Keeler toyed with his wedding band. “Sheriff King didn’t think it was necessary to replace his K-9 team. He functioned quite well without one. We know this is your first administrative position.” His face turned smug. “Maybe you could ask your senior deputies—the ones who worked with King—how he managed to be so efficient.”
Bree leaned back, her teeth grinding. “Efficient or corrupt?”
Keeler was working hard to not roll his eyes. “You can’t believe everything you read in the papers. King was a damned good sheriff.”
Bree felt her brows climbing up her forehead. The nerve of this guy . . . After King’s death, dozens of accounts of corruption had come to light, from murder to excessive use of force to misappropriation of funds. The man had done everything wrong, and yet, he was still revered.
Elias held up a hand. “We must acknowledge King made mistakes. No one is perfect.”
“But he kept crime under control with a careful eye on the budget,” Keeler snapped. “This isn’t the big city. You’ll have to learn to work with limited resources.” He lightly slapped both palms on the table. “On that note, I have another meeting.”
Elias stood and leaned on his fists. “We’ll confer with the other committee members and get back to you on your proposal.” No promises was implied.
“When can I expect to hear?” Bree asked.
Keeler smiled, like a shark circling an inflatable boat. “We’ll be as timely as possible, but the committee members are very busy.” Then he bolted from the room, leaving Bree and Elias alone.
Bree rose, battling back irritation and frustration. She walked to the door, closed it, and returned to the table. “I need to ask you a few questions about your brother.”
Elias took his time gathering his papers before making eye contact. “What do you want to know?”
Bree met his gaze over the width of the conference table. “Why does Shawn camp in the barn?”
“You’ll have to ask Shawn.”
“It just seems strange since he has a house . . .”
His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “I can’t speculate about someone else’s motives. That said, thank you for treating him decently.”
Bree froze. Where was he going with this? She considered her answer carefully before saying, “I was just doing my job.” She hadn’t given Shawn any special considerations. Was he implying she had? Or was he being sarcastic? The whole discussion felt uncomfortable and unprofessional.
Elias lifted a black briefcase from the floor and opened it on the table. “I’m headed to the courthouse for my brother’s arraignment.”
Bree stuffed her folder into her own briefcase. What was she supposed to say to that? Good luck didn’t seem right. “I’m sure you’re worried about him.”
He stared at her. “I’m not worried. Not in the least.”
What is that supposed to mean?
Did he have the judge in his pocket? Elias had been in local government forever. He knew everyone. Unlike Bree, who was the new player in town. She gave up deciphering his remark. The politics were out of her league. She felt like she was in over her head by a mile. Apprehension slipped over her as she walked out of the room, very well aware that she had likely made two new enemies.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Matt fueled up with a pot of fresh coffee and two bags of peanuts from the vending machine. He returned to the conference room for another round of frustrating phone calls. Over the past few hours, he’d worked his way through a list of contacts following up on the four missing Jennifers from New York State. One case was resolved. In two of the cases, the lead detectives had retired, and Matt had had to track down someone with access to the physical files. The information he’d gleaned was disappointing and often incomplete.
None of the women had any record of a broken jaw or extensive dental work in their files. There was no mention of a bracelet in any of the files either. None of the cases mentioned a male companion.
But then, the information on most of the missing women was scant. So, the absence of these conditions did not mean the remains weren’t one of those women. They’d all been missing for more than ten years—one for over two decades—so the officers’ memories weren’t fresh. Matt promised to call back if he had anything that definitely linked his remains to the missing women.
The conference room door opened, and Todd came in, his laptop tucked under his arm.
“Anything?” Matt asked.
“Not really.” Todd had been reviewing the records of all missing women in the state who fit the general physical description of their female victim. “I’ve narrowed down the list a little. But we don’t have enough information. We might have to wait for DNA.”
“Getting results with only DNA could take months or longer.” Matt’s coffee tasted bitter, but he drank it anyway.
The anthropologist would extract DNA from the bones or teeth, but matching DNA wasn’t a quick process. State labs were always backed up, and urgent cases were given priority. Plus, DNA wouldn’t be useful without something to match it to. The missing person would be in the National Missing Person DNA Database only if a family member had submitted DNA. Then there was the chance that the victims were never reported missing at all.
Needle, meet haystack.
“Is there anything else you want me to do?” Todd asked. “I have paperwork to finish.”
“Keep working on the lists of missing persons when you have time. That’s all we can do until we hear from the ME.”
“Will do.” Todd left the room.
Matt bowed his head and rubbed the back of his neck. He was not meant to sit in a chair bent over a computer all day. He checked his phone. Bree was on her way back from the budget meeting.
Someone rapped on the doorframe. Matt looked up to see Marge in the doorway.
“There’s a call about the bracelet.” She smiled.
“Really?” Matt was doubtful. Hotline calls were typically useless.
“He knows about the date engraved on the inside,” Marge said.
“Oh.” They’d held that fact out of the description in order to discern real calls from fake. Matt smiled and reached for the landline in the center of the table. He slid the phone toward him. “Put it through.”
“This is a real tip.” Marge turned and glanced over her shoulder. “He’s a former cop.”
