Chapter 21
“The print on that water bottle you brought in yesterday matches the prints pulled off Liam’s racket,” Brenda said. “Now I can’t say with any certainty that he beat the man to death, but he’s got a lot of explaining to do.”
With a smile on my face, I thanked her for the information. I ended the call and crawled out of bed. It was a nice way to start the morning.
I took a hot shower, got dressed, then made my way down to the galley to start breakfast. I banged on the hatch to JD’s stateroom and told him to get his ass up. We had a perp to put in jail.
I flipped on the morning news and caught up with local events. Coffee brewed, and Jack stumbled into the galley a few minutes later.
The guys in the band had crashed out in the below-deck staterooms. There were, no doubt, a few stowaways on board.
We scarfed down ham and cheese omelettes on the sky deck, then gathered our things. I drove to the station. We filled out an application for a warrant, and an hour later, we had a tac team assembled in front of John Wescott’s Stingray Bay mansion.
Suited up in tactical gear, we took all the precautions. I didn't expect much trouble from a guy like Wescott, but when your back’s against the wall, you do crazy things.
Erickson and Faulkner took the front door with us while Mendoza and Robinson took the back door in case he tried to escape.
I rang the video doorbell and banged on the door. "Coconut County! We have a warrant.”
At this point, we would normally break down the door, but we extended a little courtesy.
Gwen’s voice crackled through the speaker a moment later. "Can I help you?"
"We have a warrant for your husband's arrest. Open the door now, or we’ll break it down."
By this time, a crowd of curious neighbors had gathered outside, looking on with a mix of concern and excitement.
Erickson and Faulkner were losing patience. They were about to break the door down when Gwen pulled it open and stepped aside.
"Where is he?"
"In the kitchen.”
Erickson and Faulkner flooded in, and we followed.
With weapons shouldered, we cleared the foyer, the parlor, and the office.
We pushed into the living room and advanced across the hardwoods to the kitchen, where John sat at the table with a plate of bacon and eggs in front of him, his hands in the air.
"Don't move!" Faulkner shouted. "Get on the ground, now!”
"You just told me not to move," John replied in a nervous breath.
"On the ground!"
John complied and ate the expensive marble tile. Erickson pounced and ratcheted the cuffs around his wrists and secured them.
"I don't understand. What's going on?"
The two deputies yanked him to his feet, and I read him his rights. "You're under arrest for the murder of Liam Prescott. You have the right to remain silent…"
Sweat misted his skin, and his face went pale. With wide eyes, he said, "I didn't kill anybody. I swear to God. He was breathing when I left."
The deputies dragged Wescott out of the house and escorted him down the walkway to a patrol car.
Paris Delaney and her crew were on the scene, capturing the footage.
Camera shy, John averted his face, staring at the ground. This wouldn’t be good for business. Not all press is good.
"What happens now?" Gwen asked.
"He’ll spend the night in jail and be arraigned in the morning.”
"What should I do?"
"Find a good attorney.”
She looked frazzled.
Stephanie had witnessed the entire thing from the top of the stairs. She had a conflicted look on her face. At the current moment, I think she hated her father, but she didn't necessarily want him to go to jail for the rest of his life.
Paris Delaney asked her usual questions when I stepped outside. I gave a brief response, then JD and I climbed into the Wild Fury van. We followed the deputies back to the station and filled out after-action reports.
We let John sweat it out in the interrogation room after he had been processed and printed.
In the tiny room for about an hour, he was pale and sweating.
The confined space wasn't exactly pleasant to be in, no matter what side of the law you were on.
John Wescott clearly wasn't cut out for prison.
I'm sure all the horror stories swirled in his mind.
The first thing he said when we stepped into the room was, "You have to believe me, I didn't kill him."
JD and I took a seat across the table from him. The sheriff watched from the observation room. A camera mounted high in a corner near the ceiling captured the interview for posterity.
"That's interesting because your prints were found on the racket that turned his face into meatloaf. Want to tell me about that?”