CHAPTER NINE
C HAPTER N INE
Bree stepped away from the crowd of reporters. The press con had been uneventful for a change. The last time she’d handled a major murder case, she had been attacked by the media, the public, and the county board of supervisors. But they’d all had to eat their attitudes when she was proven right about the killer’s identity. Today, everyone had acted respectful and subdued. She’d gotten accustomed to a combative environment. The change was almost unsettling.
She had reports to type and a mound of paperwork to tackle. The county sheriff was responsible for everything from law enforcement to managing the jail to running the animal shelter. An endless sea of forms, requests, and complaints crossed her desk and computer. She walked through the station. In the squad room, Deputy Collins typed on a computer. At her feet, the Randolph County K-9, Greta, reclined.
Bree’s fear of dogs had greatly abated, but Greta’s intensity still made her nervous. She purposefully approached. “Can I give her a treat?” she asked Collins.
“Of course.” Collins reached into her desk and pulled out a bag of dog treats. Bree took one from the bag and presented it to the dog.
The black German shepherd thumped her tail on the floor as she gently accepted the treat.
“Good girl.” Bree held out a hand, then stroked the dog’s head.
“It’s best if she recognizes the rest of the department as part of her team.” Collins tossed the bag back into her drawer.
Juarez limped through the doorway. Greta’s tail thumped harder. Juarez was the dog’s favorite person to wear the bite sleeve for K-9 practice sessions.
Collins grinned. “Sorry, girl. He’s not up to playing bad guy yet.”
He stopped and scratched the dog’s head. “We’ll get back to fun and games soon. I promise.”
Bree retreated to her office. Her butt had barely touched her chair when someone knocked on her door. “Come in.”
Todd entered. “Got a minute? I have some interesting information.”
“Of course.” Bree turned away from her computer.
Todd dropped into one of the chairs facing her desk. “I spoke with Rory in forensics. He obtained access to the Masons’ business email accounts. We’ll want to go through the emails in detail, but I skimmed the most recent ones and found one from a disgruntled client.” Todd looked at a sticky-note pad in his hand. “Mrs. Mason had a combative exchange with Peter Vitale. He owns a small real estate company. He hired the Masons to represent him in a sexual discrimination dispute with a female job applicant. Mrs. Mason reviewed the case, informed him that he wasn’t likely to win the suit, and advised him to settle. Mr. Vitale’s response, in an email, was ‘I didn’t hire you for advice. I hired you to make this go away. Do your job.’”
“He sounds angry,” Bree said.
“Mrs. Mason told him to find a new attorney if he wasn’t satisfied with her counsel. That angered him even more.” Todd lifted a piece of paper and read from it. “‘What kind of attorney are you? Did you even go to law school?’” Todd looked up. “Mrs. Mason told him he was free to ignore her advice. Then she sent him a final invoice, and he said there was no way in hell he was paying her another nickel. He ended the email with ‘I want my retainer back or you’ll regret it.’”
“Sounds like a threat.” Bree rubbed her palms together. “Copy me on that email chain.”
Todd handed her a sheaf of papers. “I printed them for you.”
“Do we have a background check on Mr. Vitale?”
“We do.” Todd referred to his paperwork. “He has no criminal record. He has a few speeding and parking tickets. Nothing more serious.”
Glad to have a lead, Bree rose. “Matt and I will pay him a visit.”
“He has a premises license for a Glock 19,” Todd warned.
A premises license meant he could have the gun at his home or place of business. It was not the same as a concealed carry permit.
“Thanks.” Bree called Vitale’s office. The woman who answered the phone told her that Mr. Vitale was out showing a home, but he would be returning to the office in a half hour. Perfect timing.
She walked out of her office and down the hall. Ducking into the conference room, she waved for Matt. “Want to interview one of the Masons’ clients?”
Matt jumped up, excitement in his eyes. “Yes! If I stare at tax returns any longer, I won’t be able to keep my eyes open.”
“In that case, we’ll make a run to the coffee shop for a shot of serious caffeine.”
They left through the back door. At the coffee shop drive-through, Bree ordered her usual cappuccino but with a double shot. Matt went with straight espresso, which he downed like a college kid with a shot of tequila.
Bree parked at Vitale Real Estate. The company maintained a small storefront, with a larger space in the rear of the building. Pickled oak furniture with mauve cushions called to the 1990s, but the space was clean and smelled of lemon furniture polish. A pod-style coffee maker and a tin of cookies welcomed visitors. Four chairs clustered around an oval coffee table.
They went inside. Peter Vitale ran an old-school business, with a fortyish-year-old receptionist sitting behind a computer. She stopped typing as Bree and Matt entered.
Bree showed her badge. “I called about speaking with Mr. Vitale.”
The woman turned her head. She frowned at Bree. “Why do you want to see him?”
Bree said, “I’ll discuss that with Mr. Vitale.”
The woman crossed her arms. “He’s not here.”
Bree smiled. “You can answer some questions while we wait for him. What’s your name?”
She huffed. “Jennifer.”
