Dead by Sunrise

by Richard Ryker

  “Me too,” he said. “Call us if you remember anything else.”

  Brandon waited for her to reply, but she only stood, staring back at him.

  As reluctant as Ruby had been, she’d been some help. Lauren had been dropped off by a tow truck driver. There couldn’t be many towing businesses in the west county.

  He contacted Josiah and Jackson and told them to meet him near the hospital, on the west side of town.

  Neither one had had any luck so far. Josiah had found a handful of businesses with cameras, but one had already written over Thursday night’s recording. Josiah had reviewed footage from another business but found no sign of Lauren.

  Brandon told Josiah and Jackson to check into any towing businesses in the south county area and interview all drivers that had access to a tow truck the night Lauren disappeared.

  Brandon took a trip down to Second Beach to survey the area again. Lauren had purchased beer in town the night she went missing. Was she murdered on the way back to the beach? Or had she made it to the campground before she was killed?

  On the way, he kept his eyes on the edge of the pavement for any sign of trash, especially anything that looked like discarded beer. There was a chance Lauren started back toward the beach but had been forced into a vehicle.

  It was hard to imagine Lauren, intoxicated as she was, making the fourteen miles to Second Beach on her own. The forensics indicated that she’d fallen, probably near the beach, and been pulled into the water shortly thereafter.

  Brandon parked at the trailhead and grabbed his evidence collection kit out of the back of the SUV and made the hike down to the beach. He was grateful the former chief had ensured the department had kits that included a backpack for hauling evidence out of the middle-of-nowhere locations his officers might find themselves.

  The first thing he noticed was how few campers were out. Rain was in the forecast—already, dark clouds stretched out of the endless horizon that was the Pacific Ocean.

  The campsite where Lauren and her friends had stayed was abandoned now. The fire pit contained little of interest. Remains of burned out logs, cigarette butts. One crushed can of Miller Lite blackened by soot. Not the brand Lauren had bought.

  A search of the tall marram grass surrounding the site didn’t reveal any clues. Brandon traveled further out toward the water. Second Beach was home to several rock formations called sea stacks. Remnants of the former, higher coastline, these monoliths were popular with tourists and locals alike. Most were vertical on all sides, providing a challenge for all but professional level rock climbers.

  The one Brandon considered now, the one closest to Lauren’s campsite, had a more forgiving incline. He’d scaled it as a kid, and most healthy adults could make it to the top, as long as they were willing to leave behind any fear of heights.

  Brandon stood at the base of the sea stack. Even here, jagged rock rose a few inches above the sand. This flat, hard surface surrounded the larger stone pillar by several feet on each side.

  If Lauren had fallen, then been dragged away across a rough surface, it was likely some place like this sea stack. There were bluffs at the north end of the beach, jutting out into the ocean so that the shoreline ended abruptly. But those cliffs were nearly impossible to scale, and it was unlikely Lauren could have climbed that high, considering her state.

  He made a circuit around the stone formation. When the tide came in, the sea would encircle the rock. Even now, Brandon had to step over shallow pools left behind by the receding tide. Some pools showed signs of life: sea anemones, small crabs, and an abundance of sea kelp.

  Any biological evidence like hair or blood would have washed away along with Lauren’s body. Nevertheless, he might find some clue she’d been there.

  When he reached the western edge of the sea stack, his eye caught a glint in one of the pools. A tiny silver chain lay tangled in a clump of black mussels. Brandon took a picture with his phone—it was most likely part of a necklace. He slid on a pair of gloves and tugged gently on the chain, revealing a small pendant. The pendant was dull white, possibly porcelain, shaped like a crescent moon.

  He took another picture, this time focusing on the pendant, still connected to the chain, despite the fact that the clasp appeared broken. At first glance, there didn’t appear to be any hair or skin on the necklace, but he’d leave it up to the forensic team to determine what hidden clues the trinket might hold. He placed the necklace and pendant in an evidence bag.

  If this were Lauren’s necklace, it may have broken away during a struggle. There hadn’t been any marks on the girl’s neck indicating the necklace had been used to choke her.

  When he’d finished checking the area, he made the trek up the sea stack. It hadn’t rained for some time, but the stone was slick, moistened by the sea spray that doused the ancient geological formation with every high tide.

  He pulled himself up onto the highest point, a narrow plateau about ten by twenty feet. He came up on the ocean-facing side of the rock and he stood on the edge now, peering down at the hard surface thirty feet below.

  The Pacific Ocean roared in the distance, the sound interrupted by brief gusts that nudged Brandon back from the cliff. His eyes rose to massive waves swelling offshore. Smooth and dark, their pace appeared deceivingly slow.

  He followed the waves as they approached the shore, where they grew more intense, if smaller, finally crashing onto the wet beach.

  This could be the last place Lauren stood before she died. But she wouldn’t have seen the ocean then. It had been hours before sunrise, and her injuries indicated she’d fallen onto her back.

  Waves brushed the rocks below, only to retreat a moment later.

  When the tide advanced, the sea stack would become an island. Brandon turned to leave, but something caught his eye. A black plastic bag. Carefully, he lifted the opening to see what was inside.

