CHAPTER FIVE
C HAPTER F IVE
At two in the morning, Bree led the way into the rear door of the sheriff’s station. She’d left Todd in charge of the scene. Her chief deputy’s investigative skills had come a long way since she’d taken over as sheriff.
“Coffee?” Matt veered off toward the break room, hefting the cat carrier.
“Oh, yes.” Bree followed him.
Matt started a fresh pot while Bree pulled mugs from the cabinet. She went to the vending machine and chose two packs of Peanut M&M’s. Nuts contained protein, but it was the sugar she craved.
She handed a bag to Matt.
“You always know what I want.” He took it with a tired sigh. With short reddish-brown hair and a trimmed beard, he always reminded her of a Viking. His six-foot-three-inch broad-shouldered frame seemed born to swing a battle-ax.
Zucco walked into the room, carrying an empty glass.
“How is Claire?” Bree asked.
“Quiet.” Zucco filled the glass at the tap. “I don’t think she’s processed what happened yet.”
Bree watched the coffee drip. “Unfortunately, there’s no getting around asking her questions.”
“She asked for her phone.”
“It was in the bedroom.” Bree reached for her own phone and sent a text to Rory in forensics. “I’ll have them process it ASAP. She’ll feel even more isolated without it.”
“What will happen to her?” Zucco asked.
Bree shrugged. “I was hoping to run across a will when we searched the house that would declare a guardian. So far, we haven’t had any luck, but we still have business files in the home office to go through. Hopefully, they have a will in a safe-deposit box or with a local attorney. Maybe Claire will know. I’m waiting for a call back from family services about a temporary placement.”
Zucco nodded. “She’s in the conference room. I offered her a cot, but she said she couldn’t sleep.”
Poor kid. Probably doesn’t want to close her eyes for fear of what she’ll see.
“I can’t imagine.” But Bree could imagine Claire’s terror all too well. When Bree was eight, her father killed her mother and then himself. Bree had hidden her siblings under the porch. He’d been violent and abusive her entire life. She knew in her heart that if he’d found them, he would have killed them all. Bree had heard the shots that ended her parents’ lives over and over, like a boomerang video clip.
An image of her mother flashed into her mind. Her father pinning her to the wall by the neck. Her mother’s eyes pleading to Bree—not for help but for Bree to take her siblings and run. Her mother had sacrificed her own life to save her children.
Too little, too late? Afterward, people said that her mom should have left him before the situation escalated to the point of murder-suicide, but Bree knew better. Her father would never have let her get away. She belonged to him, and if he couldn’t have her, then no one would. There was nowhere her mother could have run that he wouldn’t have found her eventually. If he’d been put in jail, the reprieve would have been temporary. No restraining order would have stopped him. The violence had only one possible end: his death. While he’d remained alive, Bree’s mother hadn’t had a chance.
Ironically, the same people who’d criticized her mother for not leaving had never offered to help—because they’d also been afraid of him.
Claire would carry this trauma for the rest of her life.
Bree dumped M&M’s into her mouth, finishing the bag in two minutes. Then she and Matt filled their mugs and went down the hall. She knocked on the door before opening it. Claire sat at the table, resting her head on her folded arms. As Bree and Matt entered, Claire straightened. Her eyes were swollen, the expression on her face still locked in disbelief.
The girl had cleaned up and dressed in Zucco’s yoga pants, T-shirt, and sneakers. Her hands were clear of blood, but the skin was almost raw looking, as if she’d scrubbed and scrubbed to remove all traces of the night. She chewed a thumbnail while eyeing them warily, as if afraid of their questions—or of what they were going to tell her.
Matt set the cat carrier on the table. “Is this your only pet?”
Claire reached out, sobbing. “Chunk!”
Bree closed the conference room door, and Matt opened the carrier. Chunk strolled out and sauntered across the table, straight into Claire’s lap. The girl hugged the cat close, and it began to purr like a lawn mower while Claire cried into its fur.
Misty-eyed, Matt sat on the other side of the table.
Bree eased into a chair catercorner to her. “Hey, Claire.”
Claire sniffed and drew in a shaky breath. Her shoulders were curled inward, like she was trying to make herself as small as possible. She bent her head toward the cat’s.
“I need to ask you a few questions,” Bree began.
Claire shuddered and said, “OK,” in a weak voice.
“Were your parents nervous about anything recently?” Bree asked.
Claire shook her head. “No.”
“Did they get any troubling mail or messages?”
