“I t’s the medical examiner’s office,” Royce said. And since he only had one active case, he was pretty sure Dr. Fawkes was about to give him the something or someone he needed to investigate.
Sawyer shook his head in resignation. “You just had to tempt fate.”
“Sorry,” Royce said before answering the call. “Why do I have the feeling you’re about to blow up my holiday weekend, Doc?”
“Because I am,” she said dryly. “And maybe it’s only fair since I’ve hardly left the building since we delivered Dr. Matisse to the morgue. Something about misery loving company, perhaps?”
“Would you like me to bring you something good to eat?” Royce had learned long ago that the staff at the medical examiner’s office had iron stomachs. Nothing put them off their food.
“My husband already delivered a care package, but thank you for offering,” Fawkes said before getting down to business. “There are two sets of fingerprints on the poolside pill bottle, but neither belongs to Dr. Matisse. We ran the prints through IAFIS but didn’t get a hit.”
Royce’s spine straightened so fast he felt something crack in his lower back. “I bet I know who they belong to.”
“Perhaps. One set is also on the liquor decanter and the tumbler, along with Dr. Matisse’s.”
“The matching set will belong to Alyssa Matisse. The prescription belonged to her, and she told us she’d poured her husband a drink to settle his nerves.”
“That is a logical deduction, but you’ll need to get a warrant to obtain her fingerprints. Based on the phone calls I’ve received from Chief Mendoza, Commissioner Rigby, Mayor Barclay, and someone named Richard Todd, it seems the widow doesn’t plan to participate in the investigation.” Dr. Fawkes’ droll tone made it clear how she felt about the constant intrusions and the roadblock.
“I’ll also get a warrant for Julia Matisse’s prints as well, though the third set on the pill bottle could belong to someone working in the pharmacy. What else did you find?”
“There wasn’t enough benzodiazepine in his system to kill Dr. Fawkes on its own, but his alcohol level was more than twice the legal limit. Oh, and the drugs weren’t ingested whole,” Dr. Fawkes said. “They were ground up and added to a green beverage. I’d say a smoothie, based on the large amount of blended spinach, kale, banana, and protein he ingested. I can confirm that there was no residue from the pills in the tumbler or decanter, only traces of the alcohol.”
“Someone ground up the benzos and put them in his smoothie.” Wife or daughter? That was the question. Dr. Matisse had hundreds of angry victims, and some of them might’ve been out for blood, but it was unlikely they’d gotten past security without inside help. Royce made a mental note to check if the security team had documented deliveries to the Matisse house on Saturday morning or afternoon. That was a tried-and-true method murderers use because people still fell for it. “What is Matisse’s official cause of death?”
“The combination of alcohol and benzodiazepine triggered respiratory and cardiac failure. His autopsy also revealed pulmonary and cerebral edemas, which are both pretty standard finds with drug overdoses. By my calculations, Dr. Matisse had been dead for a minimum of three hours before his daughter found him in the pool. Because he hadn’t administered the pills himself, my preliminary report will list his death as suspicious. That should help you obtain the necessary warrants.”
“Thanks for getting back to me so soon,” Royce said. “I’m sorry you’re missing out on spending time with your family.”
“It’s par for the course. We both knew what we would sacrifice in this line of work,” Fawkes said. “I gave the bulk of my staff time off for the holiday, so I only have a skeleton crew assisting me. No pun intended,” she added before Royce could comment. “So, I likely won’t have additional information for a few more days.”
“What you’ve provided will grant my warrants if I can find a judge who doesn’t care about the doctor’s connections.”
“Judge Stanley,” Fawkes said. “She’s a straight shooter and doesn’t give a damn about where you came from or who your daddy is. She cares about justice, honesty, and integrity.” The medical examiner snorted. “I sound like her campaign manager now. Sorry about that.”
“No apology necessary. Judge Stanley it is.”
Viola Stanley had made quite an impression after her recent election, but Royce hadn’t crossed paths with her yet. He made a mental note to change that. Royce and Tara welcomed guest speakers from every corner of the justice system. The county prosecutor and the public defender’s office participated each year, so why not bring in a judge and maybe do a mock trial? Most police officers had to testify in courtrooms at some point in their careers, so it would be a good experience. “I appreciate you, Dr. Fawkes. Talk soon.”
After they disconnected, Royce called Diego. The younger detective answered with a growl before complaining that he hadn’t gotten to eat the hand-churned ice cream and his favorite cake yet.
“What’s your favorite cake?” Royce couldn’t help but ask.
“Yellow with chocolate icing.”
“You’re such a basic bitch, Fuentes.”
“Don’t forget hungry as hell,” Diego said.
