Matt didn’t move for fear of breaking Rogers’s flow.
“The driver’s name was Kenny McPherson. Big guy. Said he was on his way home from work as a warehouse forklift driver. He seemed normal, maybe a little nervous, but nothing out of the ordinary. Most folks are a little spooked when they’re pulled over. Oscar put him through a road sobriety test and said he was wobbly. I didn’t see it. The guy looked steady to me. That’s when I started to get a little uncomfortable.” Rogers rubbed a hand over his mouth.
Without moving his head, Matt looked sideways at Bree. She was rock still, almost as if holding her breath.
Rogers rubbed his jaw and continued. “Dylan asked McPherson if he could look in his car, and the guy said yes.”
Most people did because they saw no reason not to. They didn’t expect cops to break the law. Mostly, criminals knew to say no.
Rogers continued. “So Oscar asked me to keep an eye on the guy while he and Dylan did a quick search of the vehicle. Dylan shines his light under the driver’s seat and comes out with a baggie full of pills. McPherson freaks out, yelling, ‘Those aren’t mine,’ but Dylan just gives him that nasty smirk of his. He and Oscar were practically laughing by this point.”
Matt could picture it all too well.
Rogers’s gaze became vacant, as if he were seeing the scene. “Dylan brought the pills to the guy, shakes the bag in front of his face, and starts listing all the charges he’s facing. McPherson yelled back, saying Oscar and Dylan were setting him up. Then Oscar stumbled backward a step and accuses the guy of pushing him. Dylan starts yelling that McPherson assaulted an officer. They throw the guy over the hood of his car and handcuff him. The guy was raging as they put him in the back of the patrol car. He knew they were fucking him over.” Rogers stopped pacing and faced Matt. “I pulled Dylan aside and told him I hadn’t seen the guy do anything. I asked him point-blank if he’d planted the drugs. He said no, but I could tell he was lying. Oscar and Dylan faced off against me. My word against both of theirs.” He shifted his gaze to Bree. “Oscar was driving an old car that night. It didn’t have a dashboard cam.” Rogers stood in the middle of the kitchen, looking lost.
“What happened to McPherson?” she asked.
“They piled on the charges, and he went to prison for a couple of years. Oscar came to see me to let me know that McPherson was out. Oscar wanted to set him up for another crime. He asked if I still had any friends in the department who could take care of it.”
Bree’s back snapped straight, but she kept her tone even. “Do you?”
Rogers snorted. “No. That whole gang is gone, and I’m glad.”
“Do you know why Oscar and Dylan targeted McPherson?” To Matt, it felt like a lot of effort.
Rogers shook his head. “No. I’d say they liked to fuck with people, but this seemed personal.”
“Are you worried about McPherson?” Bree asked.
Rogers lifted a shoulder. “Whatever happens, I deserve it.”
“Could you have proven Dylan planted the drugs or Oscar faked being pushed?” Bree asked.
“No.” Rogers shook his head. “But I know both Dylan and Oscar, and why would McPherson have agreed to a vehicle search if he was carrying drugs under the seat of his car?”
He wouldn’t have.
Silence settled over the kitchen.
Rogers sighed. “If I had contradicted Oscar’s or Dylan’s statements in any way, the defense attorney would have pounced, and the DA would probably have dropped the charges.”
The local DA liked his win record and didn’t prosecute cases with questionable evidence.
“But my career would have been over.” Rogers looked at Matt. “Unlike you, I made the choice to play along. I prioritized myself and allowed them to send an innocent man to prison. But I got a call last week from a lawyer representing Kenny McPherson.”
“What does he want?” Bree asked.
Rogers’s cheeks reddened. “I don’t know. I didn’t call him back.”
Lawyers were usually persistent. He’d be back. Then Rogers would have to decide if he was going to come clean about the past or not. And if not, could he live with the shame Matt was pretty sure he was feeling right now?
“Do you know if Oscar still kept in touch with Dylan?” Matt asked.
Rogers nodded. “They stayed tight.”
Bree asked, “Do you know where we can find Dylan?”
Rogers looked away for a second, then returned his gaze to Bree’s. “He went to the Scarlet Falls PD when he left the sheriff’s department.”
“Have you seen or talked to Dylan recently?” she asked.
“No.” Rogers crossed his arms over his chest. His lips mashed together, as if he was thinking about something but didn’t want to share.
Technically in Randolph County and part of Bree’s jurisdiction, Scarlet Falls had its own police department. The sheriff mostly provided backup to their officers.
Rogers leaned a hip on the counter, as if his confession had burned off all his energy and he needed the support. “The worst part is, I’d forgotten all about that case until Oscar called me.” His eyes went bleak. “How could I have forgotten about ruining a man’s life?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
An hour later, Bree faced a small mirror in the restroom of the sheriff’s station. She smoothed a few wrinkles from her uniform shirt and tucked a hair back into her bun. Her stomach grumbled, reminding her she’d skipped lunch. But she had no time—or appetite. The press conference would start in ten minutes.
The door opened and Marge walked in, tsking.
“I hope you’re not going on camera like that.” In her hand, she held the cosmetics bag from Bree’s desk in her hand.
Bree sighed. “I was. Are you here to tart me up?”
Marge shook her head and opened the bag. “At least put on some concealer and powder.”
“I’m investigating a real murder, not filming an episode of CSI.”
“I’m not suggesting you wear stilettos,” Marge deadpanned, crossing her arms. “But you’re shiny, and somehow also pale. You want to look cool and collected.”
Bree turned back to the mirror. She was shiny and pale. “I hate worrying about appearances when I should be focused on the case.”
“You’re a public figure. You need to do both.” Marge handed her a tube of liquid concealer and a compact. “Appearances matter.”
Knowing Marge was right, Bree dabbed concealer under her eyes and applied a light layer of powder. “OK?”
Marge’s scrutiny felt like a spotlight. “Almost.” She held out a tube of lipstick.
“Really?” Bree sighed. “I don’t like lipstick. It’s gummy and sticky. When I wear it, all I can see in the mirror is lips.”
“This color is subtle.” Marge took back the concealer and powder. “Trust me.”
Bree did, but she applied the lipstick sparingly. It was barely a color, but the combination of cosmetics made her look less pasty.
Marge eyed her face. “You’re passable.”
“Gee, thanks.” Bree closed the lipstick.
Marge took it from her hand and put it back in the bag. “Go.”
Bree left the restroom, then waved to Matt and Todd for them to follow her outside. She wanted their presence to show that the department was devoting resources to the murders. With the men behind her on either side, she stepped up to the microphone that had been set up on the sidewalk in front of the station. She faced the parking lot, where news crews and reporters jockeyed for position. After seven months as sheriff, she knew a number of reporters on sight.
“Yesterday, we responded to a call for a well-being check,” Bree began. “We discovered two bodies, both dead from gunshot wounds. The victims have been officially identified as Eugene Oscar and his mother, Camilla Brown. Their deaths are currently being investigated as a double homicide.” She gestured behind her. “Investigator Matt Flynn and Chief Deputy Todd Harvey are assisting with the investigation with the support of the entire sheriff’s department.”
A reporter shoved a mic at Bree. “They were murdered?”