"I don't understand. What's going on?"
The two deputies yanked him to his feet, and I read him his rights. "You're under arrest for the murder of Liam Prescott. You have the right to remain silent…"
Sweat misted his skin, and his face went pale. With wide eyes, he said, "I didn't kill anybody. I swear to God. He was breathing when I left."
The deputies dragged Wescott out of the house and escorted him down the walkway to a patrol car.
Paris Delaney and her crew were on the scene, capturing the footage.
Camera shy, John averted his face, staring at the ground. This wouldn’t be good for business. Not all press is good.
"What happens now?" Gwen asked.
"He’ll spend the night in jail and be arraigned in the morning.”
"What should I do?"
"Find a good attorney.”
She looked frazzled.
Stephanie had witnessed the entire thing from the top of the stairs. She had a conflicted look on her face. At the current moment, I think she hated her father, but she didn't necessarily want him to go to jail for the rest of his life.
Paris Delaney asked her usual questions when I stepped outside. I gave a brief response, then JD and I climbed into the Wild Fury van. We followed the deputies back to the station and filled out after-action reports.
We let John sweat it out in the interrogation room after he had been processed and printed. In the tiny room for about an hour, he was pale and sweating. The confined space wasn't exactly pleasant to be in, no matter what side of the law you were on. John Wescott clearly wasn't cut out for prison. I'm sure all the horror stories swirled in his mind.
The first thing he said when we stepped into the room was, "You have to believe me, I didn't kill him."
JD and I took a seat across the table from him. The sheriff watched from the observation room. A camera mounted high in a corner near the ceiling captured the interview for posterity.
"That's interesting because your prints were found on the racket that turned his face into meatloaf. Want to tell me about that?”
22
“Itold you,” Wescott said. “I saw Liam on the court, and I confronted him. Words were exchanged, and I shoved him. That was it.”
I gave him a doubtful look.
“I went to the bar and had a drink to cool off.”
“One drink?”
“I had a few.”
“A few?”
“Okay, maybe a few too many. My phone died. When I left the bar, I saw Liam on the court again. I couldn't help it. I just marched back over and gave him a piece of my mind.”
"Is that all you gave him?" I asked.
John frowned. "That's when I punched him." His eyes filled. “He hit the ground.” His sullen eyes fell to the table. In a regretful voice, he said, “I don't remember what happened after that."
"I'll tell you what happened after that. You picked up the racket, and you beat him to death with it."
John's face contorted. The tears spilled over, and he began to sob. "I don't know what happened. I was so mad. What would you do? He was fucking my wife and my daughter. I couldn't let him get away with that."
"So you killed him."