“Not that they told me.” Claire hugged her cat harder.
“Did they normally set the alarm at night?”
Claire rubbed her cheek on Chunk’s. “We turn it on when the last of us gets home. If we’re all home, then when everyone goes to bed.”
So it was probably off when the intruder broke in.
“You said you were at work this evening,” Bree said. “What time did you go in?”
“I worked from six to ten.”
“Did you see anyone near the house when you got home?”
“No.”
“Any strange cars on the street?”
“I don’t think so.” Claire lifted her head and rhythmically stroked the cat’s head. Chunk turned up the volume.
“Do you know the doorbell-camera password?”
“No, my parents controlled it from their phones.” A tear slipped down Claire’s face. “I don’t know anything. I’m useless. Who would do this?”
Bree knew better than to make promises she might not be able to keep. If Claire was going to trust her, Bree needed to be honest, even if the truth hurt. “We don’t know yet, but we will do our best to find out. What time do your parents usually go to bed?”
“Usually, they go upstairs at nine o’clock, but they don’t go to sleep for an hour or two. They like to read.”
“What about their work schedules?”
Claire tucked the cat’s head under her chin. “They work from home. They’re lawyers.”
“What kind of law did they practice?” Bree asked.
“Small-business stuff.” Claire shrugged. “They didn’t talk about work much, and when they did, it was boring. I didn’t pay attention.”
“That’s understandable.” Bree checked her notes. “Where did they see clients?”
Claire lifted another thin shoulder. “They use Zoom, phone calls, email ... They meet people at a coffee shop or go to the place of business.”
“No one comes to the house?”
“No.” Claire shook her head, not as a response, but as if to clear it. “What’s going to happen to me?”
“Family services will find a place for you to stay temporarily while we sort that out. Where did your parents keep their important papers?” Bree asked.
“Work stuff is in the office. They have a safe in their closet for personal papers.”
“We found that.” Bree paused. “This is a hard question, but do you know if they had a will? It wasn’t in the personal safe.” They’d found the key to the retail fire safe in Josh’s drawer.
Claire shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“You said they had phones. What about electronic tablets or computers?”
“Yeah. They both have their own phones and iPads. There’s a laptop in the office, but they use it mostly for business stuff.” Claire grabbed a tissue from the box on the table and blotted her eyes.
So the electronics are all gone.
“Do your parents have close friends, distant family members, even business associates they were especially close to? Anyone who comes over to the house?”
“Not really,” Claire said. “They’re not very social. It’s always been the three of us.”
“Did you spend holidays with anyone special?” Matt asked.
Claire’s head swiveled back and forth. “Like I said, it’s only the three of us. Sometimes, we go skiing over winter break.” Her voice took on a whiny edge.
“Have you had any workmen in the house recently?” Bree asked.
“I don’t think so,” Claire said. “We have a house cleaner. The owner is Amanda something.”
“How long have you used her?” Matt asked.
“I don’t know,” Claire said. “A long time. Years.”
“When was the house last cleaned?” Bree asked.
“This morning.” Claire’s gaze drifted to the ceiling for a few seconds as if she were thinking, then her gaze dropped back to Bree’s. “No. It’s tomorrow. So yesterday.”
The day of the murder.
“Did you see the cleaners that morning?” Bree asked.
Claire shook her head. “Mom and I went to Starbucks.”
“And your father?”
“He went running. He’s training for a marathon.”
Bree leaned a forearm on the table. “Can you tell me what happened tonight after you finished work?”
“I clocked out at ten. On the way home, I stopped at Smoothies 4 All to get milkshakes. Mom had a tough week.” Claire broke eye contact and stared down at her cat. What was she not saying?
Bree pictured two take-out cups on the kitchen counter. “How many did you buy?”
“Two. Dad doesn’t eat sugar. He only eats like, clean and organic.” Every time Claire used the present tense was an ice pick to Bree’s heart.
“What did you drive home?” she asked.
“Mom’s BMW.” Claire burrowed her fingers into the cat’s fur.
“Does she always let you drive her car?”
Claire sniffed. “Sometimes she takes me to work, but she was busy and didn’t have to go anywhere, so she let me take the car.”
“What was tough about your mom’s week?” Bree asked.
“Some client yelled at her.”
“Yelled?”
“Yeah. She said it was no big deal. He was just mad ’cause she told him something he didn’t want to hear, even though it was the truth.”
“Did she feel threatened?”
