The cat Jackson had pawned off on them.
“Emma!”
“What is it?” she asked, bolting around the corner.
“Your cat is under my bed.” He sniffed the air. “And the litter box needs cleaning.”
She bent down and lifted the kitten from under the bed. It licked her hand.
“He’s so cute,” Emma cooed.
“What’s not cute is that stink.”
“I’ll clean the litter box in the morning.”
“Now,” Brandon said.
He shuffled to his room and closed the door.
***
Brandon and Emma attended service at the First Baptist Church the next morning. He’d rather have slept in or worked. Anything than be in public, shaking hands with people who might ask him about the chase and the girl.
His father sat on the other side of Emma, whispering to her several times throughout the sermon. Despite his irritation, Brandon ignored their giggling.
At least his dad was willing to talk to Emma. If he knew his father, he wouldn’t forgive Brandon’s threat to take his guns away any time soon.
As the service came to a close, Brandon eyed the exit.
“Ready?” he asked Emma.
“What’s your hurry?” his dad asked.
“I wanted to say hi—” Emma started.
“I’ve got to get going,” he said.
She rolled her eyes.
Reaching the foyer, he collided with Mayor Kim.
Lips pressed into a tight smile, she said, “Hello, Brandon.”
“Mayor,” he said, tentatively. “You remember my daughter.”
“Of course,” she replied.
“I didn’t know you attended this church,” he said.
“I don’t.” She glanced at Emma, smiling. Her gaze returned to Brandon. “We need to talk.”
“I was going to go to lunch with Elsa’s family anyway,” Emma said.
“You have your key?” Brandon asked.
“Of course,” Emma said. She disappeared before he could say goodbye.
Mayor Kim and Brandon waded through the crowded foyer, hindered by parishioners eager to meet the town’s mayor. No doubt the word around Forks on Monday would be the mayor had chosen First Baptist as her new church home.
He followed her to his truck.
She wheeled around on him. “This girl. The police chase. Tell me what happened.”
“You could have called me,” Brandon said.
“This is an in-person conversation, Brandon.”
“She’s connected to Jack Nygard’s black market timber sales enterprise.”
“You know this?” she asked.
“I have her on video,” he responded.
“How do you know she was there willingly? She could have been—”
“Mayor, I don’t think it’s your place to second guess my department’s investigation—”
“Your investigation,” she said, studying his face.
When he didn’t reply, she said, “Tell me one more officer, besides yourself, who’s involved.”
“That’s irrelevant,” he said, trying his hardest to tamp the agitation in his voice. They moved aside as an older woman pulled out of the parking spot next to him.
“It is very relevant,” the mayor replied. “When the city has to spend tens of thousands of dollars defending your personal vendetta against Mr. Nygard.”
“He broke the law. So did the girl.”
“Stealing a few scraps of wood is worth endangering a young woman’s life?”
“I didn’t endanger anyone’s life,” he said, giving up on restraint. “She jumped out of the truck of her own free will. If you let me do my goddamn job for once…”
He paused, following the mayor’s gaze. She’d been watching a family of five pass by, headed for the minivan on the other side of Brandon’s truck. All but the youngest of the family, a girl of about two, tried their hardest to avoid Brandon’s eyes, as if they hadn’t heard him shouting.
He turned back to the mayor, but over his shoulder heard the little girl whisper loudly, “He’s mad, mommy.”
“Shush,” said the girl’s mother.
The mayor said, “I received a phone call from Mr. Nygard’s attorney this morning.”
“He must be doing okay if he can afford to lawyer up,” Brandon said.
“That’s not the point. He’s threatening to pursue damages against the city.”
“For what?”
Olson had been driving Nygard’s truck. The girl had jumped out during the pursuit. What damages could Nygard claim? The chase didn’t involve him whatsoever.
“The girl who jumped,” the mayor said. “Is his daughter.”
Chapter 13
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Jack Nygard claims you knew,” Mayor Kim said, “that you were pursuing his daughter—her name is Alisa Nygard—to get to him, to force him to confess to a murder he had no involvement in.”
“Do you believe that?”
She stared at her feet, shaking her head. “I don’t know what to believe, Brandon. One thing is clear, you’re putting this department at risk.”
“I am doing my job.”
“Your job is to ensure your officers are keeping our citizens safe. That girl is a citizen. As is Mr. Nygard.”
“He’s a criminal. And he knows who killed Eli. That makes him an accomplice to murder.”
He clicked open the door to his truck.
“If you don’t mind, mayor,” he said. “This is my day off.”
“You need to let this go,” she said, stepping aside.
“Or what?” he asked.
“Don’t make me go there,” she said. “Me or the sheriff.”
“You two have been talking?” he asked.
“Brandon…”
He pulled himself up into the truck and closed the door. She stood there, watching him pull away.
It wasn’t the first time the mayor had disapproved of Brandon’s approach. But being threatened with a lawsuit, that was the sort of thing that would send the image-conscious Mayor Kim over the edge.
A few blocks from the church, he pulled over, coming to grips with the mayor’s revelation about Nygard’s daughter.
