“No,” the tech said. “All smudged.”
Damn.
“However,” the tech added, “I found a partial thumbprint on the bag of hydrocodone found in the footlocker. That partial matches Shawn Castillo’s. I haven’t finished with the rest of the evidence. I’m only calling because you wanted a match quickly.”
Bree exhaled. “Thank you for rushing that.”
“No problem, Sheriff. I’ll keep you updated.”
Bree ended the call, hoping more evidence would be forthcoming. Until then, she’d have to bluff.
CHAPTER SIX
Bree repeated the information for Matt.
“Good,” he said. “A solid drug possession charge should allow you to keep him at least overnight.”
“Yes.” Bree checked her watch. She’d purposefully stalled until the judge would be gone for the day. “I don’t want to turn him loose just yet. He looks like a flight risk, and we have no idea if he killed those people or simply found the skull.”
“And decided to play with it?” Matt raised a brow.
“I’ve seen weirder.”
Matt agreed with a nod. “So have I, unfortunately.”
Bree chugged the rest of her coffee, set the mug in the sink, then turned to Matt. “Ready to interview Shawn Castillo?”
“Let’s do it.” Matt carried his mug with him down the hall.
Bree opened the door. Shawn sat at the table conferring with a middle-aged man in a slick charcoal-colored suit. Slick was the attorney, no doubt. His hair was jet black with the perfect amount of silver at the temples. He was writing on a yellow legal pad. When Bree and Matt entered the room, he flipped a page to cover his notes.
The room smelled like hamburger and body odor. Bree glanced in the trash can and spied a crumpled-up fast-food bag.
Shawn sat back, slumped his shoulders, and crossed his arms. He glared at Bree. He might be a middle-aged man, but he wore insolence like a teenager. A take-out drink cup sat on the table in front of him. Who had bought him food? Not the attorney. He’d just arrived.
The attorney half stood for a split second. “Lyle Croft. I’ll be representing Mr. Castillo.”
Bree introduced herself and Matt.
Lyle resettled in his chair and smoothed his tie. He offered no opening comment. He folded his hands on the legal pad in front of him.
“I have some questions for your client.” Bree slid a Miranda acknowledgment and a pen in front of Shawn. She recited his rights, then said, “I need you to sign that you understand these rights.”
Shawn glanced at his lawyer, who nodded. Shawn signed.
Bree put the signed sheet in the file and returned the pen to her pocket. “This interview is being recorded.”
“Now I have a question for you.” The attorney flipped a page on his notepad, then read off a list of the charges Shawn had been booked on. “Do you really think you’re going to make any of these charges stick?”
He was taking the offensive? Interesting.
“I do,” she said. “Shawn is being held on trespassing, assaulting an officer, drug possession, concealment of a human corpse, and tampering with evidence.” Though Bree had no doubt Shawn would ultimately plead to lesser offenses. Technically, this was his first offense.
Lyle lifted the paper to check his notes. “He assaulted an officer?”
“Yes,” Bree said. “He threw rocks at me. It’s there in the report.” She’d considered adding a second simple assault charge, but the rocks hadn’t come close to hitting her brother. Some cops would have padded the arrest to allow for negotiating room, but Bree wasn’t a game-player. She’d rather make her case on the evidence.
The attorney didn’t seem impressed. His mouth curled in a smirk much like his client’s. “Did you identify yourself as the sheriff?”
Bree nodded. “Yes. Multiple times.”
Lyle wrote a note.
“Your client had prescription opioids in his possession.” Bree faced Shawn. “Do you have a prescription for the hydrocodone?”
“Don’t answer that, Shawn,” the attorney said without taking his gaze off Bree. “How can you prove the backpack belonged to Shawn?”
“I saw him carrying it,” Bree said.
“How do you know he was carrying that particular backpack and not one that looked like it?” the attorney asked.
Bree didn’t break eye contact. “I saw the backpack very clearly.”
“While you were running at full speed through the woods?” The lawyer’s brows rose in doubt.
“Yes,” Bree said without hesitation.
