“I’m going out for a bit,” Brandon said. Emma sat on the living room floor, pre-calculus book spread out before her and her friend Ashley.
“Bye Mr. Mattson,” Ashley said.
“Take care. No staying up late. School tomorrow morning.”
“When are you coming home?” Emma asked.
“Not too long. Don’t worry,” he said.
“Sure. Don’t worry about my dad who’s a cop going out alone at night.”
“I won’t be alone,” he said. Then, “I love you.”
But she’d already turned her attention back to her calculator.
Chapter 6
Brandon contacted officer Will Spoelman.
Will was on duty, covering the area south of Forks.
“What’s up, Chief?”
“Meet me outside the airport.”
“What’s going on?”
“I’ll tell you when I get there.”
Brandon found Will parked along the edge of the small craft airstrip that lined the highway at the southern end of town. It was full dark but just past eight. Thick fog shrouded what remained of an almost-new moon. Lights from the town’s single-runway airport glowed behind Will.
“Why do I get the feeling this is going to be a bad night for me?” Will asked.
Will was in his late fifties and had been with Forks PD for as long as Brandon could recall. Brandon had begged Will to put off retirement for at least six more months, until the department was stabilized and the younger officers trained. It was a hard sell, considering Will had been stabbed during the town’s last murder investigation.
“It’s about Eli’s case,” Brandon said.
“You’re not still fixating on that are you?”
“He was my brother, Will.”
“And my partner.” Will had worked with Eli on the Forks Police force for over a decade. “But what are you expecting to find that the detectives up in Port Angeles didn’t?”
“For one, they never fully investigated the Jack Nygard link.”
“I remember Jack. Arrested him a few times myself. He doesn’t look a thing like the two suspects described by the witness. They were a man and a woman, both skinny. Have you met Jack Nygard? If there’s one thing he isn’t, it’s skinny.”
“The point is, he might know who did it. The car was in his name.”
Will crossed his arms, leaning back against the SUV. “What are we doing, boss? No one’s seen Jack in a year.”
Brandon waited as a semi-truck passed, engine roaring as it downshifted into lower gear, no doubt slowing as the driver noticed two police vehicles materialize out of the dense fog.
“I’ve found him,” Brandon said.
Will pushed himself off the SUV. “Where?”
“He’s set up behind the old sawmill.”
“The Randall place?”
Randall was a locally owned company that had operated several sawmills in the area. Most of the older mills had been shuttered almost a decade earlier.
“What do you have on him?” Will asked.
“Nothing. Yet. We’re just there to ask a few questions.”
Will pulled a toothpick out of his shirt pocket and slid it between his teeth. “Does Sheriff Hart know?”
“I’m investigating timber thefts. In my jurisdiction. What better person to interview than the ringleader?”
“And what exactly are you trying to accomplish?” Will asked.
“Ask a few questions, see if he slips up,” Brandon said. “Nygard knows who killed Eli. I don’t have any doubt.”
Will shrugged. “Okay. Let’s get this over with.”
Brandon pulled into the Randall Mills parking lot, guiding the SUV through the concrete barriers. He parked on the highway side of the old mill Will pulled in behind him.
Two floodlights illuminated the sawmill through thinning fog.
They stood staring up at the abandoned structure, once one of a handful of businesses that had employed half the town. Brandon’s breath spread out in a mist before him.
He motioned to Will.
A single lane dirt road led back into the woods. Nygard hadn’t bothered to cut back the blackberry brambles overtaking the path.
Brandon stood still at a noisome baying from deeper in the forest.
“Coyotes,” Will said.
The otherworldly howling of the pack animals had always creeped Brandon out. He’d rather face a coyote in the dark than hear one a quarter mile away.
“Kill your flashlight,” he told Will.
Chances were, they were already being watched.
Up ahead, a dim light peeked through the forest. The scent of smoke from a wood-burning stove hung in the air.
“How’s he getting power? I don’t hear a generator,” Brandon said.
Will pointed up at several thin poles that hedged the path the encampment, wires drooping lazily between each post. Nygard had probably rigged a way to leech electricity through the old mill. That, or he’d paid off someone at the utility district.
The brambles and new growth trees parted. A single-wide mobile home sat lopsided off to their left. Just as in the satellite photo, underbrush had crept out of the forest and wrapped its tendrils around the structure. A weak light seeped through the mobile home’s dingy curtains. An RV occupied the far end of the clearing, about a hundred feet away. A pop-up camper trailer was closer to the right. The RV and trailer hadn’t been in the photo.
Brandon spotted the truck he had pulled over earlier in the day.
As they entered the clearing, two lights hooked to one of the flimsy poles switched on, flooding the area. Motion sensors.
“Wait,” Brandon said, stretching an arm out to halt Will.
They drew their weapons, sliding back into the shadowed path, scanning for any movement within the encampment.
“There,” Will whispered. “I saw a curtain move in the mobile home.”
