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Chapter 33
BROWN DESERVED TO BE SUBJECTED to hours of solitary in an interrogation room, but time wasn’t something they had a lot of. Madison entered the room first, Terry behind her.
He slammed the door, and Brown jumped.
She took a photo out of a folder she was carrying and slapped it on the table.
Brown’s eyes shot to hers.
“Officer Weir was a husband and father.” She pointed to the photo of Barry dressed in uniform, taken at a charity benefit. She retrieved another picture and put it on top of that one. It was a picture of the pavement next to Barry’s cruiser where there was an evidence marker and a pool of blood. She wasn’t going to give Brown the satisfaction of seeing the body of the man he killed.
“Your car—” she looked up, certain to make eye contact with Brown “—was involved in the shooting.” She stretched the truth, knowing that without the actual vehicle on hand, it would be nearly impossible to prove her claim.
“I…” Brown’s eyes widened. “I sold—”
“You didn’t sell it. There’s no record of you selling it.” She let the accusation sit there, the still and quiet in the room creating a pregnant pause.
“I donated it to charity.”
Madison glanced at Terry. This guy was unbelievable. “You sold it to charity?”
“Selling would be a tax write-off, but no, I gave it to them.”
Even fully donated, he’d get a receipt for a tax write-off, and there would be a title transfer.
Madison walked around the table and stopped next to Brown. She leaned over. “I don’t believe you.”
Terry jingled his change. Brown didn’t even seem to notice.
Brown’s breathing became heavier and beads of sweat popped out on his forehead.
“You also match the description of the driver.” She walked back to opposite side of the table. “You own the right vehicle.”
“I told you that I gave it away.”
“After you told us you sold it. Can you see why I’m having a hard time believing anything you say?”
Brown remained quiet, and a shot of color appeared in his cheeks. He looked as if he was going to vomit. It wasn’t going to stop Madison.
“Or maybe you were the shooter?” She glanced at Terry. “An eyewitness could have gotten the description wrong.”
“No, God, I swear to you that I had nothing to do with his murder.”
She wasn’t buying his stupid act. She’d seen it more times than she could possibly count. A suspect under fire only withered under pressure and claimed, It wasn’t me. Their hands could be dripping with blood and they’d still say someone else wielded the blade.
Madison glanced past Brown to Terry.
Terry closed the distance between himself and Brown and pulled back on his shoulder, gripping his shirt, and then shuffled around in front of him. “You aided and abetted a cop killer. That makes you just as guilty.”
“What’s the shooter’s name?” Madison ground out.
Brown’s face was now bright red, and he held up a hand in surrender. “Please, listen to me.”
Madison bobbed her head at Terry to have him release Brown. Terry bunched the fabric of Brown’s shirt tighter before letting go.
Brown stared after Terry and then let his gaze land on Madison. “I never shot a cop. I never drove anyone who did, either.”
“Explain why your car was used in the crime, then,” she said, again running with a slight stretch on the truth. “And why you have a Glock 17—the same gun as the murder weapon—but it’s missing.” She embellished again as the exact make and model of gun wouldn’t be known until they had the weapon in hand to compare with the fired bullets. “And then let’s not forget the missing ammunition… I wonder if your gun will match up with the bullets we found…” She punched out each item, watching Brown’s body language as she did so. He seemed to physically shrink more with each statement.
“I can’t explain any of that.” His voice was shallow.
“But you’re going to have to.” She sat down and pointed to the photo of the crime scene, this time realizing how she had managed to detach herself from the fact that it not only belonged to a friend but was also blood to start with. Adrenaline was a powerful tool. “An officer, a husband, a father is dead.”
“If I could help you, I would. I don’t know why my car was seen. I was home from the time I got in from work Friday night at five thirty.”
“Can anyone testify to that fact?”
Brown’s cheeks paled. “Only Chloe, but—”
“We’ll need her last name and a way to contact her,” Madison said.
“Unless she learns how to talk, I’m not sure how much help she’ll be.”
Madison glared at him.
“Chloe’s my cat.”
She smacked the table. “Do you really think now is the time for you to get smart with me?”
“I’m—”
“I don’t care how you’re feeling, Mr. Brown. Not one iota.” She could tell by the pathetic contortions his face was taking on that he was experiencing a mix of feelings—panic, fear, nervousness. And no matter what he said, she wouldn’t feel sorry for him. How could she? He’d been involved in the shooting and murder of her friend. She realized that even murderers were entitled to human rights, that they were to be assumed innocent before presumed guilty, but real life greatly differed from that high peg of idealism. Hardened detectives such as herself were inclined to view subjects from the opposite direction.
“What charity?” she asked, the question somewhat cryptic. She got the reaction she was after when Brown’s eyes widened and his chest heaved. “No charity, either, is there?”
A flicker passed through Brown’s gaze. What was he hiding or who was he protecting?
“And your gun? It’s magically gone, as well?” Terry asked.
