Right Behind Her (Bree Taggert) Page 24

  Todd got up from his chair and walked around to stand behind Bree. He leaned over her shoulder. “I watched this video three times. What did I miss?” His forefinger landed on his list. “The time stamp on the video matched the time I noted Elias leaving the event. He does look upset.”

  “Don’t look at Elias.” Bree pointed to the driver. “Look at who picked him up.”

  Matt squinted at the screen. The camera angle caught the driver through the windshield. Matt’s breath locked up in his lungs for a few seconds as he ID’d the driver.

  He nearly slapped his own forehead. The answer was so simple. “Frank Evans.”

  “Anders said Frank did rough work for someone local,” Todd said. “That must have been Elias.”

  “He denied knowing Frank.” Matt met Bree’s gaze.

  “He lied.” Her eyes sharpened like those of a wolf that had spotted its prey. “We need to find Elias.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  It was early evening before the search warrant came through. Bree had had to work hard to convince the judge. Thankfully, the one on call did not seem to have a particularly tight relationship with Elias, but to issue a warrant on the residence of one of the county supervisors was a big deal. He had grilled Bree and made sure every i and t in her affidavit were addressed. If Elias turned out to be innocent, that judge would never sign another warrant for her.

  But he’d signed it.

  Elias had ties to both of the victims, and he’d lied about knowing Frank both when Bree had recently questioned him and back in 1990.

  Now, standing in the circular driveway, Bree scanned the front of Elias’s huge brick house. Despite the approach of twilight, the heat refused to abate. Sweat dripped under her body armor, pooling under her breasts and at the base of her spine.

  Matt stood beside her, his Kevlar vest strapped over his torso, an AR-15 in his grip. Behind them, Todd and Deputy Collins waited for their signal. Bree circled her hand in the air. Todd and Collins headed alongside the house. They’d make sure no one escaped out the back while Bree was knocking on the front door. Two additional deputies waited for instructions.

  Bree had donned a radio and shoulder mic for the search. Todd’s voice came over the radio a minute later. “In position.”

  She touched her shoulder mic. “Ten-four. Proceeding.”

  Matt put his shoulder to the doorframe and settled the butt of the rifle firmly into his shoulder. He nodded to Bree.

  She drew her weapon and rang the doorbell. Deep chimes sounded on the other side of the thick wooden door. She waited, but no one answered. She rang the bell again, then used the handle of her baton to knock loudly. The sound reverberated inside the house. “Sheriff! We have a warrant. Open the door or we will force entry.”

  In order to serve a warrant, she was required to announce herself and wait a reasonable length of time before entering. Bree repeated the knock-and-shout routine one additional time. She breathed deeply. It was important she appear calm and collected to her team, no matter what was happening inside her.

  Matt shot her a look, his eyes fierce. “Can we breach the door now?”

  She nodded, signaled to one of the remaining deputies, and updated Todd via her radio. The deputy fetched a breaching ram. Bree heard a noise inside the house and gestured her team back to their original positions. The door opened.

  A young woman stood on the threshold, slightly breathless, as if she’d run for the door. In her early twenties, she was curvy with long dark hair tied back in a ponytail. She smelled like bleach, and her black yoga pants and ratty gray T-shirt were white-streaked. Her eyes opened wide in alarm as she took in Bree and her deputies on the doorstep. “I’m sorry. I was upstairs cleaning the shower. What’s going on?”

  “I’m Sheriff Taggert. We have a search warrant for the premises.” Bree moved into the house, forcing the young woman back. “I’ll need your name.”

  “I’m Maria Young.” She moved out of the way with no resistance. “I clean for Mr. Donovan once a week.”

  “Is Mr. Donovan here?” Bree asked, her voice echoing in the two-story foyer.

  “No, but when I turned onto the road”—Maria pointed to the west—“I saw his car going the other way.”

  “How long ago was this?”

  Maria checked the time on her Fitbit. “Twenty or thirty minutes ago.”

  Bree eyed the setting sun. “Do you always clean in the evening?”

