“Your daughter was there too,” Brandon said.
“Driving the car,” Nygard said. “She didn’t know he was going to shoot Eli. That’s what she told me and I believe her.”
That still made her an accomplice.
“Come on,” Brandon’s dad said, motioning toward the door. “You heard the man. This has nothing to do with us.”
Brandon met his dad’s eyes.
“I never knew you to be a coward,” Brandon said.
“What the hell are you talking about?” his dad asked.
“Letting another man do your dirty work,” Brandon said. “You want to kill this kid. Take your best shot. Both of you, and I’ll make sure both of you are in jail. Or the grave.”
“I’m your father,” he said.
“And I’m the police. Olson will pay for what he’s done. I’ll do my best to make sure of it.”
There was pain etched into every line on his father’s face. He was a hard man, but even the hardest soul scarred when life cut deep enough.
“You have to trust me,” Brandon said.
His father’s eyes loosened. With two quivering hands he steadied the Colt on Jack Nygard.
“It’s two on one,” he said to Nygard.
“Screw you,” Nygard said. “I’ll kill the kid and the cop here.”
A blast echoed through the barn.
Nygard fell back, both hands gripping his left leg. The .357 Magnum on the ground next to him.
Chapter 33
Horses skittered about, slamming against the sides of their narrow stalls.
Brandon lunged for the revolver, kicking it out of reach.
Nygard twisted to his side, writhing in pain. “What the hell?” he shouted.
Brandon leaned over Jack Nygard and shoved his hands into his spare handcuffs. He pulled Nygard onto his back.
Blood seeped down Nygard’s legs, pooling in the dirt and hay.
Brandon glanced up at his father and the pistol in his hand.
“Damn you,” Brandon said.
“He said he would kill you,” his dad replied. “I wasn’t going to let that happen.”
Brandon contacted dispatch and requested medical, then called for backup.
After his father had fired the shot, Olson had fallen onto his back, thinking Nygard had, in fact, shot him. Brandon cuffed Olson and sat him down outside the barn where he could keep an eye on him.
Brandon found a towel and applied pressure on Nygard’s leg until the medics arrived.
They told Brandon that Nygard would survive. His dad had missed the artery.
It was going to be one hell of a report.
Jackson transported Olson to the station for booking. First degree murder. Assaulting a police officer. Kidnapping. That would be a good start.
Judge Gillman arrived not long after Jackson had taken Olson away.
“What the hell is going on here?” the judge demanded of the medics as they were loading Nygard into the transport vehicle. Gillman’s glower landed on Brandon.
“What are you doing here?”
“Where’s my son?” his wife asked, her voice quivering.
“He’s safe,” Brandon said.
“Thanks to me,” his dad added.
“I want an explanation, Mattson.”
“Your son has been arrested for the murder of Eli Mattson, among other crimes.”
“What other crimes?” the judge asked.
The judge showed no surprise at the accusation of murder. Olson’s parents knew he was guilty.
“Kidnapping my father and holding him on your property, for one,” Brandon said. “And this.” He twisted around, pointing to the gash between his shoulder blades where Olson had landed the blow with the scythe.
“I don’t believe it,” Marion Gillman exclaimed.
“We’ll have plenty of questions for you, later,” Brandon said. “Right now, I’ve got plenty to do to wrap this up.”
“You had no right to be on my property. Nothing you’ve found here matters. It is fruit from a poison tree,” Gillman said, referring to the fact that Brandon had entered and searched the property without a warrant. In the judge’s mind, that left none of the evidence there admissible.
It was a weak argument, and Brandon suspected the judge knew as much. Brandon had reason to believe entering the property was necessary to prevent someone from being injured or killed. Not only had he found his kidnapped father but had been attacked by Olson.
The fact that Olson admitted to killing Eli was icing on the cake. He’d even identified the pistol he’d used. There was plenty of other evidence implicating Olson, all of it discovered or occurring outside of the judge’s property: the fingerprints and DNA in the car from the day of the murder, Olson’s attack at the grocery store, and eluding police, among others.
“Let’s go,” Brandon said to his father.
They drove to the edge of the driveway. Brandon considered his dad.
“How long were you in the barn?”
“Hours, I don’t know.”
“You okay?”
“Need a drink.”
“I got water in the back,” Brandon said.
“Not what I meant, but, fine.”
“You need to see a doctor for that cut,” his dad said, glancing at the gouge in Brandon’s shoulder.
“I will,” Brandon said. “I just want to get the hell out of here before something else goes wrong.”
“You taking me to my truck?”
“That’s what you want?” Brandon asked.
“Lost the keys somewhere back there,” he replied. “I got a spare set at home.”
On the way to his dad’s house, Brandon said, “Margot told you where Olson was.”
“How’d you know?” his dad asked.
“Figured it out.”
“Just like I solved who killed Eli,” his dad said.
“You didn’t solve anything. Margot told you what you wanted to hear.”
“I wouldn’t say I didn’t solve anything. I put in a lot of work to get as far as I did,” his father said.
