“What about that kid, Justin?” Will asked. “He didn’t seem too upset, except when he thought you might consider him a suspect.”
“More important,” Brandon said, “he mentioned drowning and asked whether the girl had been hurt. Either he’s good at guessing, or he’s trying to figure out how much we know.”
“Which is not much, right?”
“Still waiting on the coroner’s report,” Brandon said. “She was found in the water, so drowning is likely. But there were scratches and bruises on her back.”
“Josiah said something about…bite marks,” Will said.
“Right.”
Will shook his head. “What the hell. Were they human?”
“Vampire.”
Will stopped in the trail and turned to face Brandon, the light momentarily blinding him. “You shittin’ me?”
“Hey,” Brandon said, turning his head away from the light.
“Sorry. Habit.”
Will’s eyes scanned the dark behind Brandon. Was the old cop trying to scare Brandon, or was he genuinely concerned about vampires invading Forks? Will shook his head as if to recover his wits. “Maybe this girl and her beau Adam back there were into that, you know, kinky stuff. Biting, handcuffs—”
Josiah had suggested the same thing. Apparently, those sorts of activities weren’t as shocking in Forks as Brandon thought they might be.
Will pointed the flashlight through the thick underbrush, then up to the forest canopy. “You know, there are some people, a group of locals, who get together and dress up like vampires. Some say they drink blood.”
“Nonsense.”
“So say you,” Will said. Brandon sensed a hint of fear in the older man’s voice.
Will swept the flashlight across the sea of trees one last time. “Let’s get going,” he said. “This place freaks me out.”
It was after eleven by the time Brandon and Will arrived at the station. So far, he had no leads on why Lauren had disappeared. Years of experience told him he was dealing with a homicide.
Brandon documented the items they’d taken from the campsite and placed them into evidence. In the meantime, Will had done an online search of the girl’s cell phone number, found out the provider was T-Mobile, and contacted the company to request phone call and cell tower records.
The last call she’d made was to Sequim. Probably her mother’s house, the day before she’d died. The cell towers showed her near the campground the night of her disappearance. The phone had gone silent around midnight.
It had probably died before Lauren’s passing and been tossed into the sea with her.
Back in his office, Brandon flipped through the list of phone numbers he had in his notebook and found the twenty-four-hour number for the ranger on duty up at the National Park Service.
He informed the ranger they’d been doing some poking around, talking to witnesses about the girl who’d died on the reservation. Like the tribes, Brandon’s department had a jurisdictional agreement with the park service, allowing them access to the huge swaths of land that encompassed Olympic National Park. Second Beach was one of those areas.
The girl’s mother lived up in Sequim, an hour and a half away. Brandon put his Forks PD uniform on for the first time and made the trek up Highway 101. It had been years since Brandon had donned a uniform. As a detective, he’d been able to escape the starched shirt and buttoned collar. He wedged a finger between his collar and neck, loosening the material. He’d speak with Sue about getting something in a larger size.
Brandon stopped at the all-night gas station before leaving town and purchased a twenty-four-ounce cup of bad coffee. He bought an overpriced bottle of antacids too. The only thing worse on his stomach than gas station coffee was the heart-breaking job of having to inform a parent that their child had died.
He could have called the east county Sheriff’s deputy, or even the Sequim PD to do the notification. But this was his case, and to Brandon that meant it was his responsibility to notify the family. In person, if at all possible.
It took a while to wake Lauren’s mother, and when he gave her the news of her daughter’s death, she was inconsolable. The best he could get from her was that she had no idea why anyone would want to hurt her daughter.
Brandon gave Lauren’s mother the coroner’s contact information and said he’d be in touch. She would need to identify Lauren’s body. Brandon still had questions for her, but she was in no shape to talk. It turned out the girl’s father had disappeared years ago, so Brandon waited until the woman’s sister arrived from Port Angeles to stay with her.
It was three in the morning when he opened the front door to his own dark, cold house. He left the lights off, feeling his way down the hallway where he found his bed on the floor and fell into a deep, troubled sleep.
Chapter 6
Lisa Shipley called Brandon at eight the next morning.
“What’s up?”
“You got time to come up to PA?”
“You learn anything new?”
“I’m leaning homicide for sure,” she said. “And possible sexual assault.”
“I’ll be up.”
He’d have to put a hold on his first order of business—ripping his officers a new one for not letting him know about the missing girl, even after they learned about the young woman found on the beach.
He was about to step up into his truck when someone called out, “Brandon Mattson?”
Walking toward him was a woman in her late thirties with dark brown hair and a wide, red-lipstick smile.
“You don’t recognize me,” she said.
He didn’t, at first. But as she neared him, her face registered in his memory.
“Misty Brooks,” he said.
She reached up and gave him a hug, holding him for just a second too long.
“I heard you were back.” She playfully pushed a finger into his badge. “Chief of Police.”
Misty’s always-have-fun attitude was one of the many reasons he’d fell for her in high school.
