“Why the judge?” she asked.
“He refused me a warrant to Nygard’s property,” he said.
Probably not something he should have shared with a local defense attorney. “You’re not representing anyone involved in this case, are you?”
“I would have said that up front,” she said.
“Because defense attorneys are always up front,” he chided.
“Funny. Do you want my help or not?”
“No, I don’t. I like you, Margot, even if you are representing a key witness in the Dunn homicide. But think about it, it won’t be the last time we’re on opposite sides of a case.”
“That has nothing to do with your brother’s murder.”
“I’ve got to go,” he said.
She paused for several seconds. “Okay. Just…one thing. You’ll want to look into who owns the property—”
“Already did. It’s a trust.”
“Check for an angle involving Marion Perry.”
“Who’s that?”
“You said you didn’t want my help,” she said. “Besides, you’re a detective, figure it out.”
“Former detective,” he said.
“Whatever you say.”
***
Emma had the night off and Brandon wasn’t in the mood to go out, so they had dinner at home. He made one of her favorite meals, homemade chicken enchiladas with cilantro rice. A half hour before dinner, she asked if her new boyfriend could come over. Brandon declined, and so Emma spent the evening sulking in her room, supposedly doing homework.
Now it wasn’t good enough to eat dinner with her dad.
Is this how it starts? he wondered.
Soon, he’d be eating alone, just like his dad. Hot dogs and baked beans for dinner. Or maybe he’d order out every night. In a couple of years he’d have to switch to those expanding-waistband pants and, like the sheriff, he’d spend his days blabbering about the fish he’d caught and admonishing his officers not to work so hard.
Brandon shook his head.
Just because his kid was growing up, that didn’t mean it was time for him to be put out to pasture.
Keep telling yourself that, he told himself. You’ll believe it. Eventually.
Chapter 19
It had been a whole day since Alisa Nygard had passed and he hadn’t heard from Nygard yet. He’d expected a threat, veiled or not, as soon as Nygard heard the news of his daughter’s death. Most likely, he was over in Seattle making arrangements for Alisa. It was a strange thought, that someone that devious and uncaring could be affected by any loss. Being a criminal didn’t prevent you from loving your child. Then again, how was it love to expose your daughter to the likes of Erik Olson? Nygard had used both Olson and Alisa in his timber stealing operations. The video evidence had made that clear.
There was the possibility Olson had headed back to Nygard’s encampment to lie low until the initial search died out. He’d been driving Nygard’s truck when Alisa jumped out. And Olson had been working for Nygard until the day he had disappeared.
Brandon thought about what Margot had said about who owned Nygard’s property. Will had researched the property and found it was held in trust under a private name. But Margot had mentioned the name Marion Perry. There might be a connection.
***
Tuesday morning, Brandon checked the auditor’s website and found the same thing Will had. The Randall family trust owned the property. No indication of any involvement by a Marion Perry. He could check with public utilities, but there was no point second-guessing Will’s research. He’d found the trust listed as payer for the power bills on site.
Power, but no sewer. Because there wasn’t sewer. Might qualify as a violation. He’d keep that in his back pocket.
If the trust handled the bills, including property taxes, the money had to be coming from an account. Few banks had set up shop in Forks. Only one of them had been around long enough to be trusted by longtime community members like the Randall family—Clallam Bank.
He probably wouldn’t get far with the bank without a warrant, though. The Randall family hoped to keep the real owners of the estate private. He’d have to try another route.
“Marion Perry,” he said aloud, to his empty office. Not a name he’d heard before, meaning it was a newcomer to town or someone so far out of the public eye he’d never encountered growing up in the area. Marion was a woman’s name, usually. Perry could be a maiden name.
Brandon called up his dad. He’d been around Forks long enough to know most families in town. There wasn’t an answer at his home, so he called his cell with the same result. He’d been pretty upset the last time Brandon visited, but it wasn’t like him to ignore Brandon’s calls altogether.
Brandon spent the morning searching land and utility records without any trace of a Marion Perry. He couldn’t find anything in the criminal background reports, either. He wondered if Margot had given him misleading information in an attempt to distract him from the Dunn investigation.
In the end, he tried Google. At first, there were too many hits. Then, he tried the name within quotation marks, hoping for an exact hit. He added the specification Clallam County. On the second page he found reference to an engagement announcement in the archives of the Forks Journal Extra: Marion Perry engaged to recent law school graduate Frank Gillman. Above the announcement was a picture of the bride to be and a much younger Judge Gillman.
Marion Perry was married to the judge who’d denied Brandon’s warrant to search Nygard’s property. Was Margot implying a connection between the judge’s wife and the Randall estate?
He searched the obituaries for the most recent Randall family deaths. Ten years ago, Frank Randall had passed. Among the surviving relatives was a niece, Marion (Perry) Gillman of Forks, WA.
Thank you, Margot.
It didn’t take long for Brandon to find Gillman’s home phone number. The judge would be in court. He hoped.
A woman answered the phone.
“Gillman residence.”
