Page 76 of Murder in The Summer House

He recognized an impatient Chad beginning to ramp up his frustration and anger. It was all Beckett could do not to answer. Twenty minutes ticked by, with him letting the phone ding another six times.

“Let him get worked up,” Beckett muttered to himself. By the seventh text, he stepped out the door and into the shrouded mist. He couldn’t even make out Chad’s cabin thirty feet away. But he’d memorized the pathway and let his eyes adjust to the surrounding darkness.

A chilly breeze drifted on the night air as Beckett kept his eyes moving for any sign that Samson had decided to surprise him.

Ten feet from Chad’s doorway, Beckett heard leaves crunch behind him. He dodged a crowbar coming for his head.

“Is that the best you’ve got,Swarbrick?”

“What did you call me?” Samson asked, the British accent evident.

“You heard me. Special Forces meet Navy SEAL,” Beckett grumbled before popping a fist against Samson’s jaw, sending him reeling. He knocked the crowbar out of his hand. “What were you planning to do with this? I thought Special Forces had ethics.”

“Mr. Pollock said you were scamming him, pretending to be his brother.”

“So you decided to hit me over the head? Then what? Make me disappear? Do you know what kind of man you’re working for, or does Special Forces prefer serial killers to honest work?”

The older man tried to level a punch, but Beckett sidestepped the blow and smashed another fist into his face. “You’re slow and stupid if you think you’ll beat me. Listen to me, Swarbrick. Chad Pollock is a bad dude.”

Beckett ducked another jab that went wide. He sent a punch to Samson’s belly that knocked his breath out and caused him to double over at the waist. “How did a sergeant major drop so far down the crapper? Pollock is a serial killer who killed his sister and brother for the full share of a trust. We also think he had something to do with his father’s heart attack and his mother’s drowning. This happened before you started working for him back in 2000, 2001, and 2002. But in this country, there’s no statute of limitations on murder. Why would I make that up?”

Samson swiped blood from his nose, staggering, struggling to maintain his balance. He straightened to his full height to stare at Beckett. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. That’s ridiculous. Who put you up to this?”

“Gimme a break. You’re not gonna stand there and convince me you didn’t know what kind of asshole Pollock is. Didn’t you hear the terrible stuff he said about his sister and brother in the restaurant?”

“That’s the way he always talks. He’s a minted fat cat. What do you expect? They’re all like that.”

“No, they’re not. They don’t talk their brothers into murdering their sister for the dough. They don’t kill their parents.”

“How sure are you that Pollock did all that?”

“Ninety-nine-point nine percent. Who knows how many more?”

Swarbrick rubbed the side of his jaw. “I do remember this one time he had me drive him to Orange County to see a man. Once we arrived, he went inside the estate and was there for about twenty minutes before he came out. I spotted blood on his tie and his shoes. Two days later, I found out that bloke he’d visited died of a bash to the head. I wondered at the time.”

“When was this?”

“Five years back. Then there was this other incident that happened a couple of years earlier, right after Pollock hired me.”

“What happened then?”

“About the same thing. I drove him to Big Bear one weekend up to a cabin. It was summer. He got out of the Bentley, went inside, was in there for half an hour or so, and then returned to the car. That guy turned up dead, too.”

“Are you getting all this?” Beckett asked Birk and Lucien through his earpiece. “Pollock’s been texting me this entire time. What now?” He waited for an answer and studied Swarbrick. “You could help us if you were so inclined.”

“If what you say about Pollock is true, I’ll help out any way I can. But you need the goods on him first, something solid. You want me to help? Then give me legal protection, immunity, or whatever it’s called. I don’t want to get dragged into this mess because I’m his driver. I went where he told me to go—like here, tonight. If he committed murders, he should pay for it, not me. I didn’t kill anybody. I don’t want to go to jail because I drove the car. What do they call that?”

“An accomplice after the fact,” Beckett provided. “If you’re willing to cooperate, we’ll talk to the right people.”

“How can I trust you?”

“What choice do you have?” Lucien said, stepping onto the pathway with Birk. “You did have a crowbar in your hand. You were willing to hit Beckett over the head. That’s assault. Is that something you’ve done before for Pollock? Beat people up?”

Swarbrick let out a sigh. “I’ve acted as his enforcer to intimidate people, but that’s it. My job tonight was to scare you off and get you to leave the lodge without going after his money.”

“Why should we believe you?” Birk asked. “Beckett could’ve been immobilized, then dragged to a car and made to disappear.”

“Because I’m just the employee, doing what the boss tells me to do for a paycheck,” Swarbrick snapped. “And I’m standing here now, willing to help. I can testify to the other things he’s done. Tell me what you want me to do.”

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