Right Behind Her (Bree Taggert) Page 14

  Bree sipped on a cup of coffee while Matt summarized their interviews for Todd.

  Todd shoved a faded manila file across the table. “This is the SFPD file for Jane Parson’s missing persons case.”

  Bree lifted a brow. “It’s thick.”

  Todd nodded. “They covered all the bases.” He pulled out a stack of stapled pages. “Here’s the guest list from the country club charity event where she was last seen. Everyone in town was there, including Shawn Castillo.”

  “Seriously?” Bree leaned over to scan the list. “Shawn was there?”

  “He’s on the list.” Todd pointed to his name.

  “So are Elias Donovan and Richard Keeler.” Bree skimmed over the names of Gloria and Jane Parson. “The mayor, the old sheriff, and the police chief of Scarlet Falls were invited. Mr. and Mrs. Bradley Parson are on the guest list too, though their names are noted as no-shows. Keeler’s wife is also on the no-show list.”

  Todd thumbed through the file and found an envelope of photos. “Publicity and private photos from the event. The SFPD identified everyone who appeared in pictures with her.” He dealt them out on the table like playing cards.

  Matt picked up a photo of Jane with her mother. Thirty years ago, Gloria had been an attractive fiftysomething, with sleek dark-blonde hair and pricey-looking but tasteful jewelry. Her dress was a floor-length navy gown that subtly hugged her in all the right places but remained classy. In contrast, Jane flaunted a set of long, lean legs in a little black dress with an emphasis on little. Her nails and lips were painted fire-engine red. Her smile and bleached hair looked equally brittle. She was smoking hot, but with a self-destructive edge.

  Bree held a photo in her hand. “Here she is with Elias and Shawn. Shawn is really young in this picture.” The tuxedo-clad men flanked Jane. Elias and Jane smiled for the camera, their faces on automatic pilot. Shawn’s eyes were riveted on Jane’s cleavage. “He’s holding what looks like a beer. At eighteen, he would have been underage, not that anyone there would have cared.”

  “Would Jane have been interested in someone that young?” Matt asked.

  “He was a good-looking young man before he started using drugs,” Bree said. “Years of addiction have clearly taken their toll.”

  “They always do,” Matt agreed.

  “We need to talk to Elias about Jane.” Bree lifted the photo. “We haven’t seen him since we ID’d her, but clearly they knew each other.”

  “Small towns,” Matt said. “The rich people always know each other.”

  “But was Elias rich then?” Bree asked. “Marge said he made most of his money in the ’80s and ’90s.”

  Matt tapped the picture. “His family’s been around here for ages. They were never poor, but he definitely increased the family wealth.” He read the back of another photo. “Here’s Jane with Richard Keeler.” Keeler had his arm around Jane’s waist. His hand rested on her hip in an intimate gesture.

  “The event was the who’s who of Randolph County.” Bree peered at the picture. “They look cozy. Who was interviewed back in ’90?”

  Todd pulled out several reports. “Interview summary report for Keeler. Here’s one for Elias Donovan. The event ended at midnight. Keeler left around eleven forty-five. Elias stayed until just before midnight. These times were confirmed by security camera footage.”

  “Is there one for Shawn Castillo?” Bree asked.

  Todd shook his head. “Not a whole interview, but he confirmed that Elias was home before twelve thirty. Shawn was just a kid.”

  “Interesting,” Bree said. “Eighteen is an adult.” She pointed at the picture of Shawn looking down Jane’s dress. “He doesn’t look very innocent here. What time did he leave the club?”

  Todd checked his notes. “About ten minutes after Jane. Most of the guests left between eleven and midnight.”

  “Did anyone confirm what time Keeler got home?” Matt asked.

  Todd scanned a page. “Yes. His wife said he was home around midnight.”

  “We need to question Richard Keeler and Elias Donovan about that night and their relationships with Jane,” Matt said. “Do you want to do drop-ins or play nice?”

  Bree chewed on her lip. “I’m tempted to play nice . . .” She laughed. “Just kidding. I don’t want anyone to lawyer up before we get to them.”

