“Mmm hmm.”
The benefit of dating someone who knew his line of work was that they gave a certain amount of grace. He wasn’t sure how long that would last. It wasn’t his job, or even Emma, that had sapped away his time with Lisa. It was the investigation into Eli’s case.
His father had said, or at least implied, that Brandon wasn’t really working Eli’s murder, that he’d become distracted. Brandon was into his forties and still his dad’s criticism stung just as potently as it had in high school. On one side, his father assumed he wasn’t doing enough. On the other, people like Lisa or even Jackson felt he shouldn’t be involved.
He thought back to a sign he’d once seen: If you try to please everyone, you won’t please anyone. Besides being a dad, his highest priority was solving Eli’s murder. If Lisa couldn’t handle that, so be it. It hadn’t gotten to that point yet, but he sensed her opposition to his involvement would be a growing source of conflict in their relationship.
***
Brandon had threatened Jack Nygard, letting him know he was being watched. Revealing his identity hadn’t been the smartest move, but he’d let Nygard get to him. Lisa was probably right. Eli’s case cut too close to home. But that didn’t matter. Eli deserved justice. Their dad did, too.
Nygard’s men hadn’t finished harvesting the big leaf maple grove. In the meantime, Ferguson and Landenberg were still waiting to post bail. That meant Nygard might return to the site on his own.
If he could catch Nygard in the act, he’d have what he needed to secure a warrant for Nygard’s property.
The next day, Brandon drove up to a home security store in Port Angeles. He purchased two motion-activated trail cameras to set up at the big leaf maple grove where he’d busted Landenberg and Ferguson. If he’d gone through the sheriff’s department, he’d have to explain the purpose behind the cameras. Instead, he used his own money.
He’d just arrived back at the office when Jackson spotted him.
“Chief, I got an update on the Dunn case.”
He motioned for her to follow him to his office.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“Lisa says time of death was around seven in the morning.”
“When did we receive the call from Todd?”
“About 9:30,” she said.
“That helps us narrow things down, but it doesn’t rule out Todd or anyone else at this point.”
They’d already determined Mrs. Dunn had died from injuries from the hammer found next to her body. A hammer that had belonged to her nephew.
“Any prints?”
“Still waiting to hear back,” she said.
“What about the paper towels we found in the kitchen?” Brandon asked, referring to the killer’s attempt to clean up Mrs. Dunn’s blood. “Anything else interesting in the garbage?”
“Nothing,” Jackson said. “And I interviewed the neighbors. Most of them were at work or watching television. No one noticed anything unusual, but the couple across the road claimed Mrs. Dunn’s cat obsession started a year or so after her husband passed.”
“Anything else?”
Jackson moved from the doorway to the chair across from Brandon’s desk.
“I contacted Todd Dunn again to ask a few follow-up questions. He said he remembered a few things since our first interview,” Jackson said. She flipped through her notebook, scanning the pages.
“Todd must be catching on that he’s a suspect,” Brandon said.
“He claims his aunt kept money in a cookie jar on the counter,” she said, glancing up from her notes.
“It’s missing?” Brandon asked.
“I went back and checked.”
“Did we lift prints from the jar?”
“I asked the techs, and the answer was no. They’re on the way down now.”
“Good. But how did Todd know about the missing money? Did he return to the house?”
They’d told Todd not to enter the home, under any circumstances.
“Says he checked when he found her dead. But forgot to tell us.”
“What else did he forget to mention?”
“Something about a strange woman asking to adopt the cats.”
Brandon remembered his conversation with Jackson a couple of days earlier.
“What about that case you were working? The pet adoption scam. Is there a connection?” Brandon asked.
“I was thinking the same thing,” she said. “Todd gave me a description of the woman and her vehicle. An extended cab truck with a camper. Stuffed full of clothes and other crap.”
“Homeless?”
“Sounds like she’s sleeping in the back,” Jackson said.
“You think you can find her?”
“I’ll do my best. But you really think someone would kill for a couple of cats?”
“I’ve seen people kill for less,” Brandon said. “What about the housecleaner Todd mentioned?”
Jackson checked her notes. “Sabina Brown. I’m on my way to visit her now. You want to tag along?”
Brandon glanced at the cameras he’d bought for the maple grove site.
“What are those for?” Jackson asked.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, knowing Jackson wouldn’t approve if she knew his plans. “Let’s go interview your suspect.”
Sabina Brown lived in a duplex a few blocks from Forks Hospital. An older model dark blue Suzuki occupied the driveway. A broom, mop, and bottles of assorted cleaning chemicals filled the back seat.
The woman who answered the door stood about five-foot-one with olive skin and sensuous eyes. Brandon guessed she was in her forties.
“Yes?” she asked through a dense eastern European accent.
“Sabina Brown?” Brandon asked.
“I’m Chief Mattson and this is Officer Jackson from the Forks Police Department. May we come in?”
“Is this about Mrs. Dunn?” Sabina asked.
“Yes,” Jackson said.
Sabina paused. “It’s a mess in here,” she said, stepping aside.
