Don't Make a Sound: A Sawyer Brooks Thriller

by T. R. Ragan

  She backed up again, went too far, slammed into a neighbor’s car, jerked forward.

  Aspen stood in front of her car looking at her through the windshield. He wasn’t giving up. The determination in his eyes was frightening.

  He would never stop.

  She would spend a lifetime looking over her shoulder.

  She thought of Gramma Sally, Peggy, Avery, and Isabella as she revved the engine. Letting out a guttural roar, she pressed her foot down hard on the gas and sped forward. She hit him straight on, pinned him between her car and his truck.

  His eyes remained fixated on hers.

  The tires were spinning, the undercarriage creaking from the stress as acrid smoke filled the air around them.

  Blood trickled from his nose. He was still alive. How was that possible?

  A minute passed before his head and upper body fell forward onto the hood of her car. When she backed up, his body sank to the ground. Breathless, she covered her mouth with a trembling hand. She pulled her cell from her purse and called the chief. “It’s Sawyer.”

  “I’m at your parents’ house with your sisters,” the chief said. “Where are you?”

  “You need to come to Aspen’s house.” Her voice was hoarse as she said, “He’s responsible for the murder of Peggy Myers, Avery James, Gramma Sally, and Isabella Estrada. Aspen is dead.”

  The car engine sputtered and spit, then died.

  Sawyer disconnected the call. Didn’t move. Just sat there behind the wheel, her eyes on Aspen. Although she’d told the chief he was dead, she wasn’t 100 percent sure. And she wasn’t going to check. Her ears were pounding, her brain scrambling for something to hold on to as images of pushing Rebecca on the swings came to her. The sound of Rebecca’s laughter made the corners of Sawyer’s mouth turn upward. “Higher,” Rebecca said. “I want to go higher.”

  It was less than ten minutes later when Chief Schneider pulled up in a police vehicle with Aria and Harper right behind him.

  The chief went straight to Aspen, placed his fingers on his neck. A minute later he headed inside the house.

  Aria and Harper knocked on Sawyer’s car window and had to convince her that it was okay to come out. Aspen was dead, they told her. She could unlock the door.

  When Sawyer climbed out, Aria’s gaze fixated on her hair where Aspen had cut it. “He was going to kill you,” she said in disbelief.

  Sawyer nodded. Her body was still weak, so she used her car to keep herself propped up. “He said he killed Peggy, and later Avery, because Mom convinced him they needed to be punished for humiliating him.”

  “She didn’t want anyone to know he was a sexual predator,” Harper said.

  “What about Isabella and Rebecca?” Aria asked.

  “Aspen said he killed Isabella in hopes of keeping me in River Rock. If he’s to be believed, Rebecca was Mom’s doing. He also killed Gramma Sally.”

  “I always thought he was weird,” Aria said. “But I never pegged him as a killer.”

  Sawyer’s head still wasn’t right, but she was finally able to move her right arm. “For all those years, the people I trusted to keep me safe were the ones I needed to be wary of. What sort of world are we living in? How am I supposed to make sense of any of this?”

  “You won’t ever make sense of what happened,” Harper said. “None of us will.”

  They were all exhausted by the time Chief Schneider was done interviewing the three of them. Sawyer’s interview took an hour. Aspen’s body had been taken away in an ambulance. According to the chief, Aspen’s trophy room was the same one Sawyer had tried to look into but couldn’t because the door was locked. For years Aspen had been collecting mementos: hair clippings, newspaper articles, and pictures and drawings of the victims and the murder scenes.

  Sawyer wondered how long it would be before she’d stop seeing the dark, empty look on Aspen’s face when he’d cut her hair. For some reason, that one particular act had scared her the most. The thought of it made her stomach churn.

  “Are we done here?” Aria asked the chief.

  “I’m going to let the three of you go for now. I’ve got your numbers and your address in Sacramento if something pops up.”

  They all nodded.

  “Take care,” he said before he walked back toward the house.

