Dead by Sunrise

by Richard Ryker

  The conversation turned sour as Ruby pulled the six pack away from Lauren. Ruby waved Lauren away, apparently telling her to leave the store. She wouldn’t sell her the beer.

  “The girl appears intoxicated,” Mr. Kayani said. “Ruby is doing the right thing.”

  Lauren pointed a finger at Ruby. Then, suddenly, she fought to free the six pack from Ruby’s grip. Ruby pushed her back. Lauren stood there for a moment, said something to Ruby. It was impossible to tell, but she had the demeanor of someone delivering an ultimatum.

  Then, a white pickup truck pulled into the parking lot, right up to the front of the store. There were two men in the cab.

  Inside, Lauren handed Ruby a wad of money. Ruby counted it, placing one bill in the register and pocketing the rest, Lauren too drunk to notice. Ruby slid the six pack and receipt to Lauren.

  “I can’t believe this,” Mr. Kayani said. “Not only is she giving alcohol to a drunk person, she’s keeping part of the money for herself.”

  “Didn’t card her, either,” Josiah said.

  “I’ll speak with her,” Mr. Kayani said. “If I let her keep her job.”

  What had Lauren said to Ruby? They’d already established that Ruby was hiding the truth. The argument here only verified the animosity between the two.

  “These must be the workers Jim Daniel told me about,” Josiah said.

  One of the men entered the store, holding the door for Lauren as she exited. She was about to move off screen when the man who’d stayed in the truck motioned for her to come over. She stopped, made a slow, drunken turn and stumbled over to him.

  He got out of the truck and closed the door. He was in his early thirties, bald but with a wild, unkempt beard. A little on the heavy side. Leaning against the cab with his arms crossed, he struck up a conversation with Lauren. She nodded, said a few words. They both laughed at something.

  Inside the store his friend bought beer and a can of chew.

  Brandon recognized the men. They’d been with the road crew sitting at the counter talking to Tammy when Brandon had breakfast at the Forks Diner Sunday morning.

  The man who had bought the beer got back in the truck and started it. His friend motioned for Lauren to come with them. She stood, considering their offer. He tapped her on the arm, motioning again. Lauren shrugged her shoulders and he made a gesture as if he wanted her to get in first. She shook her head, said something, and the man got in, leaving Lauren to squeeze in next to the passenger door.

  The truck pulled out of the parking lot to the left, the road that led to the beach.

  Brandon glanced at the time on the video monitor: 12:17 am. The coroner had estimated time of death somewhere between two and five.

  Inside the store, Ruby stood at the window, watching the whole thing.

  “What does this mean?” Mr. Kayani asked.

  “It means we need to have a word with Ruby, again.”

  “Do you recognize that truck?” Josiah asked.

  “They are the workers that stay at the hotel. They buy beer and food at night. Coffee in the morning.”

  “Thank you,” Brandon said. “When does Ruby work next?”

  “Tonight, if she doesn’t call in sick. But I will tell you, I don’t think I’ll be keeping her after this.”

  “Understood,” Brandon said. He glanced at the screen. “Do you mind if we get a copy of this?”

  “It’s all yours.”

  “I’ll come back with a jump drive,” Josiah said.

  “Do us a favor,” Brandon said to Mr. Kayani. “Don’t mention this to Ruby. Or anyone else.”

  “You have my word,” he said.

  Chapter 20

  Brandon and Josiah regrouped outside.

  “This looks bad for those guys,” Josiah said, motioning toward the Forks Inn. “What did the coroner say about semen?”

  The young officer was ready to book the two men for rape and murder. The video was a big deal. It was possible they’d discovered how Lauren had made it back to the beach in the hours before her death.

  They might have identified her killers, too.

  Nothing was certain. Yet.

  “The coroner said semen was present,” Brandon said. “But we’ve got a bunch of evidence to consider. The video is important. But just one piece.”

  Josiah shrugged off Brandon’s cautious attitude.

  “Now what? Go find out who those two guys are?”

  “I’ll head over to the hotel,” Brandon said. “See what the manager has to say. You go get a copy of that video.”

  “You know about the Forks Inn, right?”

  “I haven’t been here in twenty years, Josiah. So, unless you’re telling me it’s still the best place to celebrate prom without getting busted, no, I don’t know.”

  Josiah laughed.

  “Worse. Prostitution. We have calls here and there, made a few arrests, but no proof management is involved.”

  “But he is.”

  “Right. The old chief said the owner was probably getting a cut.”

  “And the contract workers?”

  “It’s a cheap hotel. Most of them stay there.”

  “And the room service has more to offer than food, apparently,” Brandon said.

  “I think service is all they offer.”

  Brandon crossed the street to the Forks Inn. The parking lot was empty except for a few sedans and two mini vans. No sign of the truck they’d seen in the video. Probably the crew was already at work—hopefully they hadn’t left town. It would be a lot easier if the two men who’d taken Lauren were still in his jurisdiction.