Against his better judgement, Brandon asked the obvious question, “What work?”
“I’ve been tracking Nygard for a while,” his dad said. “I wanted to prove he’d done something, was involved in Eli’s murder. Maybe I could find the gun they used to kill Eli.”
“By tracking Nygard you mean…”
“I was in one of the trailers on his property the other night when you showed up guns blazing and chased that fellow into the woods.”
“You broke into Nygard’s property?”
“Why not?”
“Because…never mind.”
“I heard Nygard tell you how much he hated Olson,” his dad said. “That’s when I got it. Nygard hates that punk because of what he did to Nygard’s daughter. Then I figured maybe I’d gone sniffing around the wrong tree. I got out of there soon as you left.”
“And you were going to do what?”
“Nothing, for the moment. I understood that Olson, at that point, had somehow been involved in Eli’s murder. But I didn’t have any idea about him being related to the judge. The next day, this nice lady, Margot, came over, explained to me Olson was probably at the judge’s property. She said she was Mark’s little sister.”
“So, you rushed out to the judge’s home and were going to shoot Olson?” Brandon asked.
He shrugged his shoulders. “I brought zip ties. In case he gave himself up.”
“And instead he caught you,” Brandon said.
“Temporarily.”
Brandon shook his head.
“That Margot,” his dad said, “she’s real nice.”
“Sure. Real nice. She almost got both of us killed.”
“She was just trying to help.”
“Margot represents a member of the Randall family hoping to get their hands on the Randall holdings. What she was trying to do was ruin the judge’s reputation, lock him up if possible.”
&n
bsp; “Will Judge Gillman go to jail?” he asked.
“If I have anything to do with it,” Brandon said. “But that’s not the point. She was using you to get to the judge. Once it was out in the open that his son was a killer, and the judge was helping him hide, she figured her client would have an easier time claiming the Randall fortune.”
“Why not just tell everyone what she knew herself?” his dad asked. “Why drag you into it?”
“To hide her scheme to influence the outcome of the case,” Brandon said. “Instead, she tried to use me or you to do her dirty work.”
“Well, I guess it worked,” he said, hanging his head.
“We would have gotten to the judge eventually,” Brandon said. “Just not as fast as she wanted.”
“And knowing I’m a man of action. She came to me,” his dad said.
Man of action? More like a bull in a china closet.
“You might have screwed up my entire investigation,” Brandon said. “It’s not legal to sneak onto someone’s property. And with a rifle.”
“Arrest me, if you think it’s so damn bad,” his father said, gazing out the passenger window.
Back at his dad’s house, Brandon propped the screen door open and helped him into the living room. His dad’s knee had stiffened now that the excitement, and terror, of being kidnapped and shooting someone had subsided.
“Someone will be by to take a statement about what happened,” Brandon said.
“Why can’t you?”
“You’re my father. It wouldn’t be right.”
“All these damn rules about not helping your family,” he said, collapsing into his familiar spot on the couch.
“I’ll have someone drive your truck back,” Brandon said.
He grabbed the spare keys from a hook on the kitchen wall.
“You need anything else?” Brandon asked.
“Nope.”
Brandon reached the front door.
“Brandon,” his dad said.
“What’s up?”
“I appreciate what you did.”
“It’s my job to keep the community safe,” he said. “Even when it’s your father who’s kidnapped.”
He tried to say the words in a tongue-in-cheek manner, but they didn’t come out that way.
“That’s not what I mean,” his dad said. “I appreciate you coming to the barn and all that. Even if I could have gotten free on my own, eventually.”
Brandon repressed an eye roll.
“What I mean,” his dad said, “Is thank you for working on Eli’s case all this time. I know I’ve been hard on you.”
He pinched his nose, fighting off tears.
“You’ve been a good son.”
Brandon stood there for several seconds, watching his dad stare down at the worn carpet between the couch and the coffee table.
“Thanks, dad.”
A second later, because it seemed like the right thing to say, and because he meant it, Brandon said, “I love you.”
Brandon climbed into his truck and stared up at his father’s house.
He’d caught Eli’s killer. There was work left to do, for sure. But Olson’s admission of guilt had sealed the deal.
Life would never return to normal, but the waiting, the wondering, fighting to bring Eli’s killer to justice—that was over.
There was no joy in solving Eli’s murder. Just pure, raw grief no longer adulterated by a desire for vengeance.
Brandon swallowed the emotion. He’d save it for the privacy of his own bedroom where, he knew, the dam would finally break.
Chapter 34
Monday was the Veteran’s Day holiday but Brandon spent much of the time in the office writing up the report on how he’d come to arrest Olson. It was nearly two in the afternoon before his first real break. Eventually, he’d have to pass the information on Olson and Judge Gillman to the detectives up in Port Angeles. Brandon suspected Sheriff Hart would do everything he could to suppress any evidence implicating the judge. But the evidence was overwhelming, and anything Sheriff Hart tried now might cast light on what he’d already done to derail the investigation. And what the sheriff didn’t know what that Brandon had spent the last months developing his relationship with the prosecutor. He’d make sure she knew every detail of the evidence Brandon had gathered against Olson.