Levi’s laughter drifted through the speaker. “Dee, you’ve eaten enough food for five people. I’ll make sure no one eats all the cake and ice cream.”
“I’ll do you one better,” Royce said. “I’ll write up the warrants and submit them for signature. You enjoy your cake and get ready to look menacing.”
“Warrants? Whoa! What happened?”
Royce filled him in on what he’d learned from Dr. Fawkes. “It should be enough to get fingerprints from Alyssa and Julia.”
“Wow, okay,” Diego said. “I’ll be ready for your call.”
After they disconnected, Royce turned to his husband. “Sorry. Again.”
Sawyer shook his head as he stood up. He extended his hand and assisted Royce to his feet. “I’m ready to leave anyway. Let’s grab Dolly, say our goodbyes, and head out. You’ll need to change clothes before you go.”
They made their way down the dock and over the lawn until they reached Eddie, who watched their approach with an unreadable expression. He wasn’t sure how he was going to say goodbye to his dad until he stood in front of him. Royce opened his arms and hugged Eddie, who stiffened in surprise before returning the embrace and squeezing his son tight. They separated and gave each other matching back slaps to ease any awkwardness.
“I’d like for you both to come to our house for dinner,” Royce said. “Maybe next weekend?”
“Yeah,” Eddie said. “That sounds great.” He looked at Jo for her reaction.
“I’d be delighted.” She hugged both Royce and Sawyer without a single yip out of Dolly until Jo wrapped her arm around Eddie’s waist. The dog issued a warning growl that made the grown-ups laugh.
“I’ll call you in a few days, Eddie. We’ll hammer out the details, and I’ll invite the rest of your heathens to meet Jo.” Except for the one serving time after trying to kill Sawyer. Royce would happily let that little fucker rot behind bars.
Eddie nodded, his eyes looking suspiciously moist. “All of them at once?” He looked at Jo again to gauge her reaction.
“Bring it on,” she said.
Dolly yipped and barked ferociously and nearly leaped from Sawyer’s arms.
Royce stroked the silky fur on top of her head. “She wasn’t challenging you, little miss. We better get this hellion out of here before it gets ugly.”
“Be careful,” Eddie told Royce. “Cruelty and evil taints every zip code.”
Royce hadn’t told his father what case he was working on, but it wouldn’t have been hard for him to figure it out after the news broke. “I will.”
“You made your dad cry,” Sawyer whispered after Eddie and Jo were no longer in earshot.
“I have that effect on people,” Royce teased.
Sawyer nudged him but didn’t comment further.
“Why haven’t you asked about my conversation with Eddie?” Royce asked.
“You’ll tell me when you’re ready.”
And he would as soon as he believed he hadn’t dreamed the entire thing.
Royce didn’t have to ask if Diego had eaten his cake because there was a smudge of chocolate icing at the corner of his mouth. He should’ve told the younger detective right away, but he kept the tidbit to himself during the trip to the Oaks, through the brief interview at the security booth, and for the drive up to the Matisses’ home. Getting the warrants signed had been easier and faster than Royce had predicted, but the sun had started to set by the time he turned into the long driveway. The dense trees blocked the remaining daylight, making the surrounding forest look dark and dangerous. An eerie vibe settled over the SUV as they made the last turn toward the mansion.
Maybe it was because Royce suspected one of the Matisse women killed Jean Claude. Finding out that there was no record of visitors or deliveries the previous day strengthened his resolve. The only other two who could’ve had easy access to Matisse or his food had left the previous day and hadn’t returned, according to the security guard’s records. Royce would contact both the housekeeper and the chef to take official statements about what they witnessed in the house on Friday, but not until after he spoke with Alyssa and Julia. He couldn’t risk the women destroying evidence if they caught wind that the investigation into Dr. Matisse’s death had swung in a different direction.
“Maybe the women worked together to kill him,” Diego said.
“The thought crossed my mind, especially if either of them overheard Dr. Matisse’s conversations with Felix or Richard Todd.”
Royce parked behind a silver Mercedes and got out of the vehicle. He gestured for the CSU van to pull up next to him, forming a little blockade. His search warrant was limited in scope, so only two techs climbed from the van and approached them. Hattie March and Shannon Juarez looked young enough to be in Royce’s Explorer Academy, but he wasn’t stupid enough to say that out loud. Besides, he’d worked with them long enough to know they were older than they appeared.
Hattie, a shy Black woman, squinted up at Diego while Royce read through the warrant and told them what he needed them to look for. When he finished talking, Hattie got Diego’s attention and gestured at her own mouth with her index finger. “You got a little something…”
Diego whipped out his cell phone and checked out his appearance in the camera’s selfie setting. He rubbed the icing smear off his face and then glared at Royce. “Were you going to tell me I had chocolate on my face?”