  Sawyer frowned. “My car is dead, like everything else in this town,” she told Aria. “Mind giving me a lift?”

  “Not a problem,” Aria said.

  The three of them walked across the street, arm in arm, a human wall of sisterhood.

  The Brooks sisters, Sawyer thought.

  As horrible as their childhoods had been, as shockingly evil as Mom and Dad turned out to be, Aria and Harper were the greatest gifts life had given her. Having them here at her side filled her with hope.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Sawyer and her sisters had returned from River Rock two days ago. For the second day in a row, Sawyer found a quiet table inside the Sacramento Public Library on I Street where she could work.

  She hadn’t asked for time off, but Sean Palmer had insisted. Today was Friday. She would return to work on Monday.

  The story about Isabella and River Rock was turning out much differently than she’d originally planned. When she first sat down to write it, she’d thought her fury over everything that had come to light would be her muse. But that wasn’t the case.

  There was a lot to process.

  So many feelings.

  Forget about Uncle Theo—Mom was a killer, and Dad was a rapist. And they were all dead. She needed to double up on her therapy appointments.

  Yesterday, she’d written five pages, a condensed version about growing up in River Rock. This morning, she’d deleted most of it. How do you tell the story without telling the whole truth and nothing but the truth?

  She couldn’t handle the truth, let alone wrap her head around it.

  It was that simple.

  She was still in shock. It swam through her veins like blood.

  She also felt so damn naive. How had she not seen Mom and Dad for what they were? How do you live with people like that and hardly glimpse what’s hiding inside them?

  Sawyer felt scared one moment, and ashamed and angry the next.

  But she kept on writing, one word, one sentence, one paragraph.

  It was noon when Sawyer’s phone buzzed. It was Aria. She asked Sawyer to meet her at the coffee shop where she worked. There was something she’d forgotten to tell her. She said it was important.

  Sawyer packed up her notebooks and pens along with her computer and headed off.

  When Sawyer arrived, Aria was behind the counter. She took off her apron, grabbed two to-go cups from the counter, and ushered Sawyer outside.

  They both took a seat.

  “I have a fifteen-minute break,” Aria said, “so I’m going to get right to it.”

  Sawyer said, “Okay.”

  “Remember when you talked to me about the Kylie Hartford murder and you said you wished you could talk to the guy you saw in the truck?”

  Sawyer nodded.

  “I talked to him.”

  “What?”

  “Just listen. His name is Zach Jordan. He used to volunteer at the animal shelter where I work. He taught me a lot about how to handle animals that were scared and needed special attention.”

  Aria swished her hands through the air as if to clear the slate and start over. “None of that is important. Anyway, I went to his house over in the Curtis Park area. He didn’t kill Kylie Hartford.”

  Sawyer appreciated her sister’s attempt to help her out, but Aria had no experience with this sort of thing. There was no way she would have asked all the right questions, let alone be able to come to a conclusion as to whether or not he was innocent. “Why do Kylie’s neighbors think otherwise?” Sawyer asked.

  Aria’s eyes widened. “Because the night before she was murdered, Zach and Kylie had an argument. They both raised their voices. He slammed the door
on his way out.”

  “What were they fighting about?”

  Aria snapped her fingers. “That guy who reports shit on Good Day Sacramento. You know—the one who thinks he’s all that?”

  “Matthew Westover?”

  “Yes, that’s him! I guess Kylie went out with her coworkers and hooked up with Westover. It wasn’t the first time that has happened.”

  “Zach said that?”

  Aria nodded. “He said something about Westover not being the first guy, and probably wouldn’t have been the last.”

  Sawyer straightened in her seat, interested. “What else?”

  “He’s not proud of it, but the next day Zach followed Kylie after work. He said he watched her disappear inside the Convention Center right around the corner . . . She was attending a book signing or something.”

  “Waylan Gage,” Sawyer said. “That’s the author’s name. I saw his book on the floor of Kylie’s apartment when I was there.”

  “Oh, wow. Creepy.”

  Sawyer nodded.