Claire tilted her head, considering. “Maybe? I don’t know if threatened is the right word, but she was definitely upset.”
“Do you remember the client’s name?”
Claire rested her forehead on her cat. “Mom never said.”
Bree made a note to find the unhappy client.
“You work at the store near the interstate?” Matt asked.
Without looking up, Claire nodded.
“The drive is only fifteen minutes from the store to your house,” Matt said. “Did you stop anywhere else?”
“There’s a boy who works at the smoothie place. I wanted to see him.” Claire lifted her gaze. “If I had come right home, could I have saved them?”
“No,” Bree said firmly, momentarily debating how much information to share. “They were gone before you even left work. There’s nothing you could have done to prevent this.” Bree did not want Claire to feel responsible in any way. Her life was already destroyed. She didn’t need guilt on top of her grief. “What happened next?”
A sob broke through Claire’s resolve. “I’m sorry.” Hiccups and sniffs interrupted her words. “I want to help ... help find ... them.”
“Take a breath,” Bree said in a soothing voice. “You’re doing fine.”
Claire inhaled through her nose, clearly trying to pull herself together. She clasped her hands tightly enough to whiten her knuckles, as if she could hold in her emotions through the pressure of her palms. “I drove home. Everything looked normal. I left the milkshakes in the kitchen and went upstairs to tell Mom. Their bedroom light was on, so I went in. Dad usually falls asleep first. Sometimes Mom waits up until I get home. She might come down to the kitchen to hang out with me for a while.” She closed her eyes. Her body trembled.
Not tonight. Not ever again.
Bree gave her a minute.
Claire opened her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Take your time,” Bree assured her.
Claire’s head tilted as her gaze turned inward. “I went into their room—and I saw—” She pressed her lips into a tight, flat line, but a sob leaked out. “There was so much blood ... I went to Mom, tried CPR like we learned at school, then realized it didn’t matter. Not with all that blood.” She hiccuped. “I called 911, and the woman asked if whoever shot them might still be in the house. Then I started thinking they might hear me on the phone, so I hung up. I didn’t know what to do. I kind of froze until I saw your lights in the street outside.”
For the longest seven minutes of her life.
Bree’s phone vibrated. She glanced at the screen, recognizing the phone number of the social worker she’d spoken with earlier. “Excuse me. I have to answer this.”
She stepped out. In the hallway, she took a cleansing breath before answering the call. “Sheriff Taggert.”
“Hi, Sheriff,” a female voice said. “This is Lindsay Bell. I’ve found a temporary placement for Claire Mason.”
“What about the cat?” Bree asked.
“Sorry,” Lindsay said with sadness. “No cats. The family has another foster child who’s allergic. Can someone hold on to the cat for a few days?”
“I’ll figure out something.” Bree could not take Chunk home. Her own cat was territorial. Vader hadn’t even accepted Matt yet. There was no way he’d allow another feline—especially a male—into his house.
“Great,” Lindsay said. “I’ll come by the station to pick up Claire within the hour.”
“OK. I’ll have a deputy collect some clothes for her as soon as possible, but it might be end of day tomorrow.”
“You get me copies of whatever paperwork you have for her?” Lindsay asked.
“Claire has a driver’s license. If we run across other paperwork, I’ll forward you copies.” Bree ended the call.
Zucco stood in the hallway. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”
Bree waved off her comment.
Zucco glanced at the closed conference room door. “I could take the cat for now.”
“That would be helpful,” Bree said.
“Seems like the least I can do. I don’t want to take it to the animal shelter.” Zucco sighed.
And Claire’s going to miss her cat. She just lost her parents and now she’ll be forced to leave behind the one thing that gave her comfort.
“Thank you, Zucco. You can go home and catch some sleep.”
“A shower and breakfast should be enough. I’d rather keep working.”
“All right.” Bree understood wanting to work a disturbing case. “Then drop off the cat, freshen up, and check in with Chief Deputy Harvey. The neighborhood around the Mason residence needs to be canvassed.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Zucco retreated down the hallway.
As if Claire hadn’t already had the worst day of her life, Bree headed back into the conference room to tell her she couldn’t take her cat with her to the foster home.
Feeling awful in a hundred different ways, Bree retreated to her office. Then she issued a formal statement for the press. She’d hold off on a press conference until she had more information, but it would have to happen today. People were going to panic. Bree hoped she could soon tell them that the murder was personal. That this killer posed no threat to the general public.
For now, she could make no such promises.