“We’ll wait for them to make a move,” Brandon said. “Keep your sights on the trailer and RV.”
The screen door cracked open. A rifle barrel appeared, followed by the hulking figure of a man.
“Forks Police,” Brandon shouted. “Drop the weapon.”
“Prove it,” the man shouted.
“Put the rifle down!”
He slid back into the house. Brandon aimed his department-issued Glock 22 at the vacant door.
The man sauntered out onto the front step and sat down. He’d left the gun inside and traded it for a beer.
“Hands where we can see them,” Will ordered.
The man stretched his legs out and opened the can of beer. He swallowed two long drinks.
“If you want to talk, I’m right here.”
“Who else is here?” Brandon asked.
He shrugged. “Just me. Officer.”
Brandon approached. Will followed a few steps behind, surveying their surroundings for any sign of movement.
He was in his early fifties. Thick arms that were more muscle than fat stretched the limits of his shirt—a flannel with the arms cut short by a cheap pair of scissors. He had the protruding abdomen of a man who drank beer for breakfast.
This man knew who had killed Eli and where they were now. Yet he’d gone out of his way to avoid helping the police.
Brandon let his finger off the trigger before he did something he’d regret. Nygard wasn’t any use to Brandon dead.
“Jack Nygard?”
He stared back at Brandon for a long time.
“I do something wrong?”
“That’s what I’m here to find out.”
Brandon holstered the pistol.
“If this is about that cut up by Bogachiel State Park, it wasn’t me,” Nygard said.
Brandon wasn’t sure what cut he was talking about.
“Where’d those come from?” Will asked, pointing to a stack of cedar shakes in the back of Nygard’s pickup.
Nygard pulled on his beard, surveying the cedar as if trying to remember exactly wher
e. “Land my family owns down in Mason County.”
“And does your family own this property too?” Will asked.
“Nope. The sawmill belongs to the Randall family. I’ve got their permission.”
Why would the Randalls, a well-respected family as old as Forks itself, let a lowlife like Nygard squat on their land?
“How long you plan on staying here?” Brandon asked.
Nygard tipped his head back and finished the beer, crushing the can and tossing it a couple of feet to Brandon’s right.
“Long as I need to.”
Brandon made a mental note to check on who in the Randall family managed the defunct sawmill.
“You live here alone?” Will asked.
“Got a son in high school. Wife died five years ago.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Brandon said, thinking about the young couple that had fled into the forest after killing Eli. High school seemed too young. “Is your son here now?”
“Nope. Not that it’s any of your damn business.”
“What about Erik Olson?” Brandon asked.
He squinted at Brandon. “What about him?”
“I pulled him over driving your truck earlier today.”
“Olson was running and errand for me. He’s on my payroll.”
“And what business would that be for?” Will asked.
“Tree topping. I’m a legit arborist. Business license and everything,” Nygard said.
Any business Nygard operated was likely a front.
“Tell me about the car involved in the murder of Officer Eli Mattson last year,” Brandon said.
Nygard glared at Brandon for several seconds. Probably wishing he’d brought another beer out with him. Brandon wore a heavy coat, so his name wasn’t visible on his uniform.
“What’s that got to do with me?”
“The murderers were in your car.”
He held out his hands. “I already talked to the detectives. I’ve been cleared.”
“No one’s been cleared,” Brandon said.
“Like I told the other guys. I sold the car to a kid. Twenty-something year old. I signed the title over to him and I guess he never turned it in.”
“You didn’t get his name?”
Nygard scratched his head, then paused as if considering the question. “Sorry, boss. Memory doesn’t work like it used to.”
“No bill of sale?”
“Cops asked me that too. I lost it.”
Nygard might not have pulled the trigger, but he knew more than he was letting on.
“You mind if we take a gander around?” Brandon asked. The murder weapon had never been located. If Nygard were close enough to the killers, they might have stashed the gun on his property.
Nygard’s eyes flitted to the RV several feet behind Brandon.
“Yes, I mind.”
A flicker of movement caught Brandon’s attention. Through the glare of the floodlights he saw a young woman’s face in one of the RV windows. The curtains dropped back into place, shielding her again.
“I thought you said no one else was here,” Brandon said.
“Could be the dark playing tricks on you,” Nygard said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “That happens out here.”
Brandon glanced at the window again. The woman in the RV could be key to Eli’s case. But they were stuck without probable cause to search the property. And Nygard knew it.
It was as if Nygard and all his lackeys had gotten away with murder and didn’t give a damn what the police did or said. Brandon wasn’t sure what made Nygard so damn confident.
When Brandon found out the truth, he’d drag Nygard and everyone helping him to the feet of justice.
“I know you know more than you’re letting on, Nygard. I just don’t know why yet.” Brandon moved half a step closer, pointing a finger in Nygard’s face. “I’m watching you and Erik Olson and anyone else who comes or goes from here.”
Brandon sensed Will shift his stance. He was getting uneasy with Brandon’s outburst.
