Chapter Thirty-Six

Elizabeth left Dr. Thorpe and made her way to the fifth floor.

Joel would live. He had come to right after arriving at the hospital and managed to explain what had happened. He’d surprised Stephen, who had been waiting to ambush Elizabeth. Joel, not knowing what Stephen was capable of, grappled with the young man for the gun. Despite Joel’s training, somehow Stephen managed to turn the gun on Joel and shot him. The bullet went through the upper part of his chest, the angle of the gun sending it through his clavicle, shattering it, and the piece of lead had just enough energy to exit out of his neck. It had clipped an artery, but Joel was able to slow the loss of blood before passing out right when Fitzgerald arrived at the house.

With the Kauffmanns in custody, Elizabeth was moving onto her next problem. While she’d been escorting Martha to the jail, Martha let it slip what had happened to Deputy Meyer. The matriarch was so shaken by her son’s betrayal and the events leading up to her arrest, she was more than willing to throw any and all under the bus.

The ICU lights were dimmed for the evening hours. Brent’s condition had improved to the point Dr. Thorpe felt he didn’t need to operate again, but the young deputy wasn’t out of the woods yet. She bypassed the empty rooms and came a stop in the open doorway of the Meyers.

Pratt was absorbed with his tablet, glancing at the wall-mounted TV and the talking head droning on about the stock market. Sophie was perched on the sofa, sitting in the exact position she had been in when Elizabeth left her earlier.

Rapping her knuckles against the door startled the couple. Pratt remained seated, setting his tablet aside, but Sophie jumped to her feet.

“Sheriff,” Pratt said casually. “Has there been a change since we last spoke?”

“Yes, there has.” She stepped into the room, mindful of the grime and blood that still spotted her uniform. “We have taken several people into custody. A confession from one has revealed Brent’s shooter.”

Sophie crossed her arms, gripping her elbows. “Who was it?”

“It was Stephen Kauffmann.”

“What?”

Pratt bolted upright. “I knew it was one of those bastards.”

“Pratt, sit down,” Elizabeth snapped.

Shocked, he obeyed. Elizabeth kept her attention zeroed on Sophie.

“Stephen and Karl are also under arrest for multiple homicides, including the death of Neva McKinnley.”

“Why would they kill Mrs. McKinnley?” Pratt asked.

“Because she had become too aware of their activities. It seems that along with murder, the Kauffmanns were into the illegal manufacturing and sale of methamphetamine. They had quite the sophisticated meth lab out behind the old Barrett place.”

“My word,” Sophie breathed.

“Yes, it was shocking, because word from the Iowa DEA estimates the cost of that whole lab close to half a million dollars in equipment, the structure, ingredients to make the meth, and distribution. They believe the lab as a whole was generating over a million in revenue.”

“Here in Eckardt County?” Pratt asked incredulously.

“That’s what DEA tells me.”

“But why are you telling us this?” Pratt asked. “What does that have to do with Stephen shooting Brent?”

Sophie’s eyes narrowed, but she remained solid, her gaze locked with Elizabeth’s.

“My informant stated Martha and her partner had a falling out because of an attempted robbery on the facility and the not so subtle threat left on a piece of the partner’s property.”

“Elizabeth? What are you implying?” Pratt insisted, coming to his feet, and moving to stand near Sophie.

“Do you want me to tell him? Or would you rather divulge that pearl of wisdom?”

Pratt’s attention swung to his wife. “Sophie, what is she insinuating?”

“You are speculating. Conjuring up rumors and myth.”

“No, actually, I have evidence and a signed confession.”

“From a woman who will say anything to keep her sentence light.”

Pratt stepped back from his wife. “My God, Sophie, what is going on?”

“The signed confession isn’t from Martha.” Elizabeth rolled her neck, lifting her head higher. “I had to make a deal with the devil to get what I needed.”

“Speak to my lawyer, Sheriff. This discussion is over.”

“That’s your right. But you still have to come to jail.”

Pratt sank into his vacated chair, gaping at his wife. “What have you done?”

Sophie looked at her husband, contempt rolling off of her in waves. “I did what you never had the balls to do. Instead, you let some petty feud keep you from what was rightly ours.” She smiled. “And to think, all this time, your son thought you were the criminal in the family.”

“But . . . why?”

“Because, Pratt, she was never satisfied with being a trophy wife. She was about to start proceedings to divorce you.”

Elizabeth hooked her hands on her duty belt.

Pratt shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

Sophie’s huff carried a tone of scoffing.

“I’ll admit, in my naiveté about this job, I didn’t see it myself.” Elizabeth inched closer to Sophie. “Neither did your son. I truly applaud your skills, Sophie—it takes a true genius to hide behind the façade of a domestic goddess to pull off a criminal enterprise the likes this county has never seen before. And all because you were tired of your husband controlling every aspect of your life and your finances. Genius.”

“You have no idea who you’re dealing with, Sheriff.”

“Everyone keeps telling me that. Why don’t you enlighten me?”

“I’d rather rot in jail.”

Elizabeth turned at the scuff of boots against the polished floor. Lila entered the room, cuffs clenched in her fist.

“Sophie Meyer, you are under arrest . . .”