“Sorry, partner,” he said, but I could tell he wasn’t.
I pulled up the Bureau of Motor Vehicles database, and none of Spizer or his cronies had an F-150. In fact, no one involved owned… “Oh fuck!” I just realized why the photo on Spizer’s desk caught my eye. I’d seen it before. “I didn’t see this coming,” I said.
“Saw what coming. What’s going on, man?” Adrian said, rounding his desk to stand over my shoulder.
I typed a name into the database and confirmed what I knew. “You’d think after Wanda we’d get tired of saying we didn’t see something coming, but I’m with you, partner.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t look deeper intoallthe people involved in the case or who knew the victims. Damn it!” I picked up my cellphone from my desk and called Dorchester. “It’s Rylan Broadman,” I said as soon as he answered. “He has the same exact photo of a baseball team hanging on his wall that Spizer had on his desk.”
“You’re sure?” Dorchester asked.
“Positive,” I responded. “I got the paint sample results from the state lab that tell me the vehicle I’m looking for is a Ford F-150 painted in Absolute Black. Guess who has a black 2015 Ford F-150 registered with the BMV?”
“Rylan!” Dorchester said excitedly. “What the hell is his role in all of this? Money?”
“We’ll find out when we ask him. I’ll be there in ten minutes to pick you up,” I told him then disconnected.
Adrian had gone to his computer when I called Dorchester. He looked up when I hung up the phone. “I found another connection,” he said. “They served in the same army unit. Call Dorchester back and tell him and Whitworth to meet us at his office. You two aren’t going in there alone if he’s responsible for four deaths.”
We didn’t go in with blazing lights and blaring sirens because the last thing we wanted to do was tip him off and end up in a potential hostage situation. We met the two men in the dollar store parking lot a few blocks away from Broadman’s office. Dorchester got in the car with me while Adrian and Whitworth headed over on foot. The deal was they’d wait for us to go inside to speak to Broadman then cover both the front and rear entrances.
The bubbly receptionist smiled broadly when we walked into the office until I pulled my gun out of my holster and slid the safety off. “Pick up the phone and ask your boss to come out here, but don’t tell him why.” There was no way I was going into his office not knowing what he was doing behind the closed door. Our team was going home safe to our loved ones that night and that was final. The receptionist’s hand shook like a leaf as she reached for her phone.
“There’s no need, Lucy. I’m right here,” Broadman called from down the hallway. He walked out with his hands up in the air. “I’m unarmed,” he said softly and rotated slowly so we could see that he didn’t have a gun shoved in the back of his pants.
“Hands above your head and don’t move, Broadman,” I commanded. I nodded for Dorchester to move in while I kept my gun aimed at him. I began reading him his Miranda Rights as Dorchester holstered his gun and started forward. “Rylan Broadman, you are under arrest for the murders of Nathaniel Turner, Owen Smithson, Lawrence Robertson, and Richard Spizer. You are also under arrest for arson. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the rights to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?”
“I know my rights,” Broadman said sarcastically, as Dorchester pulled his left arm down and bent it so that his hand rested on the small of his back. I heard the familiar sound of the handcuff locking into place.
“I’m just following the rules so you don’t get off on a technicality,” I told him. “With these rights in mind, do you wish…”
Broadman made a spin move and head-butted Dorchester just as he started to bring Broadman’s right arm down to cuff behind his back, knocking Dorchester out cold. Broadman grabbed for Dorchester’s gun from his holster, and I had no choice but to take a shot.
The receptionist screamed as the sound of the gun reverberated loudly in the tight office space. Broadman clutched his shoulder and fell to the ground. Adrian and Whitworth entered the building shouting after the gun discharged but my sole focus was making sure Broadman stayed down.
“Don’t you fucking move,” I shouted, “or I’ll put you down.”
“Call 911,” he said between gritted teeth.
“We are 911 you son of a bitch,” Whitworth said, as he knelt beside his partner.
“He’s just been knocked out,” I told the distraught detective. “Adrian, call it in.” I secured Broadman’s hands and used Lucy’s cardigan to apply pressure to the wound that appeared to be a clean shot through the fleshy part of his right shoulder. I didn’t want him to bleed out because death would be too good for him. He would need surgery to repair torn muscles and ligaments, but then he could recover and get physical therapy in the prison infirmary while he awaited trial.
I wanted to pin that fucker down and get my answers, but I knew they wouldn’t hold up in court if asked while he was under duress. He whined and cried about how miserable he was and how he planned to sue. I laughed at the lawsuit portion of his comment, but not over his remarks about being in pain. I was certain that Nate, Owen, Lawrence, and Rick would’ve much preferred to have his injuries over their grave ones. It took everything I had not to dig my fingers in his wound and make him suffer even more. Luckily for him, the paramedics got there before I forgot that I was a decent man.
Unfortunately, the Goodville Police Department arrived and wanted to take over the crime scene and the investigation. Technically, Dorchester and Whitworth’s deputy sheriff status trumped Goodville’s authority, but the jackasses who showed up wanted to fight for it. My adrenaline was pumping quickly through my veins and, to tell the truth, I was spoiling for a fight. I would’ve preferred to fuck it out of my system, but that wasn’t an option right then. I was prepared to settle for the next best thing until two loud voices rang out loudly in the office.
“I got this, Detective Wyatt,” Captain Reardon said. “Stand down, Officer, our men are taking the lead in this case.” I slowly released the fistful of the starched uniform of the officer I had grabbed when he implied that country people were too stupid to investigate a crime properly, acting as if Goodville was a fucking metropolis. It had one extra traffic light, two extra dollar stores, and a McDonald’s.
“This man is being arrested for crimes our task force is investigating—a force that includes law enforcement agencies from Carter County Sheriff’s Department, Blissville Police, and Cincinnati Police. Detective Wyatt leads the task force and will oversee this investigation also,” Sheriff Tucker stated firmly. It was the first time I’d ever seen them agree on anything. “The shooting today was a result of our investigation into four homicides, and it takes precedence over your investigation. We’ll inform you if we need your assistance beyond securing the outside of the premises to keep the onlookers away from our crime scene.” Tucker nodded to dismiss the man, who swallowed hard then got to boot scooting it out of there.
Lucy was taken outside and questioned while we searched the office for evidence, making sure to stay out of his client files. We were coming up empty until we found a safe hidden inside a closet. Lucy provided the combination and gasped when she saw what was inside.
“That wasn’t in there last night when I put the bank deposit inside,” she said. I stared down at the stacks of cash that obviously came from Robertson’s safe deposit box. They were the same straps that we initialed after the money was discovered and counted. “I wasn’t involved in any of this,” she said, tears running down her face. I wasn’t falling for tears again so easily. We’d double-check everything to make sure she was telling the truth, if not, she’d be going to jail too.
I realized that I set my phone down on Broadman’s desk while I was in there and went to retrieve it. I noticed that I had missed a text from Josh that simply said he loved me. It gave me the warm and fuzzy feelings, and I returned a quick message to him so he wouldn’t think I was ignoring him. Tucker and Reardon followed after me for reasons I didn’t know because they both got distracted by the diploma hanging on the wall.
“A Wisconsin graduate,” Reardon scoffed.