Royce forced his eyes wide. “Is that what that was? I thought it was a Madonna beauty mark.”
Shannon, an outgoing Latina, scrunched up her nose and looked at her partner. “Who?”
“Children,” Royce huffed in frustration.
“Don’t listen to Grandpa,” Diego told them. “It’s past his bedtime.”
The massive double doors opened before Royce could respond. Mayor Barclay and a silver-haired man Royce presumed was Richard Todd strode onto the massive front porch.
“Detectives, this behavior is completely inappropriate,” the silver-haired man said. “I’m Richard Todd, the family’s spokesperson. I talked to Commissioner Rigby this morning and stressed that the Matisses didn’t wish to be bothered after Jean Claude’s sudden death and the ghastly slander the local paper printed this morning. The commissioner assured her cooperation. I’m going to call her and—”
Royce silenced him by holding up documents even a first-year law student would recognize. “Commissioner Rigby knows I’m here. I spoke with her before I filed for my warrant.”
“Warrant?” Richard asked. “On what basis?”
Royce handed the legal document to the man before addressing the mayor, who had remained surprisingly calm. “Commissioner Rigby agreed to delay our meeting unless we received information from the medical examiner that prompted a more urgent conversation. We wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
“I understand,” Mayor Barclay said, though he didn’t sound happy about it.
Richard sputtered as he read through the documents. “I don’t believe this.” The warrant didn’t summarize their suspicions, but it provided the scope of their search and seizure, which often betrayed the direction of their investigation. It was a delicate dance between legal transparency and keeping the cards close to the vest until it was time to reveal your hand. In Royce’s favor, he didn’t think either Alyssa or Julia were seasoned criminals who’d made an art form out of getting away with murder. Richard turned to Barclay and said, “The police think Julia or Alyssa killed Jean Claude.”
Mayor Barclay furrowed his brow. “That’s impossible.”
“Not in my line of work, sir,” Royce said. “And we’re not accusing Julia or Alyssa of anything. We’re gathering additional evidence for the investigation into Dr. Matisse’s death. The process could also exonerate your clients.”
“Try that bullshit on someone who hasn’t practiced law for nearly four decades,” Richard scoffed as he smacked the warrant against the mayor’s chest. “I might be retired, but I’m not stupid.”
Barclay flinched before taking the paperwork from his hand. “I’m not a lawyer, Rick. I don’t know what I’m reading.”
Richard opened his mouth to answer him, but Royce held up a hand. “I want to have this conversation just once. Step aside so Detective Fuentes and I can come in with our technicians. I’ll need to speak with Alyssa and Julia Matisse immediately.”
“Do as he says, Rick,” Mayor Barclay said. “I know Commissioner Rigby well. They wouldn’t be here without just cause.”
“It’s utter bullshit.” The attorney’s face was a startling shade of red as he glared at Royce.
“We’ll have to let this play out because neither you nor I can disregard a warrant. I don’t know about you, but I have no intention of going to jail for obstructing justice.”
It didn’t seem like Richard Todd intended to cooperate, but after a prolonged silent exchange between the men, the attorney stepped aside and gestured for them to enter. His dark eyes flashed with outrage, and he jabbed his finger in the air near Royce. “I intend to watch you closely and ensure you don’t search or seize anything not specifically spelled out in this warrant.”
“That won’t be a problem, sir.” Royce might’ve sounded like a calm professional, but he really wanted to snap the pretentious man’s finger off and shove it up his ass.
Royce led the team into the kitchen. The CSU techs had already donned protective gear upon entering the residence to prevent evidence contamination. Royce and Diego pulled on gloves, too, as a precaution. “We’re looking for anything that could’ve been used to grind pills into a fine powder,” Royce said. “A mortar and pestle, or maybe a coffee or spice grinder. The warrant names both manual and electronic options. We’re also looking for any equipment used to make and consume smoothies. I suggest starting in the dishwasher. Collecting indoor and outdoor trash is also included in the warrant.”
Julia and Alyssa rushed into the room. They both looked disheveled, as if the commotion of unexpected people and noises had dragged them from serene solitude. Julia had one towel wound around her head and another wrapped around her body. “What the fuck is going on?”
Alyssa’s hair was sticking up at odd angles, and she rubbed sleepily at her eyes. She hadn’t dressed for bed but must’ve fallen asleep. The weary widow looked at Richard Todd. “Is it Tuesday already?” That must’ve been some nap.
