I pop the hatch to my car and set her down inside. Her tears stream steadily down her cheeks as she stares off into nowhere, clearly in a state of shock. Dexter is sitting at her feet with his head resting on her legs. He whimpers, nudging at her hands, but she remains still as a statue. Pacing back and forth, I try to gather my wits and figure out who my first call should be to.
A few minutes pass before my brain begins to function. Grabbing my phone from my back pocket, I step out of Britney’s hearing range and call Sergeant Black. I give him my location and explain to him that I haven’t seen Deacon’s body myself because I needed to get his sister out of the house. I proceed to inform him that the godawful smell permeating the home is that of a dead body decaying, and based on Britney’s reaction, I know it’s Deacon, and suicide is a strong possibility. Black tells me to sit tight, stay with Britney, and he’ll take it from here.
Within thirty minutes or less, everyone arrives, making it feel like a three-ring circus. First on the scene is my sergeant. After him, our assistant chief and chief arrive, followed by the coroner, two county deputies since Deacon’s house is within the county and not the city, and medics for Britney, I assume.
Britney hasn’t moved since I got her out of the house. She sits quietly, staring toward the wooded area that lines the vineyard. I had to leash Dexter because any time someone tried to approach Britney, he would place himself in front of her and growl at anyone who came too close.
The medics, my sergeant, and Chief Salazar all try asking her questions, but she says nothing. I try talking to her too. When Britney hears my voice, she closes her eyes until I stop speaking. I don’t know what the fuck my best friend was thinking, but if he were alive right now, I’d kill him myself for hurting his sister.
“Beaumont, a word?” Sergeant Black asks. I turn to check on Britney, but I already know nothing has changed. I close the short distance between myself and my superiors, waiting for one of them to start asking questions.
“Sarg. Chief,” I say once I’m within speaking range.
“Obviously, we won’t know how long Deacon has been dead until the autopsy, but I can tell you it was a GSW to the head,” Sergeant Black informs me. “You told me you didn’t see the body, but Britney did—is that correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I don’t need to paint the picture in your mind. Just know that Miss Winslow can’t ever unsee her brother’s dead body. Son, that woman is going to need more than a strong person to help her get through this tragic incident. She’s going to need love, a lot of love.”
“Understood, sir.” I’m trying to be strong. I’m trying to hold myself together for Britney’s sake, but a single tear trickles down my face. As I wipe it away, I turn my attention to the sky, trying to keep more tears from escaping.
“Kade, I know Deacon was like a brother to you. I’m not asking you. I’m telling you to take some time off. Be with his family,” Chief Salazar instructs. “Also, the crime and trauma clean-up team is already en route. They will be here within the hour,” the chief adds. “We have this under control.”
“Tha—” Britney’s shrill voice cuts through my thanks and all of the commotion around us. Everyone’s attention turns to her.
“No!” she screams as she runs toward the gurney carrying the black body bag that holds her beloved brother’s lifeless body. “No!” she screams again. “Deacon, why?” she cries as she drops back to her knees with her face in her hands. “Why?”
“Beaumont, take her home,” Black tells me.
“I’m way ahead of you, Sarg.”
“Brit, come on. We need to go to your parents’ house,” I whisper by her ear as I coax her to stand. As I’m trying to help Britney to her feet, Dexter is pushing me away from her with his body, growling at me because he thinks I’m the one hurting her.
“Dexter, car!” I command. His growl is quickly replaced with a whimper. He looks between Britney and me, not sure what to do. Britney’s voice is faint, but she commands Dexter to get in the car, and it’s her command that he finally obeys, hopping into the back of my vehicle. I close the hatch before escorting Britney to the passenger side and assisting her into the seat.
“My purse is in my car.”
“I’ll grab it.”
“Officer Beaumont,” Deputy Sans calls out as I approach Britney’s car.
“Yes, Deputy?”
“Deacon was a good man. Please give the Winslow family our condolences and tell them the sheriff’s office will be praying for them.”
“Thanks. I will.”
“Oh, and let Britney know that if she needs to talk to someone, my wife is a grief counselor.”
“Will do.” For a moment there, I thought he was going to offer Britney his shoulder to cry on.
I maneuver my SUV out of the busy driveway and head back down the gravel road. It doesn’t take long to reach the main road, but before I make the turn, Britney yells to stop the car. I pull onto the shoulder, and Britney jumps out, bends at the waist, and vomits. Grabbing my water bottle, I exit the vehicle and hand it to her.
“Thank you.”
“Do you need to wait a few minutes before we head to your parents’?”
“No. I’m good.” She stands straight and looks up at me. “We can go.”
The devastated woman from five minutes ago has been replaced by a woman who is clearly locking down her emotions for the sake of her mom and dad. She’s preparing herself to be the strong one to get them through this horrific tragedy.
When I climb back into my vehicle, Britney’s attention is out the window, so I take the opportunity to send a quick text to Sydnee, asking her to meet us at the Winslows’. I tell her it’s urgent, but don’t give more details because I’m driving and because I don’t want her to drive while she’s crying. She responds quickly, stating she’ll be there in forty minutes since she’s still at work.
“Do you have gum or mints?” Britney asks, breaking the silence as we approach the gate to her family home.
“Check the center console.” She rummages through the black hole, as I call it, and finds a pack of gum. She takes two pieces out, unwraps them both, and puts them in her mouth. For as long as I can remember, Britney has always needed two pieces of gum. Her excuse was that she liked to blow bubbles, and a single piece of gum would not suffice.
“Do you want one?”
“Sure.” She unwraps another piece and hands it to me. “Thanks.”
“Mmhm.” She turns her attention back out the passenger side window.
Halfway up the quarter-mile-long driveway, I stop.
“Britney, you don’t have to be the strong one. Let me be your strength. Let me help you and your parents through this.” Her head slowly turns in my direction, but she says nothing. She tilts her head to the side like she’s contemplating how to respond.
“I’m fine. I got this.”
No, she doesn’t, but I’m not going to argue with her. All I can do is be here for her and her parents.
27
Britney