Brother's Keeper

by Richard Ryker

  Jackson winked at Lisa. “See you inside.”

  “Mike,” Lisa called out to her driver and most experienced crime scene tech. “Go ahead and get started.”

  When they were alone, Lisa said, “We still on for tonight?”

  “We’re meeting at my place?” Brandon asked.

  She frowned. “Dinner in Port Angeles, then back to my place.”

  “Okay,” Brandon said, catching the disappointed tone too late. Port Angeles was over an hour away. It didn’t qualify as a long-distance relationship, but it sure felt like it sometimes. Between the long drive and his responsibilities with Emma, it didn’t leave much time for anything else.

  “We can cancel if you’re busy,” she said.

  “No, we’re good.”

  “Okay. Tonight, then.” She stood on her toes and pecked him on the cheek again.

  Brandon checked to make sure they were alone, then pulled her into a deep kiss.

  “Tonight.”

  Brandon had planned on following up on the investigation into Eli’s death that evening. But he couldn’t keep putting off time with Lisa. The last several weeks, he’d spent more energy on Eli’s murder than with her. Worse, he’d kept his involvement in the case from Lisa. He knew what she’d say. That he wasn’t the right person to investigate the murder, that he was too close.

  She might be right, but that wouldn’t stop him from snaring Eli’s murderer, at any cost.

  Chapter 5

  Brandon stopped by his dad’s place on the way back to town.

  His father still lived on the same five acres where Brandon had spent his childhood. A gravel driveway led up to an aging craftsman surrounded by a small lawn. Once upon a time, much of the now fallow acreage that surrounded the house was flush with raspberries, peas, potatoes, and a handful of other summer crops. Brandon’s mother had passed just a few months before Eli’s murder. His father hadn’t touched a rake or hoe since then.

  He knocked on the door and his dad shouted for him to come in. Despite Brandon’s reminders to bolt the locks, his father had refused. It wasn’t the 1970s, and in the modern world your neighbors weren’t always, well, neighborly. Brandon’s dad claimed he could take care of himself, motioning to the rifle he kept next to the couch in the living room.

  His dad leaned back, his leg propped up on the coffee table. He clicked mute on the remote. Brandon glanced at the television, where the face of Andy Griffith as Ben Matlock cast a gregarious smile to the expectant jury, no doubt ready to reveal a murderer in the courtroom—anyone but his client.

  “Now that’s quality television,” his dad said. “Andy Griffith was a true American. The way he handled criminals—”

  “You do know he wasn’t a real cop. Or lawyer,” Brandon said.

  “That’s not what I’m saying. Don’t put words in my mouth.”

  Brandon hadn’t come over to talk about television, and he wasn’t about to get drawn into another argument about the failings of modern policing practices.

  “How’s your knee?” Brandon asked.

  “Hurts like hell,” he said.

  He’d had knee replacement surgery a few weeks earlier. Soon after, he’d kicked out the in-home care nurse the insurance had insisted he use.

  “Damn doctor won’t refill my pain meds,” he said. “They weren’t like that when your mother was sick.”

  He pointed to a sun blanched photo set in a gold frame propped above the mantel. Brandon’s parents on their wedding day. The picture hadn’t been there the last time he visited.

  “She had cancer,” Brandon said. “And besides, there’s an opiate addiction epidemic.”

  “Not all of us are dope heads, Brandon.”

  “We don’t call them that, dad. It’s a disease.”

  He pointed a finger at Brandon. “See what happens when you move to Seattle? You start sounding like them.”

  He was referring to Brandon’s career as a homicide detective in Seattle. Brandon had moved away from Forks after joining the Army and never looked back. He’d been home for four months now, but his dad still considered the move away fodder for criticism.

  “You catch Eli’s murderer yet?” he asked.

  Brandon bristled at the accusation.

  “You’ll be the first to know,” Brandon said.

  “I thought you were on their trail. Closing in on them.”