“We’re neighbors,” she said, pointing at a red and white craftsman across the street.
“Nice,” he said. “How’s Lee?”
Her gaze fell as she fidgeted with the buttons on her shirt.
“We broke up ages ago. I raised Micah on my own.”
After high school, Brandon left for the Army with a plan to come back home and marry Misty. At least that was the plan. But when he returned home for his first visit, Misty was pregnant and engaged to Lee.
Micah must be the son they’d had together.
Brandon glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to be somewhere—”
She pursed her lips in a weak smile. “Well…it was good catching up. I’m right over here if you need anything.”
“Okay.”
Brandon turned to leave.
“Wait,” she said, holding onto his arm. “What’s your number? In case, you know, we need to talk.”
He wanted to tell her she could call 911 if she needed to get ahold of him, Brandon wasn’t interested in rekindling long dormant feelings toward Misty. Not now, still recovering from his own divorce.
In fact, not ever.
But maybe this wasn’t about romance. Neighbors exchanged numbers, didn’t they?
Against his better judgement he gave her his personal cell number. She typed it into her cell and his phone buzzed.
Her eyes lit up again. “There. I sent you a text. Now you have my number too.”
“Alright,” he said. “See you around.”
It had been two decades and Misty still had the same effect on him. It wasn’t all good, either. Misty was a buzz and a hangover all at once.
Brandon called into the office and left Sue a message that he was heading up to Port Angeles.
On his way out of town, Brandon passed the Forks Diner but something caught his eye, so he circled around the block and pulled to a stop in front of the restaurant.
Someone had tagged the diner. Unl
ike Seattle, where spray painted scribblings covered more real estate than Starbucks, you didn’t see much graffiti in Forks.
A blood-red symbol in the shape of an Egyptian ankh took up most of the ten-foot-high wall. Brandon had always been a history buff and he’d read about hieroglyphics as a kid.
An ankh was like a cross, the top a loop instead of a straight line. The one here, though, narrowed to a point, like a dagger. Three drops of blood dripped from the tip.
Probably a local kid. Or a publicity stunt meant to garner more attention for the upcoming Moonbeam Darklove author visit.
He thought about the bite marks on Lauren Sandoval’s neck. Could the ankh symbol be related to the local vampire craze? If so, there could be a connection between the girl’s death and the red paint dripping down the side of the diner’s white brick wall. He’d follow up on the graffiti later. For now, Brandon had more earthly evidence to deal with.
It took Brandon an hour forty-five to make the trip up to PA. If it wasn’t a logging truck slowing traffic on 101, the two-lane highway between Forks and Port Angeles, it was some shmuck in a gutless motor home.
He ought to be grateful for a break from the endless gridlock that was the Seattle commute. But what was the point of being out in wide open nature if you had to drive 35 in a 50 zone?
Lisa Shipley led Brandon to an autopsy room where Lauren Sandoval’s body lay face down on an exam table. Lisa pulled back the sheet, revealing the seven or eight deep, jagged scratches stretching vertically up the girl’s back.
“X-rays showed four cracked vertebrae,” Lisa said. “The pattern here is consistent with a fall onto an uneven surface.”
“And the scratches,” Brandon asked. “You still think that’s because someone dragged her after death?”
“Definitely.”
“That rules out an accident.”
“You mean maybe she stumbled off a cliff, and the tide swept her away?” Lisa asked.
“It’s a longshot,” Brandon said.
More like wishful thinking. If the girl’s death was a homicide, that meant there was a killer loose in his town.
“Her blood alcohol hit .21, so yes there’s the possibility of an accidental fall. But these scratches are consistent with dead weight dragged across a hard surface. Something else. I don’t think she drowned.”
“Her lungs?”
“No evidence of drowning. There’s water in her lungs, but very little. Everything else points to death before submersion.”
“Right. She fell or someone pushed her—”
“I’d guess a drop of at least twenty or thirty feet.”
“And then dragged into the ocean.”
“Sounds about right,” Lisa said, pulling the sheet back over the girl.
“Wait a minute,” Brandon said. “What about the bite mark?”
“Like we thought. Puncture wounds from fake teeth.”
“But a hell of a lot sharper than plastic,” he said.
“It’s hard to tell how much blood she lost from the bite. But based on the lack of bruising my hypothesis is that she’d already expired by the time the bite occurred. I’m not one-hundred percent certain.”
The murderer owned a pair of fake fangs. Not exactly a novelty in Forks.
“Any saliva around the bite?”
“We’re searching for any DNA we can find from the attacker.”
“Time of death?” Brandon asked.
Lisa considered the girl. “With the evidence we have, and considering how long she might have been submerged, I’d say she died yesterday between two and five in the morning.”
“Okay, well. It sounds like I need to talk to my boss.”
The Sheriff would want to know about any homicide investigation. He’d update the prosecutor’s office too.
“I’m not done yet,” Lisa said. “I found semen in her vagina and on her undergarments.”