Jennifer did not look happy. Her gaze darted to Bree’s badge to the sheriff’s department logo on Matt’s polo shirt and back to Bree.
“Are you familiar with Shelly Mason?” Bree asked.
Jennifer rolled her eyes. “I am. Peter paid her good money for legal services, and she didn’t do what he asked. Then she had the nerve to want more money.”
The door opened behind Bree, and a tall, broad-shouldered man in his early forties walked in. He was square-jawed and walked with the swagger of a man who knew he was attractive. He wore tailored dark-gray slacks and a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows, exposing tanned forearms. He handed Jennifer a folder as he passed her desk. “I outlined an offer for the Holland Road property. Would you take care of the paperwork, please?”
“Of course.” She took the folder, opened it, and skimmed a page of handwritten notes.
The man turned to Bree and extended a hand. “I’m Peter Vitale. Can I help you?”
Bree introduced herself and Matt. “We’re here to talk to you about Shelly Mason.”
His jaw sawed back and forth, and he gestured toward an open door. “Let’s go into my office.”
Bree and Matt followed Peter into a cramped space. He closed the door behind them. Two chairs faced a metal desk with barely enough room to walk around them. Peter sidled behind the desk into his chair. Unlike most people when approached by law enforcement, he said nothing. A cool one. He folded his hands on the blotter and waited. Bree faced him over the desk. Matt’s chair squeaked as he sat.
“You hired Shelly Mason for legal counsel,” Bree began.
Peter’s body remained still, but his brows knit in confusion. “That’s privileged information. Why do you want to know?”
“Please answer the question.”
Peter’s thumbs rubbed together. “Actually, I hired Josh Mason, and he pawned me off on his wife.” The corner of his mouth turned down.
“Was Shelly not a good attorney?” Matt asked.
“Obviously not, though I didn’t know that at the time.” Peter’s nostrils flared.
Bree asked, “Had you worked with their firm before?”
“No.” Peter shook his head. “The only attorneys I usually deal with specialize in real estate and contracts. I needed someone ...” He paused, his mouth flattening. “Someone with a different skill set.”
“What kind of skill set did you need?” Bree pressed. She knew the general answer, but she wanted more details and his perspective. She found it interesting that he didn’t want to tell her. If the case was bogus, he should be indignant, not secretive, right?
“Employment law,” he said vaguely.
Bree let it go for the moment. She’d circle back to the reason Peter had hired Shelly Mason. “You sent Mrs. Mason some emails that could be interpreted as threatening.”
“I never threatened her.” He shifted his position in a classic butt scoot, a typical display of discomfort during an interview.
Liar.
“You said”—Bree pulled her notepad from her pocket and read from it—“‘I want my retainer back or I’ll make you regret it.’” She looked up. “Sounds like a threat to me.”
Peter’s face flushed. “I shouldn’t have written that.”
Bree noticed he didn’t say I didn’t mean that or I shouldn’t have said that to her . He specifically used the word written , which meant he probably only regretted leaving digital evidence of the threat.
When neither Bree nor Matt responded, Peter said, “I thought about suing her or complaining to the state bar. That was all.” He leaned back in his chair, putting some distance between them. “Did Shelly Mason send you here because of my email?” His tone was incredulous.
“No,” Bree said.
Peter looked more confused. “Then who did? I admit I sent a regretful email, but I was angry. She took my money knowing the details of the case. Then she said I should settle. And invoiced me for a thousand bucks.”
Bree dropped her bomb. “Shelly Mason is dead.”
Peter froze. His mouth opened as if he were going to speak, then he smashed his lips together. “I don’t have to answer these questions. I have rights.”
“You do.” Matt’s smile was feral, not friendly.
Peter licked his lips. Clearly, he hadn’t seen the news, and curiosity lifted his tone. “How did she die?”
“She was murdered.” Bree repeated the basic information she’d given at the press con earlier. “So was her husband, Josh. They were shot in their own bed.”
Peter paled. “Fuck,” he said with shock but no heat.
“Yeah,” Matt agreed.
Bree went for it. “Where do you keep your gun, Peter?”
“At my house.” Sweat rings broke out in Peter’s armpits.
While he was nervous, Bree circled back to her earlier question. “Why did you hire Shelly Mason?”
“A person named Taylor McKnight applied for a job opening I posted for an agent. When he got here, he was a she . I didn’t want to hire a woman. It’s too dangerous for them to sit alone at open houses. It’s asking for trouble. She’s liable to get raped or flirt with a prospective buyer or mistake something I say and sue me. I told her that I didn’t think she was right for the job. Two weeks later, she fucking sued me for discrimination. That’s why chivalry is dead. Women killed it.”
“Was she qualified for the job?” Matt asked.
Peter’s eyes shifted. “She had some experience,” he admitted.
Bree interpreted that as a yes . She didn’t roll her eyes, but it took effort. Peter knew what he’d done was illegal. She could see it in his eyes.
“Did you fill the position with someone more qualified?” Matt asked.
Peter looked away.
Bree asked, “You filled the position with someone less qualified?”
Peter sniffed. “He’s young but eager.”
