“Nope.”
Bev’s frown deepened. “If he’s a drug dealer, you’d think he would have been in trouble or arrested.”
“You’d think,” Sam said.
“And Officer Richardson never brought him in, even though he was implicated in these calls. What were they?” Bev’s voice was tinged with skepticism, and that made Sam’s gut tighten. He could tell she was growing suspicious of Tyler. She wouldn’t be a good cop if she weren’t feeling some of the same suspicions he was.
“Mostly minor stuff. Disturbing the peace. One count of lurking. If he was grooming him, he’d have let him off.” Or if he was protecting him.
“Okay, well, this Forest Duncan is definitely a person of interest,” Bev said.
“I’m gonna look into his finances. His house was a dump, but I figure if he’s running drugs for Thorne, he’s gotta have a stash somewhere. Maybe he’s investing it or something.” Sam shrugged. “His bank account might give us something to go on. You know how it is. We have to build the case one clue at a time.”
“And Elliott’s trash wasn’t picked up,” Jo said. “I’m gonna check what day he has pickup. It just might be another thing we can use to prove that Forest Duncan had ties to Scott Elliott.”
“How so?” Wyatt asked.
“Well, if Forest already knew that Scott Elliott was dead, why would he pick up the trash?”
“Huh. Okay, that’s stretching it a little, but everything we can look into counts,” Bev said.
“What about an alibi?” Bev asked.
“He says he was at home, playing video games, when Dupont died.”
The lobby door opened, and they fell silent. Sam figured it was probably one of the locals, wanting a yard sale permit or to pay the water bill. He didn’t want whoever it was to overhear gruesome murder talk. He paused, expecting to hear an elderly woman’s voice waft over the post office boxes. He was surprised by a male voice. His surprise grew at what the voice said.
“Hi. Agent Holden Joyce. FBI. Looking for Chief Sam Mason.”
Sam’s eyes met Bev’s, and he saw his own question mirrored in hers.
The FBI? This couldn’t possibly be good.
Chapter Seventeen
Holden Joyce’s polished black dress shoes squeaked on the marble floor as he rounded the post office boxes. He was in his midfifties, about Bev’s age, with salt-and-pepper hair. Tall but fit in his blue suit. Sam could tell right away he was the kind of guy who liked his job enough to be an asshole about it.
Holden glanced around, a smirk on his face. “Quaint little place you’ve got here.”
The sarcastic tone in his voice was duly noted.
Lucy must have caught the tone too, because she eyed him skeptically from her spot under the window, her lip curled in a slight snarl. She didn’t even bother to get up to greet him, as if he weren’t worth the effort.
“Can I help you?” Sam asked.
“Holden Joyce. FBI.” The man extended his hand and they suffered through a round of tense introductions.
When he got to Bev, he said, “Nice to see you again, Sheriff Hatch.” But the tone of his voice didn’t sound as though it was nice to see her again.
“So what brings you here, Joyce?” Bev asked. By the tone of her voice, it wasn’t nice to see him again either. Sam guessed Bev had had dealings with this Joyce and they hadn’t been particularly pleasant.
“Murder,” Holden said. “We’ve got a dead officer and a dead mayor tied together by a fingerprint from a dead body.”
Bev folded her arms over her chest. “So, what’s the FBI’s interest?”
Joyce glanced out the window. “Murder across state lines.”
Sam frowned. Holden was lying. The FBI was usually into bigger things. But considering that this all had to do with a drug-dealing ring, Sam shouldn’t be surprised the FBI had come. But shouldn’t it be the Drug Enforcement Agency that descended on them? The way Holden was looking around the squad room made him think there was much more to this.
Sam glanced at Tyler’s old desk, now Wyatt’s desk. Now that the FBI was involved, everything about Tyler would come out. As far as Tyler’s reputation, let the chips fall where they might. Sam was more worried about what else the FBI agent would dig up.
“I’ve never known you to be interested in that,” Bev said.
Joyce simply raised a brow at her. “We’re interested in lots of things. Speaking of which, I need everything you have on the Tyler Richardson case.”
Sam locked eyes with Jo. Things were getting worse fast. Sam had just started building a rapport with Bev, and he hoped she might understand why Sam and Jo would want to protect Tyler if certain things came to light. Sam doubted Holden Joyce would be as understanding.
“I’ve got that case covered,” Bev said.
“Not anymore.”
Bev frowned. “What do you mean? Are you taking over the Dupont case? Is that why you’re interested in Richardson?”
“No.” Holden said. “My interest is in the Scott Elliott murder. But I’m authorized to collect any information that might be pertinent to it. I think that because Scott Elliott’s fingerprint was found at the murder scene of Officer Tyler Richardson and Mayor Dupont, I might need to look over your notes on those two cases.”
Sam could tell that Bev was pissed. She glared at Holden. “I have the Richardson stuff back at the sheriff’s office. Like I said, I’ve been looking into it.”
Holden frowned at Sam. “You don’t have anything here?”
Sam shook his head. “No. I gave it to Sheriff Hatch.”
Holden looked dubious. “Everything? Maybe you’re holding out on Sheriff Hatch.”
Bev quirked a brow at Sam.
“What do you mean?” Sam asked. But had a sinking feeling that he knew what Holden Joyce meant.
“Let’s just say I think you might have messed with the outcome of a case before. You know the one I mean. Your cousin Gracie.”
“That was almost twenty years ago.” Sam said. “I was a rookie then. Protecting my cousin.”
“Yes, but there’re a lot of unanswered questions about what happened to the suspects in that case,” Joyce said.
Sam guessed Holden Joyce was old enough to have been in the FBI when his cousin’s case came to trial. But the FBI hadn’t been involved, so what did Holden know about it? Maybe he was bluffing.
“Wait a minute. What does this have to do with the case we’re investigating now?” Bev cut in.
“I’m simply pointing out that Chief Mason’s methods of investigation might be a little, shall we say, unorthodox.”
Bev held up her hands. “Well, now hold on a minute. I’m investigating too. And as far as I can see, Chief Mason hasn’t done anything ... unorthodox. In fact, we’re narrowing in on a suspect right now.”
Holden cocked a skeptical brow. “Oh? Who? Tell me more about it.”
“Well, because you already seem to know everything, you must be aware that Chief Mason was meeting with Mayor Dupont the night of his death because Dupont claimed to have information linking Lucas Thorne to the influx of drugs flooding the county,” Bev said.
“So he says,” Holden said.
Bev ignored him and continued. “Sam’s been building up contacts in the area. One of them told him that drugs are being distributed by a municipal employee. Someone who wouldn’t be questioned if they were going to various houses to make drops.”
“You mean like a cop?” Holden asked Bev the question, but his eyes remained trained on Sam.
Bev’s eyes flicked from Holden to Sam. “Or a garbageman.”
“Is that your suspect? A garbageman?”
“Forest Duncan. We have him tied to the case through arrest reports from Tyler Richardson,” Sam said.
“So this Forest Duncan, does he drive a black SUV with a roof rack? Because one of your locals saw a truck like that leave the scene, I’m told,” Holden said.
How did he know that? Clearly, Holden Joyce already knew more about the case than he let on.