Deadhead: Bedhead Book 3

by Kayt Miller

  “For my own good?” She scoffs. “That’s rich. You think you know what’s good for me?” She looks at me, smiling. “I’ve got a place to stay. Right, Gage?” She glares at her father. “I’m fine where I am.”

  I do my best not to smile at her statement. We don’t need it getting around that she’s staying with me. Not yet, anyway.

  “What’re you talking about?” His steely gaze hits me.

  He knows. But he doesn’t ask. Instead, he says, “I do know what’s good for you, Daisy. Better than anyone else.”

  “Ha! That’s a joke, Dad.” Turning, Daisy starts to walk toward the house. “I’m getting my stuff.”

  “No you’re not!” Dorian shouts and steps in front of her to block her path. “You’re forbidden from entering that door until you agree that staying here is the right thing to do.”

  “No.” She raises her arms and shoves her father’s chest. “Fucking.” She does it again, which forces Dorian to take a step back to catch his balance. “Way.” She shoves him once again, and this time he can’t stop the momentum. He lands on his ass on the pavement.

  “Daisy,” I say, approaching the pair. Placing my hand on her shoulder, I say softly, “Stop.”

  Dr. Buchanan pushes himself to the side, then up on his knees until he’s standing. Pointing at his child, he shouts, “For that, I’m pressing charges.”

  “Dr—”

  “She assaulted me, and I’ve got about six witnesses.”

  I look back at the other cops and the security company rep who just showed up. They’re all watching the scene. He’s right. He’s got six very reliable eyewitnesses.

  “Do you need me to call for an ambulance?” I mean, if he’s hurt, he should be seen by first responders.

  “I’ll go to my personal doctor after I fill out the paperwork.” He glares at Daisy.

  Needing for Dorian to stay away from his own home, I give this a try. “Would you like to ride with me or—”

  “No. I’ll meet you at the police station.” He turns to walk toward his car. Which is good except for the part where Daisy gets cuffed again.

  “Gage?” she says, sounding frightened.

  “I’ve got this. Just go with the patrol officer. I’ll see you at the station.” She blinks at me, and I’m afraid she’s going to cry. So, stopping in front of her, I look into her eyes. “Do you trust me?”

  She thinks for a moment. “Yes.”

  “Then go with the officer. I’ll see you soon.”

  Everything worked better than I could have hoped. I followed Dr. Buchanan’s vehicle all the way to the police station, where he now sits in an interview room. I was able to convince him not to go back into his home until the security company and an officer had a chance to make sure everything was okay. What I actually did, though, was ask the officer to stand watch and not allow anyone besides the security company in, and to make sure all they did was punch in the code and leave.

  In the meantime, Captain Billings was able to secure a search warrant. While the search team heads to Dr. Buchanan’s home, I get to be the one who tells him what’s happening.

  “Dr. Buchanan?” I say, stepping into the interview room.

  “It’s about damn time,” he growls. “Why does it take so damn long to press charges?”

  “Well.” I pull out the chair across from him and sigh. “It looks like you’ll be here a bit longer.”

  “No.” He stands. “I’ve got things to do. Papers to grade.”

  All A’s, I’d bet.

  “Please take a seat, Dr. Buchanan.”

  He does so, albeit slowly.

  “Unfortunately, I’ll need you to stay until they’re finished searching your home and vehicle.”

  “My home and… what?” he shouts. “What the hell?”

  Placing the warrant down in front of him, I give him the abbreviated version. “As you can see by this court document, we’re searching your home and vehicle for any articles or information related to the murder of Kara Becker.”

  “The what?” Dorian jumps out of his chair again, this time reaching across the table.

  That’s when Finch steps in and says, “Sit. Or I’ll cuff you to the chair.”

  Buchanan sits. “What the hell’s going on?”

  Just then, my phone chimes with a message from Dan. I open it to see shots of the contents of the pink envelope. They look similar to the photos we found beneath Kara’s mattress, except in these, you can see faces.

  “Sir. Did you know the deceased, Kara Becker?”

  “I…. She was a student of mine.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Yes.” He leans back, crossing his arms and taking on what I’d call defiant body language. “Of course that’s all.”

  I turn my phone so he can see one of the images Dan just sent me. “Is this you, here?” I point at the image of a naked Dorian Buchanan.

  He blinks several times, looks up at me, then back down at the image, and asks, “Where did you get that picture?”

  “We’re asking the questions,” snaps Finch.

  On my phone, I change the image. “Or how ’bout this one? Is this you?”

  It’s a shot of just his face, his head on a pillow next to Kara Becker.

  “Look,” he says, running a hand over his scruffy beard. “We… we were seeing each other. There’s nothing wrong with it. She was an adult.”

  “When did you two start ‘seeing’ each other?”

  Buchanan thinks about it for several minutes. “Last fall.”

  “Was Kara in your class at the time?”

  He nods slowly.

  I look over at Finch but say nothing, making sure my expression doesn’t change.

  “Where did you get those pictures?” Buchanan asks.

  “I think you know.”

  “No.” He shakes his head. “I’ve never seen those before in my life.”

  “They were discovered in your home office.”