***
Tori had called that morning and said she’d bring Emma all the way to Forks, allowing him more time to work on his case. Being an attorney, Tori understood the amount of work that went into preparing even the most basic of legal documents, especially when the stakes were so high.
On her way back home, Emma called to ask if her boyfriend Zach could come over for dinner.
“Please, dad. He hasn’t met mom yet.”
“Isn’t it a little soon for that?” Brandon asked.
“It’s not like we’re getting married,” she said.
“Um, yeah you’re not.”
“I just want him to meet both of my parents. Together.”
Brandon sighed. She knew how to say the right words to get her way.
“Okay, but why dinner. Why not coffee?”
“You mean like at the Starbucks we don’t have in Forks?” Emma responded.
“What about the Forks Diner?”
“Eww. That place is for old people. Besides, everyone knows everyone there and they all talk about each other.”
She had a point.
“Ok. Fine. What time will you guys be home?”
“Six, mom said.”
“See you then.”
Brandon logged out of his computer and headed to the store to buy something for dinner. After ten minutes browsing the aisles, his cart was still empty. If it had just been Brandon and Emma, he’d have thrown together a simple meal and called it good. It wasn’t Emma’s boyfriend he was trying to impress, but Tori.
Why did it matter what Tori thought of what Brandon made for dinner? They’d been married for almost two decades, knew pretty much all there was to know about each other, right?
He passed the frozen pizza freezer. That would be quick and easy. End the evening sooner than later.
Tori wouldn’t complain. But she’d have that look—something along the lines of, is that the best you could do for our daughter and her beau?
He pulled out his phone and searched for pasta recipes and found one that met two requirements: not too difficult and just impressive enough.
Tori and Emma were late. To Brandon’s surprise—and chagrin—Emma’s boyfriend Zach showed up on time.
Zach and Brandon spent an awkward several minutes making small talk—everything from fishing to how the Forks High football team had done that year. Brandon sat in his recliner, Zach in the love seat across from him.
After about fifteen minutes, Brandon grew tired of the small talk.
“So, Zach. You want to date my daughter?”
Zach’s face burned crimson. “Um, yeah.”
“And she told you what the rules are?”
Zach cleared his throat. “Yes.”
“You will follow those rules, right?”
“Totally.”
“Why don’t you tell me what the rules are?”
Zach perched on the edge of the love seat, as if he were about to recite the Bill of Rights for his civics teacher.
“No parking the car at night,” Zach said.
“What else?”
“We’re not supposed to do any…um…really physical stuff.”
“Do I need to explain why that’s important?” Brandon asked.
Zach shook his head vigorously. “No.”
Outside, a car door closed, followed by the patter of footsteps running to the front door.
Zach exhaled.
“We’ll talk more later,” Brandon said.
Zach smiled weakly. “Ok.”
The door swung open, followed by a rush of crisp air.
Emma’s gaze landed on Zach. He stood.
“You’re here,
” she said, wrapping her arms around him.
He patted her stiffly, obviously unwilling to show too much affection in front of Brandon.
“What have you guys been talking about?” she asked.
“Football, fishing. Guy stuff,” Brandon said.
She smiled.
Tori appeared in the doorway with a basket filled with clothes.
“I did laundry,” she said.
“She could have done that here,” Brandon said.
“I don’t mind. It’s depressing doing wash for one most of the year.”
She set the basket down on the love seat and gave Brandon a sideways hug.
“By the way, congratulations,” Tori said. “You did it.”
“A long time coming,” he said.
Zach and Emma disappeared into the kitchen.
“You doing okay?” Tori asked.
“Fine,” he said, pulling away, but not before he caught the disappointment on her face. Yes, he was still horrible at sharing his emotions.
“Dad, is dinner ready?” Emma called out from the kitchen.
He turned his head. “Not yet. Set the table, will you?”
Tori slipped out of her blue overcoat and searched the room for a place to set it.
“Sorry, no coat rack,” Brandon said.
She set it on top of the basket of folded clothes.
“I like what you’ve done. Looks a lot better than that first couple of weeks,” she said.
The last time she’d been here, there were still boxes everywhere, the walls bare.
“Thanks.”
She sauntered past him, and he caught the scent of her perfume. His heart stuttered at the memory of Tori in his arms. His gaze tracked her form as she disappeared into the kitchen.
He shook the memory away.
Brandon had made Tuscan tortellini soup, a recipe he’d found online. It had been easier than he’d imagined, the hardest part making sure he didn’t allow the mix of tortellini, chicken sausage and vegetables to cook too long. Tori sliced the bread while Zach and Emma finished making the salad. Brandon cringed when Zach forgot to wash his hands before adding the cherry tomatoes.
Too late now.
They’d always said grace as a family and Brandon led a prayer now, thanking God for providing for them, and for the safety of their family.
Brother's Keeper Page 25