Nygard cocked an eye at Brandon. “Who the hell are you?”
“Brandon Mattson. Chief of police.”
It took a second for the realization to register on Nygard’s face. “You mean—”
“That’s right. Eli Mattson’s brother. I will catch his killers, dead or alive. Anyone who stands in my way can expect the same treatment.”
One side of Nygard’s mouth curved in a wicked smile. “Good luck. Chief.”
As satisfying as it would be to knock the grin off Nygard’s face, it would only make things worse. Brandon turned to leave.
“Just a second,” Nygard said. He stood and reached into his back pocket. Will unholstered his gun quicker than Brandon would have expected.
Nygard held out a green and white business card that read A-1 Arborist: Tree Topping and More.
“You need anything done on your property, give me a call. I’ll have one of my guys come out and take a look.”
Brandon motioned to Will and headed back to the highway before he did something that would end his career just four months in.
“Suit yourself,” Nygard called out after him.
“Now what?” Will asked on the way back to the sawmill.
Nygard hadn’t offered any help. No surprise there.
“There’s someone living in that RV.”
“You think it’s related to Eli’s death?”
“He’s obviously trying to hide someone,” Brandon said.
“Like maybe the woman in the car?” Will asked.
There was no way to tell. The woman had been described by the witness as about five and a half feet tall with light brown hair. The male was average height, too. That’s all they had.
“We won’t know until we have a warrant. Assuming she sticks around,” Brandon said.
“And what about the other one? The man in the video?”
“He could’ve been there too,” Brandon said. “I’ll need probable cause for a search.”
They’d reached the SUVs.
“Good luck getting a warrant,” Will said. “The detectives already took a shot at Nygard.”
“What about his timber poaching?” Brandon asked.
“That cedar shake? It’ll be hard to prove—”
“Nygard’s bread and butter is the black market, especially figured maple,” Brandon said. “He won’t make it long without some involvement. I just need to catch him in the act.”
Will pointed at Brandon. “I just thought of something. The old mill is owned by the Randall family. Nygard claims he’s got permission to stay there. If we can obtain the family’s permission.”
“Get their consent to search?”
“Exactly. It is their land, after all,” Will said.
“It’s a stretch,” Brandon said.
Even in a landlord-tenant situation, the owner could not give consent to the search of the tenant’s private property. This might be their only chance at collecting evidence proving who killed Eli. They had to do it right the first time.
“Any other ideas?” Brandon asked.
“Flush ‘em out,” Will said. “Talk to the Randall family and let them know what they’ve got on their property. Keep watching for any sign of Olson.”
“You know the family?” Brandon asked.
“I used to know old man Randall. I worked at the mill as a kid before joining the force. But he passed away years ago. Never cared much for the rest of the family. I might call up to the assessor’s office and find out who’s paying taxes on the property.”
“Do it,” Brandon said. “If we’re lucky and his story about the Randalls is bunk, we bust him for trespassing, possibly seize his stolen timber. And if it just so happens the other residents here are implicated…”
“We’ll at least get their prints, if we make an arrest,” Will said.
Brandon pulled out his cellphone to check if Emma had called or texted. The only message was from Lisa, reminding Brandon he was supposed
to be up in Port Angeles.
Five hours ago.
Chapter 7
Brandon called Lisa on the way back to town. She answered on the first ring.
“Sorry,” Brandon said.
“I’m used to it,” she said dryly.
“This is only the second time. And always when I’m involved in a case.”
“The Dunn murder? Is there something new I should know about?” she asked. That was the problem with working with your girlfriend. She already knew most everything you did at work.
“A different case,” he said.
“Well, since I’m the coroner and I’m not involved, I’ll assume it’s not a murder,” she paused. “I know there’s something you’re not telling me. I want to respect your privacy, but I’m beginning to wonder…”
“What?”
“I don’t know. Is there someone else taking up your time?”
“You mean besides Emma?”
“You know what I mean, Brandon,” she said.
He wasn’t sure how much to reveal. She wouldn’t approve of his involvement in Eli’s case. Approve or not, he didn’t like hiding the truth from her.
“It’s about Eli,” he said.
“What about him? Has there been a break in the case? I thought they’d put it on the back burner.”
“I’ve been checking into a few things myself,” he said. It was an understatement, for sure. But close to the truth.
“Meaning what?”
“I’m reviewing the investigation,” he said. “Talking to a few people.”
“You mean you’re interviewing suspects? Don’t you think that’s a conflict of interest—”
She’d steered the conversation right where he thought she would.
“I shouldn’t have mentioned it,” he said.
“No, you should have. We’re together, right?”
“Yes.”
“That means we share things. Especially important stuff like this.”
She was beginning to sound like Tori. He suddenly noticed a kink in his neck.
“I’d better go,” he said.
He expected her to insist on finishing the conversation. Instead, she said, “Okay. See you sometime, I guess.”
“I’ll make it up to you. Promise,” he said.
Brother's Keeper Page 5