Page 46 of The Paternity Puzzle

She thanked Diego for the coffee and hurried from the café. They waited for her to disappear down the sidewalk before heading out too.

“What do you think?” Royce asked once they were in his SUV.

“I think both Matisse women had strong motives to want Jean Claude Matisse dead.” Diego considered. “If Alyssa Matisse participated in his death, wouldn’t she accept Yvonne’s offer to clean up? That would’ve destroyed the evidence, and we wouldn’t have a case.”

“That’s a sound argument someone thinking rationally would make, but murder is usually triggered by high emotions that result in mistakes.” Royce looked out the windshield as he mentally moved the puzzle pieces around to form a clear picture. “We don’t have a reason to doubt what Yvonne told us, and the timing of the phone call matches what we learned from Felix and Richard Todd. So, Jean Claude got into a shouting match on the phone around noon on Friday. Alyssa Matisse wasn’t home, but Julia was.”

“And Yvonne placed a stricken Julia right outside her father’s office during the phone call,” Diego said. “How do you want to play this?”

Royce glanced at his watch. “Let’s cross our t’s and dot our i’s because we’re going to keep our nine o’clock appointment with the Matisse women.”

Sawyer knocked on Mendoza’s door and received a prompt command to enter the office, so he turned the knob and stepped into the room. Though the chief sat behind his desk and his husband, Sheriff Abe Beecham, sat in a chair on the other side, Sawyer couldn’t help but feel like he’d interrupted something personal. “Is this a bad time, Chief?”

The two men looked at one another, a mere glance, but he caught a flash of heat between them. Yeah, he’d definitely interrupted an intimate moment or conversation between husbands. Probably the kind of chat Royce coerced Sawyer into behind his closed office door, which usually included a lot of kissing and some light petting. He refused to search for further signs of what the two men might’ve been up to before he knocked.

Chief Mendoza’s dark, penetrating eyes zeroed in on Sawyer. “If I’d been busy, I would’ve said so instead of inviting you in.”

Abe snorted. “Invite? More like you barked a direct order.”

Mendoza ignored his husband and gestured for Sawyer to take a seat. “You wanted to speak to us about a meeting you had with Alec Bishop?”

“Yes, sir.”

Sawyer filled them in on the conversation he’d had with Alec and the ties his family had to the area. “The first murder connected to Andrew Bishop occurred when his father was forty years old. We’re all familiar with various theories about serial killers and the profiles performed on them. One of the common denominators in their behavior sequence analysis is that they start killing young, usually in their mid to late twenties. Of course there are exceptions, but according to Alec, his father ticks off all boxes in the ‘How to Make a Serial Killer’ checklist. He actually uses that phrase when talking about his father’s history, particularly the trauma and abuse he suffered as a kid.”

“And Alec hypothesizes that if his father has met all the other markers, then he likely fit the starts-young criteria too,” Mendoza said.

“It’s not a gigantic leap,” Abe admitted. “We’ve got the tools at our disposal to sort through unsolved cases and pinpoint ones that fit the criteria. Did Alec tell you when his family lived in Chatham County?”

“Yes, sir. I entered the dates into SPD’s database and came up with five potential matches. They’re all unsolved murders of young women. Three had positive identifications, and the other two are listed as Jane Does. All five were exposed to harsh elements for significant time, and our chances of getting conclusive test results from the biological evidence are low.”

Mendoza steepled his fingers in front of his chest as he considered the situation. “You think it’s a long shot?”

“I do,” Sawyer agreed, “but Alec Bishop has raised a lot of money for this project and will guarantee the funding for any testing.”

“What’s in it for him?” Abe asked.

“Book deals, speaking tours, and probably a Netflix series,” Mendoza said.

Abe scowled. “Fame and money, then.”

“But if we’re successful, we could get closure for the families without straining our department’s budget,” Sawyer said. “It’s hard to find a downside to the proposal.”

“He could make our departments look like idiots,” Abe replied.

“True, but I already mentioned that concern to him,” Sawyer said. “He will offer editing approval for any departmental interviews he includes in the podcast or that he makes available to subscribers through bonus material on Patreon.”

“I’m okay with transparency,” Mendoza said, “even if it shines a negative light on past investigations our police department had conducted.” He held Sawyer’s gaze for several seconds and tapped the tips of his fingers together. “Have his people call our people.”

“And who are our people?” Sawyer asked.

Mendoza chuckled. “Hell if I know. Have Mr. Bishop write up a detailed proposal, and I’ll personally deliver it to Commissioner Rigby. She’ll consult with our legal department, and we’ll go from there.”

Sawyer thanked Mendoza before turning to the sheriff. “And you, sir?”

Abe nodded toward his husband. “What he said. Bishop needs to put a formal proposal and email it to hot top cop at CCSD—” Abe’s words died mid-sentence when he ducked from the Tootsie Roll Mendoza lobbed at him. “You’ll pay for that.”

“Promises, promises.”