  “Drop-ins it is.” Matt approved.

  Bree checked the time. “We’ll swing by their houses after the press conference.”

  Matt turned to Todd. “Any sign of Shawn?”

  “No.” Todd shook his head. “Deputies have tried all the usual places homeless people hide out: the park by the river, underpasses, the beach at the lake. So far, no luck.”

  “He doesn’t mind camping.” Matt touched his beard. “Have a deputy run by the state park facilities.”

  “Also, have them check with the local campgrounds,” Bree said.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Todd made a note.

  Matt gestured to a stack of photos that Todd had set aside. “Who’s in those?”

  “People who are no longer alive or didn’t look physically capable of the crime in these pictures,” Todd said.

  Matt skimmed through them. Jane posed with two elderly women sitting at a table. Jane leaning over an elderly man’s wheelchair. He was staring at her cleavage much like Shawn had done. Old creep. “These people look too old to dig shallow graves. We’ll put these aside for now.”

  Todd patted a cardboard box next to the file. “We have VHS tapes of the country club security camera feeds and the bar surveillance videos. Also, the video of the search of Jane’s home.”

  “Great,” Bree said. “Have you watched the vids?”

  Todd nodded. “I didn’t catch anything useful. The images are dark and grainy. Video surveillance technology in 1990 wasn’t what it is today.”

  “Send the videos over to forensics,” Matt said. “They might be able to make them clearer or brighter.”

  “Did you find Frank Evans’s missing persons file?” Bree glanced at her watch.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Todd shifted his paperwork around to bring a skinny file forward. “There isn’t much to it. They took a few statements and declared that he probably left town. He was a low-life, petty criminal. He didn’t have a job. He’d been evicted from his apartment. He’d been sleeping on his mother’s couch. Frank had no real reason to stay in town.”

  “His mother and brother say otherwise.” Bree reached for the file.

  The wealthy woman had earned a thorough investigation by virtue of her social status. Frank had been written off. Ironically, both had ended up in the same shallow grave.

  A few photos fell onto the table.

  Bree stopped and stared at a faded snapshot that had been tucked inside the file. Her face paled. Matt moved closer. In the photo, four men sat on the porch steps of her childhood home. They held cans of beer and smoked cigarettes. Curtis Evans hadn’t aged well. Matt had to look closely to recognize him. He sat next to his brother, Frank. Bree pointed to the man on the right. His face was partially in shadow.

  “Is that who I think it is?” Matt recognized him from his arrest record.

  “That’s my father.” Bree adjusted the photo under the lights. “With Frank and Curtis Evans. I thought Frank’s name sounded familiar the first time we heard it.”

  Matt craned his neck for a better view of the photo. “Curtis didn’t mention knowing your father.”

  “Maybe he didn’t make the connection.” Bree frowned. “Not everyone in town is obsessed with the Taggerts.”

  “But most people know your backstory. Of course, you didn’t recognize Curtis either.”

  “I avoided my father as much as possible.” Her tone was unemotional. “I used to disappear when men came over.”

  “So, Frank came to your house?” Matt stared at the image. The men sat apart from one another, and there was no sense of camaraderie in the photo. Every man for himself rather than all for one and one for all.

/>   “I can’t be one hundred percent positive, but I think he did.” Bree looked thoughtful. “I remember my father talking to someone named Frankie.”

  “What about Curtis?” Matt pointed to his face.

  “I can’t be sure.” Her tone was detached, as if she needed to separate herself from her father’s image. “His name doesn’t feel familiar, and I didn’t have any sense of recognition when we talked to him. Like I said, I did my best to stay out of sight.”

  “You were a smart kid.” A survivor, he thought. “Who is this fourth man?” Matt pointed to the man on the left.

  “I don’t know.” Bree stared at the image. “But he looks a little familiar too. Obviously, he knew my father. He was at the house.”

  “We’ll ask Curtis who he is,” Matt said.

  “But how did Frank end up buried in the yard.” Bree’s question was rhetorical.

  “Frank was your father’s friend?” Matt asked.

