Chapter 10 #3
The cops showed up just as the latest pot of coffee finished percolating.
The family’s Golden Labrador barked once to announce their arrival before dropping her head back down on her nice, cushiony bed in front of the fireplace, promptly going back to sleep.
John greeted them at the door, hand extended to offer firm handshakes to both officers.
He led them into the living room where everyone had gathered.
Maggie and Rubio were sharing the couch.
He had an arm around her shoulders again, and was gazing at her lovingly as she played with the frayed hem of her jeans.
She still looked—rattled. Hayes didn’t blame her.
He mostly felt for her. Jackson was sitting on the loveseat with Katerina who looked far more put together than any of them.
She was another member of Beckett’s family who Hayes didn’t know well, and she appeared to be rather stoic.
Hayes could certainly relate to that personality trait.
“You’ve gathered the entire family, then,” the first officer observed, his tone neither judgmental nor confrontational.
“My youngest flew home this morning,” John confirmed, gesturing towards Beckett.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us,” the second officer said. She was much younger than her partner, perhaps in her 30s. “My name is Officer Carrier. My partner, Officer Lowery, and I have been assigned Franklin’s case.”
She had a heavy French accent, not like the one they’d heard while on vacation in France, but far more rounded—distinctly French-Canadian in origin.
“We’re sorry we couldn’t give you more information last night.
” She looked directly at Ma Thérault somewhat challengingly, as if they’d had words about that.
“But my partner and I needed to confirm some things with the M.E. before we concluded anything.”
“Concluded?” Beckett asked, his tone conveying skepticism.
Both officers looked at him with identical frowns. Beckett threw his shoulders back, as if preparing for a fight.
Hayes rubbed his forehead and muttered a quick prayer to any god willing to listen that Beckett wouldn’t start throwing down with the officers.
He didn’t doubt that Beckett would come out on top, but he also didn’t want the fucking hassle, nor the paperwork, that would come with bailing his ass out of jail.
The day had been long enough already, and it wasn’t even lunch time yet.
“As we explained last night, it appears that Dr. Thérault jumped from a bridge. We wanted to confirm there was no foul play by looking at camera footage and talking with the M.E. before we did anything else,” Officer Carrier explained calmly. Clearly this wasn’t her first rodeo.
“And you’ve concluded—I mean—you saw—” Ma Thérault stuttered to a halt.
Officer Carrier looked apologetic as she nodded.
“Oh, God!” Ma Thérault cried brokenly, pressing a hand to her mouth.
She was sitting on the armrest of the main couch, and her husband reached for her. She pressed her face against his chest for a moment while she collected herself.
“I’m very sorry,” Officer Carrier said. “But the M.E. and the video footage both confirmed that your son committed suicide last night at approximately 7:00 p.m.”
There were muffled gasps and broken sobs. Hayes looked towards Beckett, who sat very still, looking at the officer with open skepticism.
“I want to see it,” Beckett demanded.
“I’m sorry?” Officer Carrier said, one eyebrow raised like she might have misheard.
“I want to see the tape.”
“And you are?” Officer Lowery asked, stepping past his colleague to give Beckett a hard look.
“Franklin’s brother, Beckett,” he replied, as he stared right back.
Officer Lowery jotted that down in his little notebook.
“Don’t bother running my name—it’s all lies anyway.
” Beckett gave him an exaggerated wink. Turning his attention back to Officer Carrier, he repeated, “I want to see the tape.”
“I assure you, you don’t,” Officer Lowery remarked, his expression of disgust was entirely inappropriate and unprofessional.
Officer Carrier nodded in agreement. “I think what Officer Lowery is trying to say is that the film footage is extremely difficult to watch. We don’t recommend—”
“Blah, blah, blah! Sell your bullshit to someone who cares. I want to see the tape.”
“Beckett!” Ma Thérault admonished, shocked by his irreverent, rude behavior.
Hayes was sure that if she knew that was how Beckett acted on a daily basis, she’d probably have a heart attack.
“We are not obliged to—” Officer Lowery began.
“How about we discuss it later—after you’ve told the family whatever it was that you came here to tell them in the first place,” Hayes interjected, certain that a fight was imminent. No doubt about that being in their future, but it would be best if Beckett’s family didn’t have to witness it.
“And you are?” Officer Lowery asked, turning to him.
“Hayes Monroe,” he replied.
“How do you spell that?” the officer asked, quite naively.
