“New rescue?” he asked.
“Pulled him from the shelter.” She nodded. “Owner surrender.” She opened the crate, crouched, and dropped a slip lead over the dog’s head.
Matt stepped back to give the animal space. Most rescues were timid.
“No need.” Cady laughed. “This guy is not shy.”
A lean black dog bounded out of the crate and jumped on Cady’s legs, wagging and licking. She gently pushed his paws off her thighs. “Feet on the ground, lover.”
Seeing Matt, the dog shifted his excitement and leaped toward him. Cady redirected him. “According to the surrender forms, they got him as a puppy for the kids, didn’t bother to train or exercise him, then wondered why he’s destructive and hard to control.”
“So same old, same old. At least he looks like he’s in good health.” Matt eyed the dog and played Guess That Breed. “Lab and pit?”
“Probably.” Cady led him toward the kennel. “I’ll let him settle in. Maybe you could work with him?”
“Sure.”
They went inside, and the kennel erupted in barking. He and Cady didn’t bother trying to talk as she put the newcomer in a run. Several dogs jumped on the kennel doors for attention. Others cringed at the backs of their runs. Matt helped his sister feed the dogs. Finally, the barking subsided into the scraping of stainless-steel bowls being pushed around the concrete runs.
“Do you have plans today?” Cady asked, fastening the door latch on the last kennel. “I need to talk to you and Bree about the fundraiser, and I’m picking up two dogs from a hoarding situation.”
“Sorry. I’m working on a case.” Matt hated to say no to his sister. “Please don’t go alone.”
“No worries. I won’t.” Cady was neither helpless nor foolish. She wouldn’t intentionally put herself in dangerous situations. But she would take a calculated risk to help an animal in need. “I’ll get another volunteer to go with me. Are you on the case of the murdered goat farmer?”
“Did it make the news already?”
Cady began filling water bowls. “I heard the story on the way here. It sounded terrible.”
“It was.” Matt pictured the scene and his scrambled eggs rolled over.
Cady frowned. “Be careful.”
“You too.” Matt turned back toward the house.
“We still need to talk about the fundraiser!” Cady yelled at his back. “I have totals and last-minute catering decisions.”
Cady was organizing a black-tie event to fund training and equipment necessary for Greta to join the sheriff’s department as a K-9.
“I’ll text you,” Matt called over his shoulder. He grabbed his keys and headed for the sheriff’s office.
Bree’s vehicle was already in the lot when he arrived. Inside, the station was unusually quiet.
Matt passed the reception counter, where Bree’s admin looked up from her computer. Marge was about sixty, with the dyed brown hair and sensible shoes of a grandma but the tenacity of a pit bull.
“Morning, Marge,” he said.
She smiled over her half glasses. “Coffee is fresh in the break room. The sheriff is in her office with the chief deputy.”
Matt passed through the mostly empty squad room and approached Bree’s office. Her door was open. Behind her huge desk, Bree was all polished professional. Her uniform looked crisp and her dark hair was bundled in a neat coil at the nape of her neck, but shadows of their long night underscored her hazel eyes.
Matt knocked on her doorframe. “Where is everybody?”
Todd sat in a guest chair facing Bree’s desk. “Handling a multivehicle fender bender in the grocery store parking lot and rounding up loose alpaca on Highway 9.”
Bree waved Matt in. “I was just giving Todd a summary of our interview with Bernard Crighton.”
Todd balanced a pocket-size notepad on one uniformed knee. “The warrants for phone and financial records are waiting on the judge’s approval. I expect they’ll be ready first thing this morning.”
“Start the murder book.” Bree slid a printout across the desk. “Here’s my written report on the interview.”
When did she type those?
Todd collected the pages.
“Do we know if Oscar owned guns?” Bree asked.
“He did.” Todd skimmed a finger down a sheet of paper. “There was a Glock 19 registered to him.”
“We didn’t find a handgun at the house,” Matt said. Was Oscar killed with his own gun?
Bree nodded. “Matt and I are interviewing Oscar’s ex-wife this morning.”
Todd made a note. “I’ll review personal information as it comes in.”
“The ME should finish the autopsies by early afternoon,” Bree added. “They were on her schedule for this morning.”
Each autopsy took approximately four hours, but the ME liked to get an early start to her day.
Matt said, “And hopefully, the techs will make some progress with Oscar’s phone and laptop today as well.”
“We’ll meet back here and review the case later today. I’ll have Marge schedule a press con for then as well.” Bree powered down her desktop computer, stood, and faced Matt. “Let’s go talk to Oscar’s ex.”
They left the station. Matt stopped at his Suburban, retrieved his body-armor vest, and tossed it into the back seat of Bree’s vehicle. They’d learned the hard way that he always needed to be prepared for violence. Then they headed across town. Bree was quiet—too quiet—as she focused on the road.
“You have something on your mind?”
“I received another email.” At a stop sign, Bree opened an email and handed him her phone before crossing the intersection.
Matt read the message.
Anger burned like an oil fire in his chest. “You need to take these threats seriously.”
“I am.” Bree released her grip on the steering wheel and flexed her fingers, as if she’d been holding it too tightly, and while her face was set in its neutral mask, a muscle in her cheek twitched. The threatening email had disturbed her more than she was admitting.
“I’m not kidding.” He fumed. “How many threats have you gotten now?”
“Most aren’t threats, just people spewing hate.” She tried to evade his question.
“How many?”
Bree shrugged. “More than I can count. Some weeks more than others. If I’m in the news, the hate mail pours in. It’s picked up some since the incident in July.”
“The one with Oscar?”
“Yes. Not everyone was on my side. Since the prosecutor refused to bring charges against him for lack of evidence, there are people who believe I forced him out of the department for political reasons.”
“He was a sloppy, crooked cop,” Matt said.
Oscar had failed to follow procedures on several occasions. Bree had issued him multiple warnings. Finally, he’d mislabeled evidence in a major case, rendering that evidence inadmissible. Suspecting he’d intentionally contaminated the evidence to protect a buddy, Bree had put him on leave, but the prosecutor hadn’t wanted to pursue formal charges. By mutual agreement, Oscar had retired.
Bree shrugged. “We can’t prove the crooked part. For some, refusing to follow procedure is ‘fucking technical bullshit.’” Her fingers curled into air quotes. “Quite a few of my critics say he was set up and fired because he refused to ‘cave to political correctness.’ I’ve been blasted for hiring female deputies and expecting the taxpayers to foot the bill for a separate locker room.” Bree shook her head. “I still have a hard time believing the department didn’t employ a single female deputy until after I took office.”
But Matt believed it. Easily. “Is forensics having any luck tracking the senders?”
“No. I’ve only sent Rory the worst ones, which we believe are from one individual. I don’t have the resources to track down every insult from a disgruntled jerk with an anonymous email account.”
“I guess not.” But Matt wanted to.