  “My father didn’t have friends.” Her voice went flat. “Frank, Curtis, and the mystery man must have worked with him.”

  Matt checked Jake Taggert’s file. “Your father’s background info says he was unemployed much of the time.”

  Bree nodded. “I actually don’t know what he did for money. I assume a variety of illegal activities. I suspect the dogs he kept were for fighting.”

  Matt flattened a palm on the file. “Maybe Curtis knows.”

  “Todd, get Curtis’s financial and cell phone records. Let’s see what he’s been up to recently.” Bree stood and gathered her files. “I’ll go give the press conference. Both of you come stand with me.” Bree disliked being in the media spotlight and would attribute credit to her team whenever possible.

  She went outside, where a half dozen reporters had gathered in front of the sheriff’s station. A thirty-year-old crime didn’t generate the same level of interest as a fresh murder. Bree began by identifying the victims. She gave their dates of disappearance, and then introduced Matt and Todd as part of her investigative team.

  “Is it true the remains were found on your family’s property?” one reporter shouted.

  “Yes,” Bree admitted.

  “Your father killed your mother,” another reporter pointed out. “Do you think he could have killed these people too?”

  Bree didn’t even blink. “This is an active investigation. We aren’t making any assumptions, but we are considering that possibility.” She concluded by asking anyone who had pertinent information on the crime or victims to contact the sheriff’s department.

  After she had finished the press conference, she and Matt drove to Richard Keeler’s address, a restored hundred-year-old farmhouse on a sizable chunk of land. A large red barn sat behind the house, and sleek horses grazed in several pastures. In one field, horse jumps had been set up. In contrast to the Parsons’ estate, this house exuded quiet money.

  Old money that didn’t have anything to prove to anyone.

  No one answered the front door. Bree and Matt walked across the grass to the barn. A young man braided the mane of a gorgeous chestnut mare. The horse tossed her head, jangling the snaps on the cross ties.

  “That’s a nice animal.” Bree eyed the horse with appreciation. “Is she competing tomorrow?”

  “Yes.” The groom’s voice held a slight Irish lilt. “Miss Becca rides her in the hunt seat division.”

  “She’s beautiful,” Bree said.

  The groom smiled and rubbed the horse’s shoulder. The mare nuzzled him. “That she is.”

  “Is Mr. Keeler at home?” Matt asked the groom.

  “I don’t know.” The man tied off a braid and stroked the sleek neck. “He’s not much for the horses. Try the batting cage on the other side of the house.”

  Bree and Matt retraced their steps. As they walked by a patio and pool, Matt could hear the sound of a mechanical pitcher and the regular whack of a bat hitting a ball. They walked behind a tall hedge to see a thin man standing inside a caged-in batter’s box. A machine pitched baseballs at him, and he hit them into the nets.

  They stopped just short of the space. Matt caught Keeler’s side-eye, so the man knew they were there. Still, he hit several more balls before lowering his bat. He picked up a remote control and hit a button to turn off the machine.

  “Pitches balls at ninety miles per hour.” Keeler turned to them and leaned on his bat. His head tilted back at an arrogant angle.

  “That’s nice,” Matt said with just a hint of don’t care. “We’ve come to talk with you about Jane Parson.”

  For a second, Matt thought he might have a chance to practice his CPR training. Keeler’s face went as white as the baseballs on the ground, and he made a choking sound, as if he’d swallowed one.

  He wheezed a few times. “Jane Parson?”

  “We’ve identified the remains.” Bree’s smile was ice cold. “The female is Jane Parson. The male is Frank Evans. Did you know him?”

  “No,” Keeler said.

  “How did you know Jane?” Bree asked rapid-fire, not letting him get his bearings.

  “We were in the same social circle,” Keeler stammered. “But I didn’t know her that well.”

  Liar, liar.

  Bree pulled the photo of Keeler and Jane out of her pocket. “You look pretty cozy in this picture.”

  “She was drunk.” Keeler’s face turned cardinal red. “I don’t have to answer any of your questions. Get the hell off my property.”

  “We could do this interview at the station,” Bree suggested.