  “I had a class today, so I’m behind. Mr. Donovan usually has a meeting on Monday evenings. As long as I’m out of here by ten, he doesn’t care.”

  “Can you really clean this big house in just a few hours?” Bree asked.

  “Mr. Donovan only uses a few rooms on a daily basis. I trade off with the other spaces.”

  Bree pulled out her notepad. “I’ll need your contact information.”

  “Of course.” Maria provided her address and phone number. “Do you want me to leave or stay?”

  “It would be best if you stayed. We might have questions.” Bree didn’t want to waste any time finding her if she needed more information. “How long have you been working for Mr. Donovan?” Bree herded Maria to one side of the foyer so the team could pass. They knew what to do: start with a quick sweep of the entire house.

  “A little over a year,” Maria answered, but her attention was on the deputies and Matt filing through the foyer.

  “How well do you know him?” Bree asked.

  Maria shrugged. “He doesn’t interact with me very much. He’s rarely here when I am.”

  “You have a key?” Bree asked.

  Maria’s ponytail swayed as she shook her head. “The mudroom door has an electronic lock. I do have the passcode for the alarm system, though.”

  “Have you noticed anything unusual lately? Either with Mr. Donovan or his brother?”

  Maria shook her head. “No.”

  “Have you seen any unusual visitors?” Bree watched her eyes but saw no sign that Maria was lying.

  “No. Like I said, the house is usually empty when I clean.”

  “Do you know Mr. Donovan’s brother?”

  Maria pushed a piece of hair away from her sweaty face. “Not really. I’ve seen him here a few times, but I didn’t interact with him. I sometimes do Mr. Donovan’s grocery shopping. Twice, he asked me to leave supplies on his brother’s doorstep, but I wasn’t supposed to knock.”

  Bree frowned at her. “Didn’t you think that was unusual?”

  “I work for rich people. They’re all weird.” Maria’s gaze shifted to the team assembling in the kitchen. “I mind my own business, and they pay me.”

  Bree had one final question. “Do you have any idea where Mr. Donovan is right now?”

  Maria returned her focus to Bree. “No. I assumed he went to his meeting.”

  “OK.” Bree looked around. “I’ll find somewhere for you to wait.”

  “I can sit on the patio. May I get my purse?” Maria asked.

  “Where is it?” Bree followed her to the kitchen. The room’s sheer size—along with its commercial-grade everything—struck her again. Large windows overlooked the expansive rear yard, artfully illuminated by landscape lighting.

  Maria pointed to a small purse on the kitchen island. Her yoga pants and T-shirt didn’t have pockets. Her phone would be in her purse. Bree couldn’t take the chance that Maria would call or text a warning to Elias. She met the woman’s gaze with a hard, flat stare. “As long as it doesn’t contain any evidence in it, you’ll get it back when we’re finished here.”

  “OK.” Maria’s head dipped, and she stared at her tattered canvas sneakers.

  Technically, Bree’s right to hold on to the purse was a gray area. Maria’s purse wasn’t listed on the search warrant, and she didn’t live on the premises. But Maria didn’t challenge the decision. With Curtis missing, Bree would do whatever it took to find him.

  Maria walked out onto the patio and sat in a cushioned chair. Bree didn’t have the extra manpo
wer to babysit Maria, and the woman seemed cooperative and more than a little intimidated. The night was warm and clear. She’d be fine. Bree turned back to the search.

  While Bree had questioned Maria, her team had already split up and done a quick run-through of the interior looking for Elias. Now they reassembled in the kitchen.

  “He’s not here.” Matt lowered the AR-15. “The basement door was locked.”

  “Weird,” Bree said. “What was down there?”

  “Home gym, storage.” Matt lifted a shoulder.

  He and Bree went upstairs while the two deputies searched the first floor. Typically, people kept their most personal possessions in their bedroom. That’s where Bree would go first. On the second-floor landing, Bree spotted a set of double doors standing open and headed that way.

  She and Matt searched the main bedroom. Bree went through the drawers at a fast clip, shoving aside clothing and feeling around the edges. She didn’t find anything unusual, not in the nightstand or his dresser.