It made sense. She’d been living on the trailer in Nygard’s encampment. What did that make Erik Olson? Nygard’s son?
No, he’d had his arm around her. They were together.
A young couple had murdered Eli. They’d been driving Nygard’s car, just like Olson was driving Nygard’s truck now.
Had Nygard had been hiding Eli’s killers? The detectives had interviewed him half a dozen times. They were clueless.
Why hadn’t Sheriff Hart called in help? State Patrol or even the FBI. He’d let his own team, a couple of guys who’d probably investigated two homicides between them, handle the murder of one of his own.
It was almost as if they didn’t want to find out who’d killed Eli.
That wasn’t fair. How many times had Brandon been called out by a grieving family member or frustrated community, claiming he wasn’t working hard enough on a case? Enough times to know better than to blame the department.
But he was leaning toward the idea that Alisa Nygard and Erik Olson were Eli’s murderers. He’d do his best to stay objective. It was the only way to make sure he kept the investigation clean. Nothing mucked up a case like assumptions and personal prejudices. Nygard was involved, he had no doubt about that. But Nygard was playing the victim card to give the impression Brandon had gone off the rails. Brandon’s only defense would be to produce real, tangible evidence.
He headed back to the station and ran Alisa Nygard’s name through the system. No hits. He ran Erik Olson through again, too. Just in case dispatch had missed anything. Nothing.
How likely was it that Nygard would be associated with someone with absolutely no criminal record, not even a speeding ticket?
He needed Olson’s and Alisa’s prin
ts. He hadn’t heard back about Olson, despite a regionwide APB on him and the midnight blue Silverado. As for Alisa Nygard, she was all the way over in Seattle at Harborview Medical Center. He’d worked with that hospital plenty enough in his tenure as a Seattle Homicide detective. They rarely considered a detective’s request for evidence pressing. Much less an officer—even the chief of police—from a small town out on the coast.
He’d focus his efforts on finding Olson and getting a warrant for the Nygard encampment. He might even catch a break and find the .45 that had been fired at Eli. It wouldn’t be the first time Brandon had caught a criminal dumb enough to keep a murder weapon within easy reach of a search warrant.
Brandon rifled through the notebook Chief Satler had left him before retiring. He located the page listing important phone numbers and found the contact info for Frank Gillman, a local district court judge Brandon hadn’t met yet. According to Satler’s notes, he was good for a warrant in a pinch.
“Gillman,” the judge answered, in a gruff, get-to-the-point tone.
“Judge Gillman, this is Brandon Mattson, Forks chief of police. Sorry to bother you on a Sunday afternoon—”
“Not a problem, Chief. I was wondering if you’d ever stop by and introduce yourself.”
It had been on Brandon’s to-do list, somewhere after getting his department fully staffed, updating the force’s fleet within his meager budget, and solving Eli’s murder.
“I’ve been meaning to pay a visit,” Brandon said.
“Chief Satler and I worked well together because he knew not to waste my time,” the judge said. “Is this something to do with the Dunn investigation?”
“Not quite. I’ve been looking into a recent uptick in timber poaching.”
“Far as I can tell from my view from the bench,” the judge said, “there are plenty worse things going on in this town.”
“This is part of a larger investigation,” Brandon answered. “Timber thieves not only hurt individual land owners and the environment. They use that money to purchase large quantities of drugs, when they then sell to the local community.”
“Understood. What is it you need, Mattson?”
“I need a warrant to search the home of a Mr. Nygard—”
“I’m sorry, who?” the judge interrupted.
“Jack Nygard.”
The judge was silent for several seconds. “And this has to do with stealing timber?”
“Right.”
“Where is this home?” the judge asked.
Brandon was used to questions when seeking a warrant, even difficult ones. He expected to be challenged, even with the easiest judges. But the line of questioning here seemed irrelevant.
“He’s got a few trailers out by the old Randall property. The sawmill,” Brandon said. “Nygard claims he’s gotten permission from the family.”
“Do you have evidence he’s being untruthful?” the judge asked.
“No, but—”
“And what is it you’re looking for?”
Brandon hesitated. His goal was to find evidence related to Eli’s murder.
“I have video proof that Mr. Nygard and two other individuals illegally harvested figured maple. I’m seeking evidence of this crime on the total of Nygard’s encampment—”
“The other two individuals?” the judge interrupted.
“I don’t understand.”
“Their names?”
“Erik Olson and Alisa Nygard.”
The judge cleared his throat forcefully.
“I’m not seeing a warrant here, Chief Mattson. The probable cause is weak at best.”
“Judge Gillman, we may be on the verge of breaking up a countywide timber stealing and drug selling operation.”
Not to mention catching two cold-blooded killers. There had to evidence in the encampment. Fingerprints matching the ones found in the car at the scene of Eli’s killer.
“Nygard’s daughter,” the judge said. “She’s the one involved in the police chase everyone is talking about.”
“Right.”
“It’s that sort of vigilante approach to law enforcement that gives officers a bad name, Mattson.”