  Beer cans. He opened the bag more. Coors Light. He checked for a receipt but didn’t find one.

  He photographed the bag from a few different angles.

  The beer could have been left by anyone, but if this was the place Lauren had fallen from—or been pushed off of—those cans might tell him who she was with when she died.

  Brandon pulled out a larger bag and carefully placed the bag of cans inside, then checked and double-checked the top of the sea stack for other clues. Not finding any, he took the evidence he’d gathered and descended the rock.

  Back at his vehicle, he contacted the coroner.

  Lisa agreed to send a tech ASAP. Brandon would meet the tech halfway between PA and Forks. The sooner they got to work on testing for any DNA or fingerprints, the better.

  It was becoming clear to Brandon that whatever happened to Lauren occurred near her campground. Second Beach was National Park Service territory, so he’d have to keep them updated. He’d give Police Chief Simpson at the Quileute police department a call too, letting him know the murder most likely occurred somewhere off the reservation. Simpson wouldn’t be disappointed to learn the case had moved out of his jurisdiction. No small town or Tribal department wanted to deal with a case like this.

  Brandon met the tech up at the west end of Lake Crescent, thirty miles north and east of Forks. Brandon completed the chain of evidence paperwork and handed over the necklace and beer cans.

  On the road back to town, his listened to Tori’s voicemail. As he expected, she was upset about Emma. They’d had another big argument. He called her back, but her phone went to voicemail.

  “Hey, it’s Brandon, calling you back.”

  They’d probably figure it out on their own. These rows usually lasted a couple of days, then they were back to getting along again. Then, he remembered Phoenix Weaver’s ominous warning—something about family trouble in his future.

  It was a good thing he didn’t believe in that nonsense. Everything would be fine.

  He hoped.

  Chapter 13

  Brandon had asked Nolan to run background checks on La
uren’s friends. When Brandon returned to the station, he found a summary on his desk. The report was comprehensive—Nolan had actually done a good job.

  Brandon flipped to the page describing Justin Tate. Not that Justin had a clear motive in Lauren’s murder. But the kid’s attitude toward the police irritated Brandon, and part of him hoped to find out something less than impressive about his past.

  He wasn’t disappointed.

  Two years ago, Justin had been charged with attempted rape. The charges were eventually dropped. Nolan had learned the victim was the same age as Justin, and while initially alleging sexual assault, later claimed it was consensual. But not after stringing the prosecutor’s office along for several weeks.

  The victim’s name was Brooke Whittaker. Justin’s girlfriend and Lauren Sandoval’s best friend.

  Despite the alleged assault, Brooke had stayed with Justin. Why?

  There were no other charges or convictions in Justin’s record. Brooke’s record was clean, as was Adam’s.

  Could Justin have sexually assaulted, then killed Lauren?

  She’d had intercourse before she died. Someone had most likely pushed her off a sea stack then dragged her body into the ocean. Justin was strong enough to do both.

  Proximity and a history of accusations wasn’t enough to arrest him. He needed to take the information he had and interview Lauren’s trio of friends again.

  It sure would help if the crime lab got him the DNA results back. If Justin was the murderer, Brandon knew where to find him, for now. If not, that meant the killer still hid among the thousands of anonymous faces that passed through Forks every year.

  With the Moonbeam Darklove festival approaching, the number of people in the town could double over a two-day period. Meaning more places for the killer to hide, and more potential victims to prey upon.

  Brandon contacted Brooke and Justin and asked them to come down to the station.

  The sexual assault allegation by Brooke against Justin could be important. And the new evidence that Lauren had made it into town the night she passed. Brandon didn’t know, but was beginning to believe, that she’d died after having drinks on the sea stack. Whether she’d been drinking alone—or not—during those final minutes could be key to solving the case.

  Brandon interviewed Brooke first.

  He’d just pushed the record button when Brooke asked, “What did you find out about Lauren?”

  “We’re still waiting on a few things,” Brandon said. “I was hoping you could help me answer a few questions.”

  She leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs. “Okay.”

  “When was the last time you saw Lauren?”

  “Right before she went into her tent. With Adam.”

  “You didn’t hear from her again?” he asked.

  “Not at all.”

  “You said before you heard her and Adam arguing.”

  “Right. But I didn’t see them,” she said.

  “How long did the argument last?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “And it just stopped? The arguing, I mean.”

  “It got quiet, I guess,” Brooke said. “Maybe I passed out.”

  Brandon stared at the blank legal pad on the table between them. Brooke was holding back, again. Was she protecting her boyfriend?

  “Why are you asking me all of these questions? It’s not like I know who killed Lauren.”

  He wished he believed her.

  “We have evidence that Lauren made it into town in the hours before she died.”

  Her eyebrows furrowed. “That’s like ten miles away.”

  “Fourteen,” Brandon said.

  “How did she get there?”

  “Did Lauren ever say anything about a tow-truck driver?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Anyone that bothered her? Creeped her out?”

  She shook her head, no. “You think someone kidnapped her in Forks?”