“Like it’s pronounced—f.u.c.k.o.f.f.,” Beckett replied before Hayes could.
Hayes disguised his laugh with a hacking cough.
“Dude, seriously!” Jackson interjected, looking at his brother like he’d grown another head.
It had never occurred to Hayes that Beckett’s family didn’t know him all that well. But this morning, it was readily apparent to him that there were sides to Beckett they were completely unaware of.
“I suppose Mr. Monroe has a point. We should let your family process this news in peace. We said what we came here to say, and we hope you’ll accept our deepest condolences.” Officer Carrier sounded genuinely sorry.
“Can I see him?” Ma Thérault asked, her voice quivering with emotion.
Officer Carrier looked back at her partner who shook his head. She turned back to Beckett’s mother with a sad expression. “I really think it’s best you didn’t.” She was an efficient communicator, as she conveyed information as much with her tone of voice as she did with her choice of words.
“We’ll go now,” she announced as she glanced all around the room and offered them a kind smile. “We really are sorry.”
When they turned to leave, Beckett was right behind them. Hayes followed silently, hoping and praying that Beckett didn’t kick their asses before they’d even gotten through the front door.
To Hayes’ relief, Beckett waited until they reached the driveway before reiterating his demand.
“I want to see it,” he said, and the two officers turned around to face him.
“And as we’ve explained, Mr. Thérault, we do not advise—”
“Shut it, Samantha!” Beckett snapped, cutting her off.
“I want to see the tape, and either you give me access or I have a few spooky buddies who’ll do it, if you catch my drift,” he threatened in a flat, cold tone.
It was a bold move, but both Canadian cops merely blinked at him and then shared a speaking look.
“You’re the American one, right?” Officer Lowery said, looking Beckett up and down quizzically.
“I’m as maple-blooded as you, asshat. But I am the decorated Special Forces soldier in this family in case that jogs your memory.”
Hayes sighed and frowned. There were no limits to Beckett’s insubordination sometimes. It didn’t matter who you were, he’d tell you exactly how he felt about things.
“I think what Mr. Thérault is trying to say,” Hayes butted in, speaking directly to Officer Carrier and ignoring her fuming partner, “is that while we understand that the video may shock most people, we are both accustomed to difficult sights. And while we have no doubt what you’ve concluded is correct, for his peace of mind, he’d feel better if he could see the tape.
We understand it might not be standard procedure, but if at all possible, we’d be very grateful.
” He laid it on a little thick, maintaining eye contact with the younger officer.
She wasn’t fooled by his flirting. Not even a little, but she wasn’t opposed to it either.
She chuckled and shook her head like she found it amusing before sighing and raising both hands in defeat.
“We’ll see what we can do,” she finally said.
“If you leave your phone number with me, I’ll call you as soon as I know more. ”
Hayes smiled gratefully as he reached for his wallet and pulled out a business card. He handed it to her, and she may have brushed her fingers against his a second longer than necessary.
“Who are you again?” Officer Lowery asked, more like a concerned partner than one who might be jealous.
“Hayes Monroe.”
“Yes, but who are you in relation to Mr. Thérault?”
“We work together,” Beckett informed him quickly before Hayes could reply.
“Very well. Thank you,” Officer Carrier said, pocketing the business card and offering each of them a perfunctory smile before turning and walking with her partner to their squad car.
Beckett didn’t speak as he watched them get in their car and drive away. He crossed his arms over his chest and watched the car until it was out of sight.
“We work together?” Hayes asked, questioningly. He was worried that he had somehow made a bad judgment call by subtly flirting with Officer Carrier. Beckett didn’t seem upset, but he couldn’t figure out exactly what Beckett’s mood was.
“What—your lame-assed flirting seemed to work—I wasn’t about to fuck that up. I want to see that tape,” he said, shrugging, not bothering to turn his head to look at Hayes.
“My lame-assed flirting?” Hayes scoffed. “Says the guy who showed up drunk at my door and begged me to fuck him.”
Beckett turned to him then, eyes wide with disbelief.
“Who the fuck are you talking about? First off, I never beg,” he said, although they both knew that was a bald-faced lie. “And you were anything but flirty. Remember that time you freaked out about liking sausage, or some shit—”
“Of course, I wasn’t flirting! I’m straight! I wasn’t trying to get in your pants. If I had, we’d have gotten together years ago,” Hayes said, feigning confidence in his skills in acquiring sexual partners.