Bree shuddered.
Matt swallowed. He didn’t want to think about Zack sitting in front of the farm, possibly armed, with Bree and the kids inside, potentially asleep and vulnerable.
Todd rubbed his jaw. “Surveillance footage from a local sporting goods store shows Zack buying ammunition and the hunting vest last Friday afternoon. He’d owned a Ruger 9mm for many years. We think he brought his own gun to Justin’s house the night he shot Erin, but when he saw Justin’s, he decided to use that one instead.”
Bree sipped her water. “Maybe he thought Erin’s shooting would be blamed on Justin.”
“And that’s exactly what happened, initially.” Matt stretched his back.
“So, after he stashed Justin in his workshop, he drove Erin’s pickup out to the factory to dump it?” Bree asked.
“That’s correct,” Todd said. “And then he walked across the field back to his own truck, which was still parked down the road from Empire Acre Farms.”
“He chose the factory to dump the pickup because it was convenient,” Matt said.
“Seems logical,” Todd agreed. “We have clear footage of Zack sitting in the salon parking lot on Monday. He’d already called his wife numerous times. She was expected to answer his calls within three rings. From what we’ve pieced together, Zack was always controlling and insecure about their relationship, but his mental status began to seriously deteriorate when he lost his job. He became paranoid and suspicious whenever his wife was out of his sight. After she told him she was pregnant, his obsession escalated. On Monday, Steph had packed some clothes and important papers in a duffel bag and sneaked them out of the house. But Zack noticed.”
“It seems he would alternately be obsessed with the baby and accuse Steph of cheating,” Bree added. “And the thought of her leaving him again sent his paranoia and rage off the charts.”
“It did,” Todd agreed. “He told her several times that he’d kill her before he let her go.”
“Do we know why he kept Justin alive?” Bree asked.
“Not really,” Todd said. “Maybe he didn’t want to store a dead body. Maybe he wanted someone to brag to. We believe he wanted to use Justin to implicate someone else in Erin’s death. At first, he was unsure how to accomplish this. Justin’s gunshot wasn’t the kind that could be self-inflicted. Therefore, Justin couldn’t be framed. But, as I said before, Zack kept detailed notes on all his surveillance. He’d spent some time watching Craig Vance. Erin had told Steph that Craig had contacted her recently about taking her to court for custody of the kids. Zack had photos of Craig’s apartment at the church, and he’d begun recording Craig’s daily movements. He’d called the church for his office hours and schedule.”
“Didn’t he have work?” Bree asked. “Steph said he was in his workshop all the time.”
“He lied to her,” Todd said. “He had no work. He spent all his time in his workshop scheming.”
Matt asked, “He had a plan?”
“A detailed one.” Nodding, Todd took a breath. “He knew about Erin’s life insurance. Steph had told him about it when she first found out she was pregnant. She wanted to buy a similar policy after their baby was born. Zack put the life insurance and the custody issue together and figured Craig had financial motivation to kill Erin. So, he could be framed for her murder. Zack decided to kill Justin, dump his body in Albany, and plant the gun in Craig’s apartment.”
“An exit strategy,” Bree said.
“A smart one,” Matt added. “It might have worked if he’d followed through.”
“But when he found out Steph was leaving him, he lost it.” Todd flattened his hands on the table. “That’s all I have today. I’ll let you know if other questions come up as we wrap up the investigation.”
“Have you talked to Craig Vance?” Bree asked Todd.
“I have excellent news on that front,” Todd said. “I drove down to Albany yesterday and shared the audio recording with detectives with the Albany PD. It turns out that Craig Vance did not have everyone in his church fooled. The Albany PD has been quietly investigating him for a couple of weeks for stealing from the youth group ministry fund. During their investigation, they found additional account discrepancies that they’re still trying to trace. A search warrant was obtained for Craig’s apartment. While an Albany detective and I questioned Craig at the station, his residence was searched. Officers recovered a burner phone. The number matches the one that interacted with your sister around the times of the cash withdrawals.”
