20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Aaron

W aiting around for the judge is like waiting in the groom's room at my wedding. Something big is going to happen, probably something career-changing, and I have to sit or stand in one place until someone tells me it's time for the big thing to happen. Butterflies move through my stomach, and my eyes search for a bathroom just in case I need it.

I crack my knuckles and roll my neck as Judge Hossit's assistant, an attractive woman around my age, smiles at me over her laptop screen. Since I've been here, she's unbuttoned her shirt two buttons. If I wasn't hopelessly in love with Lucy, I'd probably flirt a little. As it is, I can't bear the thought of being with anyone but Lucy.

I spent the morning doing nothing but paperwork and even practiced my spiel for the judge in front of the men's room mirror, complete with facial expressions that will hopefully show my confidence that Murphy Beckett is behind these murders in addition to everything else he's done.

Eventually, the door opens and Judge Hossit waves me into his office. "Sheriff Dwyer, it's nice to see you. It's been too long."

I shake the man's outstretched hand and walk into the poshly decorated room that reminds me of Jalen Quarry's law office. Mahogany. Freshly vacuumed carpet. The hint of bourbon in the air he probably shares with fellow judges or the city prosecutors.

I take a seat in the guest chair across from his. "I haven't been here for months because this county usually isn't so exciting."

"You sent me the paperwork already," he says, looking at something on his computer. "You've wanted this guy a long time. I remember you speaking with me about him. Murphy Beckett?" He takes his glasses off, and I know from his expression that I have my work cut out for me. "I believe I sat with him at a banquet a few months ago."

I nod and smile. "Murphy Beckett likes to hobnob with the elite in this town. Let's be clear that he knows which way his bread is buttered. Let me guess. He was charming, complimented your wife, and made a sizable donation to your best friend, Mayor Thomas, for the next election, probably making sure to speak a little louder than necessary as he promised the money."

Judge Hossit reddens, and I know I have him. "Walk me through the evidence."

"We have three murders with connections to Murphy. In the case of George Cannon, we have a bank statement with Cannon paying Murphy for something through an offshore account. I've sent you the video of Murphy and Justin Hammons out on the town at a strip club, and Todd Daniels was a member of the motorcycle club. Three murders. Three connections to Beckett."

Judge Hossit clasps his hands in front of his chest. "Can I expect more charges if you go in based on the murder information?"

I hold the man's eye contact. I can't show any weakness here, but I have to be careful. Murphy's padded pockets in this town well. "I've also talked to the feds about possible trafficking. They've been building a case for years but have never been able to get him because their investigation also runs into…roadblocks. You wouldn't happen to know about that, would you?"

Mentioning the feds is my trump card. Leaders in this town may be able to push things under the rug, but the feds aren't as impressed at local campaign contributions and charitable giving to turtle nonprofits.

Judge Hossit practically squirms, and I take a brief moment to find his daughter's picture behind the desk. She's about twenty-five, blonde, and stands in front of the Grand Canyon in the photo. "Beautiful daughter," I say, nodding to the photo. "I have two myself."

Judge Hossit looks at the picture and frowns, probably wondering why I interrupted our conversation to talk about his daughter.

I lean forward. "We're both fathers of females. You and I both know what happens in those trafficking rings. Are you willing to stand by the fact that Murphy isn't involved in not only murder but is innocent of running drugs and girls in this town?" Lucy comes to mind, and I remember how she helped me at the mention of young girls. "Girls, Lawrence," I whisper, using his first name. "Girls like our daughters."

He leans back in his seat and looks at whatever's on his computer again. The silence stretches over a whole minute, but I sit resolute, waiting. "It'll need to be a lock. I don't want to bring him in and have a shit circus when the only thing you can officially pin on him is an overdue library book."

I roll the dice. "I'll find something. If it's not a connection to the murders, it'll be drugs or trafficking. Hell, if I have to do what they did to Capone and get the son of a bitch for tax evasion by finding an old ledger, I'll do it. Something in that house will lead me to something dirty. I just need the damn warrant."

I can't jiggle my leg like I want or it'll signal that I'm nervous. Instead, I wiggle my toes inside my shoes. I set my jaw and stare at the judge as he bites his lip and thinks. My armpits sweat, and my heart pounds. This warrant could literally be something that keeps Lucy safe.

I need to keep her safe.

The judge's eyes flick back to his daughter's pictures. "This will be embarrassing as hell if there's nothing there."

"I'll take the brunt of it, and I'll circle people back to me if they blame you."

"That's a big commitment, Dwyer."

"And I have big shoulders."

Letting out a deep sigh, he pecks at some keys on his computer and then presses a button on the phone. "Kimberly, I have something printing. Can you grab it off the printer and bring it in so I can sign?"

***

"Mitchell and a few beat cops are at the back of the house. There's a side door with two men stationed, and we have eyes on the garage," Coleson says as soon as I shut my car door. "You want in the front door with me?"

I look down at the tactical uniform I changed into and frown. "I don't usually get this dressed up with vest and gear if I have no place to go."

I usually don't go in at all. I'm the sheriff. I stay on the street in my uniform or in my suit and shake my guys' hands when they bring out a suspect. Then, I talk to the reporters, who usually show up around the time we bring out the offender.

But this one is personal.

"I want to go in because part of me wants to see the look on the bastard's face. He could get violent, but I don't think he has a team of armed cartel-hired thugs in there with him. Have we cleared the street?"