An Ikea style futon couch and chair—all wood and one cheap, worn cushion—took up most of the small room. The walls were bare except a painting that reminded Brandon of Manet. The barely clad woman in the portrait gazed back, as if to say, I know you’re watching me.
Despite Sabina’s protests about the home being a mess, the place appeared spotless.
“Please, sit,” she said.
Brandon sat on the edge of the futon, Jackson next to him.
“Would you like a glass of lemonade?” Sabina asked, motioning toward the kitchen.
“No, thank you,” Brandon said, pulling out his notebook. “Mrs. Brown, how long have you worked for Mrs. Dunn?”
She settled into the chair across from them.
“One year. I found her advertisement on a website,” she said. “Asking for help with the Airbnb house on her property. I did good work for her and she paid me on time. Not everyone does.”
“You have many customers?” Brandon asked.
“Businesses in town. Other houses. Rentals like Mrs. Dunn.”
“Have you been in America long?”
Her eyes smiled. “My accent. Yes. Twenty years. I was a young woman—twenty-three—when I came to America. What used to be called a mail-order bride.”
Brandon wasn’t sure whether to say he was sorry or not. For some, a chance to emigrate to the United States was worth the cost rolling the dice and risking a less than satisfactory husband. But a man that would order a woman from another country? What were the chances the marriage would work?
“I am from Serbia,” she added.
“And your husband?” Jackson asked. “Does he live here too?”
“He passed about five years ago,” she said, her tone morose.
“What happened?” Brandon asked.
“Prostate cancer. He was sixty-three.” She twisted in her chair, glancing toward a doorway that led to the kitchen. “You sure you don’t want any lemonade?”<
br />
“We’re fine,” Brandon said. “Do you have any idea who might want to kill Mrs. Dunn?”
She shook her head vigorously. “No. Never. She was such a nice woman.”
“What can you tell us about her nephew?” Jackson asked.
Her cheeks burned red. She slid a lock of her thick, black hair behind her ear.
“Todd is a nice man.”
A two-decade age difference separated Todd and Sabina. But why the reaction?
“You’re close with Todd?” Brandon asked.
Sabina glanced at Jackson, her gaze dropping to her feet.
“No. He does repairs at the rental. Sometimes I see him.”
“Did you spend much time in Mrs. Dunn’s home?” Jackson asked.
She wrinkled her nose. “Too many cats. I have allergies.”
She sniffled, as if to prove her point.
“Todd mentioned a woman who stopped by asking to adopt Mrs. Dunn’s cats.”
She shook her head. “I do not know anything about those nasty cats.”
“Todd didn’t mention the woman?” Jackson asked.
“No.”
So far, Todd had been the only person to mention the alleged visitor. If they weren’t able to corroborate his story, that left Todd as the only real suspect in Mrs. Dunn’s murder.
“Where were you yesterday morning before 9:30?” Brandon asked.
She squinted at him as if trying to remember. “I was cleaning houses.”
“Here in Forks?”
“Yes,” she said. Then, “Wait, yesterday I cleaned a house up on the way to Lake Crescent. A big rental. It took me all morning.”
“Did anyone see you there during that time?” Brandon asked.
“Yes. The homeowner stopped by. I can give you their number.”
“Please do,” Brandon said.
She returned with the name and phone number of the owner. Brandon handed it to Jackson.
“And Todd,” Jackson said. “he wouldn’t have a reason to harm his aunt?”
She perched on the edge of her chair. “No! Todd did not do anything to Mrs. Dunn.”
“You’re sure?” Jackson asked.
“Todd is too gentle. He is the sweetest man I’ve known.”
“Yet you said you hardly know him,” Brandon said.
Her eyes darkened, and her accent thickened. “I just know. Okay?”
Brandon considered Sabina. She possessed a hubris, a certain confidence in her own femininity that exuded from her, despite her otherwise unassuming tone. The result was, to Brandon, both attractive and off-putting.
Had Todd fallen for his aunt’s maid despite the age difference between the two?
Jackson glanced at Brandon. He nodded.
“Is there anything else you think we should know?” Jackson asked.
Sabina stared at her hands, as if considering the question.
“No. That is all.”
Jackson handed her a card. “Call me if you think of something else.”
“If Todd tells you anything, you need to let us know,” Brandon said. He waited for her to make eye contact. “Understood?”
“Yes.”
Brandon and Jackson regrouped outside.
“That was interesting,” Jackson said.
“There’s definitely something between those two,” Brandon said.
“Yeah, but do you think they killed his aunt?” Jackson asked.
“What’s the motive?” Brandon asked. “Life insurance?”
“There wasn’t any, according to Todd. Not even a will. Mrs. Dunn relied on Social Security. Living month to month.”
“Check the bank, just to make sure there weren’t any large withdrawals or deposits.” Brandon said.
“It’s on my list,” she said.
“You see,” Brandon said. “That’s why you’re the head detective.”
“Only detective. In fact, full-time officer, and part-time detective with no official title,” she said.
“Semantics.”
Chapter 8
Brandon headed up to the forest service road where he’d caught Cal and Ferguson earlier in the week. After half an hour of searching, he found the spot where he’d first heard their chainsaws dissecting the maple.