Brown took a deep breath and hitched his shoulders. “I don’t kno—”
“Listen,” she interrupted, “if you weren’t involved in the shooting, I have a feeling you know who was, and you need to start talking to us. Was it your nephew?”
Brown lifted his chin and crossed his arms. “I want a lawyer.”
Madison left the room without another word, Terry behind her, but she was the one to slam the door shut. They went out into the hall and then into the observation room. She pointed toward the interrogation room. “He’s a lying sack of shit, Terry.” Her partner’s face screwed up at the swear word, but she continued. “You know it, I know it. There’s too much pointing toward his involvement.”
Sergeant Winston entered the observation room. “Do we have the shooter’s name yet?”
She just stared her superior in the eye. Her frustration was beyond her ability to verbalize.
“He’s lawyered up,” Terry said.
“You didn’t get anything out of him?”
She heard the skepticism in the sergeant’s voice and knew that he had turned from looking at Terry back to her, but she wasn’t going to meet his gaze.
“We pushed him, and all we got were lies. We do know that his BMW, gun, and ammunition are missing,” Terry stated.
“And if it talks like a duck…” Winston said.
Madison glanced at Terry. What if they really struck Brown where it hurt? Maybe she could get him to talk then.
She started down the hall for the interrogation room.
“Where are you going?” Terry trailed her, and she spun on him.
“I just mentioned his nephew, and he clammed up and requested a lawyer. I am going to appeal to Brown’s weak spot.”
“His nephew. But you just said—”
She cracked the door to the interrogation room.
“—he clammed up.” Terry finished his sentence in a mumble.
“I
requested a lawyer,” Brown spat out the second she entered the room.
Terry went to the back of the room, and she sat across from Brown. “We’re concerned about your nephew, Clark Cousins.” She spoke kindly and softly, hoping to elicit worry for his welfare.
Brown’s eyes left Madison, and he turned to look over his shoulder at Terry. “What about him? Is he okay?”
Madison relaxed her shoulders, clasped her hands on the table. “You told us that you don’t know where your car is—” She held up her hand. His mouth that had been gaping open now snapped shut. “This isn’t about you, Mr. Brown. But did your nephew have access to your car?”
“What are you saying?” Brown swallowed audibly. “Was he in a car accident?”
She smirked at him. “So he had access to your car, then.” She looked to Terry for a moment. “He probably still has it somewhere.”
Brown glared at her. “I requested a lawyer.”
“As you keep reminding me.”
“So what? Clark takes my car sometimes. You think he’s involved with the shooting? I have the plates, remember?”
Madison stared blankly at him. “That doesn’t mean anything.”
Brown was shaking his head rapidly. “Nope, he’s not involved with any shooting. He’s an innocent kid. He was too young to know what he was doing when he tried to steal those video games.”
“The judge didn’t seem to think so.”
Brown laid one of his hands flat on the table and then scraped at the surface with his index fingernail. His gaze went from his hand to her. “And he paid for his crime.”
“True,” Madison agreed. “But from what I understand, Clark has some unsavory friends… Like a Russell Coleman.”
Brown’s eyes snapped to hers. “He’s the reason Clark even has a record.”
The defensive fire for his nephew was alive and well. And so much for Brown no longer harboring ill will toward Coleman. Madison should have started from this angle. “Russell does have an affiliation with a local gang.”
Brown crossed his arms. “That doesn’t surprise me.”
It wouldn’t serve their purpose to bring up the Devil’s Rebels and the Hellions. “Does Clark still hang out with Russell?”
Brown met her gaze, peering into her eyes silently, as if debating whether to answer her or not. “I’m done talking, Detective. Again.”
Madison got up and left the room, Terry behind her. Back in the observation room, she turned toward the glass but spoke to Terry, who had come up beside her. “He’s covering for his nephew. I feel it,” she said. “And if Cousins has access to Brown’s BMW, how much do you want to bet that he had access to his gun and bullets, too? Cousins and Russell Coleman have to be behind the shooting.”
“You don’t know that Brown’s covering, though.”
Madison drew her gaze from Brown, who was rubbing his jaw, to face her partner. “Really? He’s a liar, and he thought that Cousins was hurt in a car accident. That tells me the guy has Brown’s car. And if Brown doesn’t have anything to hide, why lie about where his car is?”
Terry rubbed the back of his neck. “All right. What’s his motive?”
“And why are you stuck on that all of a sudden?” So often cases were closed without getting all the answers as to why people had done what they’d done. Just because you got the bad guy behind bars didn’t necessarily mean there was full closure.
“Forget I said anything.” Terry sounded exasperated, but she let it roll off her. “The arrest warrant for Cousins should be ready now.” The last sentence came out calmly.
“We’ll also need to get a search warrant.” She shrugged. “He might have Brown’s gun and bullets.” She met his eyes and found reassurance there. They would catch Barry’s killer, but it still wasn’t going to be fast enough for her liking.
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Chapter 34
THE SEARCH WARRANT FOR THE house on Chestnut Street was signed, as was an arrest warrant for Cousins. With the Glock and at least thirteen bullets still missing, SWAT came with them again. Lou Stanford and Toby Sovereign were also there to help with the search.