  Brandon’s dad had been a diesel mechanic his whole life. His entire police vocabulary revolved around phrases he’d caught from television. If you tried hard enough, his father figured, you’d catch the criminal every time.

  Insinuating that Brandon wasn’t trying.

  “I’m doing my best. And we’ve just had another murder.”

  He scoffed. “Who?”

  “Mrs. Dunn,” Brandon answered.

  “Dunn?” he said. “She’s always been a kook. Wasn’t she the one with the mint jelly?”

  “Right.”

  “But what about Eli’s case? You’re not getting distracted, are you? There’s no time for slouching around.”

  “No, dad. But I have a job to do. I’m the chief of police. And I’m raising a daughter.”

  “That’s right. I forgot. You’re alive, Eli’s not.”

  Brandon stared down at his clenched hands.

  “I’d better head back to work.”

  “You aren’t staying?”

  “Like you said, no time for slouching around.”

  Brandon locked the door, taking a deep breath as he descended the stairs off the front porch. Try as he might, his father’s criticism still needled him as much, if not more, than it had twenty years earlier.

  He moved his focus to the two other individuals waiting to chew him out.

  Brandon considered telling the mayor he’d have to skip the meeting she’d requested. He could tell her he had to see Sheriff Hart. It was true, he did have a meeting scheduled with both of his supervisors, the mayor and the sheriff. But they were hours apart. Like most unwanted tasks, Brandon figured it would be better to get them over with sooner than later. That attitude fit well with his pull-the-band-aid-off-quickly approach to life.

  ***

  Mayor Kim’s office was across the parking lot from the police station.

  The mayor had insisted the city provide her space independent of the other departments. They’d rented her a mobile home and moved it to the police station parking lot.

  Brandon took a seat at the end of the long table that occupied one side of the mayor’s office. Living up to her reputation as the best-dressed woman in town, her power-red dress drew a sharp contrast to the drab white walls.

  Mayor Kim got to the point. “I get the sense you’re high-balling me with these numbers.” She slid his budget for the Halloween festival across the table.

  Sara Kim had been mayor for just over a year and was hell-bent on continuing the town’s rise as a mecca for fans of the popular vampire love story, Moonbeam Darklove. The mayor had been a successful businesswoman, first in the Korean American community, then broadening her influence by growing and selling a handful of companies. Why she’d chosen the town of Forks to foster her budding political career, Brandon didn’t understand.

  “Would you rather have me understaff the festival and something happen one or two officers aren’t able to handle? A drunken riot isn’t the sort of thing that brings in tourists.”

  She waved a hand at him. “There won’t be any drunken riots. You worry too much.”

  “You pay me to worry and prepare for what might go wrong,” he said. “Your focus on attracting adults to the festival…and the fact that this is a Saturday night event—”

  “Kids are welcome too,” she said.

  “That’s nice. Since Halloween is you, know, supposed to be focused on kids.”

  “Not necessarily,” she replied.

  “Whatever,” Brandon said. “The point is, adults, alcohol, driving from out of town. It’s a dangerous mix.”

  She sighed.

&
nbsp; “I’ll approve the budget. This time.”

  “Anything else?” Brandon asked, moving to leave.

  “Don’t you want to see what I have planned?”

  He tried to hold meetings with the mayor below ten minutes. He hadn’t reached that limit. Yet.

  “Okay,” he replied.

  “The whole festival is based on the Moonbeam Darklove series,” she said, as if this was new information.

  “You’re not asking me to change my officers’ uniforms,” Brandon said. Earlier in the year, the mayor had tried to convince Brandon to a visage of fangs on the department’s badges.

  “Of course not,” she said. “But there has to be uniformity. I’m focusing on the shop owners.”

  He’d heard wind of the mayor’s decorating rules for the town. As much as he felt sorry for the local businesses, at least she’d left his department alone, for now.

  “I’m hoping that by next year, Tiffany Quick will be our guest of honor, but that will only happen if we show her our commitment.”

