CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
C HAPTER T HIRTY -O NE
By afternoon, Bree was back in the station. Her deputies were completing the search of Simon’s house. Rory had collected the computer equipment and personal electronic devices. Simon’s shoes had been taken for comparison to the partial footprint outside the Masons’ house. Fibers, hair, dust, and DNA had been collected to compare to trace evidence found at the crime scene. Unfortunately, all this would take time.
If Simon had invented his story for attention, time would work against them and could potentially allow the real killer to get away with murder.
Matt brought two sandwiches into the conference room. “Chicken or turkey?”
“Chicken.” Bree unwrapped it, then set it down. “We found a lot of evidence that Simon had been obsessing about killing Josh Mason. Why do I not like him for the murders? Do I have a problem with moving on if that’s where the evidence leads?”
“We’ve been fixated on Liam. Ideas like that take hold. But our stubbornness doesn’t mean we’re right.”
“What about the tattoo?” Bree asked. “Did we put too much emphasis on it as well?”
Matt bit into his turkey sub and chewed thoughtfully. After he washed the food down with Coke, he said, “Maybe the mistake we made was assuming that the murderer was the same person who’s chasing Claire.”
Bree lifted her sandwich and took a mechanical bite. “Why would anyone else be after her?”
“Most crimes are about money. The Masons were grifters. Did anyone else know about their financial scheme? Maybe Liam? Takes one to know one, right?” Matt ate the rest of his sub in a few more bites.
Bree opened her sandwich and ate a pickle. “If Liam figured out what the Masons were up to, maybe he wanted a piece.”
“Maybe he thinks Claire has information or a way to access more money.”
“She’s a kid,” Bree said.
“Liam was running scams when he was young,” Matt pointed out. “People project their own desires onto others. Liam likes scams. He thinks he’s entitled to money that isn’t his. He probably assumes everyone thinks that way. If Liam’s mom was running a grift, Liam would want in on it. So he might assume Claire has knowledge of her parents’ scam.”
“Ironically, Amanda seems honest.”
“And Liam seems to see that as a weakness.”
“Liam had burner phones when he was arrested on the other charges.” Bree shoved the food aside and reached for her laptop. She scrolled through reports. “Yes. The police suspected Liam of selling burner phones for illegal activity, but they couldn’t prove it. Josh Mason had a burner phone in his vehicle, and there were three prepaid phones in the go-bags.”
Matt shook his head. “Common brands, sold at convenience stores everywhere. There’s no way to tie them to Liam. Every good criminal knows about burners.”
“That’s the problem with this case: too many criminals, including the victims.” Disappointed, Bree returned to her sandwich.
“Everyone is up to no good,” Matt agreed. “But it’s a big leap from Liam’s gift-card scam to killing two people. The Masons were executed. That was not a spur-of-the-moment decision.”
“So, you think Liam is innocent?”
“Innocent in general, maybe not, but we haven’t proven he’s guilty of murder.”
“You’re right.” Bree stood and stretched. Her phone vibrated. “This is the hospital. I’m waiting for a call from the doctor.” As sheriff, Bree was responsible for the jail and all its prisoners, including those in the hospital. She answered the call. “Sheriff Taggert.”
“This is Dr. Ingram. I’m the psychiatrist who’s treating Simon Osborne.”
“What do you think so far?” Bree asked.
The doctor answered, “It’s too early to say.”
“Is he going to jail or are you keeping him?”
“He’s currently on a seventy-two-hour psych hold.” The doctor hesitated. “Obviously, we need to do more testing before we can reach an accurate diagnosis, but schizophrenia is one possibility.”
“Can we question him?” Bree asked.
“No. There’s no point, and I won’t risk the fragile stability we’ve achieved overnight. He’s sedated and relatively calm today. What he says doesn’t mean much anyway. He’s delusional. He has hallucinations. He is having a severe psychiatric episode—a crisis.”
“Are schizophrenics typically dangerous?”
“In general, mentally ill people are more likely to be victims of crime than perpetrators. It’s more common to see suicide than murder,” the doctor said. “That said, Simon does have violent outbursts, so I can’t say no for sure.”
“Why would he confess to a crime he didn’t commit?”
“He might actually think he did it. He doesn’t know what’s real and what isn’t.”
“What do you think will happen after your seventy-two hours are up?” Bree asked.
“I think it’s likely we’ll seek a court order to keep him longer. We used to think disorders like schizophrenia were hopeless, but we have good treatment options now. It’s possible for Mr. Osborne to make a significant recovery with a combination of medication and cognitive behavioral therapy. But it’s complicated. Let us get through the next few days, and we’ll touch base again.”
Bree ended the call. “Talking to Simon is pointless.” Her phone vibrated. “It’s Rory.” She answered the call. “You’re on speaker. Matt is also here.”
