regular cleaning service. This is a big house, and it’s spotless.”
“I can’t see a man like Paul Beckett mopping floors and scrubbing toilets after work,” Todd agreed.
“We’ll get the contact information for the cleaning service. The people who empty trash cans and clean bathrooms know a lot about their employers’ private life.”
They moved on. A huge bedroom suite occupied the rest of the second floor.
Matt paused in the doorway. “At least it looks like someone has actually been in this room.”
A king-size bed stood between two windows, and two matching chairs faced a wall-mounted TV. One nightstand held only a bedside lamp. On the other, earbuds and an iPad sat next to an alarm clock and an empty coffee cup on a coaster.
“I live alone,” Todd said. “The only room that looks occupied is my bedroom. I rarely use the kitchen. Most nights, I eat takeout standing over the sink, shower, sleep, and go back to work. I watch football in my recliner Sunday afternoons and Monday nights.” The chief deputy glanced at Matt. “It’s not as pathetic as it sounds.”
Matt raised his gloved hands. “I’m not judging. Replace watching football with training dogs and add Sunday brunch with my parents to that mix, and you have my life.” At least that had been his life before Bree returned to Grey’s Hollow. Now, Matt spent at least one night a week with her. Most of the time, they had dinner with her family. Occasionally, they managed a real date. He had to admit that he liked the change.
He went to the nightstand that clearly belonged to the victim and opened it with his pen. A framed photo lay facedown next to an economy box of condoms. He turned over the frame. “He removed his wedding photo from view and stocked up on condoms.”
“Not surprising.” Todd walked into the bathroom. A few minutes later, he emerged. “There are several used condoms in the trash can and a recently filled bottle of Viagra in the medicine chest.” He walked closer and eyed the sheets. “I see a long dark hair on that extra pillow.”
“We’ll get a forensic tech to collect the biological evidence for possible DNA comparisons. I don’t want any chain-of-command issues that can be challenged in court.” Matt checked the other drawers in the nightstand and found another full box of condoms. He pulled a camera out of his pocket and took photos.
“Mrs. Beckett hasn’t lived here for a couple of months.” Todd straightened. “Did the cheating drive their separation, or did the separation prompt the cheating?”
“She told the sheriff he always cheated, but he recently stopped being discreet.”
“That’s fucked up.”
“Yep. But anger, jealousy, and social humiliation all give Mrs. Beckett motive to kill him.” Matt moved to the nightstand on the other side of the bed. Empty. He opened a walk-in closet. Two-thirds of the hanging space and shelves were empty. He checked the pockets of pants and jackets and looked inside shoes and handbags. He spotted several large cardboard boxes on the top shelf. Glass rattled as he took one down. He opened the lid. It was full of framed photos of the whole family, the glass broken as if someone had thrown the photos into the box with force. Careful of the shards, he set down the box and began lifting the pictures to view each one.
Todd peered in the doorway. “What did you find?”
“The missing photos.” Matt turned one so Todd could see it. “Mrs. Beckett on the tennis court with the boys.” A short white skirt and sleeveless blue shirt showed muscled arms and legs. Both sons looked very much like Angela, tall and naturally lean. Their father was heavyset. “Do you remember seeing any pictures of Paul playing tennis?”
“No.”
“Me neither.” Matt replaced the lid and reached for a second box. It was filled with tennis trophies engraved with Angela Beckett’s name. He added the photos and trophies to his list of evidence. “I have to get back to the station to review with the sheriff before Angela Beckett’s interview.”
“I’ll bag and tag the evidence and secure the scene after the forensic team leaves.”
“Keep looking for Paul’s gun.”
“I will,” Todd said. “But we’ve looked in every place large enough to hold a handgun. Unless he had some kind of super-secret hidey-hole, it isn’t here.”
Matt made a few calls on his way back to the station. One was to the deputy who’d been assigned to examine Paul’s cell phone. From him, Matt obtained the phone numbers