A third man appeared. He had long, light brown hair and a slight build. He wore a purple and gray jacket and stood watching Nygard and Olson work. There was something different about him.
He turned to one side, cradling a chunk of wood between both arms. It wasn’t a man at all. It was a young woman. The big leaf felled, she bent to pick up the chunks as Olson used a chainsaw to cut away the quilted maple. The three of them worked for several minutes until they had more than they could carry. Soon, they exited the way they came, carrying most of the wood with them. The video flickered off, then popped on again. They’d returned for the rest of their trove. Then, just as they were about to finish, the young woman pointed at the first camera.
Nygard shook his head, whipping out a buck knife to cut the camera free before sliding it into his coat pocket. All three of them searched the area for any more cameras, not coming close to the one that had recorded their every movement. As they left, the woman surveyed the area one more time.
There was something familiar about her, the way her long bangs fell over her face, curving inward at her chin.
Then he remembered.
The woman in the trailer on Nygard’s property. The one he’d spotted the night he and Will had paid Nygard a visit.
Nygard had kept the girl a secret, but why? What was her connection to Eli’s death?
Now that he had video evidence implicating Nygard and his two friends, Brandon was about to find out. The recording should be enough for a warrant. And the next time he spotted the three of them, he’d arrest them for poaching timber on public lands. The more pressure he could put on Nygard, the more likely he would be to reveal who’d really killed Eli.
His phone buzzed. An alarm blinked on the screen, reminding him of the opening ceremony of the mayor’s Halloween festival.
Brandon shifted into drive and hauled it back to town.
A throng of partygoers filled Forks Ave. Of the adults wearing costumes, most were characters from the Moonbeam Darklove series. Men sported fanged teeth and slicked back hair, while many of the women wore black leather skirts, fishnet stockings, and dark-red lipstick highlighting pouty lips. Men and women preferred an eerie white makeup that made their faces glow a greenish white. He spotted one couple nursing cans of Silver City beer, one of the festival’s sponsors. Alcohol consumption was limited to the beer garden, and Brandon was about to tell them as much when the mayor called out to him like a mother scorning a child out past curfew.
“Chief Mattson!”
He approached the mayor, leaving the beer drinkers for later.
“You’re late,” she whispered.
“On time isn’t late,” he said. “It’s seven.”
She glanced down at his mud-stained slacks. “What happened to you?”
“I had a little hands-on work to take care of,” he said.
She eyed him doubtfully.
The owner of Chilton’s Feed and Seed, main sponsor of the Halloween event, came up next to Mayor Kim.
“We’re ready to start.”
Brandon stood on stage next to the mayor—she was also the master of ceremonies—as she thanked a long list of volunteers and sponsors. She lauded the Forks Police, turning to Brandon. Taking that as his cue to say a few words, Brandon stepped forward. But Mayor Kim continued, leaving Brandon next to her, his mouth frozen in a half smile.
Finally, she thanked Tiffany Quick, author of the Moonbeam Darklove series that had revived the town’s tourist trade.
“And our hope is that Tiffany will pay us a visit again next year,” Mayor Kim said. “Hopefully when she’s done finishing her sequel to our beloved Darklove series.”
That garnered the loudest hoots and hollers yet from the already rowdy crowd.
A minute later she finished with, “Let the festivities begin…” and Brandon was free to leave.
He wandered through the crowd, greeting and glad handing locals. Pretty much all the mayor expected of him. He found Will and his sack of candy, tossing handfuls of goodies into the bag of any child who passed by.
“I figure the sooner I dump the treats, the sooner I can get out of here,” he lisped through a pair of plastic fangs.
“I thought you enjoyed handing out candy,” Brandon said.
“From the comfort of my own home. And not dressed in this ridiculous cape.”
A girl of about ten slid next to Will.
“Trick or treat!” she said.
“Oh, don’t you make a cute bunny,” Will said, his voice suddenly soft.
“I’m a cat. Not a bunny. Can’t you see my tail,” she said, pointing to the long piece of fabric trailing behind her.
The girl’s mother said, “Older adults don’t have as good eyesight as the rest of us. It’s not his fault.”
Will grimaced, dropping a single piece of bubble gum into the girl’s sack. The girl stared back at him, as if waiting for more. “Run along now,” Will said.
When they’d left, Brandon said, “So much for being eager to get rid of your candy.”
“See what happens when your mother calls me old. Bad eyesight my a—”
“Trick or treat,” said a young Luke Skywalker, poking Will in the gut with a light saber.
Brandon patted Will on the shoulder. “Have fun, and uh, just so you know, you’re still my favorite senior officer.”
Will grunted his disapproval as Brandon strolled away.
Brandon meandered from one end of the festival to the other, convinced everything was running smoothly. He’d found the man and woman with the beer and gave them a warning. They chose to return to the confines of the beer garden rather than abandon their drinks.
He spotted Jackson and her family outside of the Original Darklove Damsel store, a locally owned touristy store that thrived on selling Darklove related trinkets.
Jackson wore her police uniform coat, but otherwise wore jeans and tennis shoes. “Chief,” she said, motioning to her family. “This is my brood.”