“First of all, I prioritized comparing Simon’s shoes, as you asked. They do not match the partial shoe print found in the Masons’ back garden. Because the print was only a partial, we were unable to determine the exact shoe size, but it’s between a men’s nine and eleven. Simon wears a ten and a half. So, even though we didn’t find the matching shoe, Simon does wear the correct size.”
“He could have disposed of the shoes he wore to commit the crime,” Matt said.
Disappointment filled Bree. She wanted something solid, not wishy-washy possibilities. “What else?”
“We’ve analyzed the trace evidence from the original scene. There’s one thing that’s a little unusual.” Rory paused. “We originally found gray animal fur. Since the Masons owned a gray cat, I didn’t think much about this at first. But the fur isn’t from a domestic cat. It’s from a mountain lion.”
“Did you say mountain lion ?” Matt spun.
“Yes,” Rory said in a cheerful voice. “I supply the results. Thankfully, it’s up to you to decide if they’re meaningful and if so, how.”
Bree thanked him and ended the call.
Matt shrugged. “We all know people pick up weird trace evidence. The shooter could work at the zoo. Or possibly one of the Masons had recently been to the zoo. If someone walked through the cat house, they could potentially pick up a bit of cougar fur.”
“I’ll find out if anyone in the Mason household had visited the zoo recently.” Bree made a note to call Claire and to have Juarez check the Masons’ credit card statements for any recent charges at a zoo.
“Or.” Matt tapped his marker on his opposite palm. “What if the same person who tracked cougar fur into the Masons’ house also sold the illegal wolf pup my sister confiscated.”
“And the alligator in Grey Lake?” Bree asked.
Matt paced. “That could have come from the guy we arrested last winter. We know he sold baby alligators.” He whirled, gesturing with the marker. “But we’re receiving reports of an increase in exotic pet trading. Maybe we’re dealing with one of those. It can’t be a coincidence that Cady found a wolf pup, and a few days later, we run across cougar fur at a crime scene.”
“Does your sister know where the wolf came from?”
“I have the general location and a description of the guy who had the pup.”
“Then we should take a drive.” Bree needed air anyway. The conference room, murder board, and lack of progress on the case were making her antsy.
“Let me call Cady and get as much information as I can.”
“I’ll check in with Marge while you do that.” Bree returned to her office, checked her messages, then touched base with her administrator.
By the time she was done, Matt was ready. They left via the rear door. The GPS led them to an old neighborhood of skinny houses on weedy lots. There was barely enough room between the buildings to run a lawn mower. Not that it appeared that had been needed recently. The small lawns were scorched to dirt in places.
Matt pointed to a faded blue house with a front porch made of cracked concrete. The entire structure listed to the left, like the foundation was compromised. “That’s the house where Cady picked up a dog. She said the guy with the wolf pup was hanging out on the corner.”
“No one is there now.” Bree scanned the block.
“Do we knock on doors or stake out the place?”
Bree reached for her door handle. “Let’s talk to people. A stakeout will take hours, and we’d have to get another vehicle. Plus, we busted a meth lab on the next street recently. The neighbors were grateful to be rid of it. Let’s go talk to them.”
She drove around the corner and parked at the curb in front of the boarded-up meth house. Bree led the way to the house next door, where a man in his fifties answered her knock.
“Sheriff Taggert!” He stepped out onto the porch. “What can I do for you?”
Bree introduced Matt. “We’re looking for someone. Early thirties, six one or two, shaved head. Has a tattoo of a sword and roses on his forearm.”
“I know a guy who looks like that,” the man said. “His name is Shawn. He lives in the gray house on Fourth Street. I don’t know the number. But he drives one of those monster trucks. It’s black with purple flames on the sides.” He rolled his eyes. “You can’t miss it.”
“Thank you for the information.” Bree shook his hand.
“Well, I sure appreciated you getting rid of the drug house.” He jerked a thumb at the neighboring lot. “The county is trying to get the place condemned and knocked down. I’m sure it’ll take a while, but in the meantime, at least no one is going to blow up the block.”
Bree eyed the vacant house. Graffiti already covered the plywood nailed over the windows. “If you see anything concerning, you call us.” She made a mental note to have a patrol car check on the property frequently. The last thing the neighborhood needed was squatters.
“Will do,” he said.
They got back into their vehicle. Bree cruised to Fourth Street, two blocks away. The black-and-purple monster truck was, indeed, unmistakable. She parked on the street.
Matt turned the mobile computer terminal toward him and typed. “The house belongs to Shawn O’Boyle. Taxes are paid. Has a couple of speeding tickets.”
“OK, then.” Bree led the way up a cracked concrete driveway. Two giant rottweilers barked and paced behind the chain-link fence. The hairs on Bree’s arms stood straight up. A warning from her instincts about the house? Or in response to the big dogs?
