Chapter 62
With Gavin’s statement, we were able to get a warrant. We showed up in Palm Haven as the sun crested the horizon. Erickson and Faulkner heaved a battering ram against the door, and the jamb splintered. Glass shattered, and the door flung wide.
We stormed into the foyer, cleared the area, and marched upstairs.
The alarm sounded as we flooded down the hallway toward the master bedroom.
I kicked open the door, and the tactical team flooded in, surrounding the four-post bed as Tiffany clutched a sheet around her naked form. She looked shocked to see us.
"What's going on?”
"You're under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder," I said.
Her brow wrinkled with confusion. "I didn't conspire with anyone.”
"Save it," I said.
Eager barrels stared her down.
"Can I at least get dressed?”
Jack grabbed a robe that hung in the bathroom. He tossed it to her. "We've got something stylish for you at the station.”
She frowned at him, then pulled the covers aside, making sure everyone saw her attributes.
She slipped on the silk robe and tied it around her waist. Jack slapped the cuffs around her and Mirandized her.
He took her by the arm and escorted her out of the bedroom.
He took her down to the street and stuffed her into the back of a patrol car.
She was taken to the station, processed, and printed.
It was too early for neighbors to notice, and there were no news crews on the scene.
We searched the rest of the house looking for bloody shoes and garments. Nothing turned up. She was smart enough to get rid of those.
In the garage, we found her mountain bike. On the brake handle, there was a smear of what appeared to be blood. Dietrich snapped photos, and the bike was prepped and collected as evidence.
I had no doubt that the blood would match Trent Keating.
We interviewed Tiffany, but at this point, she realized she had better shut the hell up. She requested an attorney. I couldn't help but tell her that, "Mrs. Miller is damn near legally blind. She never would have been able to ID you."
Rage boiled on her face—she glared at me. For the first time, I saw Tiffany lose her cool.
"You’re going away for conspiracy to commit murder. You're looking at 30 years. And when that blood evidence gets analyzed on your bicycle, that's gonna seal the deal."
Her eyes misted, and she broke down into sobs.
We left her in the interrogation room to contemplate her fate.
We may not have been able to pin Brock’s murder on her, but I felt confident she wouldn't ever breathe free air again.
We stepped into the hallway and chatted with the sheriff for a bit, then headed home to get some sleep. We stopped at Waffle Wizard and grabbed breakfast before a long slumber.
When I got back to the boat, I took Buddy out, then turned my phone off, crawled into bed, and slept until the afternoon.
The next few days were pretty low-key. I joined Kendra for a track day with Bill Wembley’s team. My bike was still in the shop. Bill’s racing bikes were on another level. I was having a great time until the sheriff called again. “You ready for this one?”
“What is it now?”