Brother's Keeper

by Richard Ryker

  Strange words, considering they lived in Forks, one of the rainiest places in the country.

  His dad’s old army trunk sat in the corner with the lid propped open. Pictures of Eli as a baby, then as a child and a teenager were spread out across the floor. Family photos of their trip to the Grand Canyon and the Redwoods.

  Between the wall and the chest sat a half-empty fifth of Jameson.

  Brandon’s dad hadn’t been one to drink. At his age and with the pain meds, it wasn’t a good time to start.

  He thought back to the rifle his father kept next to the couch. Most people around those parts had at least one firearm in their home. But Brandon’s decades on the police force had given him ample evidence that whiskey and guns were never a good mix, no matter what your age.

  Downstairs he checked the back door. Sliding the curtain aside, he spotted his dad shuffling into the greenhouse, balancing a basket under one arm. He’d been propping the greenhouse door open with his cane but lost his balance as it jerked shut. The basket fell to the ground, bulbs rolling across the dirt.

  “Dammit,” his father said.

  “What are you doing out here?” Brandon asked.

  His father twisted to face him. “What does it look like I’m doing? Putting away the bulbs for the winter.”

  Brandon gathered the bulbs into the basket.

  “I didn’t know you still planted,” Brandon said. As surreptitiously as possible, he sniffed the air, searching for a hint of alcohol on his father’s breath. Nothing but the odor of dirt and dank air.

  “Those are your mother’s gladiolas,” he said. “I should have done this weeks ago.”

  Brandon pulled open the greenhouse door and set the basket on the counter. The place smelled of stale earth and fertilizer. His dad had built the greenhouse as a gift to their mom and her ever-expanding gardening projects. Brandon and Eli had spent endless hours in the humid, stuffy glass structure, their mother hovering over their shoulders as they transplanted bulbs, starter herbs, and whatever else she had decided to try her hand at that year.

  His dad emptied the basket, letting the bulbs and corms roll across the bench.

  “Take these,” he said, handing Brandon a pair of pruners. He pulled another pair out of his back pocket.

  “Take the corm like this,” he said, holding up one of the bulbs, he used the pruners to nip off all but two inches of the stem. Brandon recalled that there was a difference between corms and bulbs, but never could tell them apart, so he called them all bulbs.

  Brandon grabbed a bulb. The pruners were rusty and stiff and it took a couple of rough cuts to dig its way through the stem.

  “Careful!” his dad said. “You’ll damage the corm.”

  “I got this,” Brandon said, picking up another one.

  His father grunted but left him alone after that.

  They set the bulbs on mesh trays to dry. Brandon recalled they had to be dried for a couple of weeks before being stored for the winter.

  He thought back to the pictures up in the attic, and the bottle of Jameson.

  “How are you holding up?” Brandon asked, clapping the dirt off his hands.

  “The doctor finally gave me a refill of my pain meds, if that’s what you mean.”

  “I mean, being alone,” Brandon glanced at the brace on his father’s knee. “Stuck at home.”

  “You know Emma don’t come over as much,” his father said. “Now that school started. Probably spending all her time with her boyfriend.”

  “She told you that?”

  “Relax. It happens. Birds and the bees, all that.”

  “She’s too young for all that,” Brandon said.

  “Oh, hell. You’re so uptight.”

  It amazed Brandon how free-spirited his father had become about parenting, now that his own kids were raised.

  “You never had a daughter,” Brandon said.

  His father headed to the back door. Brandon held it open, waiting for him to ascend the steps.

  “No difference, far as I can tell,” he said.

  “What?” Brandon asked.

  “Between raising a son and a daughter.”

  Spoken by a man whose only female contact for most of his adult life had been his wife.

  Back in the house, his father asked, “What’s going on with Eli’s case?”

  His dad tossed the cane next to the rifle as he lowered himself onto the couch.

  “I’ve set up a couple of cameras at one of their illegal sites. I’m going up today to check on them.”

  “Nygard?” his father asked.

  “I need a reason to obtain a warrant to search Nygard’s property. He’s the one who owned the car—”

  “Right. But how is a camera going to catch Eli’s killer? There’s a lot of other things you could be doing.”

  “You mean like drive out to Nygard’s encampment and haul him in for questioning. Maybe smack him around a bit until he confesses everything he knows.”

  “Exactly what you should do,” his dad said.

  “And the whole damn thing would be thrown out of court,” Brandon said. “I’d lose my job, too.”

  “Still…”

  Brandon’s phone buzzed. It was Jackson.

  He took a few steps away from his dad and answered.

  “What’s up?”

  “We’ve found the woman Todd Dunn saw talking with Mrs. Dunn before her murder,” Jackson said. “I’ve got her at the station now.”

  “I’ll be right down,” Brandon said.

  “Was that about Eli?” his dad asked.

  “No. Like I said, I have other cases to work. A department to run.”

  He reached for the front door.

  “If you can’t handle this, I will,” his dad said.

  Brandon glared over his shoulder. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  His dad glanced at the .22 rifle. “Figure it out.”

  “Stay out of this,” Brandon said.

