First Degree Murder

by Christy Barritt

  “You’ll figure things out, Cassidy. You always do.”

  She wished she was as convinced. “This case has my stomach all twisted in knots.”

  “By this case, you mean the dead bodies in the woods?”

  “I mean all of it combined and linked. The bodies in the woods, the men who shot at us from the boat . . .”

  “Just take a deep breath. It will come together. It always does.”

  Cassidy really hoped Ty was right.

  Just then, her phone buzzed again. Maybe the earlier caller had left a message.

  Hesitantly, she pulled herself from Ty’s warm embrace and grabbed her phone. Her blurry gaze hit the screen.

  Everyone could find out Cady Matthews is really Cassidy Chambers. Just one post from me, and your life will be ruined. Don’t forget it.

  “I don’t like this.” Ty’s chest squeezed with anger.

  Cassidy buttoned her shirt, preparing herself to go into work. “I don’t like it either. But what am I supposed to do? Cower inside indefinitely?”

  “Someone knows about your past. They got your phone number. They’re probably watching you and your every move.” He stopped behind Cassidy and put his hands on her shoulders as she looked in the mirror.

  She straightened the collar to her police uniform. “I know that. I promise you I do. But I’m not going to be bullied. If I’m exposed, then I’m exposed. Nothing I do is going to change that.”

  Cassidy’s words might be true, but that didn’t mean Ty liked them. One person shouldn’t have this much power over someone else. These threats . . . they had to stop.

  “Let me go into work with you and be a second sets of eyes,” he said.

  Cassidy turned toward him and offered a sad smile. “I appreciate that. I really do. But you have work to do here. I’ll call you if I need you.”

  Hope House . . . Ty still hadn’t told Cassidy about his financial struggles with the nonprofit. He knew he should but . . . he just hadn’t found the right opportunity, he supposed.

  “What is it, Ty?” Cassidy tilted her head as she studied his face. “What’s that look?”

  “I have a look?”

  She nodded. “I can see it in your eyes. What aren’t you telling me?”

  He sighed and stepped back, lowering himself onto the edge of the bed. He wasn’t going to bring it up now, but . . .“I’m out of money, Cassidy.”

  She lowered herself beside him, a knot between her eyes as she faced him. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, all the added expenses from the storm . . . it depleted so much of the savings for the nonprofit. I need to purchase the plane tickets for the guys to come here, but I don’t have the funds.”

  “Oh, Ty . . . why didn’t you tell me? I had no idea.”

  “You have so much going on, Cassidy. I didn’t want to add anything else to your plate.”

  She ran her hand across his face. “But you’re my husband. I’m supposed to help you carry your burdens.”

  He squeezed her hand, touched by her compassion. “I know. I was hoping things would turn around. One of the corporations that donated last year said they would give again this year. But then their stocks plunged and . . . well, they never followed through.”

  “There have to be other corporations that would help.”

  “I’m sure there are. And I just need to get on the phone and start calling them. I’ve been focusing so much time on getting these cabanas up and running for the center that I really let this fall by the wayside. I just assumed the money would come in, but it didn’t. It’s my fault, and no one else’s.”

  “You can’t do everything, Ty. Maybe you should see about getting some help.”

  He nodded. “I’ve thought about it.”

  “But you rarely have time to do anything extra because you’re always so busy looking after me.” Cassidy frowned.

  “Hey.” Ty cupped her face with his hands. “This isn’t your fault.”

  “What are you going to do? You can’t cancel the next session. Maybe I can talk to my parents—”

  “Your mom isn’t exactly speaking with you since you turned down her job offer,” Ty reminded. “Besides, any contact you have with your past puts you at a bigger risk of being discovered. I want to do things on my own.”

  She seemed to hesitantly nod. “We’ll think of something, Ty.”

  “Thanks for your support, Cassidy.” He leaned forward and kissed her softly. “But now you need to get to work. We’ll talk more about this later.”