Brandon shook her husband’s hand.
“Peter,” Brandon said, nodding at the arch-backed, thin man. Jackson’s husband was a computer programmer. He worked out of the home most of the time. Which, Brandon thought, meant he should be a lot more involved in his kids’ lives than what Jackson had described.
He kept his opinions to himself.
“Chief,” Peter said.
“You like the costumes?” Jackson asked, motioning to her two children. Her girl, aged six if Brandon recalled correctly, was dressed up as a character from the movie Frozen.
Brandon kneeled. “Nice to meet you,” he said, shaking her hand. “Are you Elsa?”
“Anna,” she said.
He smiled. “Sorry about that. Hopefully you can let it go,” he said, quoting the original movie’s most popular song.
She stared back at him.
“See what I put up with at work?” Jackson said, chuckling.
Brandon turned his attention to her son, a couple of years older. He’d donned a vampire cape and the fake plastic teeth that were ubiquitous in Forks. Fake blood dripped from his teeth.
Brandon glanced up at Jackson, raising an eyebrow.
Just six months earlier, they’d solved a murder involving a killer who’d used a much sharper version of the popular vampire fangs.
She shrugged. “I asked him what he wanted to be.”
Brandon put a hand on her son’s shoulder. “That’s okay. Not all vampires are bad, right, buddy?”
He smiled at Brandon with his glow in the dark fangs. Spittle dripped out of the side of his mouth.
Jackson bent down to wipe his chin. “Sorry.”
“You all enjoy the festival,” Brandon said. He looked to Jackson’s husband, but he was staring at his cell phone, in another place altogether.
Brandon made his way to the piroschki food truck. He hadn’t eaten since lunch and it was well past dinner time. He’d just reached for his wallet when something familiar caught his attention.
A woman i
n a purple and gray coat.
He twisted around, eyes landing on the same woman in the video from the maple grove. He’d overestimated her age by ten years. Now he could see she had to be in her early twenties. Erik Olson ambled next to her, his arm around her shoulder. His hoodie was half pulled over his head.
Brandon slid out of the piroschki line and followed the couple from a distance. This might be the only chance to observe the girl Nygard had been hiding.
Navigating through the tightening mass of bodies, he came up short as Olson turned and their eyes met. Olson said something to the girl, and they bolted.
The pair slipped down a side street, taking a left off Forks Ave. Brandon pressed on, briefly halted by a family of seven blocking his path. Then Mayor Kim suddenly emerged from the crowd. She tugged on his coat and mentioned something about meeting a local donor. Brandon ignored her, weaving through the mass of costumed children and baby strollers.
By the time he reached the next side street, Olson and the girl were gone. He sprinted the two blocks to where he’d parked his SUV. He took a chance, guessing they’d head south, toward Nygard’s encampment.
It was slow going at first as he navigated through the back streets, knowing there’d be kids crossing willy nilly, trick or treating the neighborhoods.
He reached the main highway out of town and floored it, keeping his police lights off to avoid tipping Olson off.
Without warning, he came upon them at near 80 miles per hour. Olson, driving Nygard’s Silverado, had kept the lights off.
Brandon flipped his light bar on. Olson increased his speed.
They passed ninety miles-per-hour on the two-lane highway.
They were almost to the old mill. Would Olson try to make his escape there? If so, he’d have him cornered.
A semi passed by in the northbound lane. A swoosh of air rattled the SUV.
Realizing he hadn’t asked for help, Brandon called dispatch and requested support.
Suddenly, the Silverado swerved wildly, creeping from the narrow shoulder to the centerline. The girl reached over, putting a hand on the steering wheel. Olson yanked her back, briefly tapping on the brakes. She leaned away from him.
The passenger door flew open. Olson swerved again as he reached across the cab, hand on her shoulder.
Lights from the old saw mill loomed in the distance. Olson tapped on the brakes again, then slowed to fifty, then forty. Brandon pulled back to thirty. The girl jerked away from Olson.
The Silverado’s door swayed in the wind.
The woman lunged out of the truck.
Her body flew past Brandon in a blur. He slammed on the brakes, checking the passenger side mirror. The road behind was black except for the weak glow of his brake lights. Olson came to a stop briefly, then pulled away in a squeal of burning rubber.
Brandon flipped the SUV around, lights focused on the spot where the girl had jumped.
There, a few feet down the embankment, lay her motionless body.
Chapter 12
He gave dispatch his location, requesting EMS.
Eyes closed, the young woman lay face up with one arm twisted behind her back, the other stretched above her head as if asking a question. Her jacket had ripped, tufts of blood-stained fibers torn from the frayed material. Her pants were shredded too, and it appeared she had landed on her knees and elbows first before rolling into the tall grass lining the shoulder. She must have shielded her face. There were few cuts there. Blood spilled out of the back of her head.
Brandon held two fingers against her carotid artery. He thought he detected a pulse but didn’t trust himself, as much as his hands were shaking. He would assume she was alive until someone else told him she wasn’t.
