Possessing Morgan:
A Matter of Conviction
by Aurelia
Part 3
See Part 1 for Disclaimers
Chapter 3
“You look terrible!”
“Good morning to you too...” Morgan felt like death warmed over. She had awakened tired, cranky and confused. It was bad enough that she had to see the woman every day at work, but now she was dreaming about her as well. This was not good.
“Not sleeping well?” Henry was enjoying his partner’s discomfort just a little too much.
“Grrrr. Had this weird ass dream then couldn’t get back to sleep.”
“What was it about? You know what they say about dreams.” Bleary green eyes met his own and he let out a loud snort.
“If you don’t stop all this crap I may just have to kill you myself. Suzie and the kids won’t like it, but I'll sure as hell feel better.”
“You gotta lighten up, Red, or you’re gonna make yourself crazy.”
“Too late. I’m already there.”
Henry felt sorry for the poor woman. His daddy didn’t raise no fool and he could easily see the attraction between the two of them. He shook his head as Morgan sat slumped in her chair cradling her head in her hands. Why do you fight it so hard, Red?
Markham stuck his head through the door, aiming a deadly glare at his two chief detectives. “O’Callaghan! Chang! My office! Now!”
Morgan jumped then looked at her partner. “Jesus, he just scared the crap outta me…”
“Let’s get in there before he gives a repeat performance.”
“Oh, before I forget, remind me to apply for an American Express card, will you?”
“You don’t believe in credit cards. Why now?”
“It might come in handy one day.”
“Uh huh.”
“Stop it! What is up with you?”
“The counselor arrives on the scene and all of a sudden you want a credit card?”
“It’s a coincidence.”
“No such thing,” he quipped, straightening his jacket as he shifted away from Morgan’s side.
While Henry made a move towards the captain’s office, Morgan reached for the jacket slung over the back of her chair, shoving her arms into the sleeves as she quickly stepped to the doorway.
As she entered, Markham spoke. “Don’t bother making yourself comfortable, Detective. There’s been a murder and I need you two over there ASAP. Make that five minutes ago!” He handed over the details to Morgan.
“Christ! You’re kidding, right?”
“Do I look like I’m kidding, Sergeant?” Morgan looked at the grim line on those dark features and knew this was serious. “The press is going to be all over this one, so quick and quiet. You got me?”
“Yes, sir!” Like twins they answered as one, leaving in quick succession. Morgan handed over the paper to Henry, glancing to watch his reaction to their assignment. A low whistle escaped his lips as he read the name and address.
“You get the motor running while I grab a couple of things.” Morgan made a dash to grab her notebook and cell phone.
“I’m on it.” Henry pushed briskly through the back doors leading to the police garage to sign out a car for their use.
It seemed so ridiculous to get a car for the couple of blocks they needed to travel to the crime scene when they both could have easily jogged it from the station house. Still, it was a warm day and it would look so uncool to jog up to the uniforms on the scene panting. Nope, detectives pulled up in speeding vehicles, sirens wailing and lights flashing like they meant business, scaring dogs, cats and little old ladies alike as they hurried about their important investigation.
One day, she decided, she’d like to do just that for pure shock value. Run up to the crime scene like a veritable Batman and Robin. Maybe she could get Henry to say “Holy Crapola, Batman!” every time they discovered a clue. She chuckled at the thought as she waited for the car at the bottom of the station house steps.
What had gotten into her lately? She thought she had hidden her mischievous streak well, but of late… Hell, who was she kidding? It was since she arrived. Morgan had not had a single coherent thought in her head since the small blonde stepped through those doors not so long ago. That was a dangerous precedent. Next thing you know she’d be trusting the woman with her heart. The last time she trusted someone with that much of herself two lives were ruined in the aftermath. Trust. Something she could no longer afford. The only person to come close to having her trust was Henry, but being her partner required a certain amount of trust to begin with.
A screech of tires drew her attention to the nondescript Crown Vic that skidded to a halt in front of her. She stood there for a moment before her door flew open. “I thought you were in a hurry.”
“Yeah, yeah. Keep your shirt on,” she muttered as she folded her long legs to get into the passenger seat. Morgan had barely closed the door when her partner pulled out into traffic without so much as a signal. He flipped a couple of switches on the dash to activate the sirens and lights, filling the air with that damned awful wail.
