The Closer He Gets

by Janice Kay Johnson

  The transformation in Delancy’s expression was slow but shock did arrive. “Hell. Are you trying to tell us...you’re related?”

  “That would be my brother who is refusing to let Andy Hayes kill an unarmed guy because he felt like it. So here’s how it is. I have no sense of humor where this kind of shit is concerned. Do you hear me?”

  Delancy had the sense to shuffle back a step. “Come on, it was a prank, that’s all.”

  Bran forced himself to stand down physically. He relaxed his shoulders with an effort. “The really funny part,” he said, “is that any stuff in a locker in that room is going to stink for a good long while. Me, I don’t use my locker.” He walked to his desk, sat and turned on his computer, ignoring the other three men in the room.

  Somehow, though, he wasn’t surprised when ten minutes later his lieutenant tapped him on the shoulder and said, “In my office. Now.”

  * * *

  ZACH WAS CALLED in to Stokes’s office at the end of the day.

  Knocking on the door, he braced himself.

  “Come in.” The undersheriff looked tired and irritable. “Sit down, Deputy.”

  Zach sat, feeling unpleasantly like a rebellious teenager being called to account.

  “I take it you’re determined to put a fellow deputy and this entire department under scrutiny.”

  “Not the entire department,” Zach objected. “The department as a whole looks good or bad only in how it responds to Deputy Hayes’s violent behavior.”

  “He is adamant that the other man went for his gun and he was responding appropriately.”

  “I’ve had a suspect lunge for my gun. I didn’t kill him. What about you? Ever had it happen?”

  Stokes’s mouth tightened. “Your fellow witness threatened to create a public uproar if we don’t bring in outside investigators.”

  So he had no intention of discussing his personal experience with similar “incidents.”

  “Not my.” Zach leaned a little on the word. “I’d never set eyes on the woman until we looked at each other over Antonio Alvarez’s body.”

  Stokes bent his head in acknowledgment. He picked up a pen but began fiddling with it rather than using it to make a note.

  “Since you’re new to the department, you may not be aware that we are part of a multi-county special investigation unit. I have, in fact, arranged to transfer the investigation to that unit. It’s my understanding that, in this case, detectives from Stimson will handle it.”

  Stimson, a county away, was one of the bigger cities in this rural corner of Washington State. Zach had heard good things about the police chief, a man named Duncan MacLachlan.

  He nodded but figured it would be smart to keep his mouth shut.

  “You will be contacted by a member of the special unit and make yourself available to be interviewed. I trust you will remember what uniform you wear and confine your observations to the incident in question.”

  In other words, don’t criticize the department.

  “My interest is seeing justice served,” he said. “You can’t say I haven’t been professional.”

  “No,” the undersheriff conceded, “I can’t. Just between you and me, we should have handed off this investigation sooner. If Deputy Hayes is a bad apple, we need to know that.”

  Zach tried to hide his surprise. He felt sure Stokes wasn’t expressing an opinion Sheriff Brown shared, which meant he was putting some trust in Zach. In his own quiet way, he was saying that he supported Zach’s determination not to back down. In doing so, he also restored some of Zach’s pride in the uniform he wore.

  “Thank you, sir,” he said.

  Stokes nodded. “You may go, Deputy Carter.”

  * * *

  THE CAMARO WAS already parked outside the tavern when Zach arrived. He pulled in right beside it and walked into the Creek.

  At almost six-thirty, the place was busier than the last time they’d been here. Bran had already claimed a booth in the corner and a pitcher of beer sat on the table along with two glasses. Zach scanned the room. No one he knew. Relaxing slightly, he slid in across from his brother.

  He poured for himself then sat back and studied Bran. “What inspired this?”

  Bran’s eyebrows rose. “You’re my brother.”

  “You seemed to have mixed feelings about that the last time we talked.”

  Bran was shaking his head even before Zach finished. “Not about you. It was Sheila, Mom, Dad. Everything spilled over.”

  Zach understood that. “Mom called yesterday.”

  Glass halfway to his mouth, Bran went completely still for a few seconds. Then he took a long swallow before setting the glass down. “You implied you don’t have much contact.”

  Zach shrugged. “We talk every few months. I don’t know why she called this time.”

  “Did she know you moved back to Clear Creek?”

  “Not until I told her.” His gaze met his brother’s. “She was even less happy when I told her why.” He paused. “And then I mentioned that you were here. Oh, yeah, and that Dad died last year.”

  Bran’s fingers tightened on his glass, but his other hand was out of sight beneath the table and he succeeded in appearing almost bored. “Yeah? Was she interested?”

  “In Dad dying? Not all that much. In you? Yes. She wants to fly up here to see you.”

  “No.” It was flat. Final.

  He shrugged. “I asked.”

  After a minute his brother’s shoulders sagged. “Crap. She won’t just show up, will she?”

  Zach thought about it. “I don’t know. She sounded...like it really matters to her. So...maybe.”

  “Why?”

  Zach had been asking himself the same question. “She did try. I remember her crying once after hanging up the phone because you wouldn’t talk to her.”

