“Is that a threat?”
“No, of course it’s not a threat.” Bree massaged her temple. “Just a fact. You are a public figure. You are also a woman. Therefore, you are vulnerable to this type of harassment.”
“You can’t threaten me, Sheriff.”
Oh, my God. Where’s the ibuprofen?
Bree wanted to scream, but she couldn’t allow this woman to get the best of her. Jager seemed determined to push Bree into saying something she would regret. Bree wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. “What do you want, Ms. Jager?”
Jager hesitated. “The board of supervisors thinks you should consider taking a leave of absence.”
Bree had not expected that suggestion. “Why?”
“To deal with this pornography mess.”
“Why would I do that? I have more resources to deal with the issue as sheriff than I would as a private citizen. I will not be cowed into leaving office. Caving to bullies only empowers them.”
“Well, you have to do something.” Jager’s voice rose.
“I promise I’m exploring all options. Now, unless you have a specific suggestion for me, I really need to get back to solving this double homicide.”
Jager skipped the social niceties. “You’ll be hearing from me again regarding this matter. This will not be our last conversation. If you won’t do something about this situation, then I will.” The connection went dead.
“Now, that sounded like a threat.” Bree returned the phone to its cradle. She looked up at Marge. “I didn’t lose my temper.”
“No, you didn’t, and you deserve a medal. That woman is insufferable.” Marge tapped her lip. “Have you talked to Morgan Dane?”
“I have an appointment with her this morning.” Bree wasn’t sure how she felt about that. It felt wrong for the sheriff to need an attorney.
“She’ll help.”
Bree shot Marge a look. “Aren’t defense attorneys on the opposite side of the law as sheriffs?” Bree had met the attorney before. Their dealings had been short, but she’d seemed smart.
Marge’s nod was thoughtful. “Ms. Dane is highly respected, she’s not much for theatrics, and she won’t put up with any nonsense from the Daily Grind.”
“Well, I need someone to help with this deepfake mess.” Bree had never felt so utterly useless. What kind of sheriff couldn’t stop herself from being victimized?
Marge returned to her desk.
Matt knocked on Bree’s office doorframe. He gave her a quizzical and concerned frown. “Is everything OK?”
Bree motioned him inside the office. “I just had a call from County Supervisor Madeline Jager.” She summarized their appalling conversation.
Matt slid into a chair. “Nice to know victim blaming is alive and well.”
Bree leaned on her elbows. “I don’t want to be a victim.” She could deny it until she was blue, but she was a victim, and that fact churned in her gut. She’d spent the first eight years of her life as a helpless casualty of domestic violence. Part of the reason she’d become a cop was to keep from ever becoming a victim again. But someone had changed all that with some photo-and video-editing software.
“Name a victim who wanted to be one,” he said.
Bree lifted both palms in surrender. “Good point.” She deflated. “How do I prove I didn’t do something when evidence already exists, but no one cares about that evidence? People believe what they want to believe. A juicy story about a sex tape is more thrilling than the boring reality of digital photo editing.” She lightly slapped both palms on her desk. She needed to move on with her morning. “I’m meeting with Morgan Dane later. Until then, let’s get back to finding a killer.”
“Do we have a plan for today?” Matt asked.
“I need to check in with forensics.” Bree opened her email. “They should at least have preliminary reports for the crime scene and Bernard Crighton’s house by now.”
Before she could type the email, her cell vibrated. She glanced at the screen. The call was from the high school.
Luke!
Bree’s heart lurched as she answered. “This is Sheriff Taggert.”
“This is Principal Newton.” The principal sounded stern, but then she always did. “I need you to come to the high school.”
Fear squeezed Bree’s heart. “Is Luke all right?”
“Yes.” The principal hesitated. “He got into a fight.”
“Luke?” Bree couldn’t imagine it.
“Yes, Luke.” The principal’s voice hardened. “He punched another student.”
Luke started it? That was even harder to believe.
“Was anyone seriously hurt?” Bree asked.
“No. But I need you to come and pick him up. He’s being suspended for three days. We have a zero-tolerance policy on fighting.”
Bree bristled. She thought no-tolerance policies were bullshit. Adults accused of crimes were allowed to explain themselves. Kids deserved the same courtesy. Plus, zero-tolerance policies encouraged bullying. Good kids followed rules. Troublemakers did not. But she held her tongue—by biting her lip hard enough to taste blood. Some discussions were better handled in person. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
The principal ended the call without a response.
“Luke got into a fight.” She relayed the call to Matt.
Matt’s brows dropped. “Luke?”
“Right?” Bree’s mind searched for an explanation. “Luke isn’t a hothead. I can’t believe he’d get into a fight.”
“He’s levelheaded,” Matt agreed. “If he punched another student, there must have been a reason.”
“Would you check in with forensics?”
“Sure,” he said. “Good luck. Keep me posted.”
“Will do.” Bree grabbed her keys and headed for the door. She stopped at Marge’s desk on her way out of the station. “I have to run over to the school. I’ll be back as soon as I’m able.”
Marge nodded. “Is everything OK?”
“I don’t know.” Bree could only hope.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Matt settled in the conference room with a laptop, a stack of photos, and Rory in forensics on speakerphone.
“I’m emailing you the preliminary forensics reports both from the crime scene and from Bernard Crighton’s residence,” Rory said. “Unfortunately, nothing stands out at the crime scene that we haven’t already discussed. Recovered fingerprints belonged to the victims. We found plenty of interesting trace evidence: goat hair, cat fur, chicken feathers, animal feces . . . but the crime scene is a goat farm, so . . .”
The computer dinged. Matt opened the email and downloaded the reports. As he scanned the list of evidence, he compared the items with crime scene photos.
Rory continued. “The search of Bernard’s house was more interesting. We found goat and cat fur on his doormat. Also, traces of chicken feces and feathers on a pair of shoes out in the garage.”
Bernard had already admitted to being at the farm recently, so Matt wasn’t surprised. “No blood other than what we found on the pants?” he asked.
“No, and per the sheriff’s request, we asked for a rush on that DNA test. The lab hopes to have those results in another day or two.” Rory paused. Keys tapped over the connection. “But the lab tested the clothing in Bernard’s hamper for gunshot residue. They didn’t find any.”
“Bernard stated that if he’d killed his sister and nephew, he would have disposed of his clothing. Maybe he did just that.” But if that were true, Matt had no explanation for the bloodstained pants, other than the blood was actually Bernard’s.
“Oh, wait.” Rory hesitated. “Our tech found two dried flower petals in Bernard’s garage that match the three found at the crime scene.”
Matt flipped through the photos of the farm’s exterior. “But we didn’t find a butterfly bush on either property.”
“No. Nor did we find any petals on Bernard Crighton’s shoes or in his vehicle.”