Page 62 of Daybreak

“He’ll give me hell if we’re wrong,” he muttered, but did as she asked and went up the stairs and down the hall to Dixon’s bedroom and knocked.

When he didn’t get an answer, his first thought was that he was already up and in the office, but to be sure, he opened the door enough to peek in and then swung the door all the way inward after what he saw.

The bed had not been slept in!

Reggie pivoted and made a beeline for the office, opened the door and then gasped, then turned and ran down the stairs, stumbling and shouting.

“Linda! Linda! God Almighty, call 911.”

His wife came running. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“The boss is dead. Looks like he killed himself! Call the cops!”

“Oh, my lord!” she cried and ran back to the kitchen to get her phone.

She made the call, her voice shaking with every breath, and was still holding the phone when the police began to arrive.

In the middle of the uproar, Whistler arrived for work to drive the boss to his office. He parked behind the cops and got out running.

“What’s happening? What’s going on?” he said.

One of the officers stopped him at the door. “You can’t go in there.”

“I work here,” he shouted.

“Who are you and what do you do?” the officer asked.

“I’m Beau Whistler, Mr. Dixon’s chauffeur and sometime bodyguard. I drive him to work every morning. Why the hell can’t I go in? What’s happened?”

Donny Sheets, the detective who’d caught the case, appeared in the doorway. “Let him pass.” Then he pointed at the room across the foyer. “You’ll wait in there with the rest of the staff. We’re going to need statements from all of you.”

“For what?” Whistler roared. “What the actual fuck is going on?”

Reggie heard Whistler’s voice and came out of the library and grabbed him by the arm. “We’re in here, Beau. The boss is dead.”

Whistler froze. “What? What happened?”

“I found him, dude,” Reggie said. “He shot himself.”

Whistler’s eyes widened, and the stricken look on his face would have won him an Oscar.

“Well damn,” he muttered. His shoulders slumped as he lowered his head and followed Reggie into the room.

Detective Sheets was well aware of Burgess Dixon’s background and near miss at winding up in prison. He also knew there was gossip about Dixon being behind ordering a hit on another cop. And if that big dude who called himself a chauffeur worked for Dixon, he’d bet his retirement that he did more than drive a limo for the man. He gave them all a hard look and went back upstairs.

A few minutes later, Sheets came back to the library. “There are security cameras inside and outside this place. Where is the main system housed?”

“It’s the door down the hall past the boss’s bedroom. Everything is in there,” Whistler said.

“Thanks,” he said and went back up the stairs.

A few moments later, another detective walked into the library and sat down with the trio.

“I’m Detective Blake. I need to get some info. Names and contact information, and are you three the only staff that live on-site?”

“I’m Beau Whistler, but I don’t live here. I just spend my workday here, or wherever the boss wants…wanted to go,” Whistler said, then gave him his phone number.

“I’m Reggie Townsend. This is my wife, Linda. We live here,” Reggie said. “We have a small suite of our own down the hall from the kitchen.” He gave them his phone number.