“Signs of rape?”
“Inconclusive, especially—”
“Her body’s exposure to water. Got it. How long will it take you to get the DNA back?”
“Didn’t you say you worked in Seattle?”
“Yeah, so?”
“However long it took there, times two.”
“Great. We have what looks like a homicide, or at the very least an attempt to cover up a death. And a body compromised by exposure to water, not to mention a bureaucracy.”
Lisa gave him a wry smile.
“That’s why you get the big bucks, chief.”
“Funny. Anyway, keep me updated.”
“Will do.”
Lisa leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms. “I’m sure the prosecutor will say I should have sent her to King County the minute I suspected foul play.”
“I worked homicide in Seattle fifteen years. They have more equipment, more staff, for sure, but there’s nothing that beats a good medical examiner.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” She winked at him.
“Good,” he said. “It was meant as one.”
She was an attractive woman. Single, like him. They probably had a lot in common. He thought back to his conversation with Misty that morning. His high school sweetheart was now his neighbor. Why let his old feelings for Misty get in the way of the future? That part of his life hand ended—badly—twenty years ago.
Misty or not, Brandon had heard it was a bad idea to mix work and play. He’d been married most of his adult life, and so had never had the chance to experience the perils of dating a professional associate.
“Alright, have a good one,” she said.
“Yeah.”
He wasn’t two feet out the door when he realized he’d just dodged a bullet. The new Chief of Police asking the coroner out on a date his second day on the job? It was the sort of thing that led to front-page stories in a town like Forks.
Chapter 7
Brandon called Sheriff Will Hart’s cell to let him know they had a homicide case on their hands. Technically, the murder had occurred within Brandon’s jurisdiction—the newly configured West Clallam region—but people got touchy when it came to homicide investigations.
He told the Sheriff he thought he could handle the case—an argument bolstered by the fact that Brandon had more experience in homicide than all the other officers in the county put together. Sheriff Hart agreed, but with one caveat. He couldn’t promise to keep the prosecutor off his back. When Brandon identified a strong suspect, the prosecutor would want to make sure to keep the case clean. He didn’t want some back-country cop stepping all over the evidence.
Brandon wasn’t a back-country cop, and he wasn’t about to let a murder go unsolved in his jurisdiction.
On the way to Forks, Brandon contacted Dennison, a reserve officer on shift.
“I need you to get all the staff in the office by noon.”
“Chief, it’s already 11:15.”
“Good. That gives them plenty of time.”
“But not everyone’s scheduled to work today.”
“I want them all there.”
“You sure? Everyone?”
“Do you hear any doubt in my voice?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He was coming across as an ass, not the impression he wanted. But his team’s failure to communicate the missing person report was a big deal, especially in a small town. Someone could have seen the girl.
The conference room was packed—every last officer had shown up.
Most of them were in plain clothes, with the exception of those on duty. Then there was Josiah, his youngest officer. Brandon knew he wasn’t on shift until tomorrow. But he’d donned his uniform, anyway. Will was there, bleary-eyed. He’d probably gotten off shift after midnight.
Neal Nolan stood in the back corner, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.
Brandon cut to the chase.
“I know Chief Satler was a good man, and he took care of this department for a long time.”
Brandon
took a moment to look each officer in the eye.
“And he wouldn’t have put up with half-assed work,” he continued.
“That sounds like an accusation,” Nolan said, still holding up the wall.
“It is a statement of fact,” Brandon said. “Some time before yesterday morning a young woman disappeared out on Second Beach. Her friends made a missing person report. Who received the report?”
Brandon scanned the room, curious if the guilty party would fess up.
“I did,” Nolan said.
“And what did you do with that information?”
“Nothing.”
“Why not?”
“It wasn’t a priority at the moment.”
“What were you so busy doing you couldn’t handle a missing person case?”
Nolan uncrossed his arms, but his face remained defiant. “I don’t recall.”
Brandon had to be cautious. Nolan had been a candidate for the new Chief of Police position. Brandon wasn’t sure how popular he’d been with the other officers. But if he was easy on Nolan, it would encourage similar sloppy behavior among the others.
“The young woman was found dead on the beach a few hours later,” Brandon said.
A few officers shifted in their seats.
“You’re saying not posting the missing person report led to her death?” Nolan asked.
“Could be,” Brandon said. “But even if it didn’t, it’s this kind of negligence that lets the bad guys get away.”
“I thought she drowned,” Josiah said.
“We’ve learned a few things since yesterday. We’re looking at a homicide investigation,” Brandon said.
Brandon explained what he’d learned from the coroner.
“They’re sure she didn’t drown?” Will asked.
“Like any of this, it’s an educated guess.”
“Is the sheriff sending someone down to work the case?” one of the reserve officers asked.
“We’ll handle this one.”
“Because you’re the seasoned homicide detective from the big city, right?” Nolan said.
Dead by Sunrise Page 4
