Right Behind Her (Bree Taggert) Page 21

  “You’re under arrest for assaulting an officer of the law.” She didn’t have enough evidence for a murder charge.

  Yet.

  “Let’s go.” She grabbed his biceps, helped him to his feet, and marched him toward the house.

  “I’ll sue you,” he spit. “You’re going to lose your job. You can’t treat me like this.”

  Bree ignored him. As they approached the house, she spotted Matt and a middle-aged woman on the back porch. They rose. Matt’s brows lifted. The woman stared at Keeler with unexpected hostility.

  “Mrs. Keeler?” Bree introduced herself.

  The woman nodded. “I’m Susanna FitzGeorge.”

  Bree almost smiled.

  “Call our attorney, Susanna,” Keeler sputtered. “This is an outrage.”

  Susanna regarded him with a cool glare. “Find your own attorney. David’s firm won’t be representing you.”

  Keeler’s face paled, the anger sliding from his face as if it were melting as his wife turned and went into the house. She didn’t slam the door but closed it with a deliberate motion. It shut behind her with a final, firm click.

  Matt jogged down the steps. “What happened?”

  “He swung the bat at me.” Bree tugged Keeler toward the front of the house.

  Matt’s brows dropped and he shook his head at Keeler. “That was monumentally stupid.”

  Bree felt her lips peel away from her teeth in a predatory grin. “He’s under arrest for assaulting an officer.”

  “Then let’s take him in.” Matt kept pace beside them.

  They returned to the driveway and loaded Keeler into the back of the sheriff’s SUV. Bree fastened the seat belt across his body. She climbed behind the wheel and drove to the station. Keeler stared out the window and seethed.

  At the station, Bree handed him off to a deputy. She wanted to give him a few minutes to marinate in his own mistakes. “Put him in interview room one.”

  The deputy led him away.

  Bree and Matt went into her office, where Bree dropped into her chair behind the desk. Dissatisfaction rumbled through her.

  “What’s wrong? You made an arrest. Keeler is a good suspect for Jane Parson’s murder.”

  “But so far, there’s no link between him and Frank Evans.”

  Matt paced while he summarized his interview with Susanna FitzGeorge. “She’s recanting her previous statement. Now she says Keeler came home around three o’clock in the morning, not midnight, after the charity event. She also said he claimed to have had car trouble the night he was with Jane at the bar. He gave the same excuse the following week when he was three hours late after the charity event. He doubled down on the lie by putting the car in for service the next week.”

  Bree paged through a pile of pink message slips, then set them on her blotter. Pressing both palms to her desk, she pushed to her feet. “Let’s find out where he was for those three hours.”

  “How do you want to play it?”

  “He has a huge ego. He might think he can talk his way out of this.”

  Matt agreed with a nod. “He’ll play his this is a misunderstanding card.”

  “You start. I was already mean to him today.” Bree opened her door. “Give him the opportunity to run his mouth all he wants.”

  They stopped in the break room for a bottle of water, then filed into the interview room. The room held a table and four chairs. Keeler slumped in the closest chair. His obnoxious bravado had evaporated.

  “Are you going to remain calm?” Bree asked with a stern look.

  Keeler nodded.

  “Then stand up and turn around.” She removed his cuffs.

  He rubbed his wrists, then sank back into the chair.

  Matt and Bree took the opposite chairs. Matt set the bottle of water in front of Keeler, who opened it and drank with an air of that’s more like it. He shot Bree a look, then addressed Matt. “The assault charge is bullshit. I didn’t strike her.”

  Bree ignored his statement. “Tell us about the night of the charity event. How was Jane that night?”

  “We’ve already gone over this,” Keeler protested.

  “Indulge us,” Matt said. “We weren’t there.”

  “She was drunk, as usual.” Keeler set the bottle on the table. “She was hanging all over every man she could get her hands on.”

  “What time did you leave the country club?” Matt asked.

  “Around eleven forty-five.” Keeler drank more water, his gaze wary. “The event ended at midnight. Everyone was leaving.”

