Right Behind Her (Bree Taggert #4)(11)

Though the interview rooms were normally occupied by witnesses, not arrestees, his reasoning was sound. The sheriff’s station was simply too small—one more reason the department needed better funding.

Oscar added, “FYI, Castillo’s lawyer is on the way anyway.” He handed her the arrest report. “Your copy.”

Bree read through it. Seemed complete.

She folded the report in half. “What about his background?”

“No priors.”

Surprised, Bree asked, “Employed?”

“No.”

Bree plugged his address into her phone’s map application. “He lives in an awfully nice neighborhood for an unemployed man. And why was he camping in a barn? This makes no sense.”

Oscar didn’t comment.

“Let me know if you find anything interesting.” She checked her watch. Matt should be here any minute. He’d been helping to set up the tent over the bones when Bree had left, his height proving useful.

She headed to her office. Once inside, Bree sat behind her desk, a battle-worn and scarred hunk of furniture the size of a Cadillac that she’d inherited from the previous sheriff. It was too large for the room, but Bree liked being able to spread out her files. Leaning back in her chair, she called Todd, who was still at the scene. After he answered, she asked, “Where do we stand on fingerprints on the drug evidence?”

“It all went to the fingerprint tech at county.”

“Thanks.” Bree ended the call, phoned the latent-fingerprint tech, and asked her to rush a comparison with Shawn’s prints. “I’d like to know before I interview him.”

“I can do it right now,” the tech agreed.

“Thank you.” Bree set down her phone.

Her administrative assistant, Marge, entered, a pen and notepad in her hand.

Bree tucked the arrest report into a manila file where she’d put her own notes. “Any messages or news?”

She was readily available through email and voice mail, but a few citizens of Randolph County still insisted on calling the sheriff’s station and leaving a message with a live person.

“Two things. Neither of which are going to make you happy. One, the date and time for your budget meeting was changed again.” Marge lifted the reading glasses that hung from a chain around her neck and placed them on her nose. She squinted at her notepad. “To tomorrow afternoon.”

“It was supposed to be next Tuesday.” Bree swallowed a curse. “I’m scheduled to attend the autopsy on that overdose victim tomorrow.”

“I know.” With her pen poised above the paper, Marge looked over her half glasses. “Do you want me to reschedule the budget meeting?”

“No. They’ve postponed this meeting three times.” Bree huffed. She had already submitted a proposal. Now, two members of the public safety committee, Elias Donovan and Richard Keeler, wanted to discuss her proposal.

Marge went to Bree’s door and closed it. Then she perched on one of the two guest chairs facing Bree’s desk. “They know you want more money. They don’t want to give it to you, but you are very popular right now. So, they are going to drag the process out as long as possible, try to wear you down, hope you’ll cave on some of your requests just to get the process moving.”

Bree knew all this. She’d padded her initial budget to allow room for negotiation. When she’d been appointed sheriff back in February, she’d taken over a department in shambles. After the former sheriff’s death, the department had hemorrhaged deputies. Bree had hired a handful, but every patrol was still short-staffed. Equipment needed replacing. Staff needed training. The station needed to be updated. Female officers—including Bree—didn’t have a locker room. She wanted to replace the K-9 unit the department had lost three years before when Matt and his dog were shot. All those things required money. Bree had to prioritize.

In the year the county hadn’t had a sheriff, some funds allocated to the department had gone unused, and the county had reduced the budget. Bree would have to fight for every nickel.

Marge wrote a note, then looked up and fixed Bree with an unhappy stare.

“Let me guess,” Bree said. “Your second point is worse.”

“Much.” Marge nodded. “The man Oscar just brought in, Shawn Castillo, is the brother of Elias Donovan.”

“Shit.”

Elias also sat on the county board of supervisors. He was a BFD in local politics.

“Yes,” Marge agreed.

“They don’t share a last name.”

“Technically, I think they’re half brothers or stepbrothers.” Marge’s face creased. “I don’t remember which.”

“What were the chances?” Bree sighed.

“With Shawn, they were pretty good,” Marge said, as if she knew him. But then, she knew everyone. Of all Bree’s employees, Marge had worked for the department the longest. “This isn’t the first time he’s broken the law, though he hasn’t been in here for several years.”

“He doesn’t have a record.”

Marge lifted both eyebrows, stared at Bree, and waited.

“Oh.” Bree rubbed her forehead. She should have guessed. She needed more coffee. “He’s always been given a pass because his brother is on the board of supervisors.” The prior sheriff had been old-school—and corrupt.