  “After I saw her in bed with—” His shoulders moved. “It was like our bright and cheerful mommy was a veil and I could see through it. She made me sick. Once it occurred to me one of her men might have snatched Sheila, I didn’t want anything to do with her.” He grunted. “And how long did she try? A few months?”

  “More like a year.” This, now that he thought about it, was surprisingly persistent. His mother craved affection, attention, given as extravagantly as possible. If it flagged...she sought it elsewhere. Really sustaining a relationship with her oldest child would have meant she had to do all the giving, with barely a hope that someday he might again reciprocate.

  That would have required depths she didn’t possess.

  Loyalty to her, despite her failings, kept him from sharing what he was thinking with his brother. Instead, conscious of Bran watching him, Zach said after a minute, “Dad didn’t do any better.”

  Bran obviously struggled with this, but at last he let out a long breath. “If you’d given him the chance...”

  Zach looked his brother in the eye. “If you’d given her a chance...”

  Bran’s laugh didn’t hold a lot of amusement. “At least we each got one of them.”

  In retrospect Zach thought Bran had had the better deal. He’d ended up with stability. To Zach, the whole concept of love and commitment was a joke. The breakup of his parents had been only the first blow. Any belief he’d retained had eroded as his mother dragged him along in her wake. He had been foolish enough to let himself get attached to the first couple of stepfathers and even a stepsister; he’d let himself make friends in his new schools. Once his mother left Lowell Carter because she loved someone else, Zach had quit trying. He would have said he’d forgotten how to grow attached to someone.

  Funny now to find the bond with his brother might have endured.

  Of course, Bran had had to keep living in a house that must have felt haunted and withstand the stares of people who
had judged his father. That wouldn’t have been any picnic, either.

  Bran growled an obscenity. “Keep telling her no.”

  Understanding, Zach nodded.

  A waitress appeared and took their orders. Only when she was gone did he say, “Thanks for helping out this morning.”

  “You mean, handing you a bottle of cleanser? Big deal.”

  “It was better than the alternative.”

  “Which was?”

  “Thinking you might have been in on it, too.”

  Bran stared at him, his blue eyes unnervingly like the ones Zach saw in the mirror every morning. “You’re serious?”

  “You’re part of this department. How do I know where you stand?”

  “Not behind any crap like that.” Bran clenched his teeth. “Delancy—do you know him?”

  “He interviewed me after Hayes killed Antonio Alvarez.”

  “He thought the dead rabbit was a good joke. I let him know I didn’t. While I was at it, I told him we’re brothers.”

  Warmed by the solidarity, Zach warned, “You may be sorry.”

  “I got an ass-chewing from my lieutenant, who thought I came on too strong.” A smile flickered on Bran’s face. “I told him it wasn’t that strong, not considering that what I really wanted to do was to knock out Delancy’s front teeth.”

  Zach laughed. “I appreciate the thought. More on Tess Granath’s behalf than my own. He really leaned on her.”

  His brother’s smile widened. “Yeah? You should have seen her when she planted her hands on his desk and got in his face. The guy was shrinking back. That woman is no pushover.”

  “No.” Zach thought about yesterday in her office and how seriously he’d thought about kissing her. Maybe she’d have slapped his face.

  She was the first woman to catch his eye since he arrived in Clear Creek. He liked that she was fiery, too, and gutsy. And smart. And...

  You don’t always get what you want.

  Their food arrived. As he started eating, Zach told his brother about the meeting with the undersheriff.

  Bran nodded. “Yeah, the unit gets activated now and again. Last year I investigated a Sauk County deputy accused of soliciting sex from teenage girls—he’d picked them up for things like shoplifting—in exchange for not filing a report.”

  Zach shook his head. “How’d it come out?”

  “His ass is in jail now.”

  “Good.”

  After a momentary lull while they both worked on their burgers and fries, Bran asked, “Where are you living?”

  Zach told him about the apartment and then about the house and his plans to tackle the roof this coming Sunday and Monday, assuming the weather didn’t include a torrential rainfall.

  “You lined up help yet?”

  “No.” Zach stared at him. “Why?”

  “I can give you a couple days.” He shrugged. “Heck, I can probably round up a couple more guys if you can use them.”

  “I’m not real popular right now in the department, in case you didn’t notice.”

  Bran shrugged it off. “Not everybody is on Hayes’s side. And I have friends who aren’t cops.”

  “I can bring coolers with drinks, maybe order pizzas for lunch.”

  “We might do better than that.” Bran took a big bite of his cheeseburger, chewed and swallowed. “I told you I’m engaged. Paige likes to do things like organize a potluck. A friend of mine is a newlywed, too. He’s a firefighter,” he added as a seeming aside. “His wife and Paige have hit it off. Let me see if Isaac and Stella are free.”

  Stunned, Zach set down his burger. “I was going to hire some labor.”

  “I don’t think you’ll need to. I helped another buddy re-roof his place. I’ll see if he’s free, too.”

  It couldn’t be this easy. Bran was acting as if they were family in fact not just in theory. Zach felt a strange ache beneath his breastbone. He resisted the urge to rub it with the heel of his hand.