  Matt followed up. “And what time did you get home?”

  “I don’t recall.” Keeler shifted his position in his seat, trying to get comfortable with his lie.

  Matt leaned his forearms on the table. “Your wife says you didn’t come home until three o’clock in the morning.”

  Keeler leaned back in his chair to recover his personal space. “She wouldn’t know because she was asleep.”

  Bree wondered if he was aware he’d just argued against his own alibi.

  “She says she was only pretending to be asleep to avoid talking with you.” Matt let the point sit a few seconds before hammering it home. “She was angry because you were missing half the night while she was home pregnant.”

  Keeler froze for a few seconds. Only his eyeballs moved. His gaze darted from the water to the table and back again as he tried to think of a response. In the end, he must have come up empty, because he said nothing.

  Bree set down the photo of Keeler leaving the bar with Jane.

  Keeler’s gaze landed on the photo and stayed there. He knew he was in deep trouble.

  Bree tapped the photo over Jane’s head. “Were you having an affair with Jane?”

  Keeler hesitated, then his mouth twitched. “No.”

  She sensed Keeler was skating around a lie. She rephrased her question. “Did you ever have sexual relations with her?”

  Keeler met her gaze, his eyes stubborn and defiant. “I didn’t kill her.”

  Bree shook the photo. “Did you meet with her after the charity event?”

  He didn’t hesitate and maintained angry eye contact. “No.”

  “So where were you for three hours?” she pressed.

  He shifted his ass in his chair. “Jane was supposed to meet me afterward. I went to her place and parked behind the house so no one would see my car. She didn’t show up, so I went home.”

  Bree sat back. “You were having an affair with her?”

  With a hard puff of air through his nose, he gave her a curt nod. “I won’t be saying anything else without an attorney, except that I didn’t kill her.”

  “OK.” Bree rose, opened the door, and called in a deputy. “Book him for assaulting an officer.”

  The deputy snapped cuffs on Keeler and took him away.

  Bree watched them disappear down the hallway. “I hope he has to spend the night in jail, but rich people always seem to get bailed out fast.”

  Rising from his chair, Matt shot her a sly smile. “Booking will take a while. Then he has to find his own attorney.”

  “His wife turned on him in record speed.” Bree went through the doorway. “Well done.”

  Matt followed her from the room to her office.

  Bree went behind her desk. “Was she worried about the false statement she gave in 1990?”

  Matt shook his head. “Not at all. I doubt the prosecutor will go after her, and I assume she has the kind of attorney who can make that issue go away. At the time, she was almost due to give birth. She didn’t want to believe he would have cheated on her. Now she’s angry and embarrassed that she let him fool her all these years.” He hesitated. “But she still doesn’t think he killed Jane. She said he’s not cunning or bold enough.”

  Bree rolled back her chair and sat. “He was bold enough to swing a bat at my head.”

  “He definitely has a hot temper, but that’s not the same thing as premeditated murder.” Matt stood, as if his brain were too busy
for his body to be still. “Maybe she made him angry and he killed her accidentally.”

  “I don’t see how a bullet in the head can be accidental,” Bree said. “And then there’s Frank’s murder. How did they get in that grave together?”

  “All good points.” He walked the length of her office and back.

  “But we still have Shawn Castillo as a suspect as well.”

  “If we can find him,” Matt said.

  Three raps sounded on Bree’s door.

  “Come in,” she called.

  The door opened and Todd walked in. He carefully shut the door behind him. Bree didn’t like his frown or worried eyes.

  “We have a problem.” He stopped at the corner of her desk. “You’re not going to like it.”

  “What is it?” Bree shifted forward. Dread coiled in her chest like a spring.

  Todd said, “Forensics called. Some of the evidence from the original scene and also from Shawn Castillo’s house is mislabeled.”

  “How much of it?” Matt stopped pacing.

  Todd touched his forehead, as if the answer pained him. “Enough to be a serious problem.”

  “Who collected the evidence?” she asked.

  Todd frowned. “Deputy Oscar.”