  Matt emerged from the closet. “It’s a sea of polo shirts. They’re arranged by color. Who does that?”

  “Not me.” Bree closed the nightstand drawer. “Did you find anything relevant?”

  “No.” Matt dropped to his hands and knees to look under the bed. “I doubt he would keep anything incriminating anywhere the cleaning lady could see it.”

  “He probably has a safe somewhere.” Bree moved into the attached bath. Maria had been in this room when they’d knocked. A bottle of bleach-based cleaner stood in the shower. Next to it, a pair of rubber gloves had been abandoned. Bree checked the vanity drawers. Elias took one medication, a common cholesterol drug. Bree opened the linen closet. Folded towels were stacked in precise columns. She left the bathroom.

  Matt lifted the mattress. “I like a clean house, but this is a little obsessive.”

  “Agreed. We’re not going to find anything in obvious places.”

  They walked through the remaining bedrooms, but it was clear they weren’t used very often. Closets and dressers were empty. Bathrooms were stocked with towels that matched the bed linens. Every item was neatly stowed in its place.

  Bree closed a vanity drawer stocked with travel-size hotel toiletries, wondering if Elias had guests often. “I feel better about all the hotel shampoo I’ve shamelessly hoarded.”

  With the upstairs finished, Matt and Bree moved downstairs. She checked in with her team. Todd was rummaging through the desk in the home office. Collins knelt on the floor, shifting books on the shelves in the library. The additional two deputies were searching the gigantic kitchen.

  “It doesn’t even look like anyone lives here,” one said.

  Matt and Bree headed for the basement door, now dented from the battering ram. The wooden frame was splintered and cracked near the lock.

  Bree flipped the light switch and started down the steps. Matt was right behind her.

  She stepped down onto a rubber-matted floor. The room was only a small portion of the basement and had been outfitted as a large home gym. A treadmill and fancy stationary bike faced a TV. A metal rack held free weights and dumbbells.

  “Why would he keep the basement locked?” Matt asked. “It’s a gym, not an office.”

  Bree spied a door on the other side of the treadmill. “There’s more.”

  The door was not locked. The second room was used as storage. Plastic containers held Christmas and other holiday decorations, plus random discarded household items. After months of working investigations together, she and Matt functioned as a team. They began at opposite ends of the room and started digging through boxes.

  “I see nothing down here worth locking up.” Bree lifted lids and moved cardboard. Each one contained exactly what was listed on the label. After she shoved the last box aside, she stood, doubt nagging at her. “This room feels wrong.”

  Matt closed the lid on the last container on his side of the room. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s not the room that feels wrong. It’s the space.” Bree turned in a circle. “It’s not big enough. The house is huge. The ground floor has to be three thousand square feet.”

  Matt nodded. “The gym probably takes up half the space, but this storage room doesn’t make up the rest of the footprint.”

  “Right.” Bree went to the metal shelving and began tugging on it. “It’s possible that it’s only a partial basement.”

  “Or that there’s a separate entrance to the other side.”

  But Bree’s instincts sent a little burst of adrenaline into her bloodstream. They moved from shelf to shelf, tugging at the metal frames. When they pulled on the center shelf, it moved.

  “Bingo.” Matt pulled harder, and the entire shelf moved. “It’s not attached to the wall.”

  He dragged the shelving unit away from the wall to reveal another door. “No reason to conceal a door unless you have something to hide.”

  Bree tried the knob. “Locked from the inside.” She pulled her weapon from its holster. She used her radio to call for a deputy to bring down the battering ram.

  Matt regripped his rifle.

  The hairs on the back of her neck quivered. The deputy hurried into the storage room, and she signaled toward the door. She and Matt flanked the doorway. Then she raised her gun as the deputy moved forward and swung the heavy metal tool. The end of the battering ram hit the door near the lock with a solid sound, and the door flew open. He stepped to the side.