  “I’m not promising anything. I’ve waited long enough.”

  Unsure if his father was bluffing or not, he said, “Don’t make me take your guns away.”

  His father glared back at him. “Over my dead body.”

  Brandon wasn’t going to fight this fight. Not yet. But if his dad stepped over the line, he’d have to at least consider removing the weapons from the home. If it came to that, his dad would never forgive him.

  “I’ve got to go. Bye, dad.”

  ***

  Back at the station, Jackson updated Brandon on the Dunn case.

  “Someone called in a complaint about a vehicle camped out in a residential neighborhood. The vehicle and her appearance match the woman Todd described visiting his aunt before her murder.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Patti Baldwin,” Jackson answered. “She’s living in the back of a ‘90 quad cab F350. There was a horse trailer too. I asked her if I could take a look. That’s when I noticed the meowing.”

  “Meowing?”

  “Six more cats,” Jackson answered. “Stuffed into three pet carriers.”

  “You called animal control?”

  “That’s the thing, Chief. We don’t have the room.”

  “We?” he asked. Animals weren’t the department’s problem. That’s why the county had animal control.

  “The shelter is full,” Jackson said. “Josiah and Will are calling around to local non-profits. I found a vet in town that’s willing to do shots for free. In the meantime…”

  “What?”

  “Everyone’s agreed to take one home. Temporarily.”

  He wagged a finger at her. “No. Not even.”

  “Come on. It would show your softer side, that you’re leading by example, all that good stuff.”

  “Sorry, Jackson. I’m a renter. I don’t recall putting down a pet deposit.”

  She cast him a disappointed look.

  “Can we talk to your suspect now?” he said.

  “One more thing,” Jack
son said.

  “It had better not be about cats.”

  “Our suspect has been arrested before,” Jackson said.

  “For?”

  “Assault,” Jackson said. “Similar circumstances.”

  “How similar?” Brandon asked.

  “Down in Aberdeen. I contacted the department for history on the arrest. Apparently Patti and her boyfriend were part of a pet scam like the one I’ve been investigating. More violent, though. If the target had money, they’d rob them. On one occasion, the victim refused to hand over her purse, so they struck her.”

  “Why wasn’t she charged?”

  “The boyfriend took the rap. He’s in prison now for the assault and a handful of other charges.”

  “Good to know,” Brandon said. “Let’s go.”

  Patti Baldwin sat slouched in her chair as they entered the interview room. According to her ID, she was 38 years old. Strands of dirty blond hair hung down over her face, casting a shadow over her ruddy complexion.

  “Tell us what you were doing at Mrs. Dunn’s home,” Brandon said.

  “Like I said to her,” Patti said, glancing at Jackson, “the old lady answered an ad on Craigslist. I’m adopting out cats.”

  Times had changed, but from what Brandon recalled of her, Mrs. Dunn didn’t seem the sort of person to browse Craigslist for deals.

  “How many cats did Mrs. Dunn have?”

  “Twelve,” Patti said. Seeming to realize her mistake, she said, “That’s what she told me the first time I met her.”

  “And that was?” Jackson said.

  “The other day.”

  “Her nephew claims you’ve visited Mrs. Dunn several times,” Brandon said.

  “He’s a liar!” Patti exclaimed.

  Brandon leaned back, crossing his arms. “Tell me more.”

  “About what?”

  “You say he’s a liar,” Brandon said. “That tells me you’ve interacted before.”

  “I don’t know anything about any of this,” she said.

  “Here’s the deal,” Brandon said, resting his arms on the table. “Officer Jackson here is investigating a murder. She has a witness indicating you were one of the last people to see Mrs. Dunn alive.”

  Patti’s gaze slid from Brandon to Jackson. She stared at her hands for a moment before saying, “I want to speak to a lawyer.”

  “Ok Patti, but lawyer or not,” Jackson said, “it doesn’t look good for you. Considering your history of assault, your connection to the recent pet adoption scams in the area.”

  Brandon let it sink in. “That’s right. We have you on that racket, too.”

  “If I had more room in my jail,” he continued, “I’d lock you up right now. In the meantime, don’t leave the area. We’re watching you.”

  After Patti had gone, they regrouped in the hallway.

  “Now what?” Jackson asked.

  “She’s got that look,” Brandon said. “She’s scared.”

  “You think she’ll confess?”

  “To murder? No. Maybe she’s the one, maybe not. But she’s hiding plenty from us.”

  “I’ll keep building the case,” Jackson said.

  “Sounds good.”

  He was several steps away when Jackson called out after him. “There’s one more thing I need to show you.”

  “Make it quick. I’ve got to review the Halloween staffing.”

  That, and he hoped to check on the cameras up at the maple grove.

  He followed Jackson into the department’s bullpen.

  Emma stood near a portable kennel, holding a gray and black kitten.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  Emma glanced at Jackson before answering, “I was bored at home, so—”

  “You mean Jackson called you down here. Because of that…” He pointed at the kitten clawing its way up her shoulder.

  He turned to Jackson. “I thought I said—”

  “I forgot to mention. Emma already claimed this little guy.” She ran a finger across the kitten’s forehead.