  “Yes, we will.” She stood and gave him a look that clearly stated this conversation wasn’t done.

  Chapter Nineteen

  As Cassidy stepped into her office at the station, her phone rang. She glanced back. Where was Melva today?

  It didn’t matter.

  She closed her door, sat down, and then grabbed the receiver.

  “Chief Cassidy Chambers,” she answered. “How can I help you?”

  Silence answered.

  Tension pinched at her spine. Was this another threat? A prank call? A waste of her time?

  “Hello?” she repeated. She gave the caller one more opportunity before she hung up.

  Silence again.

  Just as Cassidy pulled the phone away from her ear, a feeble voice sounded on the other line.

  “You can’t tell him I called.”

  Cassidy shoved the phone against her ear. “I’m sorry? Who is this?”

  “You can’t tell him I called,” a woman whispered. “Promise me.”

  “I can’t promise anything until I know—”

  “This is Winona Becker. Gerrard’s mom. And I’m hanging up in three seconds unless I know I can trust you.”

  Cassidy’s pulse spiked. She couldn’t mess up this opportunity. “You can trust me.”

  Mrs. Becker remained silent a moment. “I wasn’t going to call you back, you know.”

  “But you did. Why?” Cassidy leaned back in her seat, bracing herself for whatever this conversation might hold. She hoped she might finally get some answers.

  “My husband doesn’t know I’m making this call. He’s in the shower, so I don’t have long.”

  The woman still didn’t answer her questions. Yet, despite that, Cassidy’s interest only grew. “Why are you calling, Mrs. Becker?”

  “I got your message last night. I intended on ignoring it.” Mrs. Becker’s voice sounded soft and gentle, like she was nurturing and sweet. “But then Gerrard called.”

  Cassidy sucked in a breath. “He called you last night?”

  “That’s right. He threatened that I shouldn’t speak to anyone.”

  “Your son threatened you?” The man was even more despicable than Cassidy had assumed.

  “That’s right,” Mrs. Becker whispered. “He’s always cared too much about his image. He knows that I know the truth and that I could ruin him.”

  Cassidy knew she didn’t have much time and that she needed to ask the important questions before it was too late. “What do you know the truth about, Mrs. Becker?”

  She held her breath as she waited for Mrs. Becker’s response. As she did, she turned to her computer and pulled up the woman’s picture from social media. She appeared to be in her fifties with dark hair, a slim build, and kind eyes.

  Not the kind of person Cassidy had necessarily pictured. She looked too normal. Cassidy’s intrigue only grew.

  “He’s not right in the head,” Mrs. Becker said quietly. “But most people don’t see it.”

  “Why don’t you think he’s right in the head?”

  “He’s always been a bit of a narcissist. But something changed in him after the Middle East.”

  “Why was he in the Middle East?” Gilead had told Cassidy he’d been there, but she wanted more details, more answers. She wanted to know if the story he’d told her matched the one he’d told his mom.

  “When his church pastoring position failed, he found a job as a contractor. He was stationed overseas for three years.
He was never the same after that. He was . . . obsessed, I suppose you’d say.”

  “Obsessed with what?”

  “He claimed to have found a scroll with this undiscovered book of the Bible that I’d never heard of. I could see this new purpose in his gaze. He started an online movement and gained followers. Not long after that, he moved to West Virginia to begin doing these revivals.”

  Cassidy absorbed everything Mrs. Becker told her. “So he really feels as if he was called by God? You really think he found this scroll?”

  “Of course not. My son feeds on influencing other people. It’s a game to him.”

  Cassidy’s breath caught. Maybe she was finally on to something. “What do you mean?”

  Mrs. Becker hesitated. “Look, in high school Gerrard and some of his friends talked another kid into drinking too much alcohol too fast. The boy died. It was horrible.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Cassidy couldn’t even imagine what the boy’s family had been through. And to think Gerrard played a part in it . . . the reveal didn’t really surprise Cassidy. But this was the kind of information she needed to get a better idea about what made Gilead/Gerrard tick.