Thanks to Matt—and Ladybug—she’d mostly overcome her fear of dogs. But a large canine with an aggressive bark or growl still had the potential to put her in panic mode. She breathed to slow her heart rate, but she couldn’t stop the clammy sweating of her palms.
Matt scanned the yard with a critical eye as he followed her onto the stoop. They flanked the door, and Bree knocked. A curtain shifted in the window. Matt and Bree instantly went on even higher alert. She wiped her hands on her thighs. Slippery fingers wouldn’t have a good grip on her weapon, if it became necessary to draw it.
The door opened, and a man who fit Cady’s description stared out at them. “What do you want?”
“Mr. O’Boyle?” Bree asked.
At his wary nod, Bree introduced herself and Matt. “We’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“About what?” O’Boyle’s eyes narrowed to suspicious slits.
“The wolf puppy you had in your possession a few days ago,” she said.
“I didn’t know what it was.” He shifted back, his shoulder and arm behind the door.
“Let me see your hands!” Bree pulled her weapon and leveled it at him.
“OK, OK.” O’Brien lifted both hands in front of him, palms out. “Fucking cops.”
“Step outside.” Bree backed up. “Slowly.”
He moved onto the stoop. Bree covered while Matt patted him down.
“He’s clean,” Matt said.
Bree holstered her gun.
“You don’t have any right to come onto my property and drag me out of my house,” O’Brien crossed his arms over his chest. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Except have possession of an endangered species,” Bree pointed out. “It’s illegal to own a wolf in New York State.”
“Government overreach at its finest,” O’Boyle yelled. “Fucking fascist government! How dare they tell me what kind of animal I can keep on my own property.”
Bree ignored his outburst. “Where did you get the pup?”
He frowned. “I don’t have to answer your questions.”
Bree reached for her cuffs. She’d come prepared to simply take his information and give him a pass. But if he was going to be difficult, then she’d use whatever leverage she could.
He raised his hands again. “Fine. Whatever. I don’t know the dude’s name. I found him through a Facebook group. He calls himself the Wildlife Whisperer.”
Bree pulled her notepad from her uniform shirt pocket and wrote down the details.
Matt already had his phone out and opened to the Facebook app. He tapped on his screen, then turned the phone to face O’Boyle. “Is this the profile?”
O’Boyle peered at the screen. “Yeah.”
Matt showed Bree the profile. The Wildlife Whisperer didn’t use a photo of himself. His profile pic was a snarling tiger.
“Where did you meet him?” Bree asked.
“The parking lot of the old Shop ’N’ Fresh.”
Matt returned his phone to his pocket. “The pup you had wasn’t in very good condition.”
“I know it. I was pissed. Made him reduce his price.” O’Boyle seemed proud.
“How many pups did he have?” Bree asked.
“Three more.” O’Boyle scratched his bald head.
Matt swore. “Can you describe him?”
O’Boyle shrugged. “I dunno. About my size and age.”
“Hair or eye color? Distinctive features?”
“He was wearing a hat, and I didn’t notice his eyes.” O’Boyle rolled his own eyes.
“What was he wearing?” Bree asked.
“A ball gown,” O’Boyle sneered. “I don’t remember. I don’t pay attention to what other dudes are wearing.”
Bree sighed. “When was your meeting?”
“Last Friday night at seven o’clock.” O’Boyle sounded bored.
Bree shoved her notepad back into her pocket. “You don’t have plans to obtain another exotic animal, do you?”
“No.” O’Boyle mashed his teeth. “My dogs didn’t like the pup, and they like everybody and everything.” He gestured to the dogs, who were now sitting at the fence and whining. “They look badass, but they’re a couple of babies. But the wolf ...” He shook his head. “They knew it wasn’t a dog, and they weren’t happy to have it in the house.”
“Do your dogs have water and shade back there?” Matt asked.
O’Boyle waved both hands. “They have a frigging baby pool and a dog door. I take good care of my boys.”
Matt conceded with a nod. “Good to hear.”
“Thank you for your help.” Bree backed away.
“So, I’m not in trouble?” O’Boyle gave her a side-eye.
“Not at this time.” Bree remained noncommittal. “Don’t buy any more exotic pets.”
“No worries,” O’Boyle said. “That one cost me a thousand bucks.” He made a poof noise. “All gone. Don’t know how I let that bitch talk me into giving her the wolf.” He sounded disgusted with himself. “I could have sold it myself.”
Matt made a low-key, growly noise.
Bree said, “She saved you money. The fine for engaging in illegal trade of endangered animals could cost you a lot more than that.”
“How much can it be?” O’Boyle scoffed.
“As much as twenty-five thousand per violation.”
He paled, and Bree left him with that thought, hoping he had learned his lesson.