"The neighbors have been alerted to stay in their houses, lock their doors, and stay away from windows."

I nod. "Let's do this."

Coleson and I both approach the front door and unholster our weapons. If I don't participate in a warrant raid, Coleson or the lead person is the one the beat cops and SWAT, if they're involved, look to for guidance when to go in. I'm the sheriff, so I'm the one the guys look to when they're waiting for a signal today.

I nod to Coleson, and he talks to Mitchell through the radio and gives the five-second countdown order, signaling that I'm going to knock soon. We all mentally count down from five, and I knock, banging on the door loudly with my fist. "Murphy Beckett, this is the police. We have a warrant to search the premises. Open the door!" I yell in my best cop voice. I almost don't recognize it since I don't have to use it often.

Silence.

I knock again. "We'll enter in ten seconds. Open the door."

Crickets.

I squint at Coleson. "Are we sure he's on the premises?"

"A neighbor said she saw him come home last night. Car is in the garage and the door is open," he gestures to the attached garage. "If he's not home, he was either picked up in another vehicle or is out for a walk."

I roll my eyes. Great intel. "Coming in!" I say as Coleson announces the go signal to the men at the back door. We'll go in at the same time.

I move aside as the door crew makes short work of the lock. Once the door is unlocked, Coleson goes through first, weapon raised, and I cover his back as we clear the room. Across the living room and dining room, I see Mitchell enter through the kitchen door with other officers, three males and one female. The female nods to the basement door, and she and Mitchell quietly open it to clear the basement.

We sweep the living room and a nearby closet. A few officers from our team head upstairs to clear the bedrooms as Coleson and I silently finish clearing the main level. The living room, dining room, and kitchen are clear, and another team member heads to the garage to make sure he's not in it.

Coleson nods in the direction of two small rooms on the main level that look like the size of a library or a den. We back up against the wall, and I count down on my fingers from five.

When I reach zero, Coleson flings the door open to a small room and freezes. Oddly, he also sighs and mutters a curse under his breath. "Clear. He's in here…and fucker's not going anywhere," Coleson says, lowering his gun.

I walk around the door frame and follow my detective's line of sight.

Murphy Beckett is dead as a fucking doornail.

Blood slowly drips from one of his wrists onto the carpet below where he's seated on the couch. Although not dripping, his other wrist is also open and bloody. An open computer sits nearby along with a glass of something that looks like rum. A box cutter is on the couch next to Murphy's right arm.

Coleson holsters his weapon. "You have to be fucking kidding me. When do you think he decided to off himself?"

"He's still dripping. It's slow, but this is new. Today. This morning at the earliest." I holster my own weapon with a sigh and slowly approach Murphy's body.

"Think the judge gave him a heads up we were coming?"

I think back to Judge Hossit's love for his daughter. "Not likely. Judge Hossit is usually a straight arrow. He's worried about appearance and is a people pleaser, but he's not dirty."

"Someone at the office?"

I remember the pretty assistant who got the warrant off the printer. "If so, Judge Hossit needs to do better background checks, but I seriously doubt it. She didn't seem the type to run with Beckett. This could be a coincidence."

Other team members approach behind us, and Coleson directs them to holster their weapons. He explains the situation through the radio and calls for the coroner and forensics team as I stand, hands on hips, looking around Murphy Beckett's den. I shake my head and grit my teeth.

"You mad?" Coleson asks.

I hear the far-off sounds of doors closing and instructions given as the team leaves the premises, and we switch to investigation mode. "No," I say. "He had it coming. I almost wish someone else could have had the joy of doing this to him."

Coleson rounds the small coffee table in the middle of the room and glances at the laptop. He's careful not to touch anything because he knows better, but his fingers twitch to click the mouse.

"How do you know someone didn't do this to him?" Coleson asks, ever the detective.

"Look around, man." I gesture to the box cutter and the rum. "Ten bucks says there's a suicide note or email on that laptop."

Coleson looks at the box cutter and the rum. He reaches into his pocket and quickly gloves up before opening a side door that leads to what looks like an office with a large desk and bookshelves. I look around for footprints on the laminate flooring, but unless someone came in and killed Murphy Beckett in muddy shoes, we won't find much on this kind of floor.

"It looks like he got shit drunk and felt like we were closing in. Nothing more. Nothing less." I look around the den and the adjoining office. "Tell forensics to grab what you can from the files in there and take the computer. We could get good info on cohorts. Bag anything you can. But this looks pretty cut and dry. Suicide."

Coleson frowns and nods, silently agreeing with me. We've both seen it more than a few times, and this is standard. I see nothing, smell nothing, and hear nothing that tells me this was anything but death by Murphy's own hand. The door was locked, and we cleared the house, finding not a soul.

As the coroner and forensic team show up to retrieve anything they can from the house, I back out of the room, taking one last look at Murphy Beckett. Raising my middle finger, I smirk. "Fuck yourself in hell, you piece of shit."

I take a deep breath of early spring air as I step outside the house. This is over. At least until someone fills the vacuum of space he leaves in the drug and trafficking business. Another honcho will move into the area and set up shop, and we'll have to work to get something on that guy too.

But I can be with Lucy without worry now. Whatever was happening with Murphy and the hired thugs that threatened Lucy is over.

I can go home to Lucy and convince her to stay more often or even permanently. I can go get my girls and bring them home.

All of them.