He was on the phone when we swarmed his office. His bewildered eyes took in the aggressive barrels now aimed at him. In a subtle voice, he said, "I'm gonna need to call you back." He hung up the phone and forced a smile. "What can I do for you, gentlemen?"
"Bryce Van Allen, you're under arrest for the murder of Sydney Hollister.”
His smile faded, and his face grew tight. I'm sure he thought he was in the clear. Maybe he forgot about the suit at the dry cleaner’s. Maybe he just couldn't bear to part with the expensive suit.
I slapped the cuffs around his wrists and escorted him out of his office. He kept his mouth shut and didn't give us any trouble.
I read him his rights as I perp-walked him through the building. We took the elevator down to the first floor, and I escorted himacross the atrium to a patrol car that waited outside. I stuffed him into the back and slammed the door.
JD had an ear to ear grin. "I love it when it all comes together."
We hopped into the Porsche, drove back to the station, and filled out an after-action report. After Bryce had enough time to stew in the interrogation room, we paid him a visit. But I knew how it would go. Bryce wasn't stupid.
The lawyer laughed as we stepped inside and took a seat across the table from him. "I'm just curious. What do you boys think you have on me?”
"I think you know exactly what we have."
"I need you to spell it out for me like I'm five.”
"A fiber found on Sydney Hollister's body is an exact match for one of your JP Ashcroft suits. That suit is custom-designed, and that color is also custom and specific to your suit. There is no other JP Ashcroft suit like it in the world," I said with confidence.
"And what exactly does that prove?” he said with a smile.
"It proves you had contact with the victim.”
He laughed and shook his head. “I want to speak with my attorney.”
That was the end of the interview.
JD and I pushed away from the table, walked to the door, and banged on it. A guard buzzed us out a moment later.
Bryce didn't seem concerned in the least.
52
Old Glory draped the coffin. Shane may have been a lot of things, but he was honorably discharged from the military. He hadn’t beenconvictedof a capital felony or a Tier III sexual offense. He was eligible for a military funeral. Given the fact that he died during the commission of a capital felony, the VA could have denied it. But it flew under the radar.
At the gravesite, Father Ferguson said a few words. A few old timers from the VFW attended, along with a couple guys from the Teams that had served with us back in the day.
Dressed in black, Riley sat in the first row under the awning. I hadn’t spoken to her since she left the boat. I think she was avoiding me for obvious reasons. I still didn’t know to what extent she was involved.
In our dress blues, JD and I looked sharp.
A bugler played taps, and there wasn’t a dry eye in sight.
It was the kind of thing that made your throat swell.
Two petty officers folded the flag with mechanical precision. One of them kneeled before Riley and handed her the flag. “On behalf of the President of the United States and a grateful nation…”
Riley took the flag, her eyes brimming, trying her best to hold back the sobs.
Before his sendoff, we hammered tridents to the coffin and gave a final salute.
Filled with mixed emotions, I couldn’t help but think it was a life wasted. Shane had so much potential. But something inside made him almost always choose the wrong path.
I approached Riley after the service and offered my condolences. "I've been worried about you.”
"Now, why would you ever worry about me?" she teased.