The attorney lifted his pen. “Did you find my client’s fingerprints on the backpack?”
“No.” Bree let him think he had the upper hand.
Shawn gave Matt and Bree a smug stare. Bree wasn’t a violent person, but his privileged smirk was definitely slappable.
The attorney nodded but said nothing. “You’re going to file the drug charges anyway?”
“Yes.” Bree sat back. Did Shawn really think he could beat the charges by throwing his backpack a few yards? “We also found drugs in the footlocker in the loft.”
The attorney lifted a smug eyebrow. “Can you prove any of the items in the loft belong to my client?”
Bree dropped the bomb. “We matched a thumbprint from the baggie of drugs to Shawn.”
In the middle of writing a sentence, the attorney paused. Beads of sweat broke out on Shawn’s forehead, and his personal funk began to smell like fear. Had he not expected them to find prints? Seemed strange. Everyone knew all about prints in the age of CSI.
Bree addressed Shawn. “Why were you at the Taggert property?”
He shrugged, his eyes wary. “I like it there.”
Matt leaned forward, planting his elbows on the table. “We found a sleeping bag in the barn. Is it yours?”
Shawn’s gaze darted to his attorney.
“Lying to us will only make things worse for you,” Bree said. “We have your thumbprint on the bag of drugs from the footlocker. I have no doubt we will find additional prints that match yours. The things in the loft belong to you. There are hairs in the sleeping bag. I’m sure DNA analysis will prove they’re yours.”
“Do you know what was in the sleeping bag?” Matt asked.
Shawn gave his head a slow shake, but his hands were shaking. He knew exactly what they’d found.
“It was a skull.” Bree let the tension build for a few seconds. “We found skeletal remains on the property. Did you bury those remains?”
Shawn stiffened. His gaze slid to the table. “No.”
“Did you kill them?” Bree asked.
Shawn jerked. His head snapped up. “No! Why would you think I did it?”
“Because you were there, sleeping with the skull?” Bree batted his question back.
The lawyer touched Shawn’s arm. “My client declines to answer that.”
Bree cut to the chase. “Where did you get the skull, Shawn?”
Again, Shawn glanced at his lawyer, who shook his head.
“Do you know how they died?” she asked.
He looked away and shook his head, his mouth tight. Was he lying?
“Do you own a gun?” Bree already knew no gun was registered to Shawn, but he could have an illegal one.
“Don’t answer that,” the attorney cut in.
She swallowed her frustration. “Is this the first time you’ve been to the old Taggert property?”
“Don’t answer that,” the attorney said, but Shawn was already shaking his head.
“Why did you camp at the farm?” she pressed.
“I like it there,” he repeated, mumbling.
“Why?” Bree asked.
Shawn lifted his gaze. His eyes lit with interest. “Bad things happened there. People died. It’s a killing place.”
The attorney looked disgusted. He leaned over and whispered in his client’s ear, “Will you shut the fuck up?” Then he muttered something Bree didn’t catch in a do
n’t know why I’m even here voice.
“What bad things?” Bree asked.
“You know.” Shawn’s eyes brightened, as if he were enjoying the discussion. “That’s where your daddy killed your mama, and they weren’t the only people to die there.”
The attorney looked like he was going to choke. “Stop talking.”
But Shawn was engaged. He didn’t want to stop. He leaned forward, his excitement palpable in the small room.
Bree shifted forward, mirroring him. She held his gaze and put some macabre interest in her voice. “How many people?”
“Lots and lots. At night, you can feel them.” Shawn’s eyes brightened further. His leg began to jiggle, the foot tapping on the floor in a crazed rhythm. He looked like he was going to explode.
“Did you kill them, Shawn?” Matt pressed.
The attorney grabbed Shawn’s forearm. “Do not answer that question.”
Shawn leaned back and crossed his arms. Was he paving the way for an insanity defense?
“Why were you staying in the barn?” Matt asked. “To be close to the people you killed?”