  Aria slumped forward. “I guess that’s it. I thought you would be a little more excited.”

  “I am excited. It’s just been a little crazy, trying to write the River Rock story.”

  “I can imagine. Or maybe I can’t.”

  “So did Zach have an alibi?”

  “Yes and no.”

  Sawyer made a face.

  “It depends on Kylie’s time of death, but he told me that after watching Kylie walk into the Convention Center, he drove around for a while before ending up at Device Brewery, which isn’t too far from here. He said he was there until closing. Someone helped him to his car, where he passed out. They left his keys under the seat.”

  Sawyer jumped up. That was it! The missing link—time of death. If she could prove that Zach was at the brewery when Kylie was murdered, then he was innocent.

  “What is it?” Aria asked.

  “You are amazing.”

  Aria looked confused. “Me?”

  “Yeah. You. I’ve got to go, but I’ll see you tonight.” Sawyer grabbed her coffee. “Thanks for this.”

  Aria was already putting on her apron. “You’re welcome.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Sweat pooled under Sawyer’s arms by the time she locked up her bike and entered the brewery on R Street in Midtown. Although she wanted to work on her story about River Rock, the information Aria had gathered was too good to push aside.

  When she’d talked to Palmer on her way home, she’d felt deflated to learn of Zach Jordan’s arrest. Palmer was adamant that she let it be. It wasn’t her place to get in the way of their investigation.

  But how could she ever live with herself if she didn’t do due diligence and at least talk to a few people? She asked the guy behind the counter if the manager was in. Ace, according to his name tag, was friendly and didn’t ask her what this was all about. He just disappeared for a minute and returned with a big, burly guy.

  “I’m Travis. What can I do for you?”

  Sawyer had already pulled up a picture of Zach. Because of his connection to Kylie’s murder, his face was all over the media outlets at the moment. “My name is Sawyer Brooks. I work for the Sacramento Independent, and I was hoping you could answer a few questions.”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ve been told that this man, Zach Jordan, was here last week. He stayed until closing, and someone who works here helped him to his car and left his keys under the driver’s seat.”

  “That was me,” Ace said.

  “Mind if I let you two talk and I cut out?” Travis asked.

  “That’s fine,” Sawyer said. “Thanks for your help.”

  “Not a problem.”

  Sawyer turned her attention back to Ace. “Any chance you recall what time Zach Jordan arrived at the brewery that day?”

  “My shift started at six p.m. that night, and that guy there,” he said, pointing at the picture on her phone, “was already sitting at that stool right there.” He pointed to the middle of the bar.

  “Did he leave and come back?”

  “No.”

  “You sound certain about that.”

  “I am. It wasn’t a busy night,” Ace said. “I didn’t take a break. And neither did that Zach guy. He threw back a lot of beers and never left that seat. We have cameras that would show him coming and leaving if that would help.”

  She wondered why she hadn’t thought of that before. “You’re a saint.”

  Ace chuckled. “Yeah, tell that to my wife.” He gestured toward the back. “I better go get Travis. He’s the one you’ll need to talk to about getting video footage.”

  By the time Sawyer left the brewery, her adrenaline was soaring. It had taken Travis only ten minutes to find the video from the night of Kylie Hartford’s murder. Although he wasn’t allowed to give Sawyer a copy, he didn’t mind her sitting in his office next to him while he ran through the footage.

  Zach Jordan had arrived at Device Brewery in Midtown at 5:45 p.m. and been ushered out by Ace five minutes after midnight. Sawyer thanked Travis once again, stepped out of his office, and called Sean Palmer to ask him if he knew Kylie Hartford’s official time of death.

  Palmer said he’d had no reason to request the forensics report, but if it would help her sleep at night, he’d give Detective Perez a call and get back to her, which he did twenty minutes later, just as she arrived back at her sister’s house.

  Kylie Hartford’s official time of death had been 10:30 p.m.

  They had arrested the wrong man.

