Bree nodded. “Let’s bring Monica in for a formal interview too.”
“I’ll ask Juarez to pick her up,” Todd said.
“Let’s expand our search into Monica’s background, including her dating app activity,” Bree added.
Todd nodded and wrote notes in his file. “We’ve received Spencer’s credit card and bank information. He was worse than broke. Between the renovations and his fancy taste, his debt is through the roof. He’s been shuffling debts around, but he couldn’t have kept that up for long.”
Bree frowned. “Any sizable transactions in his bank account?”
“Are you thinking he borrowed from a loan shark?” Matt asked.
“Can’t shuffle debts forever.” Bree tapped a forefinger. “We haven’t seen any sign of an extra twenty-five grand.”
Matt wondered if Ricky had also been lying. Everyone else did. “Maybe Ricky made up that story.”
“It’s possible,” Bree agreed. “But it didn’t feel that way.”
Matt didn’t trust people who shot at him.
Todd shuffled papers. “I don’t see any significant influx of cash, though he desperately needed it.”
“What about his phone records?” Matt asked.
Todd said, “As we expected, his cell provider only keeps actual texts for five days. After that, messages are purged. I haven’t had a chance to dig into the details yet. The techs in forensics are working on extracting data from Spencer’s cell phone.”
Matt thought about other online activity. “Did Spencer have social media accounts?”
“He did.” Todd nodded. “But he didn’t post. He followed other people, mostly women. As you would expect, his profile information was all BS.”
“Just another tool for him to manipulate women. What a scumbag.” Disgust filled Matt. “Have we found any friends?”
Todd shook his head. “Not yet. He seemed to have been a loner.”
“Like Jasper said.” Matt didn’t trust Jasper any more than he trusted Ricky. He stared at the suspects’ photos on the murder board. Avery was the only one they hadn’t caught in a lie or significant omission.
“What about social media for Monica and Farah?” Bree asked.
“Monica’s posts are mostly professional.” Todd scrolled on his laptop. “Farah has accounts. She posts the occasional rock-climbing pictures, but again, she’s not a big user either.”
“Keep working the cell phone records angle,” Bree said.
“OK if I take it home after the press conference?” Todd asked. “If not, I can ask Cady to feed and walk Goldie.” He smiled. “Or she’s going to eat her way out of her crate. That’s Goldie—not Cady.”
“It’s fine.” Bree waved toward the door. “Make sure you eat and get some sleep tonight too.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Todd gathered his files, closed his laptop, and left the room.
“Matt, you take the financials. I’ll keep working the dating app angle.” She checked her phone. “After the press conference, I’m going to head home to have dinner with the family, then work at home after the kids go to bed.”
Matt didn’t want to go home alone. “OK if I stop and see my new horse?”
“Of course.” Bree smiled. “I’m sure there will be plenty of food, and you can eat whatever Dana baked today. If I eat any more pastries, I’m going to need new uniforms.”
Matt’s stomach growled. “Good. I’m starving.” His own fridge was bare. He ate at Bree’s or his parents’ house a few nights a week. If he went home, he’d need to go grocery shopping or eat a sandwich for dinner. Neither appealed. Plus, he’d rather spend time at Bree’s.
Bree checked the time. “Ten minutes to press conference.” She pulled a small makeup kit out of her drawer. “I can’t wait to actually have a women’s locker room.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” Matt said.
“It’ll happen someday, but it’s amazing how many details the county board of supervisors can argue over even after the funds have been approved.” Bree had won a huge battle with county administration to have the station expanded and renovated. Before she had become sheriff, the department hadn’t employed a single female deputy. Bree had corrected that and was attempting to modernize the building to include a women’s locker room. A proposed plan had been drawn up, but the county board of supervisors seemed determined to argue over every light switch and screw, no doubt in an attempt to delay the spending of funds.
But Matt was sure it would happen. Much to the supervisors’ dismay, Bree was relentless, patient, and ruthlessly polite. She left them with nothing to complain about.
She went to the closet. Her uniform was on a hanger, covered in a dry cleaning bag. She grabbed it and headed for the open door, presumably on her way to the restroom to clean up.
A few minutes later, Matt stood at Bree’s side, a half step back as she faced the press in the lobby of the station in a fresh uniform. With only a single murder—and some fresh national political drama that Matt had no time to care about—only a half dozen news crews gathered to hear Bree. Matt recognized them as the usual locals. Reporters pushed to the front, with their cameramen working behind them.
Bree began with the facts. “The victim of Tuesday evening’s murder has been identified as Grey’s Hollow resident Spencer LaForge. Mr. LaForge died by violent asphyxiation.”
Nick West from WSNY News asked, “Is it true he was suffocated with plastic wrap?”
“Yes,” Bree acknowledged.
“Can you confirm a stun gun was used by the killer?” Nick asked.
“Yes. A stun gun was used to subdue the victim.” Bree’s voice remained cool, but a vein on her temple popped as if she were powerlifting. They’d known about the leak, but hearing the reporter blab all the key facts about the case still stoked Matt’s anger.
Arrogant little creep.
An intense look passed between Bree and the young reporter. Matt could tell Nick understood that the sheriff was angry about his questions, but the reporter seemed undaunted. Matt suspected Nick would regret his decision.
Nick persisted. “Is it true the victim was bound with zip ties?”
“I cannot comment on the details without potentially compromising the investigation.” Bree deliberately pointed to another reporter.
“Do you have any suspects?” the woman asked.
“We are pursuing all lines of investigation.” Bree’s tone remained neutral. “And are interviewing multiple persons of interest.”
The woman continued. “But you haven’t arrested anyone yet?”
“No.” Only those who knew Bree very well would recognize the signs of irritation on her face. To anyone else, she was cool, collected, and professional.
A tall bald man pushed forward. “Is Investigator Flynn working on the case with you?” His mouth curled into a suggestive sneer. Bree and Matt’s relationship was public knowledge, but some reporters continued to try and make it newsworthy.
Bree offered no excuses or explanations. She simply met the bald man’s eyes with what Matt liked to think of as her signature no-bullshit stare. “Yes.”