Troy’s team was in position at the front door. Troy, rifle in hand, kicked the door. “Stiles PD! Open up!”
He waited a few seconds and tried again. It was met with more silence.
Troy adjusted his hands to ensure a good grip on his rifle and nodded his head. Marc rammed the door, and Nick led the way inside with a shield and pistol.
This was followed by a bunch of yelling.
“We’re not armed!” The voice sounded like Godfrey’s.
Not long later, they were hauling Sommer and Godfrey onto the front lawn.
“There’s no sign of Cousins,” Troy said.
Rage propelled her down the front walk to the officers who were supposed to watching over the house until the warrant had come through, the same ones who had said Cousins was home. “Where did he go?”
The officers looked at each other. “Nowhere,” one of them said. “He was inside. We saw him go in.”
“Well, apparently you never saw him go out.” She balled her fist at her hip. “We’ve got to find him.” They just stood there. “What are you waiting for? Go!”
They left, and she turned her attention to Sommer and Godfrey. “Where is Clark Cousins?”
“Uh, I dunno,” Sommer said.
“Neither do I.” Godfrey wouldn’t look at her.
“Take them downtown. I’ll deal with them later,” she growled.
“What? Wait,” Sommer protested. “You can’t do that!”
“You bet your ass I can.” She turned her back on them and said to Terry, “Maybe we’ll get lucky and find the gun.”
Inside the house, it looked like a cyclone had struck…and that was before the Stiles PD touched anything. It was definitely messier than it had been yesterday.
Empty beer bottles littered every flat surface in the space. Video game controllers were haphazardly left about the room. One was on the couch. The screen showed a first-person shooter game in split screen, and from the looks of it, one of their characters had just died.
Terry went to the right, where there was a dining room with some shelving units against the wall. He began poking around on a bookshelf, knocking empty beer bottles to the floor in his wake. Stanford and Sovereign were at the back of house rummaging through cupboards and drawers.
Madison turned her attention back to the entertainment unit and searched it. Then she went to the couch and carefully parted the cushions from the frame, looking for the gun. She preferred to find the bullets safely in the weapon rather than in her—or someone else.
But nothing was there except for crumbs. She continued working methodically around the room, and after about twenty minutes, she’d cleared the space. Terry had finished the dining room in about the same amount of time.
She met his gaze and shook her head; he did the same.
Stanford and Sovereign were still looking through the back rooms of the house, and that left the bathrooms and three bedrooms to search.
She was exhausted at the mere thought. The amount of focused effort—and time—required meant it would take them a couple of hours. It was around ten thirty now, and it would probably be midnight by the time they finished up here. She let out a yawn before she got a shot to curb it.
Troy happened through doorway and stood in front of her. “Someone needs sleep.”
She looked in his eyes, took in how hot he was dressed in his body armor, weapons draping off him…
“I’ll sleep once we catch Barry’s killer.” Her words came out harsher than she’d intended, but she’d never operated well on little sleep. It seemed like it was finally catching up to her, and she hated it. The job still wasn’t done, the promise she made to Joni still not fulfilled. “I can handle it.” She wasn’t about to ask how
he was holding up as he didn’t seem to appreciate any of her previous attempts at showing concern. Even her earlier thought about reconciling sunk to a deep recess within her. She made eye contact with him. Those green eyes…damn him. He was likely seeing right through her.
“I have no doubt you can—” he brushed past her and whispered in her ear “—Bulldog.”
What was he trying to do to her? If he was intending to confuse her, mission accomplished. Maybe she should say something to him now, as she might not have another chance before the warrant service on the Hellions’ hideout. He was probably in here to say he and his team were taking off. She opened her mouth—
“Maddy?”
It was Sovereign, and based on the arch he’d added to her name and the volume of his voice, he’d called out for her at least once before.
She glanced at Troy, hoping that he read her eyes now, knew that she wanted him to be safe.
“What is it?” she asked Sovereign.
“Lou and I cleared the kitchen, a laundry area, and started on a bedroom. No gun, but we found a bunch of spray paint. There’s graffiti-type art all over the bedroom walls and it looks like it belongs to Sommer.”
Madison looked at Terry. It might not be a murder charge, but it would give her enough to hold Sommer and Godfrey for a while.
She was losing hope that they’d find the gun here, though. It was likely with the car or Cousins…wherever that was.
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Chapter 35
THE SEARCH ENDED CLOSE TO midnight and Madison hated that she was right about two things: one, that it would take that long to search the place, and two, that they wouldn’t find the Glock. What she regretted was not telling Troy to be safe. His men would be in position outside the Hellions’ hideout.
She was driving back to the station with Terry in the passenger seat. Her eyes were burning and gritty, and she couldn’t talk without yawning.
Terry pulled on his seat belt. “I’m thinking we should call it a day.”
“Call it a day? We don’t even know where Cousins is.”
In the Line of Duty Page 19