  Sean Palmer wanted to know what was going on. It was Friday, though, and she had more work to do before she talked to him. He wasn’t happy about it, but he agreed to meet her at 5:00 p.m. in his office.

  At 3:42 p.m., Sawyer pulled the car she’d borrowed from Harper to a stop in front of the giant arm, an electronic device used to keep cars from moving on until the driver checked in. She was at Good Day Sacramento in West Sacramento, where Kylie Hartford used to work.

  Sawyer leaned out the window and pushed a button, told security she had an appointment with Matthew Westover. After a few seconds, they buzzed her in. Once the chain-link gate slid open, she drove through, made a right, and parked close to the front of a brick building. As she walked toward the main entrance, she saw a CBS sign and a TV tower.

  A security guard wearing a standard white button-down shirt and dark pants and shoes handed her a clipboard and asked her to sign in. Again, she was buzzed inside and asked to wait in the lobby.

  Matthew Westover appeared shortly after. He was one of the main anchors on the morning show. He sported a French Crop hairstyle and wore a moss-green, fitted suit. A key card and ID hung from his belt.

  They shook hands.

  “Is there a private room where we could talk?” Sawyer asked. “It won’t take long.”

  “Sure. This way.”

  He led her down a wide hall, opened the first door to the right, and flipped on the light. Three of the four walls were lined with boxes, but there was a table with chairs. And it was private.

  He shut the door, gestured for her to have a seat. “Like I told you on the phone, I only have a few minutes.”

  “I’ll get right to it, then. I heard from Kylie Hartford’s neighbor that you and Kylie were dating.”

  He smiled. “Dating is a nice way of putting it, but sure, Kylie and I were seeing each other. Not on a regular basis, but if we happened to go out for a drink after work and things worked out, we usually ended up at my place or hers.”

  “Were you with Kylie the night of her murder?”

  “No. We hadn’t been on a ‘date’ in months. And I hate to be rude. She is dead, so it doesn’t feel right talking about her this way, but since you’re asking, you should know that I wasn’t the only one she slept with.”

  “She had a boyfriend,” Sawyer stated.

  “Yeah, but that’s not who I’m referring to. I hate to be blunt, but the clock is ticking. Kylie liked sex. Al
l sorts of sex. With lots of different people.”

  “Orgies?”

  “Not that I know of, but now that I think of it, she’d probably have been up for it. I’m merely telling you that she got around.”

  “So she was promiscuous.”

  He chuckled. “Sure. Promiscuous. And her boyfriend knew what she was doing.”

  Sawyer looked up from her notes. Aria had mentioned the same thing. “How can you be so sure he knew?”

  Matthew smirked. “I was right there, naked as a jaybird, when he walked into her apartment and found us in a compromising position. If I’d known she had a boyfriend with a key to her apartment, I would have brought her to my place.”

  “What did her boyfriend do?”

  “They argued, and then he stormed out. I never saw him again. Kylie told me not to worry. Said he didn’t like her sleeping with other men, but he’d resigned himself to it.”

  “Interesting.”

  He nodded. “Anything else?”

  “Did the police talk to you about Kylie’s murder?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Detective Perez talked to a few of us.”

  “And you told him the same story you just told me?”

  “Yes.” He looked at his watch. “I’ve got to go.” He stood.

  Sawyer shoved her notebook and pen inside her purse and came to her feet. Again, they shook hands. His gaze roamed over her face and neck. “Looks like you have a dangerous job.”

  She smiled. “I can handle it.”

  “I’m sure you can.” Sawyer watched him walk away and then went to the front desk to sign out. Westover had said Zach was resigned to Kylie sleeping around. It wasn’t Sawyer’s place to judge. And it fit what Aria said Zach had told her about Kylie sleeping with other men. Had Zach hit a breaking point? she wondered as she walked across the parking lot. Was his alibi as solid as it sounded?

  A woman called out to her.

  Sawyer turned that way.

  The woman was heavyset and had lots of brown hair rolled into a messy bun at the top of her head. She wore a turquoise blouse over colorful leggings.