so if my brother and I don’t have kids, the Worthington lineage dies.”
“That’s a lot of pressure.”
“Day in. Day out. My mother was constantly harping on me to ‘marry Joel’ and it was slowly driving me crazy. I’m beginning to wonder if I moved here just to get away from her constant nagging. I’m giving her what she wants. Can’t she leave me alone?”
“If she was bothering you that much I’m surprised you didn’t book a seat on the next space shuttle.”
“I didn’t think of that.” The both chuckled at her predicament. “So, let’s get this hair washed. After all, that’s why you’re here. Right?”
“Right.” But the detective was less than emphatic about that. “How are we going to do this?”
“I’m thinking over the bathtub. I will have some room to maneuver and it should keep the mess to a minimum.” The small woman reached for the buttons of her blouse, not noticing Morgan getting agitated.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Do you honestly think I’m not going to get wet doing this? Hang on…” She rummaged through her suitcase for an old T-shirt, emblazoned with two ducks and the logo ‘Fly United’. The tall redhead shook her head. “What?”
“I would never in my wildest dreams imagine you wearing a T-shirt. It’s a radical look for you, don’t you think?”
“It’s the only one I have. My mother threw it out twice but I managed to sneak it back in.”
“Ah, the black duck strikes again! I haven’t seen that logo in years.”
“Hey! No one messes with my T-shirt!”
“I take due warning.” Morgan chuckled, shaking her head in amusement. “A T-shirt…” she muttered, “… now I’ve seen everything.”
“But it’s my ‘black duck’ T-shirt. There’s a big difference.”
“And I’m sure you enjoyed wearing it to annoy the hell out of your mother.” Amused, she watched the counselor slip the T-shirt over her head, mussing the blonde mop. “You are a right little troublemaker, aren’t you?”
A cheeky smile crossed Andrea’s lips. “Not this little black duck,” she whispered. “Haven’t you figured me out yet, Detective?”
“I don’t think I’ve even scratched the surface… Counselor.”
“Now stop distracting me. We have some hair to wash.” Andrea wandered into the bathroom, fully expecting that Morgan was on her heels. “I’m afraid you’ll have to use my shampoo. I hope that’s alright.”
“Sure,” Morgan muttered distractedly. “Whatever you have will be fine.”
If she had realized how sensual it was to have someone wash her hair, well maybe more to the point someone she was attracted to wash her hair, she would have tried it long ago. Those nimble delicate fingers gently massaged her scalp, slowly drawing her into a sleepy state as Andrea lathered up her hair. It was nearly hypnotic.
“You still with me?”
“Mmmm… huhhhh?”
“I thought you were going off to sleep there for a minute.” Andrea was amused at the relaxed detective.
“Keep this up and I just might.”
“It’s been a long day?”
“Long, painful, frustrating and tiring. I suppose just a little bit.”
Andrea bit her tongue. She was so tempted to ask her to stay but it just may cut the detective’s visit short if she did. The woman was more jittery than a June Bug. She didn’t know why but Andrea really enjoyed having Morgan around. She was easy, friendly and relaxing, and getting more so with each minute. They just seemed to go together. It was just… right.
“Now, duck your head.” Andrea grabbed the spray attachment from the bath and proceeded to rinse out the shampoo, a job that took several minutes and then some. “Woman, you have a lot of hair. How on earth do you keep it clean?”
“It takes some work, believe me.” Andrea could barely make out the words from the gushing water and the curtain of red hair. She adjusted the water to warm, watching bemused as the large body below her melted like jello in the sun.
“Is that good?”
A loud moan came from the jello blob. “Ohhhh, yeeaaahhh. Keep doing that.”
Andrea nearly swallowed her tongue at the sound of pleasure escaping the tall woman. Oh God, this was torture! She continued to rinse the hair, making sure every speck of shampoo was removed before applying the conditioner.
“What’s that you’re putting in my hair?”
“Conditioner, why? Don’t you use one?”
“Well, yeah, but this one seems different.”