  “We know she bought beer at the gas station.”

  Brooke scoffed. “That’s a shocker.”

  “Why?”

  “Lauren hated the lady that works there.”

  “You know her name?” Brandon asked.

  “No. She has red hair. Older.”

  It sounded like Ruby, the cashier who’d sold Lauren the beer.

  “What was Lauren’s issue with this woman?”

  “She was a dealer, messing with Lauren’s clients. Lauren was a drug counselor.”

  “Right. You mean Lauren thought this woman sold to her clients.”

  “Yeah.”

  Ruby, the cantankerous cashier, was a dealer? The late-night shift at the local gas station wouldn’t be a bad gig for someone hoping to distribute drugs in a public but anonymous location.

  “Did Lauren have any evidence of this? Did she ever tell the police?”

  “Nah, just what the clients told her. We confronted her one time,” Brooke said.

  “We?”

  “Yeah, Justin and I used to work at the clinic too. Justin still does. But one time, there she was, down the street sitting in her creepy white van waiting to deal. We all went down and warned her to get out of town before we kicked her ass.”

  She read the disapproval on Brandon’s face. “Or, you know, called the police on her.”

  “Hmm.”

  “You think this lady had something to do with Lauren’s murder?” Brooke asked. She leaned forward, her hands on the edge of the table. “If that’s true, she might target me and Justin.”

  “Right now, all I know is that the woman you’re describing—Ruby—was at work around the time Lauren went missing.”

  Brandon might downplay Ruby’s involvement in front of Brooke, but it was beginning to sound like Ruby had been dishonest, and at the very least withheld information. Ruby had tried to give the impression she’d never met Lauren before.

  “Did you all ever climb the sea stacks on the beach where you camped?”

  “Uh, I don’t know,” Brooke said. “I hate heights. Her and Adam might have.”

  “Okay.”

  “Why?”

  “Just part of the investigation.”

  Best friend or not, Brooke was still a suspect. And Brooke would likely share anything she learned about the investigation with Justin.

  “You accused Justin of rape. Is that right?”

  The color drained from her face.

  “No. I mean. I took it back. It was a misunderstanding.”

  How could rape be a misunderstanding?

  “But you made the accusation. And you’re still with him.”

  “So?”

  “Has Justin ever hurt you?” Brandon asked.

  “Justin would never hurt anyone.”

  Yet she somehow felt the need to press charges against him.

  “Have you ever suspected Justin had any interest in Lauren?”

  Brooke’s face tightened, and now all the color returned to her at once.

  “No.”

  She slid back from the table and crossed her arms.

  “You’re making it out like Justin had a thing for Lauren then killed her or something.”

  “Just asking questions.”

  “Why? Do you have some sort of evidence—did they have sex?”

  “I can’t answer that right now,” Brandon said.

  “Well it’s not possible. Justin was with me all night. And before that too. He wouldn’t do that to me.”

  He abandoned that line of questioning. Any further inquiry about Justin would garner the same defensive response.

  Brandon pulled his phone out and scrolled to the picture of the moon pendant. “Did Lauren have a necklace like this?”

  She bit her lower lip. “It doesn’t look familiar.”

  “Alright. I think that’s it for now.”

  Brooke was silent as she returned to the waiting room. Brandon brought Justin back.

  “Do I need a lawyer?” Justin asked before sitting down.

  “Have
a seat, Mr. Tate,” Brandon said. “Whether you get an attorney is up to you.”

  “Am I a suspect?”

  “Should you be?”

  Justin shook his head as if the question offended him but took the chair across from Brandon.

  “What do you want from us?” Justin asked. “Me and Brooke didn’t do anything.”

  “Then you have nothing to worry about,” Brandon said, leaning back in his chair. He flipped through the notebook he’d brought with him. The notebook was blank but inside there was a copy of the one-page report Nolan had left him. Brandon considered the report for a while before looking up at Justin.

  “I’ll be right back,” Brandon said, leaving Justin alone in the room.

  Brandon waited at his desk for about five minutes. He hadn’t forgotten anything but wanted to give Justin time to sweat.

  When he returned, Brandon sat down and waited for Justin to look him in the eyes.

  “Your girlfriend accused you of rape?”

  Justin’s right eye twitched. He swallowed hard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “We’re the police, Justin. You don’t think we keep records?”

  He waived a hand at Brandon. “That was nothing. She made a mistake.”

  “Made a mistake telling the police what you did, or made a mistake like it never happened?”

  “It never happened, okay?”

  “Then why stay with her? Someone who said something like that about me—”

  “Whatever. You’re a cop. No one ever says bad stuff about cops.”

  That, Brandon thought, was one of the top ten stupidest things he’d ever heard from a suspect.

  “Did you rape her or not?” he asked.

  “Brooke? No, man.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “I ain’t like that.”

  “You willing to take a lie detector test, Justin?”

  “Hey, screw you man. You said I wasn’t a suspect.”

  Brandon wasn’t seriously considering a lie detector test. Not at this point.

  “I didn’t say whether you were or weren’t,” Brandon said.