Matt answered the phone when it rang. “Matt Flynn.”
“This is Lincoln Sharp. I used to be a detective for the SFPD. Now I’m a private investigator in Scarlet Falls.”
“I know your partner.” When Matt had been a deputy, he’d often worked with other local law enforcement, including Sharp’s partner. “He helped me out on a recent case.”
“Great. Then you know where our office is.”
“I do.”
“I have some information about the bracelet from your press release. Can we meet?”
“Yes. Of course.” Matt checked the time. “What time works for you?”
“Four?”
“Perfect.”
“See you then.” Sharp ended the call.
Matt packed up his gear and headed down the hall into the squad room. He spotted Bree making her way from the back door to her office. Her face was stony.
He stopped in her doorway.
She opened her desk drawer, shook two ibuprofen from a bottle, and washed them down with water. “Please come in and close the door.”
He did, then perched on the edge of her desk. “Can I assume it didn’t go well?”
Bree slumped into her chair. “I hate everyone.”
“You did arrest a board member’s brother last night. It was bound to be an issue.”
She scrubbed both hands down her face, then leaned her chin in her hands. “I didn’t scream at the top of my lungs or punch anyone.”
“Well done?”
She snorted and looked up at him. “You look pleased. What is it?”
“We got a lead.”
She sat up, he
r face brightening. “Really?”
“Yes.” Matt explained about Sharp’s call.
“Let’s hope he can ID our female vic.” Bree checked her watch, then scanned her desktop. Neat piles of papers and pink memo slips seemed to have multiplied during the day.
Someone knocked on her door.
“Yes,” Bree called out.
The door opened and Todd stuck his head inside. “The search warrant for Shawn Castillo’s house came in.”
“Finally.” Bree stood. “I want to get this done fast. Shawn is in court right now. He’ll be out as soon as the paperwork is processed.”
She ordered Oscar and Juarez to assist. Then she and Matt drove to the address. She parked on the street. There were no sidewalks. Down the road, Matt could see the much larger house owned by Elias Donovan.
Matt scanned Shawn’s place, a Cape Cod–style house built of brick and decorated with black shutters. The shrubs and lawn were neatly trimmed, yet it still managed to have an air of neglect. “It’s creepy, and I can’t say why.”
“It has a vacant feel.” Next to him, Bree double-checked the house number with the search warrant.
“We don’t know how long Shawn was living in the barn.”
Oscar pulled his patrol car to the curb. He and Juarez exited the vehicle. Bree and Matt stepped out of the SUV and joined them in the driveway.
Bree motioned for the deputies to go around the house. “We’ll enter through the front door. You watch the back.”
“Let’s do it.” Matt rapped his knuckles on the door. “Police. We have a warrant. Open the door.”
A cricket chirped in the grass.
Bree pressed the doorbell. Matt heard the muffled echo of the chime resounding through the house. They waited for a minute. They didn’t expect to find anyone at home, but they followed procedure anyway.
Matt donned gloves and checked the door. “Locked.”
Bree pulled a lock-bypass kit from her pocket. She inserted two tools into the lock. A minute later, the lock clicked. She opened the door. “Not anymore.”
She returned her kit to her pocket and tugged on gloves. They stepped inside into a wood-floored foyer.
A foul odor assaulted Matt’s nostrils. He gagged. “What’s that smell?”
“Rotting food,” Bree said.
Leaving the door wide open, Matt peered into a study on one side of the foyer. To his surprise bookcases overflowed, and books were stacked on every surface. He scanned the titles. Shawn’s reading taste ran to memoirs and historical nonfiction. “He really likes medieval history.”
“That’s not something I would have predicted.” Bree checked a formal dining room on the opposite side of the entrance. Both rooms were covered in a layer of dust. They proceeded down a hallway into a kitchen and adjoining living space. Flies buzzed around an overflowing garbage can. Dirty dishes filled the sink. Trash was strewn across every surface.
Bree crossed the room and opened a window. A living room adjoined the kitchen. Matt went to the french doors. Opening them, he admitted the two deputies.
“Leave those doors open,” Bree ordered.
The fresh air helped, but the stench of rotting food seemed to be infused into the plaster walls.
Bree divvied up the house, assigning the deputies the bottom floor. She and Matt ascended the staircase. There were doors on either side of the landing. Both doors were open. From the mess, Matt guessed the room on the right was Shawn’s. The other contained only a bed and a nightstand.
“Let’s start in the spare bedroom.” Bree entered.
Matt followed. Bree opened the nightstand drawers. He went into the bathroom. The medicine cabinet was empty. There were no towels or extra rolls of toilet paper under the sink. Dust coated the sink, and rust—at least he hoped it was rust—stained the toilet bowl. He emerged. “I doubt anyone has ever used this room.”
“I agree.” Bree closed the closet she’d been searching. “Let’s do the master.”
They paused at the threshold. The room stank like a locker room. Dirty clothes covered the wood floor. Up here, Shawn hadn’t even bothered to direct trash to the receptacle. He’d simply left it everywhere. Fast-food wrappers and drink containers lay on the nightstand and dresser.