  Tiffany Quick was the author of the Darklove series, and her visit that summer was a big win for Mayor Kim.

  “And she told me personally that she is considering a follow-up series,” Mayor Kim said. “Do you know what that would mean to the economy, Brandon?”

  He didn’t care about the details, so he said, “I do.”

  She stared at him doubtfully. Brandon glanced at the clock.

  “Anyway,” she continued. “I’ve given instructions to each business on how to decorate for the holiday. Color schemes, that sort of thing.”

  He was pretty sure they’d reached the ten-minute mark.

  “Are you asking me to police the town’s compliance with your decorating regulations?”

  She swiped a hand at him, smiling. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Good to hear,” he said, pushing his chair back. “It’s been nice chatting, mayor, but I have a meeting with Sheriff Hart and I’m late.”

  “I’ll keep you informed of any changes,” she said.

  As he stood, the mayor ran her eyes over his uniform. “I do have some ideas about what you might wear…”

  “Yeah. No.”

  “Weren’t you involved in theater in your younger days?”

  “Who told you that?”

  “I don’t remember,” she said. “I thought it was common knowledge our chief of police was a former thespian.”

  He’d acted in high school, even college, for a couple of quarters. Once a passion, acting had become a hobby, then, like most other pastimes, faded into the shadows as his life took its course. But he’d discovered his ability to play a part, be it best friend or fierce interrogator, had helped him in his work as a detective.

  “The key word being former,” he replied.

  “It’s Halloween, Chief.”

  “And like every other day I show up to work, I’ll be wearing a uniform. Not a costume.”

  ***

  Brandon drove up to Port Angeles for his monthly report to Sheriff Hart. The sheriff’s department had subcontracted law enforcement responsibilities for a wide swath of the west county to the Forks PD. The arrangement, made before Brandon’s arrival as chief, meant he reported to both the mayor and the sheriff.

  Sheriff Hart was an easy enough guy to get along with, and he’d kept his nose out of Brandon’s jurisdiction, for the most part.

  The sheriff’s office was half the size of Mayor Kim’s, which meant it was about twice as big as Brandon’s. A painting of the Olympic Mountains hung on one wall, surrounded by photos of the sheriff on various hunting and camping expeditions. The walls were forest green and the furniture a dark mahogany.

  “Word is you’ve been spending quite a bit of time out of the office,” the sheriff said.

  Brandon thought back to the deputy who’d helped him nab Ferguson and Cal Landenberg. The news of Brandon’s forays out of his own jurisdiction had reached the sheriff’s ears.

  Still, Brandon had learned a thing or two about the benefits of playing dumb.

  “Not sure what you mean, boss,” Brandon said.

  “One of our deputies got a request to help you with a pursuit.”

  “Oh, that. We’ve had a few figured maple poachers down in my jurisdiction. I’d tracked them up north.”

  Sheriff Hart leaned back in his chair, resting his hands on his ever-expanding waistline.

  “I haven’t been on an actual call in years, Brandon. When you’re in a position like yours…that’s what you have officers for. You’re not a detective now. You’re the chief of police.”

  “I get that. But we’re a small department. And don’t you think it makes sense to lead by example?”

  So far, the sheriff hadn’t mentioned Eli’s case. Either he was holding back or, Brandon hoped, wasn’t aware of Brandon’s true motives for targeting the region’s timber poachers.

  “Our department and the mayor agreed to what we believed were fair budget terms,” the sheriff said. “If you’re saying you can’t cover the region within your current budget—”

  Brandon held up a hand. “Not at all. You’re right, Sheriff. I have officers to cover most of what happens in the southwest county. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Good, good. You know, I believe a work and relaxation balance are key to leadership.” The sheriff slapped a hand his desk. “Tell me, what’s the fishing like on the Bogachiel this time of year?”

  Between Emma, Lisa, and his job, Brandon hadn’t had time to himself in months. He had no idea what the fishing was like. But he didn’t want his boss to know he’d spent all his time working, much less working Eli’s case.

