5
The sound of the obsidian waves crashing against the shore in the distance filtered in through a terrace door that was slightly ajar. A gentle breeze drifted about the room.
“I had gone to the bathroom,“ Tiffany said.“When I stepped out, somebody hit me in the back of the head. See?” She leaned forward and peeled her hair aside, revealing a bloody, matted section with a gash in her scalp. It looked like she’d been pistol-whipped.
“Have the EMTs taken a look at that?”
“No.”
I nodded to JD. He darted away, found a deputy, and sent him to find an EMT. Once that had been delegated, he returned to join the interview.
“That was the last thing I remembered until I woke up.” Tiffany’s eyes filled, and she wiped away the tears with the back of her hands. In a sob, she said, “He was just lying there, covered inblood, gasping for breath. It sounded like he was drowning.” Her throat tightened up, and she couldn’t speak for a moment. “The shears were stuck in his chest. It was horrible. Absolutely horrible. And I didn’t know what to do. I pulled them out and threw them on the floor. I tried to stop the bleeding, but there was so much blood. I called 911, but by the time the EMTs got here, he was dead.”
She sniffled and sobbed again.
If she killed him, it was a clever excuse why her prints would be on the murder weapon—smarter than denying touching them. Tiffany sounded genuine and convincing. Then again, she could have been a great actress.
I didn’t see any bloody shoe prints on the carpet. But I did see what appeared to be her crimson footprints around the bed, trailing off down the hallway, presumably when she went to the front door to let in emergency responders.
“Do you have any idea who could have done this?“ I asked.
Tiffany shook her head.
“How was your relationship?”
Her brow wrinkled, a little confused by the question. “It was great. I’ve never been happier in my life.”
I shared a subtle glance with Jack.
Tiffany picked up on it. “I know what you’re thinking. He’s more than twice my age. What could we possibly have in common?”
I shrugged innocently. “Standard questions. I have to ask.”
She nodded.“Sorry if I come off as defensive. We’ve received so much scrutiny, and I’ve had to defend my feelings for Brock somany times. It’s frustrating. Love looks different for everybody, and I don’t need to explain myself to anyone.”
“Had you and Brock gotten into any recent arguments?”
She shook her head, and her raven hair swayed. “No. We never fought. We always got along. I’m telling you, he’s the only man I’ve ever been with that understood me. Respected me. Didn’t try to change me. He was so kind and caring. Thoughtful.” She sniffled. “Like, he appreciated everything. Grateful. Stuff guys my age don’t give a second thought about.”
“You know if anything was taken from the house?”
“I haven’t had a chance to look. I hadn’t even thought about it, really.” She glanced around the room.
Expensive jewelry sparkled on the nightstand by the bed. A gold Rolex, a wallet, and a money clip with a fat wad of cash rested atop the dresser. If someone was after cash, they missed the obvious.
“What about enemies?” I asked.
She sighed. “We’re public figures. We’ve got more than our fair share of hatersandfans. It could have been anybody.”
“Anybody in particular come to mind?”
“Well, his bitch ex-wife,” Tiffany growled. “But I don’t know if she could have done this. I didn’t see who hit me, but I just got the sense that he was a big guy. I mean, he hit me pretty fucking hard. Excuse my French.”
“What’s his ex-wife’s name?” I asked.
“Celeste. She still goes by Madison.”
“Do you happen to have contact information for her?”