  No, he thought, it wouldn’t be as easy as Bran was making it sound. The roofing part, sure, maybe. But neither of them had forgotten the divide between them.

  So what? Take what you can get.

  “You ordered materials yet?” Bran asked.

  “Yesterday.” Enthusiasm for his new project had carried him that far. “It’s set for delivery Saturday.”

  Bran nodded and took out his phone, tapping it a couple of times. “You’re in luck. Google is optimistic about the weather.”

  “Thank you.” Zach heard the huskiness in his voice. The emotion. “I, uh, didn’t expect...”

  “What are brothers for?” Bran asked.

  Zach half laughed. “I don’t actually know.”

  “I don’t have any experience, either, but I think a roofing job qualifies.”

  Zach lifted his glass. Bran did the same and they tapped rims.

  * * *

  THE RINGING OF her phone brought Tess out of a heavy sleep.

  Dad, she thought on a burst of fear, scrambling across the bed toward the nightstand even before her eyes were open.

  Please, God, I’m not ready...

  The number on the screen was unfamiliar.

  She snatched up the phone. “Hello? I mean, this is Tess Granath.”

  “Did you get our messages?”

  Her brain was just fuzzy enough she was still thinking Dad and strokes. “No. I must not have heard my phone ringing. I’m sorry, I—”

  “Listen up, bitch,” the man interrupted her. “Here’s tonight’s message. A knife can slice all kinds of things besides rubber.”

  Suddenly she felt hot and cold at the same time. Oh, God. Not Dad. Between one blink and the next, she was standing in the deserted alley staring at the long slash in her tires. Feeling how utterly alone she was.

  And then she was back in her head, listening to the silence. She knew this quality of silence. She’d been cut off.

  Really bad choice of words.

  A shudder traveled from her nape to her toes. She hurriedly turned off her phone, just in case, then huddled with the covers drawn up to her throat, once again listening.

  What if she wasn’t alone?

  Would the police come if she called?

  Probably, but then she’d have to walk through the house to let them in. And what would they do but look around, tell her to lock up and then leave?

  She could call Zach. He would come, and probably stay, too.

  Coming to depend on him...would be foolish. He’d be moving on before she knew it.

  Plus...what if he was seen leaving her house in the morning? It was a threatening phone call. That was all. She hadn’t heard a window break or the creak of a floorboard in the hall. She knew all the doors and windows were locked.

  Nonetheless, she slipped out of bed as quietly as she could. She tiptoed to the bedroom door, closed it as fast as she could and pushed the little button that locked it, for all the good that did. Then she grabbed the antique chair she sat on to put on her socks and braced it under the doorknob, checking to make sure there was no give.

  Okay, early warning system was in place.

  The caller’s number would be stored in her phone, although she remembered belatedly that it had had an unfamiliar area code. In every mystery novel or thriller she’d ever read, that meant a throwaway phone.

  Nonetheless, she would report the threat to the police first thing in the morning and tell Zach about it, too.

  Although...why was she the only one being threatened? Or had Zach not told her everything?

  Today, she’d heard from a detective from Stimson who explained that he was part of a special unit taking over the investigation into Antonio’s death. He’d scheduled an appointment to talk to her.

 
Tonight’s threat must be related. Hayes and his friends had probably decided scaring her now might make her remember differently.

  To hell with them. Anger had supplanted her fear.

  She turned on her lamp as a comfort, an adult’s night-light, then pulled the covers around herself again. Restful slumber was not in her near future.

  * * *

  “IF THE CLEAR CREEK police won’t do anything, I will.” Half dressed and still bare-footed, Zach paced from one end of his apartment to the other. He had so little furniture, nothing got in his way.

  This was the third morning in a row Tess had let him know about another middle-of-the-night phone call. He’d insisted she report every single threat to the Clear Creek PD, too.

  Hayes and his buddies wanted her to stay nervous. Okay, mission accomplished.

  But it had become plain that nervous wasn’t enough. She needed to be scared into retracting her original statement when she met next week with the Stimson detective.

  This was a campaign of terror and he suspected it was proving more effective than she wanted to admit. She’d been evasive, but Zach doubted she was getting any sleep. How could she, never knowing what time the phone would ring or whether tonight they’d act on the threats?

  “What can you do?” she asked dully. “There have been three different numbers. All of them from those stupid cheap phones anyone can buy. Can you magically trace them?”

  Frustration choked him. No, he couldn’t. Protecting her had somehow become his first priority, but he felt pretty damn useless right now.

  “Has the officer you’re dealing with informed anyone at the sheriff’s department?” he asked.

  “Well, he called Detective Clayton first.”

  Smart man. Clayton was one of the detectives from Stimson.

  “But he also talked to Detective Delancy.”

  Zach grunted. “I’ll make sure my sergeant knows.” When she called after the first threat, he had told her about the dead rabbit in his locker the previous morning. He hadn’t gotten graphic, she didn’t need to hear about rotting flesh or maggots. She’d been appalled after hearing the sanitized story and had apologized for bothering him about anything as trivial as a phone threat.