Shawn’s foot tapped in double time, and he shifted on the chair as if he could barely keep his body on it. His gaze darted between Bree and Matt. Then he side-eyed his attorney and pressed his lips flat.
The attorney grabbed Shawn’s arm again and held it in a tight grip. “Do not say anything else. You don’t have to answer any of their questions. It’s their job to prove everything. Don’t help them.”
“They don’t know shit.” Shawn’s chin lifted and his jaw tightened in defiance.
The attorney told him to be quiet and addressed Bree. “Do you even know how old the remains are or how long they’ve been there?”
Bree shook her head. “Not yet, but we will soon.” She stared at Shawn and threw out her bluff. “If you handled that skull recently, you left what we call touch DNA on the surface.” It was possible, but hardly a given that they’d find anything.
Thankfully, Shawn couldn’t restrain himself. “I found it. There’s no law against finding things.”
“Actually, there are laws against tampering with a crime scene and improper disposition or concealment of human remains.”
“We’re done here.” The attorney checked his watch, then shot Bree an accusatory glare. “It’s too late to get him arraigned today.”
Bree had planned on exactly that.
“What does that mean?” Shawn’s gaze darted between Bree and the lawyer.
“It means you can’t get bailed out today,” the lawyer said without breaking eye contact with Bree.
Shawn jolted, his shock palpable. “I have to spend the night in jail?”
“You’re being charged with multiple felonies, Shawn,” Bree said. Was he really this dense?
“Just one night.” The attorney slapped Shawn on the shoulder. “We’ll get you into court tomorrow, and I’ll have you out ASAP.”
Disbelief clouded Shawn’s face, and he muttered, “Jail? I can’t go to jail.”
The attorney ignored the comment.
Bree opened the door and called for Oscar to transport Shawn to the jail. Lyle hurried down the hall toward the lobby. Bree and Matt were on their way back to her office when she spotted Elias Donovan in the lobby conferring with the attorney. Donovan was a tall man with short gray hair, a goatee, and wire-rimmed glasses. His expensive suit was obviously tailored to fit his lean body. Their gazes met across the station. A bright spark of anger lit his eyes before he turned his attention back to the lawyer.
Bree walked into her office. Matt followed and closed the door behind them.
She sank into her chair. “What do you think?”
Matt paced the small space between the guest chairs and her desk. “I don’t know. The skull in the sleeping bag was freaky. I don’t like freaky.”
“Me neither.” Bree tossed the file into her inbox.
“That was a weird interview.” Matt stopped and scratched his chin.
“Yeah.” Bree tapped her fingers on the desk. “I don’t know what to make of Shawn. He’s a tough one to read.”
“His emotions were inconsistent.”
“They were,” Bree agreed. “He was cool and arrogant until I asked about the bones. Then he got excited. Did he like talking about dead people, or did it feel like he was playing with us?”
Matt stroked his beard. “He seemed confident his brother’s attorney can handle the lesser charges. But murder is a whole different ball game.”
A crash sounded on the other side of the door. Bree jumped to her feet and flung open the office door as the station erupted in chaos.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Matt rushed toward the door, but Bree was already through it. He was right on her heels. He burst through the opening and drew up short, assessing the situation in a quick glance. The squad room was complete bedlam. Chairs had been knocked over. Shawn and a much larger man were rolling on the floor trying to punch each other. The big man was heavily tattooed with a full Duck Dynasty beard.
The men stopped rolling with Shawn on the bottom. He gasped under his opponent’s greater weight but somehow managed to slide out from under him like a slimy eel. He was halfway to his feet when the big man rose onto one knee and let loose with a backhand that knocked Shawn ass over end.
Shawn slid into a desk. The desk careened across the space—right into Matt’s path. It hit him in the legs with an impact that was sure to leave a mark. A phone, a lamp, and assorted office supplies flew off the top and went sliding across the cracked linoleum. Shawn wobbled on his feet for a nanosecond before the big man charged him, taking him to the ground again.
Oscar and Deputy Laurie Collins rushed in and attempted to get past the men’s kicking legs. Collins took a boot in the chest and fell back, gasping. Oscar went after Shawn—the lesser threat.
