Noah’s entire body went tight. His face reddened, and the tendons on the sides of his neck stood out like steel cables. “My dad was the aggressive one, not Mom.”
Bree lifted one hand, the palm facing Noah. “If you say so.”
Noah leaped to his feet. The rubber chair feet squeaked on the old waxed floor. “It was me.”
Matt was on his feet before he could process any thought, the reaction to Noah’s sudden movement automatic. Then his brain processed what the kid had said.
Wait. What?
Was that a confession?
Bree hadn’t moved. She blinked once in surprise. She hadn’t expected the outburst either.
She kept her eyes on Noah and recovered her shock in less than one breath. “Please sit down.”
Noah eased into the chair as if in slow motion. His gaze darted from Bree to Matt, then fell to his lap, where his fingers were clenched into fists on his thighs.
Mirroring Noah, Bree sat very still. “What did you mean by ‘it was me’? I need you to be very clear here, Noah.”
Noah raised his chin, but he couldn’t quite meet Bree’s gaze. His voice went robotic. “I killed my father.”
Bree sat back, quietly studying him. Under her scrutiny, sweat broke out on Noah’s forehead. He was entirely still, except for the jiggling of one leg.
One long minute passed. Then Bree shifted her shoulders just an inch forward. “Convince me.”
Noah’s eyes widened. Dark rings of sweat appeared under his arms. His voice trembled. “What do you mean?”
“How did you kill him?” Bree’s head tilted.
“I shot him.” Noah’s statement rose at the end, almost like a question.
“Are you sure?” Bree asked.
“Yes.” He nodded once, then repeated in a more confident voice, “I shot him.”
Bree picked up her pen and held it over her notepad. “Where?”
Noah licked his lips. “In the garage.”
Bree made a note. “What did you shoot him with?”
A tiny flash of alarm scrambled in Noah’s eyes, then he exhaled, as if just remembering something. “His gun.”
Bree’s pen scratched on her pad. “How did you get the gun?”
“I took it from the truck,” Noah said. So, he knew where Paul had kept his gun.
“Was the truck locked?” she asked.
Noah thought about that. “No.”
Bree lifted an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”
Noah’s jaw jutted forward. “The truck wasn’t locked. It was in the garage.”
“How did you get into the garage?” Bree asked.
“I have a key.” Noah’s voice was uncertain. He probably did have a key. His dad’s house was his permanent address, but he didn’t know about the glass panes that had been cut out of the window.
She lifted her pen. “Where was your dad standing when you shot him?”
“I don’t remember exactly.” Noah’s jiggly leg was bouncing like crazy, and the sweat stains under his arms grew larger.
“OK,” Bree said. “How about approximately?”
“I don’t remember.” Panic clouded Noah’s eyes.
“What about Holly Thorpe’s death?” Bree asked.
Noah’s eyes went as wide as hubcaps. His mouth dropped open.
“You know who she was, right?” Bree asked.
“Of course I know,” Noah snapped. “She worked for my dad.”
“How did you kill her?” Bree held her pen over her notepad, as if patiently waiting.
Noah’s mouth slammed shut. Matt could see his brain working. The kid clearly hadn’t thought through his confession.
Matt leaned in. “Did you stalk Holly before you killed her?”
Another flash of fear lit Noah’s eyes, then he crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not saying anything else without a lawyer.”
Now the kid gets a clue? Matt sighed.
“Do you want to recant your confession?” Bree asked.
Noah stared straight ahead, his posture rigid, his jaw locked.
Bree finished writing a few notes, then picked up her notepad and pen and stood. “I’ll have a deputy book you, and then you can make your call.”
The blood drained from Noah’s face.
Bree took her handcuffs off her duty belt. “Mr. Flynn, would you cuff him?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Matt took the cuffs. “Stand up. Turn around and extend your arms out at your sides.”
Noah’s body shook as he complied. Matt snapped the cuffs on one wrist, then the other. “Let’s go.”
Matt marched him out into the squad room and handed him off to a deputy. “Book Noah Beckett on the first-degree murder of his father, Paul Beckett.” He gave the kid a hard look.
Noah moved like he was in a daze.
Todd walked in from the back hallway and stopped short. His brows rose.
Bree waved Todd and Matt into her office.
“Close the door,” she said, sitting behind the desk.