“I don’t even know where to put my feet.” Matt picked his way to the bathroom. He touched the door with a fingertip to push it open. The bathroom was a mosaic of mold and slime. The odor smelled toxic. Matt wished he’d worn full hazmat gear. “This place looks like it’s never been cleaned. Ever. I wonder who takes care of the exterior. Everything outside looked well maintained.”
“Elias?” Bree suggested. “He owns the property. Clearly, Shawn has some issues.”
Long-term neglect suggested long-term addiction.
“You start in the bathroom. I’ll work my way through this room.” Bree started shifting the clothes at her feet.
Matt opened the medicine cabinet. A few prescription meds lined the shelf. He read the labels. All the medicines were in Shawn’s name. Matt recognized one for depression, ear drops that had expired seven years earlier, and an old antibiotic Shawn hadn’t finished. No opioids. Nothing illegal.
Something moved. Matt jumped as a small gray body darted across the floor. “Watch out for mice!”
“Great.” Bree didn’t sound enthusiastic.
Matt searched under the sink but found only extra rolls of toilet paper and some cleaning supplies that clearly no one used. He left the bathroom.
Bree had sorted through the clothes on the floor. She’d piled the searched items in the corner. “Find anything interesting?”
“Besides mold and mouse turds?” he asked. “No.”
She turned out the pockets of a pair of jeans, then dropped the pants in the pile. “Take the dresser.”
Matt scanned the top. Nothing but trash.
Moving to the nightstand, Bree opened a drawer. She pulled out a stack of papers and gasped. “Oh, my God.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Bree stared at a pencil sketch of a naked woman being guillotined. The blade was biting down on her neck, and her mouth was open in a scream. Bree had expected to find weirdness in Shawn’s house, but this was beyond her expectation. She turned the sheet so Matt could see.
“Wow. That’s disturbing.”
“Right?” Bree lifted the picture to reveal the one beneath, and they stared at a sketch of a man being pulled apart by ropes and men on horseback.
Matt tilted his head. “Is that drawing and quartering?”
“I believe so.” Bree flipped through several other drawings, all forms of punishment: women being burned at the stake, hangings, beheadings, disembowelment. In one, a man hung upside down and was being sawed in half vertically. The victims’ faces were locked in agony, and even in grayscale, most of the pictures showed plenty of blood spatter.
Matt squinted at a picture of a man tied to a wheel, his limbs at wrong angles. “I don’t even know what that is.”
“I don’t want to know.” Bree looked up.
“He covered all the medieval torture bases.”
Bree shook the pages. They rustled lightly. “These are all methods of execution.”
“Our two victims were also executed, although not as creatively.”
“We’re definitely taking these as evidence.” Bree set the drawings aside.
Matt turned back to the dresser, rooting through a drawer of socks. “Who puts a used straw in their sock drawer?” He went through each drawer from top to bottom.
Bree dropped to her knees and peered under the bed. She eyed the filthy bedding with disgust and suspicion. “I really don’t want to touch the mattress.”
“Can’t blame you. Let me finish here, and I’ll help.”
“What’s going on here?” someone yelled from downstairs.
“Sir, you’ll have to wait outside,” a deputy called. But heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs.
“That sounds like Elias,” Bree said.
&nb
sp; “I demand to know what is going on here!” Elias shouted, red-faced, from the doorway.
Juarez stood behind him, his expression chagrined. “I tried to stop him, ma’am.”
“I’ll handle it.” Bree crossed the room and faced Elias. “We have a search warrant.” She showed him the paper.
He barely scanned it. Shock dropped his jaw as he took in the room. His nose wrinkled, and his gaze moved around the space. “Was it like this when you got here?”
“It smelled worse before we opened the windows,” Bree said.
Elias gaped. “I had no idea he was living like this. The house belongs to me, but I’ve always respected his privacy.” His eyes stopped moving. He leaned over the bed and reached for one of the drawings. “I haven’t been in here in years.”
Bree stopped him by raising one hand. “Please don’t touch anything.”
But Elias had seen the drawing of the guillotined woman. His face paled and he drew back, ashen. “Are those my brother’s?”
Instead of answering, Bree asked, “What are you doing here?”
“I came for clothes for Shawn.” But as Elias glanced around, his face puckered as if there were no way in hell he was going to touch anything in the room.
Bree faced him fully. “Where is Shawn?”
Elias blinked at her. When he spoke, his voice sounded disconnected. “The ER doctor said he probably had a mild concussion and told me I should keep an eye on him. So, I took him to my house after his arraignment hearing.”
Bree nodded. “I’d like you to wait outside while we finish our search.”
But Elias seemed rooted in place by shock. His gaze kept drifting from the trash-covered surfaces to the drawings on the bed. He said nothing, but dismay and disbelief were clear in his eyes.
Finally, Juarez nudged him. “Sir, you need to go outside.”
Elias sighed, and his footsteps were heavier going down the stairs than they’d been coming up.
The deputy waited for Elias to be out of earshot. “Ma’am, we found some really bizarre drawings of people being tortured.” He pointed to the sketches. “Like those, but in color. The desk in the study is full of them. Are we taking those too?”
Right Behind Her (Bree Taggert) Page 9