It had rained during the afternoon. He checked for tire tracks, but none were fresh enough to prove anyone had been in the area over the last day or so. He made the hike up the hill through wet, knee high grass. From there, he slid down the steep incline into the cut site.
He crossed through a veil of cat’s tail moss into the center of the grove where he found at least ten of the massive maples, thick trunks twisting upward. The maples’ signature big leaves scattered the forest floor, already mottled and browning, creating a slick mush. Brandon picked up one of the winged helicopter seeds and flicked it into the air, watching it disappear into a nearby huckleberry bush.
High above, upper branches reached out through a cloak of hanging moss, like a wizard’s arms poised to cast a dark spell on whoever dared desecrate the ancient grove. Licorice fern sprouted from burls and the lower stems.
The tree Nygard’s men had felled lay at Brandon’s feet.
Sawdust coated the forest floor where the chainsaws had sliced into the maple’s rough, lichen and moss-covered trunk. The poachers had cut away a few blocks of the maple’s timber, about two feet each. The rest of the massive seventy-foot tall tree would be left to rot where it fell.
Those missing chunks would have been where they’d uncovered the undulating, figured pattern that would garner the poachers several thousand dollars.
It wasn’t just that the thieves were poaching on public land. They were wasting a valuable resource. It was akin, Brandon figured, to killing an animal for its tusks and leaving the rest of the carcass to rot. The fact that big leaf maples weren’t endangered didn’t make it any less of a crime. And like most forms of stealing, the money made from the operation would fund other crimes, like drug dealing.
He checked the area for boot prints, but the carpet of maple leaves made most impressions undetectable. Brandon could see now where the men had cut through the brush, taking a different route down to the spot. He’d be sure to find prints if he followed to trail back toward where Ferguson and Cal had left. But he’d made the trek to set up cameras and didn’t have the equipment he’d need to cast impressions.
They had only taken the one tree so far, but they were sure to be back. A brief check of the area revealed at least two more trees with figured maple. It was common practice for the poachers to scrape away the bark to check for the telltale quilted pattern that indicated the prized figured form lay beneath. Brandon stared at one tree now. They’d done a shoddy job of covering their work with a swath of moss. Brandon brushed the moss aside, revealing bright white ripples beneath dark, moss-covered bark shining like gold in a chunk of ore.
He spotted a spruce parallel to the harvest site, balancing himself on a nearby stump to set the camera at the right height. Both had a camouflage shell, hopefully enough to keep Nygard and his men from noticing them. He stretched his arms around the trunk, strapping the camera into place and latching it secure.
The motion detector could reach as far as sixty feet. He was about fifty feet away from the edge of the grove now.
He did a check of the video on the first camera to make sure he had a solid view of the site. Brandon would have to check the video regularly. And if Nygard found the recordings, all he’d have to do is destroy the cameras and any evidence Brandon had of his illegal harvest.
He fastened the second one to an alder several feet up the incline, making sure to point it toward the center of the maple grove. The device had to be high enough above the brush to capture Nygard and his men, but far enough away to avoid detection.
He paused at the sound of voices. Someone was down by the stream, several feet below the grove. It could be Nygard. But timber thieves weren’t the only visitors to the area. The region was popular with hunters and fisherm
en too.
He hurried to finish setting up the second camera. The voices grew nearer.
A crow landed on a branch above Brandon, letting out a loud caw. More of the raucous birds answered from nearby trees. The clicking and whining continued as he set the camera in place.
Brandon shooed the bird above him. It twitched but didn’t move.
“Get,” Brandon whispered.
The crow clicked at him before swooping away to a nearby tree.
He could understand the men now.
“You hear that?”
“Just a bunch of crows.”
“A murder of crows,” another man said.
He wouldn’t have time to check the angle for the second camera. Even a few feet off center and it wouldn’t capture anything.
He had to leave it be or risk detection.
“Those are ravens,” another voice said. Younger, possibly a woman.
“Like in that story…”
Brandon scurried up the hillside, hands and feet struggling to find a grip on the slick maple leaves. He scrambled over a fallen cottonwood, making sure to keep quieter than the group headed his direction.
He peaked the ridge and headed back to the SUV. If it was Nygard down there now, he’d be able to spot them. But it was daylight, and he couldn’t risk discovery before he had the evidence he needed.
***
Emma stood waiting for Brandon outside the high school. She hopped in the SUV, eyes beaming with excitement.
“I got the job!” she said, closing the door.
“At the pizza place?”
“I knew I could do it,” she said in an, I told you so tone.
“Me too,” Brandon said.
“I guess you barging in on my interview didn’t ruin my chances after all,” she said.
“I didn’t barge in,” Brandon insisted. “What matters is you got your first job. I’m proud of you.”
“I can’t wait to tell mom.”
“You haven’t told her yet?”
“I wanted to tell you first,” she said.
Brandon beamed at the compliment.
Despite his pride in her accomplishment, his stomach sank at the thought of Emma working. She’d have to get to and from work alone. And Carl’s Pizza was open late. Would they ask her to do the closing shift? Maybe he could talk to the manager.
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