The small woman was loathe to say what the real reason was. Hey, I can afford the good stuff. After all, why point out their economical differences at this point? “But it’s nice, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, smells good too.”
“I always liked that about this particular conditioner.”
Morgan didn’t really want the hair washing to end. Here she was with her head plastered against the small woman’s abdomen while she vigorously rubbed the damp hair with a towel. Oh God! Her breath blew across the ludicrous T-shirt, inhaling Andrea’s scent. It was so… so… She couldn’t think of a word to describe what was happening. Her body was being filled with Andrea, infiltrating every pore, cell and synapse. It was intoxicating, like a rare wine left decades to mature and develop into something… perfect. Rational thought was abandoned as her head lay against the small woman and she was hard pressed to pull away from the warmth against her forehead.
“I…” Her voice cracked. “I’ve got to go.”
“Why? I haven’t finished yet.” What happened? Andrea thought things had been going well. They seemed to have reached a rapport that worked for both of them. Now the woman was running.
“No, thank you for doing this. I can’t stay. I can’t…”
“Why don’t we have some dinner then?” Is that a safe option Morgan? Why do you fight so hard?
“No! No, I can’t.” The tall redhead started to panic and she was on the verge of developing hiccups.
But Andrea was willing to compromise in hope of getting a better deal. “I’ll tell you what… I’ll let you go if you’ll show me around NYC tomorrow. Hey, it’s Saturday. I’ve got nothing to do, you’ve got nothing to do. Let’s do nothing together.” She would sacrifice three hours to get eight.
“I don’t think…”
“You don’t want to show me around?” She tried to sound hurt in the hope of appealing to Morgan’s guilt. Hey, she was prepared to do whatever it took to get to see her again.
“No, no it’s not that. I’ve got housework to do.”
“With one hand? Yeah, right.”
“I didn’t say it was going to be easy.”
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll come over early and give you a hand then we can go for a walk in Central Park. How about that? Is that safe enough?”
“Safe? Are you insinuating something, Counselor?”
“Moi? Maybe this little black duck is hoping to see you again.”
“Why?” She didn’t really understand all of this. Why was this going on at all? “Please explain it to me. I don’t understand.” Morgan looked up into dark eyes, pleading for the small woman to put her out of her misery. She so needed a Rosetta Stone so she could make sense of all this. All she wanted was an answer, preferably less than six words long and one that didn’t have any legal mumbo jumbo in it.
“I’m in the dark as much as you are, maybe even more so. I’m supposed to be getting married next year and yet here I am, wanting to get to know you better. Why is that? Who knows how this works?”
Morgan stood, her hair already beginning to dry into a tangled mess. “I don’t know if I want to know. I had promised myself not to let this go further and here I am standing in your bathroom. Why can’t I stay strong?”
“Maybe you don’t want to stay strong.” She steered the tall woman towards the bedroom, grabbing her hair dryer as she went. “Let’s get this dried before anything more is said.”
The whirring of the dryer filled the air and they settled for thoughtful silence while Andrea dried her hair. “My God, woman, I have never seen so much hair in all my life!”
“Just braid it. That keeps it under control.”
“Your wish is my command, ma’am.”
“Not all the time…” Morgan muttered, wishing in vain Andrea could obey all her wishes.
“Pardon me?” A tinge of annoyance touched Andrea’s voice. “Did you say something?”
“No. Nothing.” She cursed herself for voicing her thoughts. One day the small woman was really going to let her have it... maybe in more ways than one. As the band tied around the base of the braid, Morgan shifted. “I’ve gotta go. Thanks for the help.”
“What about tomorrow?”
“It’s really not a good time.” Somehow she didn’t think that was going to be enough.
“What’s your address?”
“Why?”
“How am I going to find you without it?” Andrea could see her hesitate. “Give it to me… NOW!”
“Yes, ma’am!” Morgan had no choice but to back down to the feisty blonde… again.
Feedback is always appreciated. You can contact me at aurelia_fan@yahoo.com.au