Brandon wondered if the judge knew Brandon had been the officer in pursuit.
“Yes, judge, but—”
“And what you’re asking for here, to search a man’s home for no good reason. I can’t sign off on this.”
This warrant was the key to proving Nygard’s connection to the murder. If the judge wouldn’t agree now, Brandon would come back for more.
“Okay. What would you need to sign off?” Brandon asked.
“What I need is for you to do your job, Chief Mattson, rather than harping on the innocent citizens of this community.”
“Innocent?”
“It’s obvious you’re rehashing your brother’s murder investigation. I’m not getting involved.”
“This has nothing to do with—”
The line clicked dead.
Brandon shoved the receiver onto the phone.
So much for an easy warrant. He studied Chief Satler’s notebook. No other local courts were listed, meaning he’d have to go up to Superior Court in Port Angeles. They’d remember Nygard too—his name was in the news as a potential suspect only a year earlier. Superior Court would ask questions, maybe even make phone calls to the detectives involved.
Brandon wandered into the bullpen where he found Will reading the Seattle Times.
“You hear about all these homeless camps?” Will asked.
“Seattle?”
“Yeah, looks like the whole damn city is being overrun,” Will said.
“Nothing new,” Brandon said. “Some of them need treatment. Some are mentally ill. Others just don’t want to follow shelter rules.”
“But it says here the per capita homeless population of Seattle is far above even Los Angeles.”
Brandon knew all about the situation in Seattle. He’d spent over a decade investigating crimes in the city, many of them involving victims that were homeless.
“Any idea where someone like Erik Olson might hide out?” Brandon asked.
Will rose an eyebrow, lowering the paper.
“I heard what happened last night,” Will said. “Too bad about the girl.”
“Who hasn’t heard,” Brandon said.
He explained his call with the judge.
“You know this doesn’t look good. Even if it wasn’t our fault,” Will said.
Brandon ran his hand over his face. “How was I supposed to know she’d jump?”
“Couldn’t have. But, no disrespect, Chief. Was it really worth a high-speed chase?”
“If this was about a few chunks of figured maple? No.”
Will slid his feet off the chair. “Call the detectives up in Port Angeles. Tell them what you know.”
He’d already talked to the detectives. They didn’t have what it took to solve Eli’s case.
“It’s not that simple,” Brandon said. “They’d made up their minds about Nygard.”
“And so have you,” Will responded.
“Maybe,” Brandon said. He leaned forward. “But think about it. Young man and woman. Driving Nygard’s car. Now, we have a young man with Nygard’s truck. And a woman, his daughter, living on his property.”
“The woman you saw in the window that night. She was his daughter?” Will asked.
Brandon nodded. “Just found out.”
“Then this really looks bad,” Will said.
Brandon didn’t care how it looked. That wasn’t the point.
“You have to consider the department,” Will said. “Me, I’m retiring in a few months. It’s no difference to me if Sheriff Hart or the Mayor decide a police force is too much trouble and gives the whole damn area back to the sheriff. But what about Jackson, Josiah and the other officers?”
“I get it,” Brandon said, more to get Will off his back.
Will folded the paper. “What do you need from me?”
“We need prints from Olson and Nygard’s daughter. If they match those in the car involved in Eli’s murder, we’ll be that much closer to connecting them to the crime scene. The girl’s in ICU, so that leaves Olson, for now.”
“Any leads?” Will asked.
“None yet.”
“You were headed south on 101 when the girl jumped, right?”
“Yeah, but it’s mostly a straight stretch from here to Aberdeen. Over ninety-nine miles. There’s no way he made it that far without being spotted once I sent out the APB.”
“Could’ve pulled off toward Moclips.”
A smaller, less known highway left Highway 101 and cut through the Quinault Reservation over to Moclips and the miles of beaches south of there.
“I’ve notified Grays Harbor County, State Patrol, Tribal Police,” Brandon said.
“He’d be expecting that. You think he found a way back to Nygard’s encampment?”
“Could be. That or else he’s off on some forest service road camping out.”
“I doubt he had what he needed to survive November nights out here. Unless someone’s helping him,” Brandon said.
Will had researched the property and found it was held in trust. Possibly the last of the Randall family had passed, leaving the property to sit unused. Or it could be a minor. The only other reason would be if the owners purposely kept the name private.
“I’d like to take another trip out to Nygard’s encampment,” Brandon said. “See if there’s anything I can do to bolster my case for a warrant. Who knows, maybe we’ll run into Olson.”
“We?” Will asked. “My shift’s over, boss.”
Brandon’s work phone buzzed.
“What’s up?”
“You at home?” Jackson asked.
“The station,” Brandon said.
“On Sunday?”
“Yeah, I know,” Brandon said. “What do you need? I’m in the middle of something.”
“I think we’ve got a break.”
“You’ve found Olson?” Brandon asked, his eyes settling on Will. Maybe they wouldn’t have to go to Nygard’s place, after all.
“The Dunn murder,” Jackson said. “Remember? The case our department is supposed to be working right now.”
Brandon sighed. “What about it?”
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