Chapter 6
"In my experience, couples fight over money, sex, and infidelity," I said.
"Well, Brock and I had amazing sex. I had no reason to look outside the marriage.
As far as money goes, I signed a prenup.
This wasn't about the money, and anybody who says it was is a moron.
I loved that man," she said, breaking down into sobs again.
Her face fell into her hands, and her chest heaved and jerked.
"What about children?" I asked.
"We don't have any, obviously, but Brock had two from a previous marriage. Three actually, but that's a long story.”
"Did you have a good relationship with his kids?"
She scoffed. "No. Obviously, they’re Team Bitch.”
“Do they live here on the island?”
"Yes, they're both grown and fully functioning adults. Maybe I should take the fully functioning part back. Hunter’s a complete fuck up. Hailey’s sweet, but she's a nutcase.
I guess both stand to inherit a fortune.
I don't recall the details offhand, but I believe the estate will be divided evenly between them.”
I shared another look with Jack.
"I hate to suggest this,” Tiffany said, “but Hunter is big and strong enough to do this. There certainly was no love lost between him and Brock.”
"Why is that?"
"You'd have to ask him, but I think it has to do with the fact that Hunter has never made anything of himself. He had big shoes to fill. From what I'm told, Christian was the golden boy.”
"Christian is deceased?”
She nodded.
My lips tightened with a frown.
"I don't think Brock ever fully got over Christian’s death. I'm sure that affected Hunter. I'm not insensitive to that. He had big shoes to fill. How do you live up to a ghost?"
"How often did Brock see his children?"
Tiffany shrugged. "I'm not sure. Not much. Just when they needed something, everybody becomes a leech, even your own family. I tell you one thing—if you get rich, keep your mouth shut about it. Don’t tell anyone. Act poor. Everybody starts to want something from you. Then they start to think you owe it to them.”
Judging by the surroundings and the fancy cars in the driveway, neither had done a good job of acting poor. I suspected Tiffany didn't really want to act poor either.
"Can you think of anybody else who might have wanted Brock dead? Somebody with a lot of pent-up aggression?"
"How about anybody his team ever played against? Brock denied quite a few teams the possibility of a Super Bowl championship. Plus the fans." She paused. "Honestly, you've got millions of suspects."
She wasn't lying about that.
"I've got no problem showing you the prenup if you want to see it. I want to cooperate fully with your investigation. I want you to find out who killed my husband. I don't care what anybody else says—I loved Brock. I could never do something like this."
"I'd like to see the prenup and the copy of the will, if you have that available."
"I can get it for you. I'm sure it's around here somewhere, and our attorney has a copy."
I dug into my pocket and handed her a card. "Get in touch if you think of anything helpful. We are here anytime, day or night, if you need anything.”
She exhaled a breath. "Thank you. I appreciate that.”
EMTs attended to her.
Jack and I stepped away and rejoined the sheriff. I caught him up to speed.
Jack whispered, "You’ve heard the rumors, haven't you?"
We both looked at him.
"What rumors?" I asked.
"Well, I don’t really want to say right now. But the story of how they met is quite… interesting.”
We tried to be subtle about it, but none of us could help it. We took another casual glance at Tiffany as the medical technician treated the gash in her scalp.
I had a few theories about how Brock might have found himself in the company of such a gorgeous young woman.
Tiffany was smoking hot and oozed sexuality.
I’m sure when she cleaned up and wasn't covered in fresh blood, she was breathtaking.
Right now, she looked like a scream queen in a horror movie.
"I don't care who she is or how they met,” Daniels said. “Just find out who killed Brock Madison.”
The EMTs worked their magic on Tiffany. When they were done, forensic investigators processed her robe and took blood samples from her skin and scalp.
Brenda and her crew transferred the remains to a body bag. From there, they hefted the bag onto a gurney and rolled the deceased out of the bedroom.
Tiffany's eyes spurted tears again, and she sobbed. I told her she’d need to come down to the station and make a full statement again.
"Can I get cleaned up first? Put some clothes on?”
I nodded.
Tiffany left the master and ducked into a guest room down the hall. She slipped into the bathroom and took a shower.
Forensic investigators still worked the master bedroom.
JD and I lingered around and waited for Tiffany. She spent a long time in the shower. I'm sure she was trying to wash away the trauma of it all, but something like that just didn't scrub off.
She cut the shower and fumbled around in the bathroom, toweling off, making herself presentable.
I'm sure she didn't have to work too hard.
That took another half hour. She finally stepped out, wearing a fresh terrycloth robe.
She sauntered down the hall and into the master.
The fresh, clean scent of her body wash trailed.
Tiffany stepped around the bloodstains and moved into the walk-in closet.
She pulled the door shut and got dressed.
JD and I kept waiting.
Tiffany emerged from the closet a few moments later, looking stunning in a slinky black cocktail dress and a pair of high heels.
It looked like she was going out for the evening.
She hadn’t had time to do her makeup, but Tiffany was a natural beauty.
She didn’t need makeup. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail, grabbed a pair of sunglasses and a pink baseball cap, and pulled the brim low.
She knew the kind of media onslaught she was about to face.
The flashing cameras, the microphones shoved in her face, the loaded questions.
She'd been through it all before. But nothing could compare to what she was about to endure.
We escorted her through the house and down the steps, still mindful of the bloodstains.
Tiffany paused and took a breath before she stepped into the courtyard, then strolled out to face the world.
Word had traveled about the incident, and a horde of reporters swarmed. Cameras closed in, just as anticipated. A cascade of blinding flashes ensued, along with an onslaught of questions.
"Is Brock Madison dead?"
"How did he die?"
"Is it true that you killed him?”
Tiffany knew the drill and kept her mouth shut and her head down.
Jack and I escorted her down the walkway to a patrol car and helped her into the backseat. She wasn't under arrest, but it wasn't a good look. The tabloids would have a field day.
I tapped the quarter panel, and the officer pulled away from the curb. He inched through the crowd that had gathered in the street.
"Is Tiffany a suspect?" Paris shouted.
I declined to answer. Instead, I took the opportunity to make a call for witnesses.
JD and I regrouped with the sheriff. Deputies Erickson and Faulkner had canvassed the neighborhood, knocking on doors, but no one had seen or heard anything suspicious. They checked for security camera footage, but didn't turn anything up. No videos of the suspect coming or going.
There were no other bloody footprints in the house besides Tiffany's. Just hers, along with blood drops in the hallway that led from the master bedroom to the grand staircase and down to the foyer.
A smear of blood stained the inside handle of the front door, presumably when Tiffany opened it to let first responders into the house.
JD and I did another once-around the house, looking for signs of forced entry. Other deputies had walked the house, but we thought we'd give it another go just to be sure.
No windows were broken out.
The back door was unlocked.
Someone could have easily just walked in through the back door, made their way up to the master bedroom, and done the devil's business.
The home backed up to the beach. There was a nice infinity pool surrounded by a bar, a stainless steel barbecue grill, and plenty of lounge chairs and tables.
It was a perfect place for entertaining.
A path led down to the man-made white sand beach.
Inky waves crashed against the shore. The killer could have easily slipped away into the night without being seen.
We left the scene and headed back to the station to fill out after-action reports and re-interview Tiffany to see if her story changed. Most liars can’t keep their facts straight over time.
“You know how they met, don’t you?” JD said again.