  “Is he here?” Bree asked. This was Oscar’s third strike, at least. Damn it. She’d given him so many chances. Would he ever learn?

  “Yes,” Todd said.

  She scrubbed a hand down her face. “I want to talk to him after I call the DA.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll get him.” Todd left the office.

  “What are you going to do?” Matt asked.

  “I have to talk to the DA.” She reached for her phone. “And then I’ll deal with Oscar.”

  “I’ll go get some coffee.” Matt walked out of the office, closing the door behind him.

  The DA picked up his line. “Sheriff Taggert. I was just going to call you.”

  “I hear we have a problem.”

  “We do.” Bryce Walters was a politician down to his soul. But he was also an excellent prosecutor. He was good-looking in a respectable way and had a courtroom presence that held a jury’s attention no matter how boring the evidence.

  For the last six months, Bree had worked with him repeatedly without issue. She respected his skill and his opinion, but today, she knew she wasn’t going to like what he had to say.

  “A significant amount of the evidence from the crime scene and Shawn Castillo’s house was mislabeled.”

  “How?”

  “The dates are incorrect, and some of the labels are not clearly marked with the case number. Two envelopes weren’t properly sealed.”

  Shit.

  The DA continued. “I’m going to drop all the charges. A first-year attorney could get all of the evidence thrown out.”

  “Even the assaulting an officer and trespassing charges?”

  “I’ve already been contacted by Mr. Castillo’s attorney,” the DA said. “Mr. Castillo says he didn’t hear you identify yourself as the sheriff and was acting in self-defense.”

  Bree suppressed an eye roll at the absolute ridiculousness of the statement, but she felt her eyes narrow. “He was trespassing on my brother’s property.”

  “The property is not marked private and borders county-owned open space.” The DA’s tone was unyielding.

  But Bree couldn’t decide if the DA actually believed his own bullshit. “He was inside a barn he doesn’t own. It was clearly not open space.”

  “The county has bought other vacant pieces of property in the past twenty years as part of the open-space program. His argument is not completely without merit.”

  “What about the drug charge?” Bree knew the answer before he spoke.

  “Mislabeled evidence reeks of corruption, and all the charges against Mr. Castillo will carry the stench.”

  Frustration welled in Bree’s throat. “A narcotics addiction isn’t going to go away on its own.”

  “I understand that, and I don’t disagree with you, but this charge is not going to happen.” The DA paused.

  Bree chewed on the DA’s statement. There was no point in arguing with him. The prosecutor had the ultimate say in whether a suspect was charged. “What if I found additional evidence?”

  “Do you want some advice, off the record?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. Do I?” Bree asked in a wry tone.

  Walters chuckled. Even though he was giving her news she didn’t want, she couldn’t help but like him. Which is why he gets reelected every year. Most people liked him. Hell, even most of the defense attorneys like him.

  “Elias’s attorney would fight every little charge as if Shawn were being charged with a dozen murders. Ultimately, he would win. He knows all the judges. He would play Shawn as a victim of your overreach. He would present the mislabeled evidence as proof of your incompetence and corruption. He would make you look like a bitch. I’ve gone up against him in court before. I know how he operates.”

  “So, I should just let him win without a fight?” Bree bristled. “That won’t be good for my career long term either.”

  “No.” Walters sighed. “But don’t engage in fights you can’t win. In a perfect world, Elias would care more about his brother’s addiction than his own reputation. But we both know the world is far from perfect.” He exhaled hard. “You could win this one battle and still lose the war. Elias is well liked in the community. He’s been here forever. You are a newcomer. He has the power to ruin your career.”

  “I hate politics.” Bree sat back and let the DA’s words simmer for a few seconds. If she insisted on pressing minor charges against Shawn, she would irritate the judge, who was Elias’s friend, and be painted as corrupt by the media. She was backed into a corner, but the only way out felt like a hammer to the funny bone.

  “That’s because you have integrity,” the DA said. “You’re a good sheriff. The best one we’ve had in decades. The county needs you, and selfishly, I much prefer working with an honest sheriff. Your predecessor made my job very difficult.”

