CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
C HAPTER T WENTY -E IGHT
Random confession? Matt was too jaded to think the case could be solved that easily.
He set down the dry-erase marker. “Who is he?”
Juarez checked his notes. “His name is Simon Osborne.”
“Osborne ...” Matt searched his memory. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
Bree shuffled some papers.
Juarez said, “We interviewed his mother, Elaine Osborne, in the neighborhood canvass.”
“Found it.” Bree lifted a paper from a folder. “Elaine Osborne lives on the same street as the Masons, six houses away.”
“Is Simon her husband?”
Juarez shrugged. “Dunno. Want me to put him in an interview room?”
“Yes.” Bree stood and started toward the door.
Matt followed her. “Why do I have a feeling this is going to get even weirder?”
“Seems to be the vibe for this case,” Bree said.
“Yeah.” Matt opened the door to the interview room as Juarez brought a bony, hairy man down the hall. He was about six feet tall, but scrawny in a malnourished way. His face was pale, his shaggy hair unwashed, and the scruff on his chin patchy.
“Aren’t you going to handcuff me?” Simon asked Matt in a cheerful voice.
Bree turned to Juarez. “Did you check him for weapons?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Juarez steered Simon into the room. “He’s clean.”
“Then we’ll hold off on the handcuffs for the moment.” Bree pointed to the monitoring room.
Juarez nodded.
Bree addressed Simon. “I’m Sheriff Taggert. This is Investigator Flynn.”
Simon gave Matt a disappointed look. “She’s your boss ?”
“She is.” Matt kept his voice neutral.
Simon shook his head.
After two seconds of silent communication with Bree, Matt took the lead. They both recognized Simon’s not-so-subtle misogyny. While Matt would like nothing more than to school the dude, they’d get more information out of him by playing along with his prejudices.
Matt gestured toward a chair for Simon and took the seat next to him.
Bree sat on the opposite side of the table. “This interview is being recorded.” She read his Miranda rights and asked him to sign the acknowledgment.
Simon scrawled his name with a flourish, in huge loopy letters, like he was signing the Declaration of Independence.
“So, Simon, what brings you to the sheriff’s station today?” Matt set one elbow on the table, taking up some space.
Simon sat bolt upright, with both of his arms at his sides. He didn’t lean or shuffle or cross his legs or arms. His posture was robotic. “I killed the Masons.”
Bree collected the paper and set it aside. “How?”
“What do you mean, how?” Simon sounded annoyed. “I shot them?”
“Are you asking us or telling us?” Bree asked.
Simon rolled his eyes. “I’m telling you and wondering why you’re asking.”
Oh, boy.
Simon leaned forward. “I shot them in their bedroom. Made a real mess.”
“Let’s back up.” Matt shifted forward, testing Simon’s personal space requirements.
But Simon seemed oblivious. Most people shifted backward to reestablish their personal space boundary. Simon’s posture didn’t change an inch.
Matt switched the direction of his questioning. “How do you know the Masons?”
“I live down the street. Well, my mom does,” Simon corrected himself. “I’ve been staying with her temporarily.”
“For how long?” Bree asked.
“Four years.” Simon shifted in his chair, as if the admission made him uncomfortable.
“Is your dad still living?” Matt guessed his dad had died or left.
“No.” Something flashed in Simon’s eyes, but he blinked it away. “He died.”
“I’m sorry,” Matt said.
Simon’s sadness seemed low-key. “It was a long time ago, but thanks.”
“Where is your mom right now?” Matt asked.
“She’s at work.” Simon seemed oddly disconnected. Some aspects of his demeanor were almost childish.
“So,” Bree said. “Back to the Masons. Did you know them well?”
“I never even talked to her.” Simon shook his head. “But I saw him every day.” He pronounced him like devil .
“Him?” Bree asked.
“Josh.” Simon hissed out the name.
“Did you like him?” Bree pressed.
“No.” Simon was sure about this. “I know what kind of person he was.”
Matt waited for him to elaborate, but he just sat there blinking back at them. Finally, Matt asked, “What kind?”
“The kind that poisons dogs,” Simon said in a duh tone.
“Why do you say that?” Matt asked.
Simon’s shoulders dropped with exasperation. “Because Josh Mason poisoned my mom’s dog.”
“Did you see him give the poison to the dog?” Bree asked.
“I don’t need proof.” Simon tapped his temple. “I know.”