Morgan studied her partner as he negotiated the traffic like a Brickyard 400 driver, deciding that he could always fall back on that career if the police force didn’t pan out for him. The flashing light cast an eerie flickering red glow over his Asian features every second as the bulb rotated at a frenetic pace, leaving her eyes blinking at the strobe effect.
Henry was fun. Despite being happily married, with a wonderful wife and three gorgeous youngsters, he had taken it upon himself to be Morgan’s “mother”, forever trying to steer her back towards living life again. Now he was trying to push her into something she was not sure was such a good idea. While her body screamed at her not to throw away this chance, she could not, in all honesty, seduce someone else’s woman from under their nose. She had standards, after all, but even her normally steely will was going to be hard pressed not to react to the counselor. She just had to make sure she kept her distance.
A sudden jolt as the car jerked to a stop drew Morgan out of her introspection. “Run out of road did we?” She had to have a serious talk with her partner before they were both killed.
“Ha, ha, very funny. We’re here.”
“Don’t want to do a donut in the middle of the street or anything, do you?”
“Are you saying something’s wrong with my driving?”
“Besides your need to smear us all over the pavement you mean?”
“Picky picky…” he mumbled, hurt that she didn’t trust him.
Oh crap. Morgan placed her hand over Henry’s still sitting on the steering wheel. “Hey…” He didn’t look at her, his eyes firmly fixed on the windshield. “Hey partner… look…”
“No… no need to say anything.” He made a move to get out of the car but his hand was held firmly in place. Sighing, his eyes finally met Morgan’s.
“Yes, there is. I trust you with my life, partner. I just don’t want to be the one to have to tell Suzie the bad news. Looking into those innocent eyes… that would kill me.”
“Yeah, I know.” But he was unconvinced. His ability as a driver was being called into question and it hurt.
“Look… You drive just fine, it’s just that sometimes you just go a little too fast for my liking. This was only a couple of blocks away. It wasn’t going anywhere. Can you slow down a little just for me? Please?”
“For you?” Awww hell. Those green eyes pleadingly looked into his.
“Yeah…,” she whispered, “…for me… and Suzie.”
“I’ll try.”
“That’s all I can ask, Chinatown.” Her heart was beating a little faster after that little conversation. Dammit, why did she bring it up now? Pushing her thoughts aside, her mind shifted easily into the mantle of detective sergeant, her eyes slipping over the chaotic scene in front of her. “Christ…”
“You can say that again.”
“Christ…” For her efforts, she received a wry smile from the driver. She quietly chuckled, thinking how well they meshed together, and she hoped they would have a long and prosperous partnership. Besides catching the bad guys, it was Henry that made this job worthwhile. He kept her sane, kept her focused and kept her out of trouble.
Morgan reached for the glove box to extract a couple of pairs of latex gloves. “Let’s get this show on the road,” she sighed before opening the car door to a handful of reporters trying to get something from the police. “Come on, guys. We just got here. You know the drill.”
She shoved confidently through the waiting throng, checking her badge on her belt as she approached the uniform blocking the way to the building. “Detectives O’Callaghan and Chang, Fifth Precinct.” As she ascended the stairs to the front door Morgan checked out the street, looking one way then the other. This was a nice piece of real estate, the street lined with brownstones and private entrances. These were houses, not apartments, and spoke of money. A lot of money.
“Looking for something?”
“Nope, just checking out the local terrain.” It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the change from sunlight to shade, her vision checkered with white spots until they gave way to darker hues.
“Yo, O’Callaghan!”
“Hey, Hodges. What’s going on?”
“What’s going on? One of the City’s richest men was found on the kitchen floor next to the body of the dead maid with the murder weapon in his hand. And you want to know what’s going on?” The head of the crime unit stared at her disbelievingly. “Where have you been? Australia? This has got to be the hottest case in the last two years.”
“Well, d’uh, Hodges. I just got here. Cut me some slack.”
The squat man chuckled deeply, enjoying finally having Morgan on the ropes. “The police photographer is here and is taking pictures. Forensics is just beginning.”
“Where’s Vaughan?” Hodges pointed to the sitting room. “Thanks.” Morgan and her partner stood at the entrance to the room, taking in an elegant man sitting slumped in an overstuffed chair, his eyes vacant. Shock couldn’t begin to describe this man’s look. He was nearly catatonic and Morgan knew her work was cut out for her to get anything intelligible out of him. Behind him stood who she assumed was his wife, her hand resting on his shoulder in comfort. A thin, wiry middle-aged man sat on the chair opposite Vaughan, his officious air convincing her that he was the lawyer.
