Page 41 of Fighting for Brielle
“Yeah. I like it.”
“Hey, are you hungry? Want a snack? Let’s see what’s in the kitchen.”
“Can I have chocolate milk and some cookies?”
“Sweetie, you can have whatever you want.”
River chortled, and Justice offered a helpless shrug of his shoulders with a broad smile.
Chapter 11
Tawny arrived within twenty minutes, though both Justice and River fretted at the delay. She wore casual clothes beneath her Kevlar vest, with her gun belt strapped to her waist. This frightened Rosie, although she hadn’t been afraid of Justice or River. Maybe she intuitively understood Tawny’s presence, which meant something bad for her, or possibly her parents.
Years of training kicked in, and Justice felt a hard knot form in his stomach. Trusting his instincts, he pulled Tawny aside and murmured, “I don’t like this. Take Rosie to the station and wait there for child services.”
“Yes, Chief. I’ll call them with our new location.”
Turning toward Rosie, he said, “C’mon, sweetie. You’re going to the police station with Officer Tawny. Let’s go upstairs and pack a few things.”
Rosie still looked scared, but she led Justice to her bedroom. He told her to put on a pair of pants and a shirt and socks and shoes. He found her backpack and stuffed it with clothes and other necessities. When he saw her comb and mirror, his heart lurched for the child. He tucked them inside the backpack and asked if there was anything else she wanted to take with her. Rosie shook her head, and they rejoined Tawny and River.
Full of nervous energy, bouncing up and down on his feet, River declared in a low voice, “Chief, we gotta move now. A tip just came in. Our suspect is at his aunt and uncle’s place.”
“Tawny, please don’t leave Rosie alone. If she’s placed in foster care, I want you to go with the social worker to the foster parents’ home. Check it out. If you get a bad vibe, don’t leave her there. Bring her back to the station, and I’ll try to figure something out.”
“I have a better idea, Chief,” Tawny replied. “My parents are guardians in the foster care system. I’ll arrange with child services to have her placed with them until this situation is resolved.”
Justice’s body relaxed as relief swept through him, but only for a moment. From the corner of his eye, he saw the look of impatience on River’s face. “Thanks, Tawny. We’ve got to go.”
As Tawny and Rosie followed behind them, River remarked in a low voice, “I called for backup. Neighbors reported several shots fired at the aunt and uncle’s home.”
He’d barely finished speaking when an old white Toyota Corolla screeched to halt in front of the house, and their suspect leapt from the vehicle.
Covered in blood, Arnold Dewitt brandished his .38 and screamed, “Rosie! It’s time! Time to be part of the New America!” His wild eyes pinned them as he took menacing steps toward them.
Rosie cried out in terror. Tawny drew her gun and pushed the child behind her. Justice and River trained their guns on Dewitt, too, never taking their eyes off him.
“Drop your weapon, Dewitt!” Justice ordered. “Get down on the ground! Now!”
“Rosie!” Dewitt yelled. “Get over here! I just want to take you to Mom and Dad! We’re all going underground…”
Out of his mind on some drug, he charged toward them. Justice fired his gun a couple of times. Dewitt’s body jerked, and he fell dead onto the grass. Tawny shoved her gun into her holster and grabbed Rosie, shielding her from the grisly sight.
Several squad cars converged on the scene as Justice directed Tawny, “Get Rosie out of here.”
“Yes, Chief.” She took Rosie by the arm and guided her toward her cruiser.
One of the newly arrived officers approached Justice and said, “Chief, you need to head to the Swifts’ place right now. I’ll handle this situation until Captain Locke gets here.”
Justice nodded. “River and I were on our way there when Dewitt showed up.” He inclined his head. “Let’s go, River.” Glancing at Dewitt, he felt sick to his stomach. What a waste.
When he and River pulled up in front of Rosie’s aunt and uncle’s house ten minutes later, first responder vehicles covered the driveway and the lawn, along with CSU. A detective Justice hadn’t met yet made his way toward him and River, a grim expression on his face.
“Chief McQuaid, I’m Detective Caleb Yarin. I got here a few minutes ago. Come with me. I’ll take you through the crime scene.”
Justice’s gut clenched as he gazed at the blood-spattered living room, and Detective Yarin explained in unemotional and clinical terms what occurred in the Swifts’ home.
“According to phone records, Mrs. Swift placed a call to her sister at approximately one-fifteen this morning, and she and Mr. Dewitt rushed over to find their son Arnold holding his aunt and uncle at gunpoint. He shot his parents first and then Mr. and Mrs. Swift.”