Matt’s head ached. This was like trying to connect the dots without a pencil—or dots. He took a cleansing breath, then dived back in. “Why do you think Josh Mason poisoned your mom’s dog?”
“He jogs past our house every day. Daisy jumps at the fence and barks at him. He doesn’t like it.” Simon’s eyes narrowed. “I saw him throw a stick at her two weeks ago. A few days later, she got sick. She’s OK, but the vet said she must’ve eaten something she shouldn’t have.” Simon sat back, as if this statement were enough.
“Dogs eat things,” Bree said. “My own dog eats plenty of random objects: acorns, socks—”
“He did it!” Simon’s face reddened. Then he sat back, muttering to himself. “They don’t know. Don’t get mad. They don’t know.”
The conversation was a hamster wheel.
Matt said, “So, you suspect—I’m sorry—you know that Josh poisoned Daisy, so you killed both Josh and Shelly.”
Simon nodded, then held up a hand. “I only wanted to kill Josh. But Shelly was there, so ...” He looked confused for a second but shook it off.
Matt watched his eyes go vague. “Are you sure?”
“Mostly.” Simon seemed less sure now. “I blacked out that night. It happens, and when I wake up, I don’t remember anything.”
“Do you remember shooting the Masons?” Matt asked.
Simon’s head tilted, like a crow’s, but he didn’t respond.
Matt tried another direction. “What about Claire? What do you have against her?”
Simon’s head cocked in the other direction, like a bobblehead. “Nothing. Why?”
Matt didn’t say anything about Claire being chased. “You killed her parents.”
Simon shrugged, but his gaze shifted downward. He looked furtive in a Gollum-like way.
“Do you know Claire?” Matt asked.
Simon glanced away. “Sometimes, she jogs with Josh. She wears these tight running pants ...” Simon blushed.
Oh, yes. He’s seen Claire.
Bree clearly noticed it too. “Are you attracted to Claire?”
Simon didn’t answer.
“She’s a pretty girl.” Matt whistled.
But Simon wouldn’t even look at him, let alone answer.
Matt exhaled and stared at his shoes for a good thirty seconds. I’m getting nowhere. He didn’t know if he should take Simon seriously. His attitude was almost cavalier—when it wasn’t creepy. “If you blacked out, then how do you know you killed them?”
Simon leaned a few inches closer. “Because I wished it to happen.”
Bree flattened both hands on the table. “You wished it?”
“Yes, I wished he was dead. I don’t remember anything about that night. But in the morning, he was gone.” Simon lowered his voice. “The same thing happened to my father. I wished he was dead, and then he was.”
Matt wanted to look at Bree, but he didn’t feel comfortable taking his attention off Simon, not even for a second.
“OK.” Bree rose. “Well, I’m going to have Deputy Juarez put you in a cell while we check out your story.”
“You’re arresting me.” Simon’s eyes gleamed with excitement.
“We’re going to hold you while we check out your statement,” Bree said.
“You don’t believe me?” Simon froze. A strange light shone in his eyes. “I blew them to pieces. Don’t you care?”
“Of course we care,” Bree assured him. “We’re taking this very seriously.”
“We have to verify what you’ve told us first,” Matt said. “I’m sure you understand.”
“Understand?” Simon’s eyebrow rose. Other than the brow, nothing moved. He sat eerily still, like a mannequin. Only his eyeballs moved, like he was doing a complex math problem in his head. Then he exploded. Hissing like a movie vampire, Simon launched himself at Matt. Fingers bent like claws aimed straight at Matt’s face. A nail scraped across Matt’s skin, burning as it tore through flesh. Matt reacted instinctively, all the years of being used as his older brother’s Jiu Jitsu practice dummy sending him into an automatic response. He tossed Simon sideways, the thin body twisting, flipping, and hitting the floor flat on his back with the heavy thud of a thrown sandbag. The air whooshed from his lungs.
Matt reached for the handcuffs on his belt and moved forward to restrain Simon.
Most people would have been down, gasping for oxygen like a trout on dry land. But not this dude. Didn’t he need to breathe? Before Matt could wrestle Simon’s arms behind his back, he rolled and attacked Matt again in a heartbeat. Simon’s movements were frenzied, powered by rage, with zero finesse. It was like trying to subdue a giant, furious feral cat.
Or an octopus-cat hybrid with claws at the ends of all its tentacles.
