Brother's Keeper

by Richard Ryker

  Most of the conversation around the table focused on school, plans for college after next year, what Zach’s family was like. Brandon rolled his eyes when Zach went out of way for a third time to mention how wonderful Brandon’s cooking was.

  Tori had a much easier time conversing with Emma’s boyfriend than Brandon. Talking was always her thing. He smiled at what Tori would think if he’d said that thought out loud. She’d assume he meant she talked too much. But that wasn’t it at all.

  “What are you smiling at?” Tori asked.

  “Just enjoying dinner,” Brandon said.

  She cast him a wry smile. “If you say so.”

  After dinner, Zach offered to help clean up. So far, the young man had impressed Brandon. He’d chased off Nygard’s son, didn’t have an arrest record (Brandon had checked), and scored pretty high when it came to social skills.

  Brandon made coffee and he and Tori shared the love seat, both on the edge of the cushion, half turned toward each other so their knees almost touched.

  They talked about her work, and then his for a few minutes. Brandon finished his coffee and set the cup on the floor.

  Caesar came running into the room, sliding to a stop at Brandon’s feet. He picked up the gray and black furball and set it on his lap.

  “He likes you,” Tori said.

  Brandon shook his head. “I have no idea why.”

  Tori grinned. “Your charming personality.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Does this mean you’re keeping him?”

  He smirked. “Apparently.”

  He’d talked to Emma about the cat before she’d left for the weekend. She’d done a decent job of taking care of him so far. As long as Brandon didn’t have to change the litter box, they were good.

  The house phone rang. Caesar flinched at the sound, his claws digging into Brandon as he leaped away.

  The clawing thing would have to end. He couldn’t afford to buy new pants every time the cat got spooked. He made a mental note to check online for information on cats, now that he was stuck with one.

  Emma appeared in the door, dangling the wireless phone as if it were contaminated.

  “It’s for you.”

  “Who is it?” Brandon asked.

  “Lisa.”

  He stood and grabbed the phone from her.

  “I should go,” Tori said.

  “You’re fine,” he insisted.

  “Hey, what’s up?” Brandon asked.

  “I hear congratulations are in order,” Lisa said.

  Brandon glanced at Tori, then headed to his bedroom, leaving the door open.

  “Thanks,” Brandon said.

  After a few seconds, Lisa said, “I was hoping we could talk.”

  “I’m ah, busy right now.”

  He glanced down the hallway to the living room.

  “About the other night…”

  “Lisa,” Brandon said. “I get it. This isn’t working. You don’t have to make excuses.”

  “I don’t have to make excuses?” she said. Tori had slipped her coat on and was hovering near the door. Lisa continued, “I was trying to tell you…”

  “I got to go,” Brandon said.

  He didn’t need a drawn-out explanation. Right or wrong, he’d told her he wasn’t ready for a relationship. She’d taken that to heart and decided to start dating other people. That was why she’d blown him off the other night, telling him she’d had a date.

  He hung up and tossed the phone on the bed.

  Tori smiled as he entered the living room.

  “How are things with your friend the coroner?”

  How did she know about Brandon and Lisa?

  “Emma told me,” she said.

  “I don’t think Emma liked her,” Brandon said.

  “Give her time,” Tori said. After a second, she asked, “Why liked?”

  “Things didn’t work out.”

  “Sorry to hear that,” Tori said, without conviction.

  “It’s for the better. Relationships are too much trouble.”

  Tori frowned.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean us. You and me.”

  She rose an eyebrow at him.

  Ever since they’d finalized their divorce, Tori had made overtures about giving their relationship another shot, practically asking Brandon to come back to Seattle. He’d subtly refused at first, then more directly.

  But maybe she was right. Had they really tried as hard as they could have before throwing away a seventeen-year marriage?

  He shuffled closer to Tori.

  “Maybe next time I can drop Emma off over your way,” he said. “You and I can make it a date.”

  She bit the inside of her lip. “Maybe not.”

  “Oh.”

  Tori put a hand on his chest. “I’m not your go to girl, Brandon.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” Brandon said, realizing that’s exactly what it sounded like he was doing.

  “I was your wife for seventeen years,” she said.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

  He didn’t know what he meant.

  She studied his face. “I know you’re sorry, because I know you better than anyone.”

  She kissed him on the cheek, then pulled back, calling out, “Emma, I’m leaving.”

  Emma bounced out of the kitchen.

  “Okay, love you.”

  They hugged, and Emma hurried back to her boyfriend.

  Brandon walked Tori to her car, resisting the need to explain his earlier statement about going on a date.

  They hugged one more time, and he watched her drive away.

  Suddenly, he wanted to be alone.

  Half an hour later, he let Emma know that it was time for Zach to go. It was a school night and Brandon had to get up early.

  He fell into bed. He reached back, pulling his cell phone out from under him, remembering he’d tossed it there earlier after his call with Lisa.

  Brandon stared at the voicemail symbol on the phone.

  He’d never listened to Lisa’s message from two days earlier. He checked it now.

