Dead by Sunrise

by Richard Ryker

  He switched topics on her. “Do you know why anyone would want to kill Lauren?”

  “No. She was sweet. A good friend.”

  “How long did you know her?” he asked.

  “A few years. We met at work.”

  “Where was that?”

  “The methadone clinic,” she said. “Up in Port Angeles.”

  “She still worked there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you?”

  “No,” Brooke said. “The pay sucks. I tried to get her to leave, too, but she’s all into helping people. That was her thing.”

  Brandon cast her a sympathetic smile. “If you think of anything else, contact the department immediately. Officer Jackson says you’re planning on returning to Port Angeles tonight?”

  “That was Justin being stupid. I’m staying here in town, with my aunt. I’m not leaving until you find out who did this to Lauren.”

  “And Justin?” he asked. They couldn’t rule out Brooke’s boyfriend, either. He seemed too eager to avoid any contact with the police. And he’d made it clear he didn’t like Brooke talking to Brandon.

  “He’ll stay with me, no matter what he says.” She crossed her arms. “So, what happens now?”

  “Take Adam in for questioning.”

  “He’s not a bad guy.”

  “I’ll try to remember that.”

  When they rejoined the others, Adam and Justin were both silent, Justin sitting on the tailgate of the truck smoking a cigarette and Adam several feet away, hands in his back pockets.

  “Adam,” Brandon said.

  “My turn?” Adam asked

  “Yes, but we’ll talk down at the station.”

  “Told you,” Justin mumbled.

  Brandon turned to Justin. “I’d keep your mouth shut—”

  “That’s police brutality, man” Justin said, pointing his cigarette at Brandon.

  “Yeah. Okay,” Brandon said. He half expected the kid to pull out his cell phone to record the conversation.

  Having worked an entire career in Seattle—one of the most politically correct cities in the country—Brandon knew how easy it was to get the police brutality moniker slapped on you by someone who didn’t like cops. He’d learned to focus on the investigation and ignore the trash talking meant to get a reaction.

  “Let’s go, Adam.”

  He led Adam to the Ford Police Interceptor—one of three SUVs the department owned.

  “Am I under arrest?” Adam asked.

  “No, I’m just giving you a ride to the station.”

  Adam’s eyes shifted from Brandon to the police vehicle. “Alright.”

  With Adam tucked away in the SUV, Brandon walked several feet away with Jackson as they watched Justin and Brooke return to packing their supplies into their truck.

  “You about ready to wrap up here?” Brandon asked.

  “I didn’t want to say anything in front of her friends, but I think I got a good lead,” Jackson said.

  “Tell me about it.”

  “I had finished with the beach and was heading back to the cruiser when I noticed the bulletin board with reservation instructions,” Jackson said. “I contacted the National Park office up in Port Angeles.”

  “So, what’d you find out?” Brandon asked.

  “I had them send me a list of everyone who registered to camp on Second Beach during the night Lauren went missing. He emailed it to me and I’m going to get to work comparing to my list from today. Anyone I didn’t catch, I’ll contact to see if they saw the girl.”

  “Good work, Jackson.”

  She smiled. “Thanks.”

  It was smart thinking, the kind of tactic other officers could learn from.

  “You’re just a reserve. How come?”

  “I was full time down in Portland.”

  “And?”

  “Marriage, kids. I have two little ones. We moved up here because my husband’s family. He works from home most of the time. I’ve been a stay-at-home mom for the past seven years.”

  “And now your kids are in school.”

  “Right. And my husband’s lost a few contracts here and there. We need the money.”

  “What did you do in Portland?”

  “Patrol most of my career. I finally made it to detective when we moved.”

  “Sorry.”

  It wasn’t easy making detective. Some officers worked for over a decade before passing the exam and getting the promotion. Others never made it, resigning themselves to life as a beat cop.

  “Being a mom is number one for me. But I’m ready to get back to work full time.”

  “You know, Will’s retiring. In case you’re interested.”

  “I was thinking about applying,” she said.

  “Not promising anything. Just, consider it. You do good work.”

  Brandon led Adam to the only interview room the department had. He asked Adam if he wanted any coffee or water. He accepted the offer for water. The kid looked genuinely scared. That didn’t mean anything, though.

  Guilty or not, most people found a visit to the police department uncomfortable, especially when they were there to be interviewed as part of a murder investigation.

  Stuck in the air-tight interview room, the smell of campfire smoke enveloped Brandon. Adam probably hadn’t showered in a few days. It made sense that the kid wanted to get back home. First, though, Brandon wanted another shot at him away from his friends, and under the bright lights of the police station.

  Brandon set a digital recorder on the table between them. “I’m recording this.”

  “Okay.”

  He had Adam state his name and date of birth.

  Brandon slid the waiver-of-rights form across the table and read Adam his rights, asking him to sign the form.

  “Am I a suspect?” Adam asked.

  “Right now, we’re just gathering information. The rights are for your protection, and mine.”

  Brandon handed Adam a pen, and he signed the document.

  Technically, Adam was free to go. But not knowing the courts in this county, and what they would or would not tolerate, Brandon would error on the safe side.