Brandon pulled a towel out of the SUV and held it against the gaping cut on the crown of her head. She didn’t appear to have heavy bleeding from anywhere else. But then again, from a fall like that the worst injuries would be internal.
“Can you hear me?” he asked.
He realized he didn’t even know the girl’s name. She didn’t respond.
“This is Brandon Mattson with the Forks Police Department. I’ve called for help. I need you to answer if you’re able.”
Nothing.
Where were EMTs? Probably stuck trying to leave the Halloween festival. They’d parked the fire engines right in the middle of the carnival.
“Who are you and why did you jump?” Brandon asked, quieter now. He did a cursory check of her coat and back pockets. He couldn’t find an ID.
The girl stirred, moaning.
“That’s right,” he said. “Keep talking.”
Her eyes fluttered, lips quivering.
She was coming to.
A deep gurgle came from within her chest. She let out a dry, hacking cough. Then, blood filled her mouth and she began to choke. Brandon turned the young woman on her side while supporting her so she wouldn’t slide any further down the embankment.
“You’re going to be all right,” Brandon said.
A cry of pain escaped her, masked by the approaching sirens. Red light bounced off the trees above. He held on to the girl while pulling out his flashlight. He flipped it on, motioning to the EMTs.
“Down here,” he shouted.
They slid down to Brandon and the girl.
“Jumped out of a moving vehicle,” he said. “Going about forty.”
“Shit,” the medic said.
“Cuts everywhere, but probably the back of her head and whatever happened to her insides is the worst of it,” Brandon said.
The medic shouted up to his partner. “Get me a stretcher.”
“Any history?” the medic asked.
“Don’t know who she is,” he said.
“Okay.”
“She was coughing up blood,” Brandon said, standing as the medics got to work on the young woman.
“We’ll take it from here,” he said.
The woman had gotten in the truck with Olson. Had he forced her to leave with him? If not, why suddenly decide to escape?
Until he had a chance to talk to the young woman, there was at only one person who could answer those questions. Erik Olson.
He got back on the radio and requested an ABP for the blue Silverado. He’d put an officer outside Nygard’s encampment, too. Just in case Olson was stupid enough to seek refuge there. After that, he sent Josiah to the hospital to make sure the young woman had an officer posted nearby until she was ready for release.
***
He spent the rest of the evening writing his report, knowing every word would be scrutinized by Sheriff Hart, not to mention the girl’s defense attorney. The questions were obvious: Why had he engaged in a high-speed pursuit? What was he doing inserting himself in an ongoing homicide investigation, especially one involving his own brother? Hadn’t he been warned by Sheriff Hart?
Before heading home, he checked on the girl’s condition. She was stable, but they were preparing to airlift her to Harborview Hospital in Seattle. That made it less likely he’d hear anything about her unless she died. He cringed at the thought of learning about the young woman’s death from a news article. Worse yet, from a reporter with a microphone pressed in his face.
He wanted her to live, would want her to live regardless of the implications. As far as he knew, she was an innocent bystander. Sure, she’d been in the video helping Nygard poach the figured maple, but Brandon’s interest was in finding Eli’s killer. Not petty timber thieves.
***
He arrived home around eleven, pulling up the same time as Emma.
“Just get off work?” he asked.
“Ten thirty,” she said, closing the door to his truck.
He checked his watch. “That was half an hour ago.”
She pressed the key fob, locking his truck.
“I was talking to a friend.”
“A friend?” Brandon asked.
“His name is Zach.”
Zach? She hadn’t mentioned that name before.
<
br /> “You just meet him?”
“I know him from school,” she said, following him in. “He works at Carl’s with me.”
“Oh, I get it, so that’s why you wanted to work there.”
“Shut up, Dad. I wanted a job. That’s all.”
“Don’t tell your dad to shut up,” Brandon said half-heartedly.
“Anyway, yes a boy and a friend.”
“A boyfriend.” Brandon rose one eyebrow.
Her gaze slid sideways, as if considering how to answer.
“You paused—”
“So?” she replied.
“You just told me you didn’t have a boyfriend.”
“Things change,” she said. “I mean, they did. Tonight.”
“We need to talk about boundaries,” he said. “Rules.”
She plopped down on the loveseat. “Okay. What are the rules?”
This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have right now.
“Later.”
“When?” she whined.
“Emma, I don’t know. It’s been a long night.”
“Did she live?” Emma asked.
“Who?”
“The girl in the truck. The whole town is talking about it,” she said.
“Dammit,” Brandon said.
“No one else knows it’s about my uncle Eli,” she said.
He squinted at her. “How do you know about that?”
“Grandpa and I talk. He said he’s going to go after that guy out by the old sawmill if you don’t.”
“Grandpa’s all talk,” Brandon said. “He needs to let me do my job.”
“I’m just saying,” she said.
“I’m going to take a shower and head to bed.”
“Goodnight,” she said, rising from the couch and giving him a hug.
“Love you,” he said.
“You too. And, um, when can we talk about dating rules?”
He lifted a hand. “Tomorrow.”
Brandon dawdled down the hallway and opened the bathroom door. He jumped back as a blur of gray and black bolted down the hallway, sliding under his bed.
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