  “There was a trial, but Gerrard was never named as a defendant. His friends were. Two of them went to jail for seven years.”

  Cassidy’s jaw clenched. How had the man managed that? Even at a young age, Gilead knew how to get his way, didn’t he? “How did your son get off the hook?”

  “He has this way about him where he can twist people’s words. Where he can put ideas in their heads. I guess he left the party before the police arrived, and no one could remember him being there during the hazing incident. But one of these boys’ moms called me. She told me the truth. The problem was that there was no evidence. It was like that with Rhonda, as well.”

  “Who’s Rhonda?”

  “She was his wife. They met and married while he was in seminary. I saw the bruises on her. When I mentioned it to Gerrard, he insisted she was clumsy. It wasn’t long after that he distanced himself from me.”

  A chill washed over Cassidy. The news didn’t surprise her. It only confirmed what she already knew.

  “How did that affect your relationship with your son?”

  “Well, I still loved him. Of course. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something troubling about him. I hoped he would straighten himself out.”

  “Did he?”

  “It’s . . . it’s hard to say. He got that job at the church and—” Mrs. Becker suddenly stopped, and silence stretched.

  Cassidy drew in a quick breath, desperate to hear more. Desperate for Mrs. Becker to talk more, to finish what she’d started to reveal. “What were you saying, Mrs. Becker?”

  “I’m sorry,” she rushed. “I can’t talk anymore. My husband is getting out of the shower. Please don’t tell anyone I spoke with you.”

  “Mrs. Becker—”

  “I have to go. But, Chief, be careful.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I fear if anyone stands in Gerrard’s way, he’ll kill them.”

  Then the line went dead.

  Cassidy’s thoughts wouldn’t settle and instead spun like a frenzied top. She replayed her conversation with Winona Becker over and over again. Each time, her chills deepened.

  If Gilead’s own mother feared that he’d kill anyone in his way, then Cassidy knew her qualms weren’t unfounded. She was dealing with a dangerous man.

  Cassidy also suspected that Gilead had threatened anyone else from his past who might reveal his true identity. But why? What was he trying to hide? What was so important that he’d changed his name?

  She had no idea. Instead, she tapped her pen against her desk as the thoughts turned over in her head.

  When the state crime lab called fifteen minutes later, she welcomed the distraction.

  “Chief, we got a match on those ballistics from the bullets that were fired at you.”

  Cassidy sat up straight. “Let’s hear it.”

  “They actually match a weapon from another crime on the island two years ago. It was a dispute between two neighbors over the use of some property. Things escalated and shots were fired by both parties, though neither ever did any serious time for the crime.”

  “And?”

  “And the person who owned the gun . . . his name is a little different. Moby Rick.”

  Cassidy leaned back. Moby? So the man was connected after all.

  “Thanks so much for the update,” Cassidy said. “I’ll let Agent Abbott with the NCSBI know.”

  She stood. Maybe she finally had a lead. She grabbed Dane from his office to go with her.

  “We’re getting a lot of calls, Chief,” Melva told her on the way out the door.

  The woman had finally shown up. Apparently, she’d had a water leak at her house, and she appeared even more high-strung than usual as she sucked in shallow breaths and manically straightened some papers on her desk.

  “Tell everyone I have no comment. Besides, there’s nothing to say yet. It’s too early.”

  “Yes, Chief.” Melva nodded quickly.

  Cassidy filled Dane in as they climbed into her vehicle. Ten minutes later, they pulled up to the little tackle shop Moby owned. It was practically a shack with a covered porch and dirt parking lot. But the place had its regulars.

  Cassidy and Dane stepped inside the space, the scent of bait and fish filling the air.

  Moby looked up. Saw her.

  And then he took off in a run.

  Chapter Twenty

  Cassidy sprinted after Moby. The man was faster than she’d assumed. His short legs and small frame moved quickly and with an agility she temporarily envied.