Bree looked relieved. “I knew he was up to no good at the church.”
“And you were right,” Todd said. “Craig is looking at multiple counts of grand larceny and extortion, all felonies. He is going to serve time.”
Bree sighed. “I’ll bet he was the person who broke into Erin’s house the first night I was there. He knew Erin had the recordings. He wanted to find them.”
“That makes sense,” Matt said.
“Bree, I’d like to talk to you in my office for a few minutes.” Todd stood. “Matt, I’m going to the hospital next to question Justin again. I’d appreciate it if you were there when I talked to him. Justin isn’t very stable. He could use the support.”
Matt nodded. “I’ll see you over there.”
They walked out the door and down the hall.
Matt touched Bree’s arm. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“OK.” She turned. “I hope Justin is better.”
So did Matt.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Bree followed Todd back to his office.
He closed the door.
“Please have a seat.” Todd gestured to a guest chair.
Bree sank into it. “Thank you for your help with Craig.”
“You’re welcome. It was my pleasure. Now I have something to ask you.” Todd picked up his phone and pressed one button. “Marge, would you come in here for a minute?”
Todd got up and rounded his desk. He perched on the edge, facing Bree. Marge came in, closed the door, and stood next to him.
Presenting a united front.
Suspicious, Bree leaned back in the chair.
“You and Matt were instrumental in this investigation,” Todd said. “Though I’ll never be able to publicly acknowledge how helpful you were, people took notice after that video went viral.”
The woman in the robe had recorded Bree taking down Zack. The video had gone viral overnight.
“Yes. The video.” Bree frowned. She still couldn’t believe the woman had pulled her cell phone from her robe pocket and filmed the shooting.
“You seem unhappy about it,” Todd said.
“I am.”
“Why?” Todd asked. “You looked like a hero.”
“And a total badass,” Marge added.
Bree searched for the words. “It’s hard to explain, but the viral sharing feels intrusive. Frankly, I don’t like getting attention for killing a man, even if I had no choice.”
She’d played those final moments over and over in her head, and she still saw no other way she could have ended the altercation. Yet, she still wasn’t comfortable with what she’d done, nor could she express why.
“I can see that.” Todd cleared his throat. “Anyway, Marge and I were talking.” They shared a glance.
“You should be the new sheriff,” Marge said.
“What?” Bree straightened. She was considering local law enforcement, but running for sheriff hadn’t made her radar.
“You’re a good fit,” Todd said. “I strongly believe we need an outsider to rebuild this department. You have the experience.”
“You’re honest, and you have roots in this county,” Marge added. “From the positive comments on that video, I’d say the public would be all for it.”
“I don’t know,” Bree said, but the idea of taking on the challenge was strangely appealing. She needed a job. She’d be working close to home. But did she really need the stress of politics? Sheriff was an elected position. S
he’d have to campaign.
“I want to show you something.” Marge led Bree out to the squad room. Two deputies typing reports at their desks looked up as they passed by. Marge stopped on the other side of the room. Mounted on the back wall were framed photos of previous sheriffs. Most were formal, professional shots, but Marge pointed to a simple snapshot, enlarged.
“I took this picture. He refused to have a professional portrait session. He said it was a stupid waste of money.” She touched the frame. “His name was Bob O’Reilly. Do you remember him?”
“Yes.” Bree stared at the picture. In it, a clean-shaven man in his midfifties smiled from behind the big desk in the sheriff’s office. He wore a tan uniform shirt and jeans. She couldn’t see his feet in the photo, but she knew he was wearing cowboy boots.
The same boots she’d first seen walking down the back-porch steps that cold and dark night when her entire life had changed course. Adam was screaming in her arms, Erin hiding behind her, clutching at her pajamas.
Bree recalled one clear thought at the sight and sound of those boots clumping down the back steps.