  Josiah’s excitement about the lead was well-placed. These could be the men who killed Lauren. But even if you knew who committed a crime, it didn’t mean a thing until you had compelling evidence. If they found DNA from one of these men with Lauren, or even the beer cans on the sea stack…

  He was getting ahead of himself. He had to treat this like any other case—not like he was the new Chief of Police with a hell of a lot to prove in a short amount of time.

  The hotel was a modest two-story building with a pair of matching wings that spread out from a central lobby. The gray, peeling siding could’ve benefitted from a fresh coat of paint—a decade ago. The roof had sprouted a garden of moss, and the ground-floor window could claim more mold than a middle school science class Petri dish.

  The lobby was just as depressing. The carpet had worn through on some spots, and the mid-eighties decor hadn’t changed since Brandon’s high school days.

  Brandon rang the front desk bell.

  A girl, probably in her late teens, emerged from behind the curtain that separated the lobby from a back office.

  She smiled at Brandon. “Hi.”

  “I need to talk to the owner.”

  “Okay,” she said. The girl turned her head. “Dad!”

  A man in his early fifties with white hair and white stubble swept through the curtain, his voice agitated.

  “What?”

  The scent of marijuana radiated from the man’s blue and yellow tropical themed shirt.

  The man caught sight of Brandon’s uniform. “Great.”

  “Beat it,” he said to the girl.

  She scowled. “So rude.”

  “Just…go.”

  The girl disappeared back behind the curtain.

  “If you’re here to harass me about—” the manager said.

  “A young woman was murdered about a week ago, and we have evidence that some of your guests were involved in her disappearance.”

  “Oh.” He seemed almost relieved.

  “Your name?” Brandon asked.

  “Benjamin Frey. People call me Big Ben.”

  “You been in town long, Ben?”

  “Moved up about six years ago. From California.”

  “You run a prostitution dive down there too?”

  The man’s eyebrows furrowed. “There is no evidence—”

  Brandon held up a hand to quiet him.


  He’d just wanted to put the man on notice. “I’m looking for a list of contract workers who were staying here June ninth.

  “We get a lot of workers,” he said.

  “And you know who they are.”

  “You want me to share private information on my guests? You know what will happen to me?”

  “I know what will happen if you don’t give me the information. This is a murder investigation. And if, as part of the investigation, we uncover your involvement in certain other activities, say prostitution, then certainly we will pursue prosecution—”

  “Okay, chill, man,” he said, holding up his hands. “What do you want to know?”

  “Names and companies they work for. Everyone who stayed here that night.”

  “It will take a minute,” he said.

  “If it helps, they were driving a white pickup.”

  Frey left Brandon in the lobby and returned a few minutes later with a piece of paper. “Only two white trucks were registered here. Both with Apex West Engineering.”

  “What’s that?”

  “They do surveying.”

  “Where?”

  “I have no idea. Are you done with me now?”

  “One more question. You have video cameras?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Too expensive,” he said, glancing sideways at Brandon.

  The real reason probably had more to do with moments just like this, when the police came around searching for evidence. If the Forks Inn was being used for prostitution, he’d want to make sure there wasn’t proof.

  “That’s enough,” Brandon said. “For now.”

  Brandon checked the hallway, and then the exterior of the building for any cameras. He didn’t find any. Frey was telling the truth. Imagine that.

  Back at the station, Josiah stood at the copy machine printing out still frames from the gas station video. Across the room, Jackson was checking out something on the computer. She’d had just started her shift.

  “I updated Jackson on what we learned,” Josiah said.

  “Good. It looks like the men who picked Lauren up at the gas station worked for a company called Apex West,” Brandon said.

  Jackson swiveled in her chair. “They’re up on 101. Reinforcing the hillside. It’s that road-widening project that’s been going on for months.”

  They’d driven through the construction zone on the road up to Port Angeles.

  “I’m getting ready to go up that way if you want me to check on anything,” Jackson said.

  There were more than a handful of threads to follow, including Ruby, and as much as he didn’t want to waste the time, Vasile the vampire guru. Right now, these two men were their best lead on what happened to Lauren in the hours—and minutes—before she died.

  “Sure, but not alone,” Brandon said, studying the shift board. “Where’s Nolan?”

  “He’s out on patrol,” she said, her voice less than enthusiastic. She knew what was coming next.

  “Get ahold of Nolan. Tell him to meet us at the construction site. We’re all going to check this out.”

  “Alright,” she said. The lack of enthusiasm was meant to send a message. He’d heard it, loud and clear. As far as Brandon could tell, Jackson and Nolan didn’t get along. Nolan could be an ass. But if she had a shot at being a full-time officer, they would need to learn to work together.

  An hour later, Brandon and Josiah pulled off the highway near the construction site. The road had been widened for a long stretch, and that meant removing part of the hill to the right. In order to prevent erosion, they’d planted grass over the fresh soil, and a glowing, vibrant green blanketed the hill.

  A few workers directed traffic, alternating between “slow” and “stop.” They’d excavated a large trench along the side of the highway. A crane was lowering a drainage pipe into the trench.

  Jackson and Nolan pulled in behind them in their separate cars.

  When the four of them were together, Brandon said, “Take a look at these pictures. We’re looking for either of these two men. Consider them dangerous until we know different. One—or both—of these men may have killed Lauren Sandoval.”