  “How long have you and Lauren been dating?”

  “About a year or so. We met at my work.”

  “That’s the Hurricane Ridge Cafe?”

  “Right.”

  Brandon knew the place. Its name came from the Hurricane Ridge area inside the northern boundary of Olympic National Park. The coffee shop in Sequim was about half an hour from Port Angeles.

  “Tell me what happened the night Lauren died.”

  “We spent most of the day in town, then at the beach. Drank some beers.”

  “How many?”

  “Me? Five or six.”

  “And Lauren?”

  Adam’s chair slid back an inch from the table. “I wasn’t paying attention. She could drink, though.”

  Was Adam implying his girlfriend was an alcoholic?

  “She worked at the methadone clinic?” Brandon asked.

  “Lauren was a recovering addict.”

  With a blood alcohol of .21, recovering addict wasn’t the term Brandon would use.

  “But she still drank?”

  “She didn’t see it as the same thing,” Adam said.

  Sounded like something an addict would say.

  “When’s the last time you and Lauren had sex?”

  “Ah...” his faced reddened, either out of embarrassment or guilt.

  “These are questions I have to ask.”

  “Okay. The night she disappeared.”

  “What did you two fight about that night?”

  His eyebrows fell. “Who said we argued?”

  “You did, didn’t you?” Brandon pressed him.

  “I don’t. I don’t remember. I was pretty out of it.”

  “You do remember the sex though?”

  “Um, yeah.”

  “Was the argument before or after?”

  “The
sex? I don’t know. I don’t think we argued.”

  The night Brandon first interviewed Adam, he’d denied arguing with Lauren. So far, he was sticking to his story.

  “Okay, you had sex. Then what?” Brandon asked.

  “I passed out. That was it until I woke up and she was gone.”

  “You didn’t get up to piss? Not even once, after all that beer?”

  “Not that I remember,” Adam said.

  “Were you angry at Lauren?”

  “No. Why would I be? She was great.”

  “Did you ever hit her?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Were you and Lauren into…kinky stuff?” Brandon asked.

  “What?” Adam’s face reddened again. Either this kid embarrassed easily, or he was a good actor.

  “There were bite marks on Lauren’s neck.”

  “What? How?”

  He seemed genuinely surprised.

  “Good question. Is that the sort of thing you and Lauren were into?”

  “Biting each other?” Adam asked.

  Brandon nodded.

  “No. Definitely not,” Adam said.

  “Would you be willing to provide a DNA sample for us?”

  “Ah. Sure. But why?”

  “It will help with the investigation. During the autopsy we found semen…we just need to make sure we’re covering all of our bases.”

  “Was it mine?” Adam asked.

  It wasn’t a question most men thought to ask about a girlfriend who had just died. “Why wouldn’t it be?” Brandon asked.

  Adam folded his hands on the table. “No reason.”

  “You’ll do it?” Brandon asked.

  “Alright,” he said. “I don’t have anything to hide.”

  Everyone had something to hide. The question was, did it have something to do with Lauren Sandoval’s murder?

  Brandon left Adam alone in the interview room. Jackson was at the copy machine printing out her report.

  “You know where the DNA kits are?” Brandon asked.

  “I think in that cabinet over there.”

  They were right where she said they would be. There were only two left.

  “We need to order more of these.”

  “Sometimes I get the feeling this place is hoping crime won’t happen,” she said.

  “Small towns tend to be that way.”

  Adam signed the DNA consent form and Brandon collected the cheek swab sample. He sealed the kit and prepared to send it to Lisa Shipley. In the meantime, Jackson took his prints.

  Before Brandon took Adam back to his car, he caught Jackson in the hallway.

  “Do me a favor. Tell Nolan I want background reports on all three of these kids.” Nolan was due back soon from his visits to the area sex offenders. His shift ended about the same time as Jackson’s. “I’ll need it by tomorrow morning.”

  She smiled sarcastically. Apparently, Brandon wasn’t the only one who’d noticed Nolan’s reluctance to do anything beyond the minimum work.

  “Will do,” Jackson said.

  Back and the campground, Justin’s truck was gone, and in the dark there were few cars left in the parking lot. Brandon got out and opened the door for Adam.

  “Where are you staying?”

  “My stuff’s already in my car. I’m headed back to Port Angeles.”

  “Tell me your address again.”

  He did, and Brandon recorded it in his notebook and let Adam go.

  It didn’t look good for the innocent-looking young man. His girlfriend had been murdered and, according to her best friend, he’d been arguing with her hours before her death. Did Adam suspect Lauren was cheating on him? If so, Adam had the world’s oldest motive for murder: jealousy.

  Chapter 10

  Brandon tossed a TV dinner in the oven and pulled a beer from the fridge.

  He opened the tracking app on his phone to check on Emma. Brandon and Tori had installed the app on their phones so they could keep track of their teenage daughter. Some people might call it helicopter parenting. Brandon had grown up in a world where you left with your friends Saturday morning and the rule was you had to be back by dark. In the hours between, your parents had no idea where you were.