Not Daddy.
Daddy wore big-soled work boots. These were the cowboy kind.
Relief had stolen her breath and started her shaking. The man had crouched under the steps and pried loose the board. “It’s all right. You’re all safe now.” He passed the beam of a flashlight over them, then shone it on himself. He wore a jacket with badges. “I’m Sheriff Bob. Come on out, and I’ll take you somewhere warm.”
His voice was friendly and soft. Erin had crawled right out, and a man wearing the same kind of jacket wrapped her in a blanket and picked her up.
Sheriff Bob turned back to Bree and asked, “Your name is Bree, right?”
She nodded.
“Bree, that baby is cold.” The sheriff set the light on the ground and put his arms through the hole. “Why don’t you hand him to me so we can get him warmed up?”
Adam’s body had gone stiff, his feet pushing away from her. He was cold. She was cold too, so cold that her skin hurt. She put Adam in the sheriff’s arms, and he cradled him for a few seconds before another man in uniform wrapped him in a blanket too. Bree’s whole body went weak. She crawled out and stood in the dark yard.
Sheriff Bob draped a blanket around her shoulders, then took off his thick jacket and wrapped that around her too. It was still warm from his body. “I see your feet are bare.” His voice hitched a little. “Would it be all right if I picked you up?”
She nodded, and when he scooped her up in his arms, she hugged him and burrowed her face into his shirt.
“You’re safe now, I promise,” he said, tucking his coat around her bare feet.
Bree blinked. The sheriff’s department squad room roared back at her in a wild sensation of color and light.
Marge was talking. “Bob called me in that night. He said he needed help with three children. I met him here. Bob was a mess. He had a black eye and bloody knuckles. He wanted to get cleaned up. Your brother was asleep when you all got here. Your little sister came to me right away. But you wouldn’t let go of Bob. So, he took you into his office and let you sleep on his shoulder while he iced his face and hand. When your family arrived, they had to peel you off him.”
“I don’t remember being here that night.” Bree’s gaze swept the room. It didn’t look remotely familiar.
“You were half-asleep.” Marge smiled.
“Why would the sheriff have a black eye and bloody knuckles? My father killed himself.”
“I don’t know exactly how the night went down.”
Apparently, neither did Bree. She’d always assumed her father shot himself before the police arrived. No one had ever told her otherwise, but then, the family hadn’t talked about the incident at all. Bree had never questioned her memories.
Until now.
“Does the department still have the files from 1993?” Bree asked.
“Yes,” Marge said. “They’re boxed up in the basement. I assume you’re thinking about your parents’ case.”
“Yes. I’m wondering if my memories are faulty.”
“Does it matter?”
“I don’t know.”
“Your parents’ case is closed, so there’s no reason you can’t have a copy of the file. But think long and hard about what will be in those files. Do you really want those images in your head? For the most part, you seem to have put the tragedy behind you. What would you gain by dredging it all up again?”
“That’s a good question.” And Bree truly didn’t know. Maybe Marge was right, and she should let go of the past.
Marge turned to face her. “I believe Bob was the last truly good sheriff to hold this office. I think you taking the job and putting this department to rights would be an excellent legacy to him.”
A surge of emotions filled Bree’s chest. “Geez, Marge. No pressure.”
Marge lifted an unconcerned shoulder. “I never said I played fair.”
“I don’t even know what’s involved with running for sheriff. I’m not a politician, and even if I knew how to run a campaign, I don’t have the money for one.”
“What if you didn’t need to campaign?” Marge asked. “Would you consider the job itself?”
“Maybe.”
Marge lifted one pencil-point eyebrow. “The job has been vacant a long time. No one ran in November. You meet all of Randolph County’s requirements for office. Special elections are expensive. It would be easier and cheaper to have the governor appoint you as sheriff. Then you would serve out the remainder of the current term before having to actually run for office. You’d have years before a campaign would be necessary.”