“I’m hoping to speak to a Mrs. Marion Gillman,” Brandon said.
“This is she.”
“I’m ah, doing some genealogical research on the Randall family. I understand from an uncle of mine that I’m related to the Randalls. I heard you were as well.”
“There’s no Randalls left any longer,” she said curtly. She was about to hang up on him.
“Is that why you were left in charge of the estate?” Brandon asked.
Her breath caught in her throat.
After a long pause, Brandon said, “Hello?”
Had she dropped the phone?
Marion Perry’s voice grew hard. “My husband is a judge. I don’t know who you are, but if you call here again, I’ll make sure the police know about it.”
The phone clicked dead.
“Too bad for you, the police know exactly who you are,” Brandon said to himself.
He started as Sue popped her head into his office. “Who you talking to, Chief?”
“Don’t do that,” he said, catching his breath.
“Must be up to no good for a lowly little secretary like me to scare you.”
“You’re not lowly, and you’re not—”
“Watch it,” she said.
Sue was slightly on the heavy side and made reference to her size at least once a week. Brandon knew better than to agree with her self-effacing comments.
“Not what I was going to say, but what do you need?”
“There’s a call for you,” she said.
“Not another reporter about the Nygard girl?”
“Give me some credit, Chief. I’ve been deflecting those since the news broke.”
Sue turned to leave.
“Wait,” he said.
She appeared in the door again. “What now?”
“Who’s on the line?”
“It’s Will. If he’s still waiting,” she said.
Brandon picked up the phone.
“What’s up
, Will?”
“You want the good news or the bad news?”
“We’ve been through this before,” Brandon said.
“Except this time there really is good news.”
“Tell me that, then,” Brandon said.
“I’ll start with the bad news,” Will said.
Brandon exhaled. “Why do you even ask?”
“I heard back about the Silverado,” Will said. “Wiped clean. No prints.”
“What about DNA?” Brandon asked.
“I’m sure they’ll find something. But in the meantime, it’s a dead end.”
Olson’s fingerprints from the truck could have tied him back to the vehicle Eli had pulled over.
“Ok, so what’s the good news?”
“Tribal police picked Todd Dunn up on the Quileute Reservation, knew we were searching for him. Josiah’s transporting him in now.”
“That is good news,” Brandon said.
“Maybe you can wrap this case up before Jackson returns.”
“Then she’ll get off my back about Eli’s case,” Brandon said, realizing too late he’d said what he was thinking.
“She’s right, you know,” Will said.
“About?”
“Eli’s murder. Sometimes you’re too close to a case to know just how close you are.”
“What would you do in my situation?” Brandon asked.
“Same as you are. To hell with the rules, anything goes for family.”
“Then what’s the problem?” Brandon asked.
“Just because that’s what I’d do doesn’t make it right,” Will replied.
“Ok. Thanks for the advice,” Brandon said. “I think.”
Brandon grabbed the Dunn case file. He flipped through the notes from the interviews with Todd, Sabina, and Patti Baldwin. He considered the page indicating their brief encounter with the family who’d decided not to stay at the Airbnb once they learned about Todd’s hidden cameras.
Brandon called Josiah and told him to take Todd to the property and wait for him up at the rental.
A steady downpour had washed over the now muddy driveway leading up to the old Dunn house. The path needed a fresh coat of gravel, not something Mrs. Dunn could have afforded.
Josiah and Todd stood on the front porch. Brandon sidestepped the steady stream of water pouring over gutters that hadn’t been cleaned in so long small plants had sprouted.
Todd followed Brandon’s gaze.
“It’s on my to-do list,” Todd said.
“Right,” Brandon said, shaking the wet off his coat.
“Why did you want to come here?” Todd asked.
“We had a few questions about your aunt,” Josiah said.
“You think I killed her.”
Brandon considered the field that stretched from the old Dunn house to the road. Dark clouds had moved in from the Pacific, releasing a torrent of rain on the already soaked prairie. He rubbed his shoulders as if he had a chill. “You mind if we step inside, out of the weather?”
Todd shrugged. “Okay.”
Rather than using the code box attached to the door, he pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and let them in. Brandon wondered if Todd didn’t want the police aware of the code.
They’d checked the house the week before. At the time, they’d only been searching for bodies. Todd didn’t know it, but now they were there to follow up on Patti Baldwin’s claim that Todd had been recording the residents. Regardless of any potential connection to Mrs. Dunn’s murder, voyeurism was a crime. And an opportunity to turn up the heat on Todd.
Brandon scanned the room, checking for any obvious cameras.
“We just need to look for any signs of foul play here,” Brandon said. “Just in case.”
“I thought you already did that,” Todd said.
“We like to be thorough,” Brandon said.
“Okay.”
Brandon pulled out his flashlight and swept over the ceiling, checking near the light fixture and the corners of the room. A faux flower arrangement brightened one corner of the room.
“What are you looking for?” Todd asked.
“Just, stuff,” Brandon said. “Signs of a crime.”