  “In my—” He tries to stand again, but Finch has his hand on his shoulder before he can move. “I swear, I’ve never seen those pictures before in my life.”

  I switch the photo to the one of the envelope. “Have you seen this before?”

  He blinks. Leans in closer. Blinks again. “I have.”

  “When?”

  “When my students turn in their papers, I ask them to place them in individual envelopes.”

  I stay quiet, but he’s not adding anything. “Who used bright, pink envelopes?”

  “K—” He clears his throat. “Kara Becker used that type, I believe.”

  “Where were you on the night of Kara Becker’s murder?”

  “Home.”

  I nod at Finch, who steps into the booth, then returns with a laptop. Setting it down on the table, he turns it to face the doctor. “This shot from the elevator was taken the night of the murder at approximately 10:33 p.m. We have similar footage showing you leaving the premises the same way just over an hour later.” Plenty of time.

  Buchanan leans forward, watching as Finch hits Play. When he sees himself on-screen, he sits back abruptly. “I must’ve gone to see Daisy.” He looks at the video, then back at me. “I did. I remember now. I went to see Daisy. She asked me to come.”

  I highly doubt that.

  “We’ll be sure to ask Miss Buchanan about that,” Finch says, snapping the computer shut. Taking the laptop, he returns to the confines of the booth.

  “We have you there, in the building, the night of the murder. We have images of you and Miss Becker in, well, in an amorous position. Images that could harm your reputation,” I state.

  “Kara and I stopped seeing each other. There was no reason for me to kill her.”

  “We have Miss Becker’s journal. She mentions getting money from someone. Did she ask you for money in exchange for those images?”

  “No. Of course not.” He slaps his palm down onto the table. “There’s nothing wrong with her and I—”

  “Did her grade jump
from an F to an A before or after you slept with her?”

  His face blanches.

  I’ve got him.

  “She did the necessary work to improve her grade. Both semesters.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “She did,” he says angrily. “There’s nothing in our contracts that says we cannot date students.”

  “Date?” I frown. “Did you two date? Were you courting?”

  “Courting?” He scoffs. “I’m married.”

  “So ‘affair’ is a better word, isn’t it? How would your wife feel about you sleeping with another woman?”

  “How the hell would I know? She won’t return my calls.”

  Daisy said something similar.

  “The last I heard, she was in Utah or somewhere out in the boonies,” he continues.

  I think Daisy mentioned California. I stand, picking up my notebook. “I’ll be right back.” I want to give Buchanan enough time to stew on this conversation, plus I want to ask Daisy about her father’s visit. She never mentioned that either.

  In the booth, I stop in front of Finch and the captain.

  “I think you’ve got him,” Captain Billings says with a smile.

  I think I do too. “I’m going to ask Daisy about his claim that he was there to see her.”

  “Good.” He smiles. “I’ll watch him squirm until you get back.”

  Out in the main room of Ames PD, I grab a set of keys and head back to the holding cells. I hate the idea that she’s back here, locked up. When I reach her cell, she’s lying on a cot, her eyes red and puffy.

  “Honey,” I say softly.

  “Gage?” She jumps up from the cot and races to the bars. “Can I go now?”

  “Not yet. I need to ask you something.”

  “Okay.” Her voice is hesitant.

  “We have footage of your father taking the elevator from the parking garage up to your floor the night of the murder.”

  Daisy gasps.

  “He says he was there to see you. Is that true?”

  “No.” Her face looks fierce. “He’s lying.”

  “He said you asked him to come.”

  Scoffing, she grabs the bars between us. “Like I’d call him.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Turning, I reach out and touch one of her hands. “I’ll be back.”

  “Hurry, Gage.” She sniffles. “I’ve always hated being locked up.”

  That’s a strange way of putting it, but I get what she means. “I’ll be back.”

  “Okay.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Gage

  “We’ve got him at the scene at the time of the murder. We’ve got a motive—Kara’s blackmail scheme,” Captain Billings notes.

  “He must be the dude who had ‘bank,’ according to Dylan Forrester.”

  “Agree,” I say as I write down the captain’s summary. “When we went back in to speak to him, to tell him Daisy denied his claim that she’d asked him to visit, he then claimed to have seen someone else in the hallway outside of Kara’s apartment as he was leaving.”

  “Right,” Finch grumbles. “We’ve identified every person who came and went from the front and back entrances of Becker’s building. Besides residents, there’s been no others who left around that time.”

  I shrug. “It could have been a resident. You know, walking by her door.”

  “He said the guy was knocking on her door.”

  The captain stands and paces in front of the small conference room. “Let’s show the professor a picture lineup. Include all of the players and see if he picks someone we’ve already vetted.”

  Finch gets the task of creating the photo lineup. He’s including Dylan Forrester, Luke Green, Bryant Falco, and seven others, some of whom came from Kara Becker’s social media accounts. Once it’s prepared, Finch is given the pleasure of placing the lineup in front of Dr. Buchanan while we watch from the booth.

  “Please look at all ten photos and point to the person you believe you saw in the hallway outside of Kara Becker’s apartment.”

