“I don’t have much of a choice.” Bree didn’t sound happy about that.
Matt called Todd and arranged to meet him at Paul Beckett’s house. When he left, his sister’s minivan was parked near the kennel, and the lights were on. Matt drove to Beckett’s place, where Todd was waiting in his vehicle in the driveway. He climbed out as Matt pulled in.
“How’s the sheriff?” Todd squeezed the bridge of his nose.
“Doing OK. She’ll be in later this morning.”
“I’m surprised she isn’t here already.”
“So is she,” Matt said.
On the other side of the parking area, crime scene tape barred entrance to the garage and cordoned off the area where Bree had been shot.
“Forensic techs are on the way,” Todd said. “Interesting piece of info: Paul Beckett has a Sig Sauer P226 registered in his name.”
“Let’s see if we find it.”
“I sent the pictures of Paul handing off that envelope in the parking lot over to forensics. They’re going to brighten the photos and see if they can get the license plate of the other vehicle.”
“Great,” Matt said.
The forensic team arrived. Everyone put on gloves and shoe covers before going in through the front door.
Matt and Bree had already toured the inside of the house the previous evening, but they’d been focused on finding a potentially armed suspect and/or additional victims, not evidence. This time, Matt made his way through the rooms slowly, taking pictures and making notes of things he wanted seized as evidence. The forensic techs started with photos.
Todd opened the fridge. “Not much in here but beer and Chinese takeout. There are four half-eaten containers, though. Seems like a lot of food for one guy.”
“Maybe he planned to eat it for multiple nights.” Matt peered in the sink. “But then, there are two wineglasses in the sink, so maybe he had company.”
Todd checked a recycling container. “A half dozen beer bottles and an empty bottle of wine.”
An undercounter wine cooler held a few dozen bottles. Portraits of twin boys from infancy to high school graduation lined the hallway. A framed snapshot of Paul and the boys on a fishing boat sat on a table behind the sofa. In the photo, the boys looked to be about ten. Matt scanned the soft gray walls. There were empty places where it seemed pictures had been removed. He walked closer. Small holes in the drywall confirmed his suspicion.
Todd joined him. “Someone took down a bunch of photos.”
“I haven’t seen a single picture of Angela Beckett.”
“They were separated.” Todd turned toward a short hallway.
“Now she doesn’t need one.” Matt followed him into the home office.
Todd thumbed through a pile of mail stacked on the credenza. “Looks like household bills.”
“We’ll take them.” The desktop was clear except for a laptop perfectly centered on the leather desk protector. Matt used a pen to open the desk drawers. Surfaces were free of clutter and dust. “Everything looks pretty normal. We’ll take the computer and iPad too.”
He walked out of the office. The guest room looked as if it hadn’t been used in some time. They finished searching the downstairs before heading for the stairway.
“The place is so clean. It almost looks like no one lived here.” Todd followed Matt upstairs. Two kids’ bedrooms were on one side of the landing. Half-empty closets held neat rows of hanging pants and shirts. Shelves held stacks of folded jeans and sweaters. Every item in the drawers was precisely organized, even the socks and underwear. Soccer and tennis trophies lined the bookshelves in the first room. They went into the second room, where they found lacrosse and tennis trophies.
“Both boys played tennis. Remember the green clay from both Holly’s and Paul’s crime scenes?”
“Yes.” Matt dropped to his knees to check under a twin bed. Standing, he scanned the walls. “There are pennants from a school in North Carolina in here and ones from Michigan in the other room. I’ll get the boys’ cell phone numbers from Paul’s phone. We’ll verify the boys were at their respective schools yesterday.”
“You can drive here from either North Carolina or Michigan in ten or twelve hours.” Todd closed a closet door. “Why would one of the sons kill his own dad?”
“Anger at the way Paul treated his mother? We don’t know anything about the boys’ relationships with their father.”
“True.” Todd pivoted one hundred eighty degrees, his gaze sweeping over the room. “Nothing in either of their rooms looks like it’s been touched in months.”
“Doesn’t mean much,” Matt said. “Beckett clearly has a