Todd and Josiah followed Brandon into the kitchen. While Brandon swept his eyes over the room, Todd asked, “So you’re not mad at me because you couldn’t find me the last couple of days?”
“You talked to Sabina?” Brandon asked, glancing at Todd.
“She said I should talk to you.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, avoiding eye contact.
“It’s always better to talk,” Brandon said. “Telling the truth feels good, right?”
Todd’s shoulder’s rose in a half-hearted acknowledgement.
Brandon wasn’t ready to discuss the will or the bank situation yet. He needed Todd to be open to talking. Most important, to let Brandon search the house until he found what he was searching for.
“We’re clear in here,” Brandon said. He looked to Josiah. “I’ll be right back.”
Brandon climbed the narrow stairs to the second floor. Upstairs, the uneven floor creaked and groaned under the weight of his boots. The first room, just to the right of the stairs, had two twin beds. A potpourri of doilies and figurines set on a cherry wood vanity gave the room a Victorian air. He took his time checking the lamps, flower pots, and faux Tiffany chandelier. Nothing. It wasn’t a proper technology sweep, but the best he could do under the circumstances.
He checked the bathroom next.
It didn’t take long to find the camera.
He stood on the edge of the bathtub, balancing his other foot on the toilet lid.
“Sorry, Mrs. Dunn,” he said to himself, noticing a smudge of mud from his boots on the edge of the tub. Reaching up for the vent, he pulled down the plastic fan cover. A miniature camera dropped an inch, hanging in place. The fan cover’s wide grill would have allowed ample space for recording.
He let the camera hang, hoping to preserve Todd’s fingerprints. First, he pulled out his cell phone and photographed the video equipment in place. He put a glove on his right hand and placed the camera in one of the evidence bags he brought with him.
Down the hallway he found the master bedroom where there was a queen-sized bed covered in a white duvet. Pillows embroidered with a purple and yellow pansy design with a matching throw blanket were neatly arranged over the bed. Like the other rooms, Victorian was the theme, and there was even a grandfather clock perpendicular to the bed, just inside the door and to the left. The ceiling was bare, the only light a tall lamp in the far corner. Brandon checked the walls and lampstand for any cameras. Nothing.
It made no sense for Todd to just record the bathroom. If he’d gone to all that trouble…
He swung around, considering the grandfather clock. The bronze face had a gauge with an alternating sun and moon to indicate morning and evening. Chains hung down from the gear mechanism. The pendulum swung evenly. Who had been keeping it wound? Todd? As Brandon reached for the brass handle that opened the oak and glass door, his eye caught on the oversized key hole below the handle. There was something in there.
He pulled on the handle, but it didn’t budge. Was it locked? He studied the clock. Two screws sealed it closed. The screws were black, newer. Not part of the original case. Had Todd locked the door shut? If so, how had he wound the clock?
From the back.
Brandon slid the clock away from the wall and the room erupted in a clang and crash of bells and gears smacking together.
The back opened easily.
The rumble of a scuffle below stopped him.
Josiah shouted, “Stop!”
Brandon headed out into the hallway and down the short and narrow stairs, nearly sliding down the last few.
He found Josiah in the living room, standing over a handcuffed Todd.
“He tried to bolt,” Josiah said. “He was acting totally normal, then…”
“He heard the clock,” Brandon said.
; Josiah stared back, confused.
“Get him up,” Brandon said.
Josiah pulled Todd to his feet.
“Those are for security,” Todd said.
It was an acknowledgement he knew the cameras were there. Todd was going to make this easy.
“You afraid someone might steal your towels?” Brandon asked.
“You found the cameras?” Josiah asked.
Todd’s dark eyes grew hard with an accusation of betrayal. “You knew?”
“Suspected. You can save me a lot of time by telling me where you keep the recordings,” Brandon said.
“Why would I do that?” Todd said, striking a note of defiance.
Brandon shrugged. “Up to you, Todd. You’re going to jail either way. How long you’re there depends on what you do now.”
Todd stared at his feet for several seconds. Brandon had figured he’d decided not to talk when Todd looked askance at Brandon and said, “Should I trust you?”
“That’s up to you,” Brandon said. “In the meantime, if you’re not willing to cooperate—”
“The recorder is in the closet under the stairs,” Todd said. “It’s locked.”
“Keys?” Josiah asked.
“In my right pocket.”
After patting him down, Josiah pulled the keys out and opened a cubby door under the stairs. Brandon had noticed the door when he’d searched the room, even though Todd had tried to conceal it behind a love seat.
Inside, he found a digital and DVR recorder with several wires leading into a two-inch hole at the back of the closet.
“You did this yourself?” Brandon asked.
Todd nodded.
“Impressive,” Brandon said. “You could have made something of yourself. You know, helping people with technology instead of being a perv.”
“What’s on the recording?” Josiah asked.
“Nothing. I wiped it clean.”
“Then you won’t mind if I pull this out and take a look—”
“Wait.”
“Ok, it’s not anything bad. Just, do I have to be here for this?” Todd pleaded.
“Must be bad,” Brandon said.
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