“My name’s Detective Sergeant O’Callaghan and this is Detective Chang. We’re from the Homicide Division.”
“Detective… O’Callaghan, was it?” Vaughan’s wife spoke on behalf of her husband. The woman was much younger than her husband, maybe in her mid-thirties, dressed in a robe nice enough to wear out on the town and a rock on her finger that would make Ivana Trump look twice.
Green eyes shifted from the seated man to the woman, contemplating what circumstances led to such a union. They were obviously from two different worlds. Despite his obvious distress, Arthur Vaughan exuded a quiet assuredness of a man who had been around wealth most of his life. Conversely, his wife, one Constance Vaughan, made her think ‘Trailer Park Resident Wins Lottery’. Her mother would have turned in her grave at her daughter using such a comparison, but she couldn’t help it. The woman was a fake, enjoying the power and position she had been granted. Even Morgan could see that.
“Can you give us a moment or two before questioning him?” Morgan knew she was going to be hard pressed not to flat out smack this woman.
“As you wish, ma’am. If you’ll excuse me, while we wait I’d like to check the scene of the......incident.” She moved away from the doorway, her facade cracking from the strain. Henry closely followed behind. “What the hell are you doing?” he muttered.
“That Vaughan woman is pissing me off.”
“So… what’s all this polite crap?”
“We’re gonna play their game… for now. Just follow my lead, partner, but that woman is pissing me off just by breathing.” Henry waited silently while his partner vented her frustration. “I don’t know how I’m gonna stop myself from kicking her into next week.”
“You’ve given me your colorful commentary on the wife. So what do you think about Vaughan?”
She smirked. “Besides his bad taste in women you mean? I don’t know. He seems a bit out of it.”
“Yeah. Can you get the paramedics in here to check him out, Hodges? He doesn’t look too good.” With a nod, Hodges disappeared. Henry stood by the doorway while Morgan ventured into the kitchen.
“Hey, Henry. Can you go chase down the statement from the delivery boy? Don’t forget fingerprints and gunshot residue.”
“Sure, boss.” He chuckled at the raised eyebrow from the tall redhead.
Her field of vision narrowed to the body on the floor, lying on her side like she was asleep. She looked at the medical examiner doing his preliminary examination. “Hey, Wyman. Got an estimated time of death?”
Intelligent hazel eyes looked up at her, partially hidden by the wire-rimmed glasses he wore. “The body’s still warm and pliable, O’Callaghan. Couldn’t be more than a couple of hours.”
“Cause of death?”
Wyman gently tipped over the woman until she was lying on her back. “Single gunshot wound to the chest. There doesn’t seem to be any other evidence of trauma. But you know better than to take that as gospel, O’Callaghan. I won’t admit to anything until the autopsy.”
“You’re too smart for your own good, Wyman. I would appreciate a copy of the report as quickly as possible.”
“No problem.”
“Thanks.” She continued to watch the crime lab boys move about competently collecting evidence. They took scrapings from the floors and furniture, dusted for prints and bagged just about anything that had been left laying around. She could see where they had been by the fingerprint dust liberally scattered over walls, floors, tables, chairs, sinks, utensils and appliances. Nothing was left untouched. “Oh, Wyman, if you find anything, call me right away, huh?”
“Sure.”
“Owe ya one.”
“That makes three…”
“Yeah, yeah…” She didn’t see the gun. “Anyone bag the murder weapon?” One of the crime boys held up a bag with the evidence. “Why do I bother even asking?” A gentle snicker rolled around the room, as if to say ‘Then why do you?’ Saying something so obvious was more a matter of saying something to break the silence of the room more than anything else.
“Hey, Wyman.” The M.E. looked up from his work. “Can you get one of your boys to take fingerprints and gunshot residue on our three suspects?”
“Sure.” He stepped over to one of the young rookies, whispering calmly into his ear. The young officer graced Morgan with a smile as he passed her, delicately stepping around the assorted spots of forensic dusting and marked cards.
