“He could have picked them up anywhere.” Matt stroked his beard. They had no idea when the flower petals had been dropped at the crime scene. But Oscar had visited Bernard’s house just a few days before the murders. He could have tracked the flower petals to both locations. “Did the techs check all of Oscar’s shoes at the crime scene?”
“We did,” Rory said. “We didn’t find any on his shoes or in his vehicle.”
“Anything else?” Matt asked.
“Those are the highlights. I’ll let you know when the DNA analysis comes in.”
“Thanks, Rory.” Matt ended the call. He shuffled more photos and paused on pictures of Oscar’s body in situ.
The flower petals could be irrelevant. Oscar had been at both the crime scene and Bernard’s house. Thinking of the flowers, he picked up his phone and texted Todd, who was checking suspects’ houses for butterfly bushes. ANY LUCK?
A new email popped into Matt’s inbox. It was from the Scarlet Falls PD. He opened it and downloaded the original report from Bernard’s son’s suicide. The boy had hanged himself from the clothing rod in his closet. He’d used his own belt. No one had been in the house that day except Bernard and his three children. The son had been a short, skinny boy. Interviews of his closest friends confirmed he’d stuttered badly and had been bullied and depressed since his mother died. Neither the responding officers nor the medical examiner had found any sign of foul play. The death had been ruled a suicide without much fuss.
As much as Matt didn’t want to empathize with a suspect, his heart broke for Bernard. How could he live in the same house where his son had killed himself? Matt remembered the boy’s room, dusted and kept almost as a shrine for decades.
Then again, how could he leave his only connection with the boy he’d lost?
Matt pulled out a copy of the image of Bernard’s happy young family on the sailboat. He stared at the smiling mother, the innocent boy. Just a few years after this photo was taken, both the mother and son were dead. Now Bernard had also lost his sister and nephew. Matt thought of Bree and the repeated instances of tragedy and violence in her family. Were some people magnets for bad luck? Maybe Bernard was just a victim of senseless loss.
Unless the DNA report of the blood on Bernard’s pants came up as a match for his sister or Oscar, they had no physical evidence linking Bernard to the murders. He had told lies about his whereabouts and contacts with the victims, and he had motive. Matt set the sailing photo aside. Motive wasn’t evidence.
He checked his phone, but Todd hadn’t answered his text. Matt sent another. Then he called Todd and left a voice message. “Where are you? Call me back.”
Marge opened the door. Her face was locked in an angry frown. “Check out the live feed for the Daily Grind. Paris Vickers is doing a hit piece on the sheriff.”
Matt opened a browser, went to the site’s social media page, and clicked on the live video. He maximized the window and sat back to watch. Marge walked around the conference room table and watched over his shoulder. A banner scrolled across the bottom of the screen: NEW SHERIFF DEPARTMENT SCANDAL UNVEILED?
Paris batted her tarantula-leg eyelashes at the camera. “Recent nude images of the new sheriff of Randolph County have appeared on the internet this week. Is Sheriff Taggert a former porn star? What else could she be hiding? The Daily Grind wants to know.”
One of the fake nude images of Bree popped onto the screen. Strategically placed black boxes barely blocked out the woman’s private parts. Paris went into detail describing the photographs and the video. The screen blinked to another image, and Matt’s heart stopped cold.
Pictures of him and Bree at a local restaurant played on the screen in a slideshow. They’d dated in public several times. Matt had been pleased no one had noticed or seemed to care.
But he’d been wrong. Someone cared.
Just as Bree had feared, taking their relationship into the public eye had left her open to criticism. The montage stopped with a photo of Bree leaving his house in the predawn twilight.
Fuck.
Behind him, Marge coughed.
Paris’s face split in a predatory grin. “And why is Sheriff Taggert having dinner with Criminal Investigator Matthew Flynn? More importantly, why is she leaving his house at five o’clock in the morning? Is the relationship between the sheriff and her employee less than professional?” Paris’s eyes gleamed with excitement. She was enjoying every second of her fifteen minutes. “And, on top of the sexual scandals plaguing the sheriff’s department, we have an insider tip that the sheriff has a conflict of interest within a current murder investigation.”
The scene shifted to Bernard Crighton and his lawyer-daughter, Stephanie, on a modern studio set. Their names appeared in white text below them.
Paris sat on a matching stool angled toward her guests. She wore sky-high heels and a skirt bordering on too short. Her ankles were crossed and tucked to one side, her knees pressed tightly together. “On Tuesday evening, Camilla Brown and her son, Eugene Oscar, were found shot to death on the family farm.”
She introduced Bernard and Stephanie. “First of all, my deepest condolences on your loss.”
“Thank you, Paris,” Stephanie said. “Our family is grieving, which is why our situation is so heinous.”
Paris tilted her head. “Is it true that the sheriff is treating your father as the prime suspect?”
“That’s how it seems.” Stephanie took her father’s hand and squeezed it. “I can’t even say how much this week has hurt.”
Bernard added, “I can’t believe anyone would think I killed my own sister and nephew.”
Paris leaned forward, folding her hands on her knees. “Mr. Crighton, please tell us why you think it isn’t right that Sheriff Taggert is investigating the murders of your sister and nephew.”
“Because my nephew, Eugene, used to work as a deputy for the sheriff’s department. Before Sheriff Taggert took over, he had a spotless record with two decades of service. Sheriff Taggert herself forced my nephew out of the sheriff’s department just two months ago, and people are saying there was more to my nephew’s retirement than was made public.” Bernard swallowed. “I believe my nephew had a conflict with the sheriff. I believe he was trying to highlight corruption in the department.” He looked directly into the camera. “I also believe this is why he was killed.”
Paris’s eyes glittered, and she pounced. “Are you saying you believe that the sheriff killed your nephew to silence him?”
Regret thinned Bernard’s lips as he clearly realized he shouldn’t slander the sheriff. Then his chin lifted with defiance, as if he didn’t care. “I—”
Stephanie interrupted him with a quick, hard stare. Then she turned to Paris, and her features softened. “Of course we can’t make any specific accusations, but people are saying the timing is very suspicious.”
Paris turned to face the camera. Her lips curved in a sated smile, as if the juicy details Bernard had revealed energized her. “You heard it here from the Daily Grind first. Sheriff Bree Taggert is in charge of the murder investigation of one of her former deputies, with whom she had a recent disagreement.” The camera moved into a close-up of Paris. “And guess who discovered the bodies?” She waited for a dramatic pause. “You guessed it. Sheriff Bree Taggert.”
Matt reached for his phone as Paris Vickers called for Bree’s resignation.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Bree left the station through the rear door and hurried to her SUV. The tires squealed as she pulled out of the parking lot. She eased off the gas pedal. This was not a lights-and-siren emergency.
But it felt like it.
She called Dana to let her know about Luke.
“No.” Dana sounded shocked.
“Yes.” Bree breathed.
“It’ll be OK.” Dana’s voice came through the Bluetooth speakers.
“I know.” But nerves kept her fingers tight on the steering wheel as she drove to the high school. “Parenting is harder than I expected. Some days, the worry feels like it’s eating a hole right through me. I wonder if it gets any better after they grow up.”
“I doubt it.”
Bree snorted. “Thanks for the reassurance.”