Bree made a note. “What did Shelly Mason say?”
“She spoke with Taylor’s lawyer and said I would be better off settling out of court. That defending myself was going to cost a lot of money, and that I was probably going to lose the case anyway, which would add court costs, et cetera, to the total.”
“You disagreed?” Matt asked.
“Yes! Isn’t this an employment-at-will state?” Anger flared in Peter’s eyes.
“Yes, but you still can’t discriminate,” Bree pointed out.
Peter’s face went deep red.
“Have you ever been sued for discrimination in the past?” Matt asked.
“None of your business.” Peter’s silent stare was an unspoken yes .
Bree continued. “So, Shelly Mason gave you legal advice, and you didn’t want to pay for her services.”
“Damned straight. I wanted my retainer back, and there was no fucking way I was giving them another cent of my hard-earned money.” His flush darkened to impending-stroke red. “Then she said she would send my bill to collections. Can you believe that?”
Yes. People liked to be paid for their time. But Bree said, “I assume you signed a legal contract to engage their services.”
Peter’s eyes went small and mean. “She didn’t live up to their end of the contract. She didn’t do anything.”
Bree wasn’t going to argue the merits of the legal bill with him. “Did you think if they were dead, you wouldn’t have to worry about paying the thousand dollars?”
Peter’s eyes bulged. A vein on the side of his temple throbbed. “You think I would kill two people for a thousand bucks?”
“I’ve seen people kill over twenty bucks,” Matt said dryly.
“And you threatened Shelly,” Bree pointed out. “Maybe it wasn’t about the money. Maybe you lost your temper. Do you get angry often?”
“I was going to sue her, not kill her.” Sweat beaded on Peter’s upper lip.
“Where were you last night between eight thirty and nine thirty p.m.?” Bree asked.
Peter shifted forward. His palms hit the desktop, rattling his computer. “I was here, working.”
“Was anyone here with you?” Bree asked.
“No. I was alone.” Peter’s fingers curled into fists.
Bree glanced at a pad for an alarm mounted on the wall. “Do you have a security system or surveillance cameras?”
Peter followed her gaze. “That hasn’t worked in years, and we don’t have cameras. There’s nothing of value here.” He waved a hand in a circle.
Matt asked, “Did you make any phone calls or see anyone?”
“No. I was catching up on paperwork.” He froze. “Wait. Are you asking me for an alibi? You think I killed the Masons?”
Bree didn’t respond.
Peter lowered his voice. “This interview is over. I won’t answer any more questions without a lawyer.”
“Suit yourself.” Bree rose and offered him her business card. He ignored it. She dropped it on his desk before leaving. They didn’t say anything until they were in her vehicle.
Matt slammed his door. “What an asshole.”
Bree pressed the heel of her hand to an ache in her forehead. “People can be exhausting.”
“What now?”
“We hope Dr. Jones recovered bullets from the bodies, then we get a warrant for his gun for ballistic testing.”
“He doesn’t seem like a complete idiot. If he killed them, he wouldn’t have used his own gun.”
“We’ll dive more deeply into his background.” Bree didn’t trust Peter Vitale, not one bit.
Matt fastened his seat belt. “If he was being sued for discrimination now, maybe he has a history of the behavior.”
Bree thought of his attitude about Josh handing the case to his wife and his refusal to hire a female real estate agent. “Or a history of hostility toward women.”
“He acted like he didn’t know they were dead. Maybe he’s a good actor.”
“Maybe.” Bree reported to dispatch and started the engine. Her phone buzzed. “That’s the ME.” She answered the call. “Go ahead, Dr. Jones.”
“I finished the autopsies on the double homicide from last night,” Dr. Jones began. “Time of death remains the same, and there were no unexpected conclusions. Both victims were in good health and died from traumatic injuries and blood loss from gunshot wounds. Bullet trajectories are consistent with a single shooter standing at the foot of the bed. All four bullets were extracted and sent to ballistics. I’ll send my preliminary report. The final will be pending tox screens.”
“Thank you.” Bree ended the call. “There are the bullets we needed. Let’s hope they’re in good enough shape for a ballistics match.”
When a bullet was fired from a gun, marks were left on the bullet and casing. Those marks could be used like fingerprints to match a bullet to the specific gun that fired it, unless the bullet itself was too damaged for a comparison.
Matt cracked his knuckles. “I’d like to search Peter’s home and office to see if he has any unregistered guns.”
“We don’t have enough evidence against him for a general search warrant.” Bree was crossing her fingers the judge would grant her a limited warrant for his registered weapon. So much of the law fell into expansive gray areas.
She drove back to the station and headed for her office. “Let’s regroup in the conference room in ten.”
She hadn’t even lowered her butt into her chair when Zucco’s voice over the radio caught Bree’s attention. “12-65.”
A suspicious person.
Bree always had one ear tuned to the radio. Over the years she’d developed the ability to filter out most of the chatter and notice only important calls. She turned up the volume to hear Zucco give the Masons’ address and add the radio code 12-69.
Zucco had spotted a suspicious person trespassing at the crime scene.