  Brandon. This is Lisa. About last night. I’m sorry I couldn’t explain. I was with an old friend. She’s going through a divorce and needed a shoulder to cry on. Give me a call. I want to talk about us. I want to make this work, okay? Love you.

  Dammit.

  He could only imagine what Lisa thought of him. He should call her, tell her he didn’t listen to the voicemail until now.

  And then what? She’d still be pissed. He could make it up to her. They’d be back to where they were two weeks ago. Lisa wanting more than Brandon could give her.

  He set the phone on the floor and flipped the light off.

  Chapter 35

  Tuesday morning, Brandon drove up to Port Angeles to hand deliver his initial report to the prosecutor. He’d planned on stopping by the sheriff’s office, too. Not because he wanted to, but because he’d been called in on threat of his job. The sheriff and prosecutor were both at the courthouse building, but Brandon made sure to offload the file implicating Erik Olson, Alisa Nygard and, to some extent, Judge Gillman.

  There was no guarantee he’d survive the meeting with Sheriff Hart. Better to get the evidence on file while he was still an employee of the department.

  Brandon had just left the prosecutor’s office when, glancing up the hallway, he noticed a woman traveling the opposite direction with a distinct confident strut and bouncy, sable hair.

  He caught up to Margot.

  A few feet from her, he said, “Don’t think you’re getting away with this.”

  Margot stopped, spinning around on her three-inch heels.

  “What?” She cast him an almost-convincing look of surprise and confusion. There was something different about her. Gone were the well-worn navy skirt and blouse, replaced by a rose-colored knee-length pleated dress. Brandon didn’t know much about women’s accessories, but he guessed the bright pink handbag over her
shoulder was worth more than and entire outfit she might have donned just a week earlier.

  “Involving my dad in your scheme to take down Judge Gillman,” Brandon said.

  “Lower your voice,” she whispered. She pulled on his jacket as if to drag him out of the middle of the courthouse lobby. He’d caught the attention of the two security guards manning the metal detector.

  Brandon stood his ground.

  “You know, you could have just told me what you knew about Olson and his father. You would have gotten the same result,” he said.

  She put a hand on his arm. “I’m trying to make ends meet, just like you and everyone else.”

  “Not everyone risks the lives of other people to make ends meet.”

  She caught him eyeing her dress. “Do you like it?” she asked. “I thought I deserved a treat after all my hard work on this case.” Margot bit her lip. “I admit, it wasn’t a nice thing to do to Mark’s best friend.”

  “But you did it, anyway. Olson could have gotten away,” he said.

  All she’d cared about was the judge, though.

  “I could have told you everything, you’re right. But you’re slow, Brandon. Too slow to catch on sometimes. You’ve always been that way.”

  “What are you talking about? Does this have something to do with your supposed crush on me twenty years ago, because—”

  “You might not have noticed me, Brandon, but I’ve been noticing you for years. I pay attention to people. What makes them tick. When I say you’re slow to catch on, I mean, look at Misty—”

  “We’re not going there.”

  “You were the last person in town who knew she was cheating on you in high school.”

  Margot didn’t know what the hell she was talking about.

  “Oh,” she continued. “You thought it happened while you were away at boot camp.” Margot flashed a condescending frown. “It was before that. Way before that. We all knew, even Mark.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Brandon said. She was trying to get him off track, his focus away from what she’d done to endanger his investigation.

  “And this Lisa you are sort-of dating. I mean, look how easy it was for you to toss her to the side and focus on the breadcrumbs I threw your way.”

  Brandon waved a hand for her to stop. “I’m done with this.”

  It had been a long time since he’d let someone rile him. He’d barred his mind against such attacks from the criminals he’d interviewed over the years. Even the most intelligent sociopath couldn’t get under Brandon’s skin.

  “Now that this is over,” she said, squeezing his bicep, “Maybe we can get together some time.”

  She let go of his arm, turned, and strutted through the front door of the courthouse, the two security guards watching her intently. One of the guards, a guy in his fifties that Brandon knew was a retired cop, looked to Brandon.

  “Women,” the guard said.

  Brandon walked away without a word.

  ***

  Brandon strode into the sheriff’s office, glancing up at the clock. He was five minutes late.

  Sheriff Hart’s gaze stayed locked on his monitor as Brandon closed the door and took the chair across from him.

  After a few seconds, the sheriff removed his reading glasses and considered the already-seated Brandon.

  “Have a seat.”

  “Thanks” Brandon said, knowing it would have been better to keep his mouth shut.

  “I’ll get to the point,” Sheriff Hart said.

  Good. Let’s get this over with, Brandon thought.

  “I don’t tolerate insubordination in my officers,” he said. “Even former big-shot detectives from Seattle.”

  Back to that, again. Brandon had grown up in Forks, but moving to Seattle for so many years had made him an outsider.

  “No one said I was a big shot, far as I know,” Brandon said.

  “Like that,” the sheriff said, pointing a finger at Brandon.

  “What?”

  “Your smart-ass attitude. That might work on the streets. But I hired you to be a leader, Mattson.”

  “What exactly about how I’m running my department upsets you? I’ve met budget despite being down an officer. I’ve solved two murder investigations since I’ve started. No, three, counting Eli’s murder. And I will count it, because your detectives didn’t lift a damn finger to help.”