  “Dane, go around the other side of the building,” she yelled.

  He nodded and did as she ordered. Hopefully, between the two of them, they could catch this guy.

  Moby didn’t have but so many places to go. Water surrounded the back side of his property, trees stretched on either side of the land, and then rows and rows of beach houses lined the area beyond.

  Cassidy spotted Moby hurdle a fence in the distance then head toward the trees.

  Her legs burned as she pushed herself as hard as she could and hurdled the same fence.

  When she was only two feet away from the man, she lunged toward him.

  Her body collided with his, and they both tumbled to the sandy—but root-laced—ground.

  “You had to do that the hard way, didn’t you?” Cassidy muttered, an ache in her still-bruised ribs. She had to remind herself she wasn’t up to speed yet after a nasty confrontation last week. It would take a while for her ribs to recover.

  Moby grumbled something under his breath as Cassidy cuffed him.

  Dane stopped beside them, still trying to catch his breath as well. “Good job, Chief.”

  “Thanks.” She pulled Moby to his feet and scowled. “Now, we have a lot to talk about.”

  “I had nothing to do with those bodies.” Moby’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t look angry. No, the man was scared, if anything.

  He had a small stature, longish light-brown hair, and the faintest shadow of a thin mustache.

  “If you had nothing to do with those bodies, then why did you run?” Cassidy edged him back so she could see his face. “And why do you think I’m here about those bodies?”

  The sunlight cut through a nearby tree, glaring at the man and causing him to squint uncomfortably. She didn’t make any effort to block the light.

  “What else would you be here for?” Moby scowled at her again. “And I ran because I know you think I did, and you’re not gunna believe me, whatever I tell you. I don’t know how those sinkers got around those people’s necks.”

  “I have a feeling there’s something you’re not telling me, and you need to start talking, Moby. Now.” Cassidy’s sympathy had disappeared when the ache in her ribs materialized. “Or do I need to take you down to the station?”

  He patted his h
ands in the air, as if trying to tamp down the situation. “No, I’ll talk. I promise. I’ll talk. I just don’t want to go to jail.”

  “Your gun was used to shoot at me and my men a couple days ago, Moby,” Cassidy said. “Can you explain that? Maybe you even own a skiff. Maybe you were on board.”

  Moby’s brown eyes widened, and he glanced at Dane, as if expecting him to admit this was all a joke. Dane only gave him a cold stare back.

  “My gun?” Moby’s voice cracked. “Is that what this is about? It was stolen six months ago.”

  Cassidy clenched her teeth, not ready to believe him yet. “How was it stolen, Moby?”

  He shrugged. “I wish I knew. I kept it behind the counter here at Moby Rick’s. One day, it was gone.”

  Irritation pinched at Cassidy’s spine. “And you never reported it?”

  He shrugged again. “No, I didn’t. Figured I’d get in trouble again, just like last time.”

  “And by last time, you mean when you shot at your neighbor?” Cassidy had read the police report before she’d come.

  His face reddened, and he let out a few choice words. “That man was crazy. I was just defending my property. I have that right, you know. He parked his old beat-up car on my land, and he was going to leave it there to rust. It was an eyesore, and he was being unreasonable.”

  Cassidy and Dane exchanged a look. Moby might present himself as an upstanding citizen, but he not only had that incident on his rap sheet, he’d also been arrested for driving under the influence. All of that was proof he didn’t always make wise decisions.

  “We’re not here to talk about that,” Cassidy finally said. “We’re here to talk about your connection to this crime. Your gun was used to shoot at us, and sinkers you sell here at your shop were found on the bodies. That’s what I want you to explain. That’s two connections with you, and it doesn’t look good.”

  “What? I would have never used my gun to shoot someone,” Moby said. “I mean, unless they were trespassing on my property. But, like I said, my gun was stolen.”

  “You need to start explaining and sharing some more details.” Cassidy didn’t bother to keep the impatience out of her voice.