by Abigail Roux
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My Brother’s Keeper | Abigail Roux
the table in front of him. He played with the short chain on his cuffs as he waited.
Micah slid into the chair opposite him and picked up
the phone, looking through the Plexiglas divider worriedly.
Addison didn’t look well. Micah knew he was going into
withdrawal after quitting cold turkey and several weeks in
jail, and he knew it had to be horrible going through
something like that in an environment where no one gave a
shit. Addison swallowed nervously and picked up his own
phone, leaning forward as he held it to his ear.
“That color doesn’t really suit you,” Micah observed softy
as he knocked his knuckles gently against the glass and
then rested the tips of his fingers against it.
“And I was so sure I’d be winning beauty pageants,”
Addison murmured sorrowfully.
The ghost of a smile he had managed fell once more,
and he looked at Micah sadly as he placed the tips of his
own fingers against the divider, lining them up with Micah’s.
He did it discreetly, as if he were afraid to display anything more in front of the other inmates. Or perhaps it was the
guards he feared, Micah thought grimly.
He turned and looked up at the video camera near the
ceiling and then back at Addison again.
“Talk to me,” Addison murmured. “I haven’t heard from
Brayden in days. What’s going on?”
“Your brother’s gone,” Micah told him softly, deciding to
forego the small talk.
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Addison’s knee stopped bouncing, and he stared at
Micah, unmoving and unblinking. “What?” he finally
breathed.
Micah shook his head and pressed his lips together.
“He’s gone. Him and your daddy’s yacht,” he muttered.
Addison wasn’t looking at him any longer. His eyes had
unfocused, and his knee was bouncing once again. Finally,
he looked up at the camera that was even then relaying their conversation to an observation point, and he met Micah’s
eyes again.
“He did it,” he murmured. “He really did it.”
“Yeah,” Micah growled softly as he watched Addison’s
eyes darken. “Can I call that fucking detective now?”
“IS this Detective Sam Walker?” a soft, oddly gruff voice
asked when Sam answered his phone.
“It is,” Sam answered as he tried to finish up the
paperwork on the Bainbridge case. Addison Satterwight was
safely in jail and awaiting trial for murder in the first degree, obstruction of justice, possession, and any number of other lesser charges. All in all, it should have been a satisfying end to the case. Sam just couldn’t figure out why it still nagged at him. “Who is this?” Sam demanded.
“That’s not really important, Detective,” the strangely
soft-spoken voice drawled in amusement. “What is important
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is that you’ve overlooked one little detail in your most recent investigation.”
Sam froze and looked up, scanning for Morgan amidst
the ordered chaos of the station. His call waiting beeped at him discreetly. He ignored it. “Which investigation would
that be?”
“You’ve captured a pawn, Detective,” the soft voice told
him tauntingly. “The game never ends with a pawn.”
Sam froze and stared at his partner across the room,
the phone held to his ear as his grip tightened on it. The call waiting beeped once more.
“Detective Walker?” the soft voice on the phone queried
in amusement. “Are you still with me?”
“You think Addison Satterwight was a pawn?” Sam
inquired carefully as he quietly tried to engage a recorder on the call. “Why would you say that?”
“Check up on your loose ends, Detective,” the voice
murmured. “Brayden Bainbridge has cleared out his family’s
accounts and left the country on his father’s private yacht.”
Sam cursed as the line went dead. He waved frantically
at Morgan as he tossed the cell phone down and stood.
“DONE?” Brayden inquired as Daniel flipped the satellite
phone closed.
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“Done,” Daniel grinned. He held up the phone and then
slung it like a Frisbee into the ocean.
Brayden watched it sail through the air and splash
down with a slight smile.
The yacht was not a particularly large one, but it was
big enough that it required at least two men to maneuver it.
That had been Daniel’s only demand when Brayden had
approached him with the plan. Daniel hadn’t wanted to be
expendable, when all was said and done.
That had been before Brayden and Daniel had truly
known each other, though, before the trust had formed.
Brayden wasn’t worried about Daniel killing him as they
sailed off to somewhere with no extradition laws and tanned beauties who would bring them drinks on the beach all day
long, nor was Daniel worried about Brayden doing so any
longer. He was one of the first true friends Brayden had ever had.
“Poor Sonny,” Brayden murmured as he reached into
the bucket beside him and withdrew a bottle of champagne.