The tall detective waited a few minutes for fingerprinting to be finished. When Henry returned she made a move toward the front room. “Okay, let’s see what Vaughan has to say for himself, or probably Mrs. Vaughan. She looked like she might have her hand stuck up his ass.” It was just as well this was only a preliminary interrogation because the wife was going to be a problem. Still, she needed to get some sort of report to give to the captain. Going back empty-handed was not an option.
“Mr. Vaughan? Do you remember me? Detective O’Callaghan?” Dull blue eyes tracked up to her but there was little recognition in them. Morgan studied the old man, wondering what would make him do such a thing. Would he? Could he? Her gut instinct was saying no but the circumstantial evidence was saying otherwise. Morgan’s mind mulled over the dilemma for a few moments, making a decision that she was not sure was a good idea. And yet looking into those eyes…
The tall, spindly-looking man, looking very officious in his crisp three-piece suit and slicked back hair, stood next to the wife whispering to her.
“Ahh, Detective…”
“Sergeant O’Callaghan.”
“Yes, of course. Detective Sergeant O’Callaghan. I am Clifford Marks of Schneider, Marks and Edgerton. I am representing Mr. Vaughan at this most unfortunate time.”
Morgan jotted down the relevant information into her notepad. She had heard of these heavy-hitters by reputation but she thought they warranted further investigation. She wanted to know her enemy, and anyone standing between her and the perpetrator of this crime was her enemy.
She turned her attention to the elderly gentleman sitting in the stuffed chair, his head hanging in abject defeat. “Mr. Vaughan? Are you up to answering some questions?”He looked up at her but his eyes were empty, deep depths of darkening blue that were bottomless. Morgan’s eyes swept over to the lawyer, watching his lips purse in aggravation.
“Huh?” Vaughan spoke for the first time.
“Can’t you see that my client is not able to competently answer your questions?”
“Sergeant, wasn’t it?” A glimmer of recognition appeared on Vaughan’s face, their eyes meeting momentarily.
“Yes… Sergeant O’Callaghan.”
“Arthur, I’m advising you not to say another word.”
“Yes, yes, continue.” With a flick of his hand, Vaughan dismissed his attorney’s caution.
Morgan could hear a disgusted sputter escape the counselor’s lips. She turned her attention to the silver-haired man. “Mr. Vaughan, can you tell me, in your own words, what happened?”
Morgan’s blood pressure rose as the grating voice spoke on behalf of her husband, something she suspected happened on a regular basis. “My husband went into the kitchen but the maid was already dead. Distraught, he just picked up the gun without thinking. He couldn’t possibly have killed her.”
“Mrs. Vaughan, I was asking your husband to tell me in his own words.” Morgan paused for a moment, thinking. “How to you know this, ma’am? Did you go with him? Or maybe you were already present in the room when he entered?”
“Certainly not. He told me when you left the room, Sergeant.”
“And yet your husband here is nearly catatonic from the incident, Mrs. Vaughan. How could he possibly have been cognizant enough to say anything?”
“Connie, say no more.” Finally, the lawyer started earning his considerable fee. The detective would never use him as her attorney because he didn’t do jack-shit. She would be expecting kicking and screaming at least for her hard-earned bucks.
“Is Mrs. Vaughan a suspect here, Detective?”
“Mr. Marks, everyone is a suspect until eliminated from the investigation.”
The woman sighed, her coiffured platinum blonde hair moved with the shifting of air. The detective looked at the face and hair in front of her, unable to help herself making a comparison. You may have it all, Connie Vaughan, but you are not even in the same ballpark as Andrea Worthington. You are not even in her league.
At that precise moment Henry discreetly cleared his throat, drawing Morgan’s attention to the doorway. “I’ve asked the paramedics to check Mr. Vaughan. He seems to be in some distress here.”
“Thank you for your consideration, Detective O’Callaghan. May we continue this interview at a later stage?”
“I’ll wait on the paramedics first. After that, we can make an arrangement for his deposition. In the meantime, these two officers will stay with you until the paramedics have finished. Excuse me, please.” Morgan paused at the doorway, looking the attorney straight in the eye. “Oh, and Mr. Marks? We will require the pajamas, the robe and the slippers he is currently wearing.” Marks acknowledged her request with a slight nod.
Morgan and Henry moved out into the foyer, allowing the paramedics in. “Well, what do you think?”
“Besides the wife being a certified bitch?” A small smile touched Henry’s lips at Morgan’s catty remark.