Matt grabbed a wrist, maneuvered Simon’s body, and put him in an arm bar. But the guy clearly didn’t feel the pain of hyperextension. He thrashed wildly. Either he didn’t realize Matt could break his elbow, or he didn’t care. But Matt didn’t have the heart to do it. The guy clearly had a mental illness or was on drugs, or both. Unwilling to seriously hurt the man, Matt finally lay on top of him, using his much greater body weight to pin him to the floor.
Simon was much stronger than he appeared. He bucked, creating enough space to turn his head, bare his teeth, and sink them into Matt’s forearm.
“Fuck.” Matt jerked his arm away, then forced Simon’s cheek to the floor.
“I’ve got him. Shift over.” Bree was at his side, cuffs in hand.
Matt carefully moved, keeping Simon’s head pinned as the guy writhed under him. The cuffs snapped closed, but restraint didn’t stop Simon. He spit at Matt as his head swiveled around as if he were possessed by demons.
The door opened. Juarez and Todd charged in. Someone brought a bite mask. It took both Todd and Juarez to secure it into place around Simon’s head. Another deputy supplied leg shackles. When Simon was finally trussed up, he looked like Hannibal Lecter. Normally, Matt didn’t like restraints, but they had no other option, not with a biting, spitting, clearly ill suspect. Simon was a threat to himself and others, and safety had to be the priority.
Every cop in the room was breathing hard and sweating as they stood in a circle around Simon, whose body had finally gone limp. Except his eyes. His gaze still jerked wildly around the room.
“Holy ...” Matt was dumbfounded. He wiped spittle from his cheek. “Wow.”
“Yeah. Wow,” Bree agreed.
“I feel like Steve Irwin after he wrestled a twelve-foot croc.” Matt’s chest heaved. Warm blood dribbled down his face and dripped from his arm.
“What do we do with him?” Juarez asked.
“He’s going to the hospital for drug testing and a psych eval,” Bree said.
“Should I put him in a cell?” Juarez gaze the suspect a wary look.
“Yes, but I want him under constant, close surveillance. That’s eyes on him every second. Make sure he’s breathing and as comfortable as possible given the circumstances. We don’t know if he took drugs before he came in here.”
“You want me to transport him?” Juarez stared down, his eyes full of doubt.
Bree shook her head. “He might hurt himself in the back of a patrol car. Call for an ambulance and let them know what happened so they come prepared.”
“Yes, ma’am.” But Juarez didn’t look entirely comfortable as he stepped to Simon’s side.
“I’ll help.” Todd took the prisoner’s other arm. “Let’s get your feet under you, Simon.”
Bree led Matt to the break room.
He leaned on the counter. His face and arm stung, and his heart was racing. For a skinny guy, Simon had been strong. “I can’t believe I let him catch me flat-footed.”
“I didn’t expect that either.” Bree scrutinized his face. “I’ll get the first aid kit. You should probably go to the ER. Human bites are nasty.”
“I’ll call my dad. We can stop by their house on the way home.” His father was a mostly retired physician who kept up his medical license. Matt tried not to flinch as Bree cleaned the bite wound with antiseptic and wrapped gauze around his arm.
“At least the scratch on your face is shallow. Your beard protected your skin somewhat.” She doused a cotton ball and dabbed it on his cheek.
He suppressed the hiss at the sting.
Todd appeared in the doorway. “He’s in the holding cell. Seems quiet for now. Juarez is watching him, and the ambulance is on the way.”
“I’ll be glad when they take custody,” Bree said. “He’s too unpredictable.”
“That was something,” Matt agreed.
“You think he did it?” Todd asked.
“I don’t know what to think,” Bree said. “He doesn’t have a tattoo, and the details he knew about the crimes were all on the news.” Her lips pursed. “Get a full background check and a search warrant for his house. Maybe we’ll get a match on his shoe treads or fingerprints.”
“Find out how his father died,” Matt added.
Bree nodded. “We’ll talk to his mother.” She checked the time. “Do the warrant paperwork and assign a deputy to run a full background check. Then go home and get some sleep.”
“I’m on it.” Todd left.
“You think there’s anything to Simon’s story?” Matt stood.
“There’s a lot of baggage to unpack here.” Bree closed the first aid kit, slid it into the cabinet, and tossed the wrappers.
“So much,” Matt agreed.
Could it be that simple? Matt wanted to prove Simon killed the Masons. They wouldn’t have to worry about Claire anymore. But in his experience, nothing was that easy.