  “I won’t be intimidated, Sheriff.” Keeler spit in the dirt. “Unlike most of the lowlifes you arrest, I know my rights.”

  “No one understands their legal rights better than a criminal,” Bree said with a bland expression.

  Keeler’s nostrils flared. “Are you here to arrest me for something?”

  “What would I arrest you for?” Bree asked.

  “Just answer the question,” Keeler snapped. “Am I under arrest?”

  “Not at this time.” Bree held eye contact.

  Keeler broke it. “Then go away. I didn’t know the man. Jane and I were no more than social acquaintances. I have nothing more to say.”

  “What are you afraid of?” Matt asked.

  Keeler stepped back into the batting box, restarted the pitching machine, and lifted the bat over his shoulder. A ball whizzed out. Clearly trying and failing to ignore them, he swung hard. The wooden bat broke in half.

  “Maybe he should slow down the pitches,” Bree said as they turned away. “Seems like the speed is too much for him.”

  “Definitely overkill,” Matt agreed.

  Keeler swore behind them as they walked back to her SUV.

  Matt slid into the passenger seat. “That went well.”

  Bree snorted. “He is the definition of an asshat.”

  “His picture should be in the dictionary under asshat,” Matt agreed. “If you were trying to soften him up regarding your budget, you failed.”

  “I told you I sucked at politics,” Bree said. “Did we go too hard?”

  “No.” Matt shook his head. “Once he heard Jane’s name, he shut down. It freaked him out.”

  “He has something to hide.” Bree started the engine. The smile she cast at Matt was cagey. “We need to talk to his wife. Marge said he didn’t make money. He married it.”

  “So, the provider of all this”—Matt waved a hand at the windshield and the beautiful grounds visible through it—“might not be thrilled if her husband was cheating.”

  “Most wives wouldn’t like it.”

  “So maybe he killed Jane to keep her quiet.”

  “It’s possible.” Bree drove to Elias Donovan’s house.

  Elias answered his door. He wore a sweat-soaked T-shirt and athletic shorts. His face went pale, and he put a steadying hand on the doorjamb. “Are you here to tell me my brother is dead?”

  “No,” Bree assured him. “We just have a few follow-up questions. May we come in?” />
  “Sure.” Elias stepped back and admitted them into the fancy foyer, then led the way to the kitchen.

  Matt began. “Have you heard from Shawn?”

  Elias shook his head. “No, and I’ve been driving all over town looking for him.”

  Bree pulled out the photo of the four men on the porch. “Do you recognize any of these men?”

  Elias reached for a pair of reading glasses on the counter. He perched them on his nose and picked up the photo to scrutinize it. “I don’t think so.”

  Matt pointed to Frank’s face. “This is one of the victims found in the shallow grave. His name was Frank Evans. Did you know him?”

  “No. Have you identified the second victim?” Elias removed his glasses.

  “Yes.” Matt paused. “Jane Parson.”

  Elias’s head snapped back as if he’d been struck. “Jane?”

  “You knew her,” Bree said.

  “Yes. She belonged to the country club. I know her family as well.” Elias pinched the bridge of his nose. “I still see her brother and his family there occasionally.”

  Bree set the photo of Elias, Shawn, and Jane on the counter.

  Elias stared at it, then eased onto a stool. “I don’t know why this is a shock. Jane has been missing for a long time, but we all thought . . .” He paused. “Jane was self-destructive, but why would anyone kill her? The only person she ever hurt was herself.”

  “What was the nature of Shawn’s relationship with Jane?” Matt asked.

  “Shawn and Jane?” Elias gave a shocked laugh. “In that photo, he was barely out of high school. Jane was much older. They knew each other enough to say hello in passing. That’s all. Our families don’t have a close relationship. We’re acquaintances. We see each other at community and social events. That’s about it.”

  “He looks plenty interested in her,” Bree pointed out. “Younger men like older women. Sometimes that goes both ways.”

  Elias shot her an irritated look. “He was eighteen, and she was an attractive woman. But I assure you, Jane would not have given Shawn more than a pat on the head. She was . . . experienced. She treated him like a child.”