  “His name is Caesar,” Emma said.

  “I don’t care what his name—”

  “Please? Pretty, pretty please, dad.”

  “Emma…”

  “I’ll love you forever.”

  He cast her a wry smile. “Gee, thanks.”

  “Seriously,” she said. “I’ll take care of him. Feed him, clean his litterbox. Everything.”

  A litterbox. That’s all Brandon needed.

  “He’s so cute,” Jackson said. “Don’t you agree, Chief?”

  Brandon cast her a scowl.

  “Hold him,” Emma said. She pulled the kitten from her shoulder, its claws sinking into her sweater. She held it out, but Brandon stumbled back. Emma thrust the kitten onto his chest, and it latched onto him.

  The cat meowed, scrambling up to his neck.

  It licked his ear.

  “Aww, he loves you,” Emma said.

  He pulled the kitten free and with one hand held it out. Emma gently cradled it.

  “What do you think? Did I mention I would take care of everything—”

  Brandon held a hand up. “Just…stop. I’ll think about it.”

  “But he needs a home tonight. He’ll freeze,” Emma said.

  “Fine. One night. Nothing more.”

  Emma screeched. “Yay. Thank you!” She kissed Brandon on the cheek. Emma held up the cat. “You want to give Caesar a kiss too?”

  Brandon rolled his eyes and headed to his office, knowing Caesar’s stay would last much longer than one evening.

  Chapter 11

  Brandon touched base with the officers working the first stage of the festival, a Saturday afternoon event for families featuring games, rides, and a dunk tank. The mayor had convinced the rotund director of public works to dress up as a vampire and take shots getting dunked. Brandon hoped he’d wore a wet suit under his cape. The high temperature was only supposed to reach 50 Fahrenheit.

  When he finished making his rounds, he headed up to the maple grove.

  It had been 48 hours since he’d placed the cameras, but learning of Brandon’s presence in the area, the poachers were more likely to hit the site quickly to clean out any remaining figured maple before he returned. They would have no idea—he hoped—that Brandon was recording their every move.

  He parked the SUV in the usual spot, checking the area for any sign of activity. He knew Nygard and his men had approached the timber site from a different location—he just didn’t know where that was. Convinced there was no one around, he climbed down to the maple grove.

  The smell of fresh-cut timber had settled over the grove. They’d felled a second maple—one of the trees he’d noticed the bark stripped away from earlier. Again, only a few chunks had been removed. A clean coat of sawdust covered the decaying leaves. He found a couple of boot prints further away, on the path that led out of the grove. The impressions were deep and filled with rainwater, meaning it had been at least several hours since the poachers had visited the grove.

  A recording of Nygard felling and slicing up the tree would be more than enough to prosecute the poacher and, more important, bring in his helpers and get prints on anyone associated with Nygard.

  If they had plundered the final chunks of figured maple, Nygard might not return to this spot. Knowing Brandon was after him, he might abandon the area all together. There were over 600,000 acres of forest to plunder, most of it outside the boundaries of Brandon’s jurisdiction.

  The first camera had been closest and parallel to the cut site. Brandon waded through the underbrush to the spruce where he’d attached the recorder.

  It was gone.

  He searched the ground, moving aside ferns and huckleberry to reveal more boot prints.

  He got down on his hands and knees. Darkness was settling under the rain forest’s thick canopy.

  There, on the other side of the tree, he found the strap he’d used to secure the camera. He stood, studying the cle
an cut that had separated it from the tree. Someone had found the device, cut it down, and kept it.

  Nygard wouldn’t be coming back.

  Brandon’s eyes bolted to the only other recording location he’d set up. There, several feet up the hillside and much further away, was the alder tree.

  He squinted in the dusk. The camera was still there.

  He unsecured the device and headed back to the SUV.

  God, please let this work.

  Twilight had descended over the forest. The trick or treating would begin soon back in Forks, and he’d agreed to say a few words, along with the mayor, to open up the evening’s festivities. He’d have to come up with an excuse for this mud stained knees.

  But first, he had to know whether the recording worked.

  Brandon pulled the SD card out of the camera, slid it into his laptop, and found the first video.

  He pushed play and watched expectantly as a five-point black-tailed buck wandered across the screen, staying just long enough to munch on a salmonberry bush. It was a beautiful animal. A few more days and the buck’s chances of survival would increase significantly, as deer season would be over, with Elk hunting season on its heels, just a few days later.

  The screen faded to black without any sign of Nygard or his men.

  He clicked on the next file and checked the date: dusk the night before. Two more deer entered the screen and wandered about before moving on.

  The next two files were just as useless: darkness in the forest, the video triggered by the movement of an unknown creature.

  He checked the final recording, knowing this was his last chance to catch Nygard and his men. Nygard wouldn’t assume the recording device he found was the only one in the area. They wouldn’t be back.

  The video began at the point where Jack Nygard and another man entered the screen from the left. Nygard pointed at the maple, giving directions. The other man looked familiar. At one point, he faced the screen, giving Brandon an unobstructed view of Erik Olson, the young man he’d pulled over.