She scanned the scene with new perspective. Beckett was lying next to his Maserati. “From the position of the body, it looks like he was shot as he got out of his car.”
Matt put on gloves. “The only place the shooter could have hidden is behind one of the other vehicles.”
Bree pictured Beckett climbing out of his Maserati. “He got out of his car and closed the vehicle door.” She studied the body. Paul’s hands were flung out toward the overhead doors. “Maybe the shooter stepped out from around the front of the truck and confronted him.”
Matt assessed the position. “The angle seems right. The Porsche is too small to hide behind.”
“Paul is separated, likely with an impending divorce.” Bree backed away from the body. “We need to talk to Mrs. Beckett.”
“On it.” Todd headed for the door. “Someone’s here.”
Bree walked out of the garage.
A Mercedes sedan pulled up to the curb, and a woman emerged. She was in her early fifties. Her short blonde hair looked expensively tousled. Lean and tall, she wore dark jeans, ankle boots, and a trench coat like a fashion model. As she took in the sheriff’s vehicles, her gaze focused on Bree.
The wife? What a coincidence.
“Ma’am.” Bree introduced herself. “What is your name?”
“Angela Beckett,” she said in a halting voice. “What’s going on?”
Instead of answering, Bree asked, “What is your relationship to Paul Beckett?”
“His wife.” Angela seemed like the sort of woman who always looked put together. Her appearance was her armor. Her clothes were pressed and her makeup perfectly applied. Delicate diamond studs decorated her earlobes, and a skinny bracelet winked in the light of the garage fixture. “What’s going on here?”
Bree looked for a place to talk to the woman privately, but there wasn’t one.
“What is going on?” Angela’s voice rose as she pointed a finger at Bree, and bright spots of color splotched her cheeks.
Bree knew there was no way to soft-pedal the news. “We found Mr. Beckett inside the garage. He’s dead. I’m sorry for your loss.”
The woman’s face froze in stunned disbelief. “Paul is dead?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“How?”
“He was shot,” Bree said.
Angela’s hand dropped to her side. Her perfect posture slumped. “I can’t believe it.”
Bree waited, sensing there was more.
“We didn’t get along very well, but Paul was . . . larger than life, to be cliché.” Angela’s brows knitted. “It doesn’t seem possible that he’s gone.”
“Where were you this evening?” Bree asked.
“Paul and I separated months ago.” Angela sighed. “I’m staying with a friend. I came here to get more of my things.” She stared at her ankle boots. “He changed the locks, so I can’t get in when he’s not here.”
“Where are your kids?”
“The boys are both away at college. One is in North Carolina. The other is in Michigan.” She chewed on her lip, smearing her lipstick onto her teeth. “I’ll have to call them.”
“Why did you and Paul separate?” Bree asked.
Angela’s mouth flattened. “It sounds stupid, but he was having a totally predictable midlife crisis. He bleached his hair. He bought cars. He chased younger women.” She humphed, seemingly exasperated. “He cheated throughout our marriage, but he never flaunted it in my face. I could ignore it as long as no one knew. He was always discreet until recently. I told him he was going to get old no matter what he did, but he continued to chase youth like he had nothing to lose.”
But he had had something to lose—his life.
“Though he no longer cared if he lost me,” Angela said. “Can I go inside and get my things?”
“No, ma’am.” Bree checked the woman’s left hand for a wedding band. It was still there. “You’ll have to wait until the scene is released.”
The ME’s van pulled into the parking area, interrupting the interview. Angela’s eyes widened. “This just happened? Paul is still in there?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Angela blinked several times, then her eyes refocused as she comprehended that her husband’s body was still on the premises. She started toward the garage. Bree stepped in front of her.
“I want to see him.” Angela’s eyes filled with tears.
No, you don’t.
But since people rarely took Bree’s word on that, she said, “I’m sorry, ma’am. This is a crime scene. I can’t let you in.”
Angela’s eyes widened as her gaze dropped to Bree’s arm. A large spot of blood was now visible as it began to soak through the bandage. “Oh, my God. What happened to your