“Christ, Mom,” Julia hissed. “It’s Sunday evening. The detectives didn’t honor the bargain their commissioner agreed to.”
Mayor Barclay moved to stand in front of her. He lifted his hands as if to settle them on her shoulders but then dropped them to his side when considering her state of undress. “Julia,” he cautioned. “The medical examiner returned some troubling information that won’t allow delay.”
Julia brushed the mayor aside and approached the lawyer, who seemed unwilling to look in her direction. “Uncle Rick, fix this.”
The silver-haired man sighed and turned his rigid body around to address her. “Dear, this situation is outside my scope of expertise, even if I was still practicing. I told your father that on Friday, and I’m telling you now.”
Julia’s pale face turned a mottled red. “Don’t say another word about your conversations with my father.”
“Julia,” Alyssa said sleepily. “What are you wearing?”
“Excuse me, Mother. I was in the bathtub trying to forget about the horrors of the past few days.”
That remark caught Royce’s attention. Her father had only been dead for a little over a day. Sure, Julia could’ve misspoken, but her previous conversation about Dr. Matisse’s behavior implied that tensions had been high since her arrival. Or had she known about the allegations? Had Julia’s daddy issues gotten the best of her when she learned Dr. Matisse had potentially fathered hundreds of other children? Did it magnify her anger toward him enough to kill?
“That’s no excuse for such unladylike behavior,” Alyssa said. “Eli and Richard are extremely uncomfortable, and you’re making a horrible impression with these detectives and…” Her voice trailed off as she waved at the technicians searching her kitchen for evidence. Alyssa seemed too calm under the circumstances. Had she been able to refill her prescription, or was she completely unaware of the seriousness of the situation? She’d aimed her only outward display of ire at her daughter.
“Drop it, Mother,” Julia snapped. “We have bigger fish to fry. The police must think one of us killed Father.”
“Go get dressed,” Alyssa insisted. “Now.”
Julia glared at her mother, and Royce couldn’t help but imagine what her teen years had been like. After a tense standoff, Julia spun on her heels and flounced out of the room.
Alyssa smoothed a finger over her eyebrows and then used her hands to tidy her hair. “I’d offer everyone a beverage, but you’ve seized control of my kitchen.”
“We won’t be long, ma’am,” Diego said.
“Why are you here?” Alyssa asked.
“Let’s wait until your daughter returns,” Royce said. “That way, I only have to say this once.”
“Efficient,” Alyssa said with an approving nod.
A few minutes later, Julia returned to the kitchen looking much younger than her thirty-eight years in a pair of faded skinny jeans and a coral tank top. Then again, her mother didn’t look seventy-five either. Had Alyssa intentionally waited until her late thirties to have a child, or were her fertility struggles what prompted Dr. Matisse to specialize in the field?
“This is barely an improvement over the towel,” Alyssa said when she noticed Julia’s outfit.
“Shut it, Mother.” Julia turned a scathing expression on Royce and Diego. “Why are you here, and what are you looking for?”
Royce wasn’t one to tip his hand, but he couldn’t shake the impression that one of these women, or possibly both, had acted rashly when they put the ground benzos into the green smoothie and served a scotch chaser. Their emotions might’ve gotten the best of them, and they hadn’t likely covered their trail very well. He glanced over his shoulder and noticed that the techs had already bagged and tagged several pieces of evidence from the dishwasher, including a single-serving blender cup and a dirty glass—both with a dried green residue clinging to the sides. They’d also found what looked like a collection container from an electric spice grinder. When he turned back to face the Matisse women, he noticed their attention was riveted to the activities behind him. Richard Todd and Mayor Barclay were regarding one another in what looked like a silent conversation. “Dr. Matisse ingested a deadly combination of alcohol and benzodiazepine, resulting in respiratory and cardiac failure.”
Four sets of eyes jerked to him. Their reactions were what he expected since everyone had jumped to this conclusion the previous day based on the empty decanter of liquor and the bottle of pills on the poolside table. No one seemed surprised, but only the men looked irritated. As for Julia and Alyssa, their faces had become masks of indifference that made it impossible to know what they were thinking. Royce was pretty sure that would change soon because it was unlikely their lessons on becoming a genteel lady included how to react when someone accused them of murder, not that he planned to do so right then. A mere hint of suspicion should do the trick nicely.
Richard Todd was the first to verbalize his thoughts. “That’s the ruling we expected the medical examiner to find. So why the warrant to seize certain household items and collect fingerprints?”
“Fingerprints?” Alyssa asked. “Whose?”
“Yours and your daughters,” Diego replied.
Alyssa placed her hand on her chest as if to clutch her pearls, but she wasn’t wearing jewelry. “Why would you need our fingerprints?”