  Brandon’s years as a homicide detective had exposed him to the darker side of humanity, a world where monsters did horrible things to innocent people. It wasn’t easy being a cop and having a daughter.

  According to the app, Emma was home. He called her number.

  “Hello?”

  It was Tori.

  “Where’s Emma?”

  “In her room. I confiscated her phone.”

  “Why?”

  “She’s being a snot. Teenage girl stuff. I’ll get her for you.”

  “Everything all right?” Brandon asked.

  “With me, or Emma?”

  He’d meant Emma, but he knew Tori had been handling some tough cases recently. It didn’t help—or maybe it did—that their divorce had been finalized just two months ago.

  “How’s work?” he asked, sticking to the impersonal. Anything else would lead to a different conversation—one about their relationship.

  “The usual. Slimy defense attorneys.”

  Tori was a prosecutor for King County.

  “Public defenders?” he asked.

  “No. I’m working a sexual assault case involving a couple of prep school kids from the east side. How’s Forks treating you?”

  “Two days and I already have my first murder,” Brandon said.

  “Wasn’t the goal to get out of homicide?”

  “It’s the politics that gets to me. Not the same as Seattle, but still politics.”

  “Well, you could come back home…”

  Time and again, they’d tried to make the marriage work. But they’d grown apart. That wasn’t reason enough to end a marriage, in Brandon’s opinion. But Tori was done, and in the end had insisted on going through with the final paperwork.

  Until she changed her mind, asking Brandon to give them another chance. He did, and they went through the cycle half a dozen times until, finally, Brandon refused to stop the proceedings, needing some sense of his future. He was done waiting, wondering whether Tori wanted to make it work or not.

  The brief moments of passion that sparked between them wasn’t enough to keep them together. They’d even tried counseling, but that only seemed to make things worse. Brandon had put his life into his work, and so had she.

  At least they had Emma.

  “I’m not ready to come back yet,” Brandon said.

  Yet? Why had he used that word? What he wanted to say was, we tried this, we care about each other and always will, but it’s over.

  “I know,” she said. Then, her voice suddenly devoid of emotion, she said, “I’ll get Emma.”

  A few seconds later, Emma picked up the phone.

  “Hey dad.”

  “How’s it going, sweetie?”

  “Hold on, let me close my door.”

  Brandon waited.

  “Okay. I can have some privacy now.”

  Why did she need privacy to talk to her dad?

  “I can’t handle mom—”

  “Because she confiscated your phone? That’s what good parents do—”

  “Not that. All we ever do is argue. She’s always mad at me, when she’s home.”

  He downed a long drink of beer while Emma talked. It always ended the same—both of them unhappy and turning to him to play the role of peacemaker.

  “Maybe you ought to go do something fun together. Like you used to.”

  “I can’t wait until I get to stay with you,” she said. “It’s only two weeks away.”

  Brandon recalled the conversation with his father.

  “I heard you’ve been talking to your grandpa.”

  “Email mostly. I like him. He’s chill.”

  Chill was the last word Brandon would use to describe his father. Maybe the word meant something different nowadays.

&nbs
p; “There’s not much to do out here,” he reminded her.

  “Grandpa has a farm. And there’s the cool vampire stuff. I’ve been checking it out online.”

  He wouldn’t push back too much now, but he wasn’t about to let Emma get involved in Forks’ vampire craze. An image of the bite mark on Lauren Sandoval’s neck flashed across his mind.

  “How are you doing in school?”

  “Okay, I guess.”

  “You guess?”

  Emma had been an ‘A-’ to ‘B+’ student most of the year. Before her best friend died in the fall, she’d had straight As.

  “I miss Mattye.”

  “I know, sweetie.”

  “And I don’t have any other friends here,” she said.

  “You do—”

  “You always say that, but…I don’t see the point of being here anymore.”

  Brandon’s stomach clenched. What did she mean not be here?

  “Emma—”

  “I mean in Seattle dad. I can tell you’re freaking out.”

  “That’s my job. To worry about my daughter.”

  “Gee, thanks,” she said, but he could hear the smile in her voice.

  “Anything exciting happen so far?” she asked.

  “Not much,” he said. He didn’t like discussing the darker side of his work with Emma.

  “Liar,” she said.

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Grandpa told me about the girl who died. It was murder, wasn’t it?”

  “Emma…”

  “You’re not thinking of telling me to stay in Seattle until the case is solved?” she asked.

  That was exactly what he was thinking.

  “I need to know it’s safe—”

  “Dad, I live in Seattle. How many murders are there per year in King County, compared to Forks?”

  He wasn’t about to engage in an argument about crime statistics with Emma. It was a personal passion of Emma’s—crime mapping, studies on prevalence rates by zip code.

  “I get it,” he said. “But I’m still your dad—”

  “And I’m your daughter, and I know how to take care of myself.”

  Probably the same thing Lauren Sandoval thought.

  “Okay. But we’re not done talking about this,” Brandon said. “And there will be rules…”

  He imagined her eyes rolling. She was a good kid, and tough. But having her here during the investigation would make things more…personal. The quicker he solved this case, the sooner he could move on with being a dad—and Chief of Police.