  “That’s not fair. They did their due diligence.”

  “I think,” Brandon said, leaning forward in his chair, “This isn’t about my leadership. It’s about you keeping your nose clean, not rocking the boat. If the case I was investigating hadn’t involved Judge Gillman, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  “Bullshit, Mattson. I am a man of integrity—”

  “This isn’t a campaign stop, Sheriff. This is you and me, the door closed. You knew Erik Olson was Judge Gillman’s son. You were afraid I’d discover the truth.”

  Sheriff Hart pointed a finger. “Watch it, Mattson.”

  Brandon was a detective at heart, always would be. And his senses told him the sheriff was lying. But politics meant it would be harder to pull the truth out of the sheriff than it was with Judge Gillman.

  “It’s obvious you aren’t interested in being the Forks chief of police,” he said.

  Brandon knew what was coming next. He’d only been fired once in his life, and that was because he’d refused to go along with an illegal parts-selling scheme at an auto store his first job out of the Army. It was the reason he’d gone into police work to begin with. If you’re going to have such a self-righteous attitude, his boss at the time had said, why don’t you become a cop?

  So he did.

  Now, he was about to lose the job he’d moved halfway across the state to take. He’d moved Emma here, given up a good job in homicide back in Seattle.

  But he wouldn’t go down without a fight.

  “You’re wrong. I’m very proud to serve the people of Forks and the west county area,” Brandon said. “My job is to keep them safe and ensure justice is served. I’ve done that, despite dealing with a corrupt judge willing to do everything in his power to protect a murderer. Not to mention leadership and, possibly, detectives in this department who aided that judge in corrupting justice.”

  “Stop right there,” the sheriff said, holding up a hand.

  “It’s too late,” Brandon said. “I’ve given the prosecutor everything I have.”

  The sheriff’s mustache twitched. But his eyes betrayed nothing but hatred. “You should have cleared that with me.”

  “And if I had?”

  “I would have made sure…”

  “That there was nothing in there that might lead to your involvement in steering the investigation away from the judge. Your fishing buddy.”

  Brandon glanced up at the photograph of the judge and Sheriff Hart.

  The sheriff followed Brandon’s gaze before turning back.

  “That doesn’t mean a thing.”

  “I’ll tell you what,” Brandon said. “I’ll let the prosecutor come to her own conclusions about the evidence they find there. In the meantime, I keep my job as chief of police.”

  “Because you’re blackmailing me?”

  “No, because I’m good at my job. Period. And because I’m not going to let a second-rate career politician run me out of my hometown.”

  “I was a patrol deputy once,” the sheriff reminded him.

  Too long ago, Brandon thought. Before you lost any sense of right and wrong.

  “If I lose my job because of politics,” Brandon said, “I’ll make sure to point out every bread crumb in the evidence that leads to you and your detectives’ involvement in protecting Gillman.”

  Brandon stood. “Is there anything else?”

  “Get the hell out of my office.”

  Brandon opened the door.

  “By the way,” Brandon said, “My six-month eval is overdue.”

  Sheriff Hart cast Brandon such a cold, rage-
filled glare for a moment he thought the sheriff would shoot him dead on the spot if he could get away with it.

  Brandon left before he’d have the chance.

  ***

  Jackson and Will were seated at the bullpen table.

  “Well, boss,” Will said. “You still have a job?”

  Brandon’s eyes slid from Will to Jackson.

  “You tell me. You all seem to know my every move.”

  “I got some buddies up at the courthouse,” Will said. “News is you were in Sheriff Hart’s office. The yelling wasn’t too bad, at least by the accounts I heard.”

  “Yes, I’m still your boss,” Brandon said, sitting down at the table.

  “Not for long,” Will reminded him. “Six more weeks. And I’m taking Thanksgiving weekend off. Don’t forget.”

  “How can I?” Brandon said, smiling. “You’ve been reminding me for the past five months.”

  He turned his attention to Jackson. “Any updates on the Dunn case?”

  “Still waiting on the lab to match the blood on her gloves to Mrs. Dunn,” she said. “I’m asking Lisa to recheck the coroner’s decision on Sabina’s husband.”

  “Makes sense to me.”

  “And I’m trying to contact her family in Croatia and figure out what we can learn about her history. It will cost the department.”

  “How?” Brandon asked. “You’re not thinking of traveling there. Because…”

  “No,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “Interpreter costs. For the phone calls.”

  Brandon nodded. “Good work on this, Jackson. I’m glad you’re here.”

  “What about me?” Will said, sliding a toothpick between his teeth.

  “You too,” Brandon said. “So much so that I wouldn’t mind it if you put off retirement a bit longer.”

  “Nope,” Will said. “Wife already said no.”

  He would miss Will. Not only for his wit and wisdom, but for the benefit of having an older officer around to bounce problems off of. It wasn’t like he could go to Sheriff Hart with his troubles.

  “By the way,” Jackson said. “The mayor called. She wants you to pop over when you get a chance.”

  “Of course she does,” Brandon said.