  “Great. Caught a couple of steelhead last week,” Brandon replied.

  “I’ll take your word,” Sheriff Hart said. “And, Mattson, know that the next time one of my deputies spots your police vehicle out of your jurisdiction, I’d better hear you were fishing or hunting. Nothing more, nothing less. Is that clear?”

  “Sure thing,” Brandon said, bristling at the idea of having to watch over his shoulder. He wasn’t sure what the sheriff’s motives were, but it seemed like overkill.

  Brandon glanced over Sheriff Hart’s shoulder at a picture of the sheriff and one of his buddies posing with twin catches—sockeye salmon with their characteristic blood-red bodies and bright green heads on display. Brandon hadn’t caught anything that size in years.

  “That was this year,” the sheriff said. “I hope to do better next time.”

  Brandon wondered if the sheriff ever did anything but go fishing.

  There’d be time for that later, after he’d locked up Eli’s killers. That wouldn’t be easy with the sheriff—and his deputies—breathing down his back.

  ***

  Brandon reached Forks in time to pick up Emma from school. She’d claimed he was being overprotective.

  He’d heard about kids who refused to speak with their parents, who hid in their rooms and came out only for dinner. Emma spent plenty of time alone, for sure, but she still came to him with her worries or to talk over plans for her life. For that, he was grateful.

  That might end someday, too.

  He waited outside the school in his department SUV. Teenagers swarmed past him with no sign of Emma. As the crowd thinned, he checked the phone tracker app. It indicated she was at Carl’s Pizza over on Forks Ave. He’d told her she wasn’t to leave with her friends, not without his permission.

  He ought to let it go, but it was the sort of behavior that became a pattern if left alone.

  And what if she was with a boy?

  Then she’d be engaging in normal teenage behavior.

  That wasn’t the point. She’d done the opposite of what he’d asked her to do.

  Brandon pulled into the restaurant’s parking lot.

  He would be calm. Unless there was a boy. Then all bets were off.

  He shoved his way through the door, leaving it stuck open. Searching the room, he spotted Emma in one of the tall booths that li
ned the restaurant. He couldn’t tell who she was talking to.

  “Here you are,” he said, not hiding the frustration in his voice.

  Emma’s eyes widened. “Dad?”

  “Exactly,” Brandon said.

  Emma glanced at the woman across the table from her. “This is, uh, my dad. Dad, this is Susan.”

  The woman smiled at Brandon, shaking his hand. She wore a brown polo with the restaurant’s logo printed across the front.

  “I was just interviewing Emma here for an opening,” she said, motioning to the stack of applications next to her.

  Emma cast him an icy smile.

  “Ok, well. I’ll get going,” Brandon said.

  “We’re just about finished up,” Susan said.

  Brandon pointed to the window. “I’ll wait outside.”

  Emma climbed into the SUV, slamming the door.

  “Thanks a lot,” she said.

  “How was I supposed to know you were doing an interview?”

  “I told you.”

  “Not true, Emma.”

  “Did you check your texts?”

  He pulled out his phone and read the text from Emma explaining she was headed to Carl’s to apply for the job opening they’d talked about.

  “Sorry.”

  “I thought I had a chance. She interviewed me right after I filled out the application,” she said.

  “I’m sure you did fine.”

  “I’m not worried about what I did…”

  “Having the chief of police show up to your interview can’t be that bad.”

  “Hmm.”

  On the way home, Emma asked if she could have a friend over for dinner and to study. Figuring saying no wasn’t an option considering how he’d screwed up at the pizza joint, he gave her the okay. Being around friends usually put her in a better mood.

  Brandon threw together a salad and ordered a pizza.

  After dinner, he grabbed his laptop and found Jack Nygard’s encampment on the map again. It appeared there was only one way in—right through the old sawmill parking lot. They would discover his approach long before he reached the encampment. But it also made it harder for them to escape.