  Seeing the police officers, one of the workers approached.

  “What’s up?”

  “We’re looking for the foreman,” Brandon said.

  “That’s me.”

  Brandon handed him the pictures from the convenience store.

  “You recognize these two?”

  He flipped through the photos.

  “That’s Derrick Green,” he said, pointing to the image of the man who’d entered the store.

  “And that one?” Brandon asked, holding up the other picture—the man who’d convinced Lauren to get in the truck.

  “Yeah,” he scoffed. “Doug Nevins.”

  “You’ve had trouble with him?”

  “Both those guys, yeah. Doug’s a piece of work, if that’s what you mean. What’s this about?”

  “Just asking a few questions. Where are these two now?”

  “Over there. Derrick’s in the backhoe.” He pointed. “And Doug…” he motioned north. “Down the road, holding up the sign. Over on the right.”

  Brandon stood out on the highway and saw the man, who had his back to them. He was about a quarter mile away on the other side of the construction zone.

  “Got it.” Brandon spoke to Jackson and Nolan. “You two, go question Doug Nevins. I want to know everything…what they did after leaving the store, what time they returned to the hotel. We’ll compare stories. If you sense anything off kilter, bring him back to the squad car. Understood?”

  They both nodded.

  The foreman followed Brandon and Josiah over to the backhoe. Along the way, he called another worker over.

  “I need you to take Derrick’s place.”

  He motioned Derrick over.

  Derrick climbed down, took his gloves off.

  “What’s up?” He asked, his gaze locked on his boss. He was doing his best not to look at Brandon and Josiah.

  “A few questions,” Brandon said. “Shouldn’t take long.”

  “Let me know if you need anything else,” the foreman said, then left them alone with Derrick. The man was about five-foot-six, with arms like a gym rat. His baseball cap was on backwards, but he flipped it around now, revealing a Seahawks logo.

  Brandon pulled out a copy of the still shot, showing Derrick at the gas station. “This is you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And this is you in the truck with your friend Doug?” Brandon asked.

  “I guess.”

  “You guess or it is?” Josiah asked.

  “It is.”

  “And the girl?” Brandon said.

  “It was Doug’s idea.”

  “What was Doug’s idea?”

  “Picking her up.”

  “Yet you went along with it.”

  “We didn’t do jack to her,” Derrick said.

  Josiah positioned himself further off to the side, and slightly behind, Derrick. A good move, in case he tried to bolt.

  “You understand the girl you picked up—she was murdered.”

  A streak of genuine fear crossed his face. He didn’t know.

  “What happened that night?” Brandon asked.

  “We were just getting beer, something to eat. I came back out and Doug was talking to some chick.”

  “What did she say to you?”

  “Not much. When we were all in the car, she was talking about camping, how she needed a ride to the beach.”

  “What did you want in return?”

  He waved his hands at Brandon. “Ah man, it wasn’t like that.”

  Josiah took a step toward Derrick. His hand reached back for his cuffs.

  Brandon motioned him off. Not yet.

  “Mr. Green, we have DNA evidence—”

  “Hey, go ahead,” he said. “Take my DNA. I got nothing to hide.”

  Brandon considered h
im for a moment. Was he bluffing?

  “Okay, so you took her to the beach.”

  “Hells no. That bitch started freaking out. I mean, probably because of Doug, but—”

  “Why was she freaking out?”

  “I was driving, man. But, you know, if I had to guess, Doug was trying to cop a feel—”

  “And she told him to stop.”

  “Right.”

  “You kept driving.”

  “No, I mean. I didn’t have time to do anything. She opens the door like she’s about to jump out while I’m going forty. I stopped the truck, she bolted. At first Doug got out too, but she said something about pepper spray and Doug got back in.”

  If Derrick was telling the truth, Brandon should be talking to Doug Nevins. Either way, he would have to get Derrick down to the station and get an official statement.

  “And you left her there. Alone?”

  “What was I supposed to do? She didn’t want a ride anymore.”

  “Then what?”

  “Back to the hotel. I was sort of done with all that, so I took a couple of beers and crashed in my room.”

  They separated after letting the girl out of the truck. That meant neither of them had an alibi.

  “And Doug? What did he do?”

  Derrick shrugged his shoulders. “Hell if I know what that crazy bastard did. He said he was going to crash, too.”

  A crack of gunfire rang out from down the highway. Where Jackson and Nolan were interviewing Doug Nevis.

  Brandon pointed at Derrick. “Stay here.”

  They rushed in the direction of the gunfire, Josiah on his heels.

  “Shots fired!” Jackson’s voice called out over the police radio.

  Another gunshot.

  The foreman waved at Brandon, pointing up.

  “The hill!”

  Brandon spotted Nolan and Jackson scrambling up the hillside after a man in a bright orange safety vest.

  Doug Nevins.

  Jackson slipped but caught herself in the muddy, newly seeded grass. She was only about twenty yards behind Nevins. Nolan trailed Jackson by several feet.

  Brandon motioned to Josiah. “Follow me.”

  They sprinted after Nolan and Jackson.