Typical, thought Matt as he vaulted over the desk.
To his right, Bree weaved around another desk, two fallen chairs, and more desktop debris.
The men rolled again. Their colliding bodies knocked Oscar back. Panting, Shawn weaseled out from underneath the bigger man. His opponent was twice his weight, but much slower. Matt had to give Shawn credit. He was a scrapper.
The fighting men scrambled to their feet and faced off. Oscar jumped into the fray and grabbed Shawn’s arm, but all his action accomplished was to allow the larger man to land a solid punch to Shawn’s face. Blood spurted from his nose. The big man pulled his arm back to fire another punch. On the backswing, his elbow struck Oscar in the chin, knocking him off his feet.
Collins got to her feet, but she looked unsteady. Her face was pale, and she was sucking air like a landed guppy. Oscar was down on his hands and knees. He shook his head as if to clear it.
Bree shoved aside a wheeled chair and headed directly into the fray. Matt tried to pass her. The second man was bouncer-big. His biceps were so bulgy he probably couldn’t wash his own face. Not that his size would deter Bree. She waded right past her struggling deputies, the look on her face fierce.
“Freeze,” Bree shouted.
No one responded. The fighting men were completely focused on each other. The larger man caught Shawn around the waist, twisted, and threw him to the ground. Then he rolled Shawn onto his back, straddled him, and raised a giant fist over his shoulder, preparing to pummel him.
Whipping out her baton, Bree flicked it to full length. Then she caught the larger man from behind in a seat belt hold. Her arms weren’t long enough to encircle his torso, so she used the baton against his chest as leverage. But he was enraged. He tried to shake her off. Bree hung on as the man bucked. He rose onto his knees, reached over his shoulder, and tried to grab her. Ducking away from his clawing hand, she lost her grip and fell off his back. She was moving in again when Matt stepped between them.
He dived at the larger man, tackling him and taking him to the ground next to Shawn. At six three and two hundred pounds, Matt was no lightweight. But the other ma
n had three inches on him, along with a fifty-pound weight advantage. In his peripheral vision, Matt saw Shawn roll to his hands and knees and crawl away.
In normal grappling with a much larger opponent, Matt would have gone for a rear naked choke, but chokes were not permitted as restraints. He’d have to find another way.
The man reached for Matt’s head. Matt took advantage, catching the man’s elbow under his own and stepping over him to straddle him, sitting on his opponent’s hip.
Matt trapped the big man’s upper arm between his own knees and wrapped it up tight. Then he rocked sideways, using the weight of his entire body against the big man’s elbow and shoulder. The man’s other arm was pinned under his body. With his shoulder locked up and his elbow hyperextended, the man couldn’t move without damaging one of his own joints. Trapped in an armbar, the man struggled for a few seconds.
“Don’t make me break your arm,” Matt said. “I can sit here all day.”
The man went still. Matt could feel his chest heaving.
Matt waited for Bree to appear at his side with a pair of extra-large handcuffs. The big man didn’t resist as she restrained him. Then Matt hauled him to his feet and shuffled him to the steel bench at the rear of the room. Once the man was secured to the bench, Matt stepped back. “Do you want to add shackles?” he asked Bree.
Bree glowered at the man. “Yes.”
Matt retrieved a set of leg shackles and put them on the prisoner. Stepping back, he assessed Collins. She was bent over, her hands resting on her thighs.
“You OK?” he asked.
“Just had the wind knocked out of me,” Collins said between gulps for air.
Bree squinted at her deputy. “Do you need the ER?”
Collins shook her head. “I’ll be fine in a couple of minutes.”
Oscar leaned on the wall, breathing hard.
“Are you injured?” Bree asked him.
He shook his head.
Elias Donovan and Shawn’s attorney rushed in.
“What happened to my brother?” Elias asked.
Shawn was holding both hands to his face. Blood seeped between his fingers. “My nose is broken. I can’t see straight.”
Right Behind Her (Bree Taggert) Page 5