  From the darkness, a gunshot blasted.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Wood splintered behind Matt as the shot went wide and hit the doorframe. He hadn’t seen a muzzle flash. The shot must have come from the side of the room he couldn’t see. On the other side of the doorway, Bree took aim into Matt’s blind corner.

  “Police! Put down your weapon!” she commanded.

  “Fuck you!” a man’s voice shouted.

  Another gunshot barked. This time, Matt saw a quick brightening of orange from the direction Bree’s weapon was pointed. She returned fire, then retreated around the doorframe.

  “Put down your weapon,” Bree repeated.

  “No! Get out!” a man screamed. The gun went off again.

  The bullet went through the opening and hit the opposite wall.

  Bree swung her handgun around the doorframe again and pulled the trigger.

  A high-pitched cry sounded.

  “You shot me! You shot me!” the man wailed.

  “Put down your weapon!”

  “It’s down,” he moaned. “I’m bleeding.”

  Matt shone his flashlight in the direction of the groan. The beam fell on the kneeling body of a man. He was cradling one arm. His body curled protectively over it. His face tipped down.

  Bree shouted, “Let me see your hands!”

  The man raised them in the air. Matt could see a handgun on the floor next to the man’s right knee. Blood dripped from his forearm, and his body swayed.

  “Do not move!” Bree swept into the room. She kept her weapon on the man until she stood over him.

  Matt moved with her, flanking the man between them. With the rifle trained on the man’s head, Matt kicked the gun on the floor away.

  “Do you have any more weapons?” Bree pushed him to the floor facedown. Then she pressed a knee into his lower back, handcuffed him, and patted down his pockets.

  “No,” he said in an oddly flat voice.

  Light flooded the room as recessed lights in the ceiling turned on. The deputy with the ram had flipped the wall switch. Everyone blinked at the brightness.

  The man on the floor looked up.

  Shawn.

  Blood welled from a wound in his forearm. Matt scanned him but saw no other injuries other than the facial bruises from his tussle in the sheriff’s station when he was arrested the previous Thursday.

  “Is anything in your pockets going to cut me?” Bree asked.

  Shawn shook his head, his movements abnormally slow.

  Bree turned out h
is trouser pockets. “Are you shot anywhere else but your arm?”

  His answer was a low moan.

  “Get a first aid kit and call for an ambulance,” Bree said to her deputy.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He hurried away.

  Todd and Collins rushed into the room, guns drawn.

  While Bree gave them a rundown of the shooting, Matt surveyed the windowless room, which seemed to be another storage area. Shelves lined one wall. A cot stood in the middle next to a folding snack table outfitted like a nightstand. A sleeping bag had been draped over the cot. A case of bottled water stood in the corner, next to a brown-paper grocery bag. Matt crossed the room and checked the bag. “Pretzels and cookies.”

  “How long have you been down here?” Bree asked Shawn.

  When Shawn didn’t answer, she touched his shoulder. “Shit, he’s unconscious.” She rolled him onto his side. “Shawn! Wake up!”

  Matt went to the snack table and rummaged through the items on it. He found a bottle of pills behind a stack of books and a plastic bottle of water. “Oxy.” He lifted the bottle and squinted at the label. “The prescription was written to Elias Donovan last year.”

  Shawn’s next breath was shallow. Bree took his wrist. “How many pills did you take, Shawn?”

  “I don’t know,” he mumbled.

  Matt looked at the bottle. The prescription had been written for thirty tablets, but they had no idea how many had been in the bottle today.

  Bree radioed the deputy fetching the first aid kit to also bring Narcan, a drug that would reverse the effects of the opioid. She grabbed Shawn’s arm and shook. “Shawn!”

  He groaned but didn’t open his eyes. She shook him harder. “Wake up. Where’s Elias?”

  Shawn’s eyelids cracked, then drooped again.

  Bree gave his cheek a light slap. “Where’s your brother?”

  “Bad things,” Shawn moaned. “He does bad things.” He licked his dry lips. “But it’s all my fault.”

  “How is it your fault?” Bree pressed.

  But Shawn’s eyes went vague. They didn’t have time for a full confession anyway.