He watched the bubbles thoughtfully, feeling a twinge of
regret as he thought about his little brother sitting in prison and going through what had to be some hellacious
withdrawal. Then he smiled and looked up at the horizon. He poured himself a glass, then another one for Daniel.
“To Addison,” Daniel proposed with a grin as he held up
his glass. “The perfect pawn,” he drawled in amusement.
The crystal clinked with a lonely echo over the open
water.
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“WE know your brother did this,” Sam urged. “We know
that, Addison, but we have to have your help.”
“What do you need?” Addison asked him hollowly as
Sam sat opposite him in the small room.
“We need the murder weapon,” Sam answered softly.
Addison’s dark eyes rose to meet Sam’s. “The antifreeze? It has to be in that club, kid,” Sam said to him urgently. “Your brother knew every nook and cranny. He stashed it
somewhere thinking he could go back and dispose of it. He
didn’t expect the autopsy to be performed—”
“Why was the autopsy performed?” Addison asked
dazedly, as if he didn’t quite understand what Sam was
telling him; that his brother was a murderer and had set him up to spend life in prison.
“Your father left specific instructions,” Sam sighed.
“Is that even legal?” Addison asked with a frown.
Sam actually smiled at him sympathetically. “When you
have the kind of money your father did, anything is legal.”
Addison stared at him and swallowed with difficulty.
“You sound like Brayden,” he whispered.
Sam was silent as he watched the pain enter the man’s
expressive eyes.
“Why did he do it?” Addison finally asked, his agonized
voice barely audible.
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Abigail Roux
“I don’t know, kid,” Sam answered regretfully. “You
remember what I told you about the will we found? The
handwritten copy of your father’s will? He was going to cut you both out, and we think Brayden found out, somehow.”
He waited a moment and then leaned closer. “Did your father kill your mother, Addison?” Sam asked softly.
Addison shook his head as he reached up to wipe at his
eyes, his hands still cuffed together. He pressed his lips
tightly together and looked at Sam pitifully.
“Brayden believed he had,” he answered hoarsely.
They sat there in silence for a long moment, Sam
waiting breathlessly for Addison to continue.
“Brayden knew where all the hidey-holes at the club
were,” Addison finally said shakily. “But so do I,” he added determinedly. “Take me out there,” he requested bitterly.
“We’ll find your smoking jug of antifreeze.”
SAM and the two uniformed officers followed Addison up the
hidden stairs and into the dark hexagonal office. He looked around the empty room with narrowed eyes as Addison
shuffled off to the side with his shoulders slumped and his head bowed.
Sam stepped over to him and took his hands, reaching
into his own pocket to retrieve the key to the handcuffs. He unlocked them wordlessly as Addison stared at him with
liquid brown eyes.
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“Show me,” Sam ordered quietly. “No tricks,” he added
sternly.
Addison didn’t seem to be in the mood to argue, though,
and he nodded and stepped around Sam slowly. He went to
the desk obediently as he rubbed his wrists slowly. Sam felt a stab of guilt over the way he had treated the kid
throughout the investigation, but he tried to push it aside.
The only thing he could do now was catch the real killer for him.
He watched in silence as Addison revealed hidden
compartment after hidden compartment in the desk,
demonstrating to Sam how to get to them and what was in
them. Most were innocuous papers or trinkets. There was a
flask of what smelled like bourbon. There was a box with the faintest hint of perfume that Addison refused to open, and
when Sam investigated he found that it contained letters
addressed to Reggie Bainbridge from a woman. Addison’s
mother, Sam realized with a pang of sympathy.
“Are there any others?” Sam asked as soon as Addison
appeared to be done with the desks.
“There are a few in the bookcases,” Addison answered
softly. Sam gestured to the walls and Addison moved to the
nearest bookshelf. He reached up to the highest shelf,
standing on his toes and stretching, and tipped a book
toward him. There was a click and the row of books near his waist slowly swung open. Addison backed away and Sam
took out his pen and used it to open the shelf the rest of the way, shining his penlight into the dark compartment.
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“Empty,” he announced with a disappointment he
couldn’t quite conceal.
Addison nodded and moved to the next bookcase over.
He kicked at the baseboard and the wooden panel fell to the floor with a clatter. He then slid his booted toe under the bottom shelf and there was another click as the entire lower front of the bookcase creaked open. Addison used his foot to nudge it open further and then stepped away again. Sam
knelt and raised his penlight, shining it into the
compartment.
Inside sat a blue jug of PEAK brand antifreeze.
“Fuck,” Sam breathed as he lowered his head.
