Phillips chuckled and turned to them. “Like the man said, let’s go into the observation room. Sorry, we don’t have any popcorn for this showing.”
“I have a feeling we don’t really want to be eating when we see these photos, he’s about to show the Beamers,” Sheraton said.
“No, you don’t,” Phillips agreed, opening the door, and allowing them to file in before him.
Quinn perched her backside against the edge of a table and the others spread out around the window to get a good view. Phillips turned on the volume in the adjacent room so they could hear.
Street entered the room. “Sorry to keep you folks waiting. I know your time is valuable, just like mine.”
“The hell you are,” Delacorte said. “What kind of tactic are you pulling here?”
“Now. Now. Why so hostile? I was called to a crime scene this morning down at the Chamber of Commerce area of town. You and the District Attorney are familiar with that area, aren’t you, Mr. Beamer, Mr. Delacorte?”
“We are.” Their response was in unison.
“I’m sorry to say that a runner at your law firm was murdered, Mr. District Attorney. Everette Wills. Do you know him?”
Russel Beamer nodded. “Yes. I do. I know him well. A fine young man. I hate to hear this. Can you tell me what happened?”
“Apparently, he was going to his mail drop, possibly before work, when he was attacked. His throat was sliced, and he bled out on the street in front of the building in the early morning hours clutching his mail.” Street shook his head and sat down in the vacant chair opposite the four. “But that isn’t why I brought you all here. I wanted to speak to Cliff and ask him a few questions since I am looking into the disappearance of Sandy Cranston, Barbie Martin, and Heather Randall. It’s my understanding that he dated both Sandy and Barbie at one time. As you know from our previous phone conversation, Mr. District Attorney, you said he couldn’t speak to me without you present. Then your wife insisted that she be here, and you said your attorney would join. That about sums up why we’re all in this interrogation room now.”
Street cleared his throat. “Since we spoke a few things have occurred. One is that the remains of Heather Randall have been discovered just this morning, in fact. It’s my understanding from talking with the Lewistown police that they have an eyewitness who saw Heather getting into a car with your son and leaving town. I’d like to know if this account is true or not?”
Cliff huffed. “No. She never got into my car once. I might have been at the Sky Bear Brewery with my friends, but I never gave her a ride.”
“Good. We’ve had you identified as sitting in her section by the owner and repeatedly sitting there while you and your friends were in Lewistown. Did you ever see her outside of the Sky Bear Brewery?”
“Yes. She was walking home after her shift, and I was fishing.”
“You were fishing? That sounds singular. Does that mean you were alone and that your friends were not with you that afternoon?” Street asked.
“That’s right. I waved and she did the same. That was the last time I saw her,” he said.
“Why didn’t you come forth with this information when you saw the article that she was missing? This could have helped in the investigation timeline?” Street asked.
“I’m not supposed to talk to the press, and I didn’t think waving at her was anything important,” Cliff said.
“I think we’ve established this already,” Delacorte said. “And if that is all you have…”
“It isn’t,” Street cut in. He opened the folder and took out some colored photos. He laid those of Heather Randall’s decomposing body on the table in front of Cliff. “This is what happens when a body is murdered and left out in the summer heat. As you can see the hair and fingernails have fallen off, and in this photo here,” he pointed with his finger, “the skull has been bashed in with something round like maybe a creek rock. Are you sure she walked away from you, Mr. Beamer, and the two of you didn’t get into something physical? Which led to you hitting her on the head with a rock?”
“He’s already answered that question. I think this is bordering on harassment,” Delacorte objected. “And if her body was already decomposing, what kind of physical are you talking about?”
“Her panties were found beside the remains, not on the skeleton. That suggests rape.”
“I’ve heard enough,” Candace Foust Beamer said. “I cannot sit here and listen to you try to frame my precious son for something he isn’t even capable of doing a moment longer.”
“Candace,” Russel Beamer said.
“No. I won’t stay quiet.”
“Fine, Ms. Beamer, let’s talk about you,” Street said.
“What do you mean, talk about her?” Russel said.
“While the three of you waited on me, I had your three-story home searched and the things that were uncovered in that house were so revealing,” Street said.
“You wretched man,” she seethed. “You had no right.”