  Bullshit or truth?

  Bree couldn’t tell. She swallowed her distaste. “Fine.”

  Walters said, “Good. It’s the right decision.”

  Then why did it feel so completely wrong?

  “What if Shawn Castillo is the person who killed the two victims?” she asked.

  “Then we have a very big problem. You’ll need evidence that hasn’t been tainted.” The DA ended the call.

  Bree got up, opened her door, and spotted Oscar at a desk. “Oscar. My office. Todd, you come too.”

  When they entered, she gestured for Oscar to take a chair facing her desk. Todd leaned on the wall next to Bree, positioning himself on her side.

  Bree settled back in her chair and leveled a hard gaze at Oscar. “You’ve been given both verbal and written reprimands about following procedure after your lack of follow-through has caused dangerous incidents. I just heard from the forensics lab and the DA. You mishandled evidence and compromised our charges against Shawn Castillo. I’m putting you on administrative leave. Hand over your badge and gun.”

  Oscar’s mouth opened and closed. How could this possibly be a surprise?

  “You can’t,” he finally stammered.

  Bree flattened her hands on her desk. “You’ve left me no choice.”

  He stared at her for a full minute, the shock and anger in his eyes gelling into hatred. His jaw sawed back and forth as if he were barely holding back a retort. Finally, he rose suddenly. His chair scraped backward, his movements jerky as he relinquished his gun and badge. His face was rage-red as he stormed out of the office.

  Todd waited until she’d locked the gun and badge in a desk drawer, then he moved closer, standing next to her desk. “You should have fired him. He’s careless, lazy, and arrogant.”

  “Believe me, I wanted to. But that’s not protocol.” She swiveled her chair to face him. She was so tired, her eyes ached. “His case will be revie
wed. If the charges hold, then I’ll fire him. I expect my staff to follow procedure, so that’s what I have to do as well.”

  Todd nodded. “Oscar was the old sheriff’s lapdog. I never trusted him. Watch your back.” Her chief deputy left the office.

  Matt walked in the open door, and she filled him in.

  “What does that mean for our investigation?” he asked.

  “I don’t know yet, but if the DA is dropping the charges, then we have no grounds to pick up Shawn Castillo.”

  Her cell phone buzzed, and she glanced at the screen, surprised to see the name EVANS and a phone number. “It’s Curtis Evans.”

  “He’s actually calling you?”

  “Seems like.” Bree answered the call. “Sheriff Taggert.”

  She expected to hear a male voice and was surprised when a raspy female one said, “This is Wanda Evans, Curtis’s mother.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I remember you.”

  “Curtis.” The older woman’s voice caught on a sob. “He’s missing.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Matt watched Mrs. Evans adjust her oxygen cannula with shaking hands. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, and her pallor concerned him. They sat in the small living room of the house she shared with her son. Digger lay on the floor at her feet, her soulful eyes watching the old woman.

  Looking equally concerned, Bree perched on an ottoman facing Mrs. Evans. “When was the last time you saw Curtis?”

  “Yesterday morning.” Mrs. Evans sniffed. “He went to work. Usually, he comes home in the evening.”

  Matt scanned the inside of the house. Everything looked roughly the same as the last time they’d come here.

  “Does he always come right home?” Bree asked.

  “No.” Mrs. Evans’s voice trembled. “Once in a while he stops for a beer, but he usually calls me to let me know. Last night, I fell asleep early. I’m on a new medication, and it wipes me out.” She paused for a breath. “I didn’t wake up until late. I thought maybe he’d been home, slept, and left for work again, except that Curtis usually wakes me up to give me my morning pills and a piece of toast. None of that happened this morning. When I came out to the kitchen”—she pointed to a pill organizer with all its compartment lids open on the counter in the adjoining kitchen—“I knew for sure he never came home last night. Every single morning, he sets up my pills for the day. He makes my coffee too. Decaf, because I’m not allowed to have caffeine.”