Page 41 of Copper

Ineedto keep her safe.

The judge’s eyes flick back to his daughter’s pictures. “This will be embarrassing as hell if there’s nothing there.”

“I’ll take the brunt of it, and I’ll circle people back to me if they blame you.”

“That’s a big commitment, Dwyer.”

“And I have big shoulders.”

Letting out a deep sigh, he pecks at some keys on his computer and then presses a button on the phone. “Kimberly, I have something printing. Can you grab it off the printer and bring it in so I can sign?”

***

“Mitchell and a few beat cops are at the back of the house. There’s a side door with two men stationed, and we have eyes on the garage,” Coleson says as soon as I shut my car door. “You want in the front door with me?”

I look down at the tactical uniform I changed into and frown. “I don’t usually get this dressed up with vest and gear if I have no place to go.”

I usually don’t go in at all. I’m the sheriff. I stay on the street in my uniform or in my suit and shake my guys’ hands when they bring out a suspect. Then, I talk to the reporters, who usually show up around the time we bring out the offender.

But this one is personal.

“I want to go in because part of me wants to see the look on the bastard’s face. He could get violent, but I don’t think he has a team of armed cartel-hired thugs in there with him. Have we cleared the street?”

“The neighbors have been alerted to stay in their houses, lock their doors, and stay away from windows.”

I nod. “Let’s do this.”

Coleson and I both approach the front door and unholster our weapons. If I don’t participate in a warrant raid, Coleson or the lead person is the one the beat cops and SWAT, if they’re involved, look to for guidance when to go in. I’m the sheriff, so I’m the one the guys look to when they’re waiting for a signal today.

I nod to Coleson, and he talks to Mitchell through the radio and gives the five-second countdown order, signaling that I’m going to knock soon. We all mentally count down from five, and I knock, banging on the door loudly with my fist. “Murphy Beckett, this is the police. We have a warrant to search the premises. Open the door!” I yell in my best cop voice. I almost don’t recognize it since I don’t have to use it often.

Silence.

I knock again. “We’ll enter in ten seconds. Open the door.”

Crickets.

I squint at Coleson. “Are we sure he’s on the premises?”

“A neighbor said she saw him come home last night. Car is in the garage and the door is open,” he gestures to the attached garage. “If he’s not home, he was either picked up in another vehicle or is out for a walk.”

I roll my eyes. Great intel. “Coming in!” I say as Coleson announces the go signal to the men at the back door. We’ll go in at the same time.

I move aside as the door crew makes short work of the lock. Once the door is unlocked, Coleson goes through first, weapon raised, and I cover his back as we clear the room. Across the living room and dining room, I see Mitchell enter through the kitchen door with other officers, three males and one female. The female nods to the basement door, and she and Mitchell quietly open it to clear the basement.

We sweep the living room and a nearby closet. A few officers from our team head upstairs to clear the bedrooms as Coleson and I silently finish clearing the main level. The living room, dining room, and kitchen are clear, and another team member heads to the garage to make sure he’s not in it.

Coleson nods in the direction of two small rooms on the main level that look like the size of a library or a den. We back up against the wall, and I count down on my fingers from five.

When I reach zero, Coleson flings the door open to a small room and freezes. Oddly, he also sighs and mutters a curse under his breath. “Clear. He’s in here…and fucker’s not going anywhere,” Coleson says, lowering his gun.

I walk around the door frame and follow my detective’s line of sight.

Murphy Beckett is dead as a fucking doornail.

Blood slowly drips from one of his wrists onto the carpet below where he’s seated on the couch. Although not dripping, his other wrist is also open and bloody. An open computer sits nearby along with a glass of something that looks like rum. A box cutter is on the couch next to Murphy’s right arm.

Coleson holsters his weapon. “You have to be fucking kidding me. When do you think he decided to off himself?”

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