Diego discreetly nodded his head in deference to Royce, signaling for him to take the lead.
After letting the question hang in the air for an uncomfortable silent stretch, Royce squared his shoulders and focused his full attention on the Matisse women. “Because Dr. Matisse’s fingerprints were nowhere on the pill bottle found by the pool. He didn’t ingest whole pills. He consumed benzodiazepines that had been ground into a fine powder and mixed into a smoothie. There were two other sets of prints on the prescription bottle, and we need to know who had handled it.”
His dramatics paid off when their neutral masks briefly slipped to expose their genuine reactions. Alyssa’s mouth dropped open in shock, and she turned her head to look at her daughter, which meant she caught the devastation that temporarily twisted Julia’s features. Mother and daughter met one another’s gaze, and something flashed between them, but it was gone in the next second. Royce had to give it to them though. Both Julia and Alyssa quickly popped those cool, unreadable masks back into place. The entire range of emotions lasted mere seconds, and if he hadn’t been watching them closely, he would’ve missed their reactions entirely. Had they acted together? It was something he couldn’t ignore.
“You need better legal advice than I can offer,” Richard said. “I told Jean Claude the same thing when he called me on Friday afternoon to tell me about the impending exposé.”
“I told you to stop talking,” Julia snarled.
“I’m not breaking privilege because I wasn’t acting as your father’s attorney on Friday, and I’m not acting as yours now. I’m a retired estate attorney, Julia. The best I can do for you now is to give you the name of a criminal attorney.”
Julia snorted. “As if I trust your recommendations.”
“Stop acting like a spoiled brat, Julia,” Alyssa said. “There has to be an explanation that doesn’t include murder. There’s no way to get around the warrant?” She’d aimed her question at Richard, who shook his head. “Fine. Let’s give them our fingerprints. The quicker these people get what they need, the faster they’ll leave.”
“What time did you speak to Dr. Matisse on Friday?” Royce asked the lawyer.
“It was around noon,” Richard replied. “I returned his call during my lunch break.”
“Do you know if Dr. Matisse was at home at the time of the call?”
“To the best of my knowledge, he was,” Richard said.
“Stop offering information,” Julia said.
“I’m not obstructing this investigation,” Richard Todd told her. “Even if my conversation with your father fell within the scope of client-attorney privilege, the time and location it occurred isn’t privileged information.”
“Fine,” Julia said. “I refuse to answer questions without legal representation present. And since Richard has clearly and repeatedly stated that he can’t advise us properly, any conversation you wish to have with us will have to wait until we can find an attorney who can.” She held out her hands in front of them. “Print us and get out.”
Royce shrugged and reached for the fingerprinting field kit the CSU team had set on the island for him. “The evidence will talk loud enough for everyone,” he said.
Julia went first. Defiance stiffened her resolve and her fingers, making it harder to roll her prints onto the card. She snatched the alcohol packet he handed her once he finished.
“You aren’t under arrest, Ms. Matisse, but I need to ask you not to leave the area until we’ve solved the investigation.”
“Fuck off,” Julia snarled before storming from the room.
Alyssa stood quietly and watched her daughter’s dramatic exit before sighing and willfully complying with the process. “I’m sorry about Julia’s outbursts,” she said. “This entire ordeal is extremely upsetting.” Her bottom lip trembled, and Richard swept in to place a comforting arm around her shoulders. “Finding Jean Claude in the pool the way she did, and now these dastardly character assassinations…”
“I’m not offended, Mrs. Matisse,” he assured her. “And I am terribly sorry to add to the duress your family is suffering. We’ll be out of here soon.”
Alyssa nodded weakly. “I think I’ll just go back to my room.” She turned to Richard. “Do you mind supervising all of this?”
“It’s not a problem. Elliott and I will clean up after they leave. You won’t even know they were ever here.”
“Thank you,” she sighed.
Richard pulled her into a tight hug, and Royce saw a telling expression wash over his features before he clawed it back. Richard Todd was in love with Alyssa Matisse. Did she return his feelings? It was hard to say just from looking at her expression and body language. Richard met his gaze and slowly pulled back from the embrace. “Go on up.”
Alyssa nodded again and moved toward the hallway, but Royce called out to stop her. She looked over her shoulder and said, “I won’t leave town either.”
Left with just the men, one angry and the other quietly contemplative, Royce and Diego joined in the search and seizure. They didn’t want to be there any longer than necessary, and it had nothing to do with it being a holiday weekend. The house was cold, sterile, and downright hostile at times. They could keep their money and misery, and Royce would go home to the warm and amazing life he’d built with Sawyer.