Addison was silent, staring at the compartment with a
distant, dazed expression.
“That fucker,” Sam spat angrily, finally letting it boil
over. “Murdered his own father and framed his only brother
for it,” he surmised in disgust.
“No,” Addison whispered. It was the first word he had
spoken that had been unprovoked by a direct question since
they had signed him out of the detention center. “He didn’t frame me,” he murmured with a shake of his head. His
haunted black eyes moved to look down at Sam. “He just
used me as a distraction.”
Sam stood and looked at him, unable to hide the
sympathy in his expression. “He knew we’d look at you,” he
said as realization dawned. “You were an easy target because of the drugs and the lovers. All he had to do was push us
just a little in that direction, and he was free to get away,” he 132
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said in disgust. “Then he had his buddy Daniel call to get
you out.”
“He knew as soon as he left I’d be cleared,” Addison
went on softly as he looked back down at the antifreeze. “I was just a pawn he moved around to protect himself.”
Sam watched the kid worriedly, wondering what it
would feel like to have your only brother, your only family, betray you so horribly. He couldn’t imagine.
Addison raised his head and looked around the room
sadly. “What happens now?” he asked in a hoarse voice.
“The murder charges will be dropped,” Sam answered
after a moment of looking Addison over. “Your brother will be charged, and a warrant will be issued for his arrest. But….”
“They won’t find him,” Addison whispered with certainty
when Sam didn’t finish.
Sam merely nodded curtly.
“And the possession?” Addison questioned in a low voice
as he looked over at Sam.
Sam inhaled deeply and then pursed his lips. “I’m
betting if you give the DA the name of your dealer, you can walk,” he finally guessed. “But I can’t promise anything.”
Addison met his eyes for another silence that stretched
on and then turned his gaze back to the antifreeze in the
compartment. He swallowed hard and looked down at his
hands. After a long moment, he shook his head and held his
hands up to Sam with his wrists pressed together. Sam
looked at him in confusion
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“I’m not like my brother,” Addison told him softly. “I’ll do my own time.”
WITH the murder charge dropped, Addison easily made his
bail.
Six weeks after entering the Metro West Detention
Center the day he was arrested for his father’s murder,
Addison was released back into society.
Sam had never known the feeling of being wrong before,
but Addison’s wrongful arrest still bothered him. First, the kid had lost his father, a painful thing even if he hadn’t
really liked him, then he had been wrongly accused of
murder and hassled by Sam and his partner over everything
from his dead mother to his sexual preferences, then he had lost his brother to something that was worse than death, in Sam’s opinion, and finally he had been tossed in jail to detox on his own. The entire case had felt wrong to Sam from Day
One. He wanted to put at least one aspect of it right again.
“A kid that pretty don’t need to be in prison,” Sam
muttered as he leaned against the hood of a beat up old ’71
Camaro.
“He’s tougher than he looks,” Micah responded
confidently as he s
at on the hood beside Sam.
Micah Parrish, Sam had been shocked to find out, had
visited Addison at least once a week since the day of his
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man despite the murder charges and despite the mess his
life had become, and he had proved himself to be more than
merely a swamp rat looking for a meal ticket. Even after
discovering that Brayden had cleaned out the family bank
accounts and left Addison with nothing but the club, Micah
had not abandoned him.
Sam had eventually forced himself to approach Micah
one day when he had been leaving the detention center. He
had apologized, even though Morgan had warned him not to,
both for the things he had said to Micah and for Addison’s
situation. Now they sat together, waiting for Addison’s
release.
There was a clank in the distance and a long, low
growling sound as the outer gates of the prison began to roll open. Micah slid off the hood of the car, and Sam
straightened as Addison appeared around the corner,
walking with his suit jacket slung over his shoulder. Under his other arm he held a large manila envelope that probably contained whatever had been on him when he’d been
arrested. As far as Sam knew, the thing should be empty,
except for maybe some glitter and confetti.
Addison walked with his head down, squinting his eyes
in the early morning light. The gates began to rumble closed as soon as he passed by them. Sam could practically feel
Micah vibrating beside him.
When he finally looked up at them, Addison actually
smiled as he drew closer. He looked relaxed and, possibly
more importantly, clean and sober. Sam knew that inmates
could smuggle in drugs fairly easily, but it looked as if
Addison had refrained. He had taken advantage of the
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situation to clean himself up, and it appeared to have done him a lot of good. He looked like a different man.
Sam hung back as Addison drew closer, and he watched