Bree pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead. “How do I get the governor of New York to appoint me as sheriff?”
“You let me worry about that.” Marge didn’t blink. “The footage of you shooting Zack Wallace should convince anyone you’re the right person for the job.”
“I don’t think shooting a suspect should be the main qualifier.” Bree almost cringed at the visual. She’d briefly seen the news coverage. The media had rehashed her entire family history. Somehow Matt had avoided the cameras.
“You stopped an active shooter,” Marge said. “Most folks will think your courage is enough.”
Bree didn’t agree, but the idea of building something meaningful and protecting the citizens of Randolph County appealed to her. She’d have more daily variety than she did in her current job in homicide, more to her day than death, death, and more death.
Now that she wasn’t worried about Craig taking the kids, Bree needed a job in Grey’s Hollow.
“If you can get the governor to appoint me, I’ll take the job. Tell me how you know the governor?”
“I was his secretary many, many years ago, back when he was a brand-new prosecutor.” Her eyes twinkled. “Before he was a big shot.”
Marge really did know everyone.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Matt walked off the hospital elevator. Mr. Moore was sitting in the waiting area at the end of Justin’s hall. He was drinking coffee and eating graham crackers.
“How is he?” Matt asked.
Mr. Moore looked like he’d aged twenty years in the last week. “He’s exhausted and in pain. Last night, he had a roommate who screamed all night.”
Matt put a hand on Mr. Moore’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“He seems a little better now. They moved him to a private room and gave him more pain meds. He asked me to leave so he could sleep.”
“That’s good. Why don’t you go down to the cafeteria and get some actual food?”
“Yes.” Mr. Moore nodded. “I’ll do that. Thanks.”
“I’ll check on him. If he’s asleep, I’ll hang out here.”
“OK.” Mr. Moore turned and walked toward the elevator. “His room is at the end of the hall. Number three forty-eight.”
Matt went down the hall. He passed the nurses’ stat
ion and continued to the end of the corridor. Justin’s room was dark and quiet, the door ajar. Hoping his friend was sleeping, Matt gently pushed the door open just enough to stick his head through the gap. He waited for his eyes to adjust. An IV dripped into Justin’s wrist, but there were no other machines connected to him. His injury, barring infection, wasn’t life-threatening now that he was receiving medical treatment.
“I’m awake,” Justin said.
Matt walked in. The dark room was depressing, so he flipped on the light.
Justin covered his eyes with his hand.
Matt crossed to the bedside. “Are you allowed to have food?”
“Yeah.” But Justin’s voice was flat, emotionless.
“Good. I brought you fries.” Matt set them on the tray table and rolled it in front of his friend.
“Thanks.” But Justin ignored the food.
Someone knocked on the doorframe, and Todd peered into the room. “Hey, Justin. Are you up to answering a few more questions?”
Justin coughed, then winced, one hand going to the fresh bandage on his shoulder. “Sure.”
Matt filled his water cup from the plastic pitcher on the tray and positioned the straw to point at Justin.
Todd walked to the opposite side of the bed and pulled a small notepad and a pen from his pocket. “What do you remember about your time with Zack?”
Justin shook his head. “It was really weird. At first, he treated me like we had something in common.” His gaze went to the ceiling. “He said Erin had treated us both badly.”
“Do you believe that?” Todd asked.
Justin shook his head. “No. Our marriage breakup was entirely my fault, but Zack blamed Erin for all the problems in his relationship with Steph. Erin, who gave Steph a place to go. Erin, who encouraged Steph to leave him. He stalked her and threatened her friends. Most of them stopped communicating with Steph because Zack was such a problem.”
“But not Erin,” Todd said, taking notes.
“No. Erin didn’t give up on her friends.” Justin paused to breathe. “She wouldn’t stop being friends with Steph because her husband was a prick any more than she would stop being my friend because I’d made mistakes.” Justin’s voice rasped.
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