“My, my, what brought that on?” He couldn’t help but tease her… just a little bit.
“There’s… something… about her that just cramps my ass.”
“So, the old guy did it then?”
“Nah, the wife did it.” Henry did a double-take as Morgan made a prediction.
“What? He was found right next to the body with the murder weapon in his hand!”
“Heh… Gotcha!”
“Good… very good. You know, I like this other side of you.”
“What are you talking about, Henry?”
“You’re normally so…”
“Single-minded? Focused? A bitch?”
“… stuffy. Good to see you’re finally coming around to my way of thinking, thanks to the counselor.”
“Hey!” Those almond eyes gazed steadily at her, stating in no uncertain terms what he thought of her dismissing his claim. “Hmmm…” Henry tried very hard not to laugh. It was a murder investigation after all. “C’mon, let’s poke around upstairs before we have to get a warrant for this sort of thing.”
* * *
Fifteen minutes later a uniformed officer found the two of them looking around the upstairs bedrooms. They returned to the front room for the paramedic’s report before their whereabouts were questioned. “So, what’s the verdict?”
“He’s pretty shaken up. They’ll probably keep him in the hospital overnight for observation. He has some kind of heart condition, so they’ll need to confer with his doctor.”
“Two uniforms will have to go with him to secure the room. He is the prime suspect in a murder investigation.”
“Fine. You might need to make arrangements with the hospital.”
Morgan approached the trio in the front room. “Mr. Vaughan, the ambulance will be taking you to hospital.” There was an agitated response between the wife and the attorney. She held up her hand. “Now, it’s probably only for observation and should be just overnight. We will confirm this, but we will be by to talk in the afternoon, say, around two?” She looked at the lawyer for confirmation, receiving a small nod in return. “In the meantime, Mrs. Vaughan, I need to get a statement from you.”
At that precise moment, a younger woman, tall, long blonde hair and looking very much like a young heiress at barely twenty years of age, rushed into the room. “Mother! Daddy! What’s happened?” Immediately, Morgan’s senses went on alert. She watched the older woman’s reaction to this staged display of emotion. Connie Vaughan couldn’t possibly be this woman’s mother, unless she had her when she was about fourteen, and somehow Connie didn’t seem the sort of girl that would allow herself to get knocked up at that age. Eighteen maybe… but not fourteen. No, Connie was the proverbial wicked step-mother, and by the looks of the taut lines around her mouth, the feeling was mutual.
“Excuse me, and you are?”
“Chelsea Vaughan. And you are? What’s going on, Mother?”
“These are the detectives investigating the murder of Rose.” Connie’s voice was tight and clipped, as if barely controlling her anger.
“Rose? Murdered?” Morgan so wanted to slap the girl for the dramatics.
“Now, Mrs. Vaughan, can you tell me…”
“Detective, please, my husband needs to get to the hospital. Can we give our statements later this morning once I am sure that Arthur is resting comfortably?”
“Very well, Mrs. Vaughan. Miss Vaughan, you can accompany your mother…” Morgan nearly choked on the word, “… to the station house when she gives her statement. We need a statement from you as well as to your whereabouts this morning.”
“I don’t think I can be of much help to you, Detective, but I’ll do what I can.”
“Until later in the morning then.” Morgan and Henry retreated, leaving the group to get organized for the trip to the hospital.
“Well, that must have been painful.” Her partner studied her as she stood contemplating her next move.
“Sorry, Henry? What are you talking about?”
“Having your head stuck up your own ass. Gotta be the most uncomfortable thing I’ve ever seen.” Morgan could see that she was going to have to do something about being so predictable to her partner.
“And how would you know?”
“Oh, come on. How much more disgustingly polite could you be? Any more kissing up and you’d be in bed together. Care to explain now?!”
“Something here is so not right, Henry. Vaughan is barely able to speak. The other two... well, on one hand, they seem to be crucifying him then, on the other hand, they’re trying to protect him. What's up with that? And what was up with that little performance with the daughter? For the moment I’m giving them some rope to see which way they swing.” Morgan glanced at her partner. “That slimy high priced suit-job of theirs was just waiting for one wrong move from me. I was going to make damned sure that he had no call to complain up the ladder. Not for now anyway. Let's play it by the book and see who screws up first, Henry. It should be interesting.”
Continued in Part 4
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