Ricky clearly watched too much TV.
“That’s not how this works,” Bree said. “We’re not asking you to testify against a major drug cartel.” She paused, waiting until she caught his eye again before continuing. “I’m not a game player, Ricky. I’ll be straight with you. Always. I expect the same in return. Here’s the truth: rehab is your chance to turn your life around. Don’t waste it. You won’t be a juvenile much longer. If you think this is bad”—she waved her hand in a circle—“then you don’t want to experience actual prison.”
He contemplated the thought of prison with an expression that made her wonder if he’d ever really considered that was the direction he was heading. “Then what? My dad won’t let me move home. My mom . . .”
Bree mentally filled in what he couldn’t say. Left him. “That sucks.”
His mouth turned down in a sullen frown. “But you won’t help me?”
“If you volunteer information about Jasper, I will make sure the judge and prosecutor know you’ve been cooperative, but I won’t make any promises.”
He picked at another scab. “I went over to Jasper’s place a few weeks ago. He was fighting with his brother on the phone. It got nasty.”
“Do you know what they were fighting about?”
Ricky nodded. “He had the call on speaker. His brother sold him some rare kind of python and it died. Jasper was pissed. He accused his brother of selling him damaged merchandise. The brother said it wasn’t his fault.”
Bree couldn’t imagine killing someone over a dead snake.
Ricky sniffed. “Jasper said, ‘You owe me twenty-five grand.’ And the brother was all, ‘Like hell.’ Then Jasper told him to go fuck himself.”
“That’s a lot of money for a snake.”
“Right?” Ricky agreed. “Crazy.” He sat back. Some of his resentment seemed to have faded. “You’ll tell the judge I helped?”
“I will,” Bree promised. “You’ll give rehab a real go?”
His sigh deflated him. “Yeah.”
“Good.” Bree stood. Then she added, “I’ll be checking up on you,” just to let him know that someone actually gave a fuck.
She called for a guard to return Ricky to his pod. Then she found Matt outside.
“Who called?” she asked.
“No one. It felt like Ricky would talk more if I left.”
“Good call.” Bree summed up Ricky’s info.
“Now we know why Jasper wouldn’t tell us about the phone calls with his brother,” Matt said.
“And we have twenty-five thousand reasons Jasper might want his brother dead.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
It was approaching dinnertime when Matt fell into step beside Bree in the parking lot behind the sheriff’s station. Wind whipped across the asphalt, sending a few dead leaves and an empty plastic water bottle tumbling into the base of the building. Matt veered aside to pick up the bottle.
Bree hunched against the arctic blast. “Your jacket isn’t even zipped. Aren’t you cold?”
“Not really.”
“Must be that Scandinavian blood.” She opened the door and they stepped inside. “I’m freezing.”
Matt tossed the water bottle into the recycling bin.
Todd stopped them as they crossed the squad room. “Farah Rock declined our invitation to ride in a patrol car. When the deputy arrived at her house, her brother—who happens to be a lawyer—was there. They’re coming to the station together.”
“Thank you, Todd,” Bree said. “Let’s request dating app access for both Farah’s and Monica’s accounts. We don’t need warrants for those.”
“I’ll have someone work on that.” Todd turned toward a deputy sitting at a computer station.
Irritation flashed through Matt. “I know lawyers are integral to our system of justice, but they really get in the way of a good interview.”
“No argument from me.” Bree snorted as they continued into her office.
Marge appeared at the door as soon as they got inside. She waved a notepad in her hand and spoke while Bree and Matt took off their jackets. “The press has been calling about the murder case. Someone leaked details. They’re asking if the victim was suffocated with plastic wrap.”
“Ugh.” Bree sank into her chair, her face locked in a frustrated frown. “How I hate leaks.” She shook her head. “I’ll hold a press conference today. We’ll put some of the curiosity to rest and hope no one leaks the rest of the details.”
Marge scanned Bree. “There’s a clean uniform in your closet. You have dirt on your face, and is that hay in your hair?”
Bree reached up, felt the top of her head, and plucked out a wisp of hay. She tossed it into the trash can under her desk.
“She looks fine.” Matt hadn’t even noticed the hay.
Marge gave him a high school principal stare. “You’re not a politician, and even if you were, you wouldn’t get judged for wearing a wrinkled uniform. You have that ruggedly handsome thing working for you. Disheveled looks good on you.”
He tried to look sorry but couldn’t quite manage it. Nor could he prevent the corner of his mouth from ticking up. “Ruggedly handsome?”
Marge rolled her eyes. “But the public will judge the sheriff for her appearance.” She turned back to Bree and scanned her with an assessing eye. “The dark circles are fine. Lets the public know you’re working long hours to solve the case. Tired is one thing. Dirty is quite another.”
“I’ll clean up,” Bree promised.
Matt coughed into his fist to cover a grin. Bree’s idea of an accessory was her Glock. She didn’t wear makeup unless she was on camera or they went out to a nicer restaurant. Don’t get him wrong, she could clean up very nicely. But mostly, they were sweatpants, pizza, and Netflix people.
Marge gave them a serious look and left the office.
Bree leaned back in her chair, the mechanisms squeaking. Her phone went off, and she glanced at the screen. “It’s a text from Luke.” She read it aloud: “Vet stitched the wound. Beast was a good boy.”
“Beast.” Matt shook his head at the name Luke had used. “It’s ridiculous.”
“Then think of a better name.” Bree’s phone buzzed again, and she turned it around so he could see the screen. A photograph of the stitched gash came through, then a second picture of the giant horse nose-to-nose with Ladybug. Bree’s dog stood on her hind legs, her paws on the horse’s stall door.
The intercom buzzed. Bree pressed the “Answer” button. Marge’s voice came across the speaker. “Miss Rock and her attorney are here. Do you want me to show them to the interview room?”
“Yes. Thank you, Marge.” Bree released the button. She stood, empty coffee mug in hand. “I’m going to grab a refill on the way.”
“Good idea.” Matt picked up his own mug and followed her out of the office.
They stopped in the break room, where Todd was stirring a cup of coffee.
Bree filled her mug and turned to Todd. “I’d like you to watch the interview from the monitoring room. I want your take on her.” She set the pot down. “We’ve already caught her in a lie.”