  We watch as Dorian scoots his chair closer to the table. He leans down over the pictures. His head moves from my right to left and back again.

  “Doubt he points to anyone,” mumbles the captain.

  I’m not so sure. He’s gone back to the same part of the page several times. When he raises his hand, first finger extended, I hold my breath. Almost in slow motion, Buchanan moves his finger down, pressing on one image. “That one.”

  “That one?” Finch asks, looking perplexed.

  “Yeah. He was outside her door. Knocking.”

  Finch says aloud, “Let the recording show that Dr. Dorian Buchanan picked number seven from the photo lineup.”

  I look down at the photocopy and blink. Buchanan just fingered, Bryant Falco. What the ever-loving hell?

  Finch steps back into the booth looking perplexed. “I questioned his roommates; they all corroborated his story. He was back home that night.”

  “He could still have made the drive back, the little bastard,” the captain growls. “It’s forty minutes tops from his parents’ home to Kara’s.”

  “Buchanan could be lying.” Finch makes a good point.

  Captain Billings stands up, handing Finch his copy of the lineup. “I’m starting to think everyone’s lying.”

  He’s not the only one.

  “Go on in there, Golden. Follow up with his claim that he was there to visit Daisy.”

  “Yeah.” I nod. “Okay.”

  Finch stays in the booth just as Dan returns from Buchanan’s house after sending the pink envelope off to be fingerprinted. Meanwhile, I step into the interrogation room to speak with Dorian. “I talked to Daisy.”

  Not only that, but we’ve had a chance to search his car since it was parked right outside our door. There, we got the hat and his cell. Luckily the district attorney made sure to include his cell phone in the search; otherwise, we wouldn’t have been able to download his text messages to the deceased. We also downloaded messages between Dorian and Daisy from the day of the murder. There were none from her asking Dorian to stop by the building. Call records do show the two spoke that day for less than two minutes. She could have asked him to stop by, but there’s no way of knowing. I’ll need to ask her about that exchange after I speak with Dorian.

  “And?” Dorian’s acting quite cocky considering he’s been cooped up in this little room in the police station for the last couple of hours.

  “She denies your claim that she asked you to visit.”

  “She would.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Ignoring my question, he has one of his own. “So, she’s living with you now?”

  I quickly look at the two-way glass, but I choose not to respond. “What did you mean by ‘she would’?”

  “You know.” He sighs, leaning back in his chair. Crossing one leg over the other, he says, “I’m not sure you’re the person I should be speaking to. As a matter of fact, I’d like my attorney.”

  “You haven’t been Mirandized—”

  “Then let me talk to the person in charge,” he sneers. “After you let me call my attorney.”

  I’m losing patience with this man. “If you’re innocent, why wouldn’t you just answer my questions?”

  “Says the man living with my daughter.”

  I hear the door open and already know who’s entered.

  “Dr. Buchanan.” Captain Billings holds out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  Okay. He’s the good cop. I’m the fucking stupid one.

  “Golden, will you please go ask Detective Turnbull to join me?” the captain says.

  “Yep.”

  As I stand to leave, Dorian says, “Hey.”

  I turn to face him. “What?” I want to wring this guy’s neck, but I do my best to stay calm.

  “I’m just curious.” He scratches his chin. “Which Daisy have you been living with?”

  “Excuse me?” What the fuck d
oes that mean?

  Then the asshole laughs.

  I turn and am out of the room so fast, it’d make your head spin.

  When I see Dan, he’s scowling.

  “You too?” I snap.

  “You’re living with the eyewitness?”

  “She’s staying with me.” I run my fingers through my hair. “She had nowhere else to go.”

  Standing, Dan moves past me, stopping when we’re only a foot apart. “Better not be screwing her.”

  “Eat shit, Dan.”

  “Jesus,” he mumbles. “You’re fucked, man.”

  I know.

  I should leave, but I need to watch the rest of this show. Pulling up a stool as Dan joins Billings in the interrogation room, I sit close to the two-way glass.

  “You gonna do anything about that cop and my daughter?” Buchanan asks my boss.

  “I don’t know what you’re referring to,” the captain says diplomatically. Covering his own ass, no doubt.

  “My daughter insinuated earlier that she’s staying with that cop.”

  “I’ll check into that.” Billings sits back in his seat. “So, what did Daisy want?”

  “Want?”

  Impertinent asshole.

  “Want. The night of the murder. You said she asked you to stop by. What did she want?”

  He scoffs. “The same shit she always wants.”

  “Which is?”

  “You know,” Buchanan sighs like he’s bored. “I really want a lawyer.”

  “We’re making the call as we speak.” The captain reassures. “What does Daisy usually need when she calls you?”

  Buchanan sighs and rests his head back on his shoulders. Raising it again, he looks directly at the captain. “She’s got issues.”

  “Issues?” Dan asks.

  “Problems.”

  The captain takes this one. “Problems?”

  “She….” He leans forward and whispers, “Mental problems.”

  Fucking lies.

  “It’s why I pay all her bills, take care of her,” he continues. “It’s also the reason her mother left. She couldn’t take it anymore.”

  What kind of father spews shit like this about his child?