Читать книгу The Closer He Gets - Janice Kay Johnson - Страница 11
ОглавлениеZACH WAS DRAGGING by the time he parked his patrol car and walked into headquarters to log out. Given that this was the first day of his workweek—Tuesday through Saturday—he had no excuse for being so beat.
He’d issued half a dozen speeding tickets today, one failure to yield right of way, a couple of warnings, had responded to two reports of stolen items, one of which he suspected was an insurance scam, and had administered first aid to a child choking on a gumball at a convenience store. An average day, except that he’d been aware of some hostile stares in the Hispanic neighborhoods. He hoped it had occurred to his boss that whitewashing the beating would be, politically speaking, a really bad move.
Like it or not, this was going to play out as a big, bad, white cop killing a defenseless, younger, physically less imposing immigrant. That they were quarreling over a woman and skin color might have been irrelevant? Not nearly as sensational.
Mood grim, Zach was striding toward the exit when he glanced down a short hall that connected to the county offices and saw a man approaching. An automatic assessment took in the badge and holstered handgun at the man’s belt. A detective he hadn’t yet met?
The guy froze between one step and the next, just as Zach did the same. He felt as if he’d walked into a sliding-glass door.
Breathing hard, all he could do was stare. This could not be... But the eyes were his. The height, the build. Not the face. This man’s was craggier, rougher. His hair was a dark russet.
He’d been a redhead as a boy.
“Bran.”
“Zach?” His brother shook his head. “It can’t be you.”
“Why not?”
“Someone mentioned the name of the new guy.”
“You mean me. I was adopted along the way. I’m Zach Carter now.”
“Jesus.” Bran dragged his hand through his hair. “What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here?”
Zach’s brother grimaced. “Dad and I never moved. I left for college, worked for Seattle PD for a few years...but this feels like home.”
“Dad stayed?” Zach gaped at Bran, trying to take that in. “Didn’t he know what everyone thought?”
“Not everyone,” Bran said sharply. Then he let out a long breath. “Sure he knew. But you can’t have forgotten how stubborn he was. People could think whatever the hell they wanted.”
“Man, this is unreal.”
“You can say that again.”
Neither of them had moved or did anything to initiate what was bound to be an awkward hug. And yet, part of what Zach felt was something so unrecognizable it took a minute for him to label it as joy. His brother, here in front of him. A cop, too.
He hadn’t forgotten the vast wash of hurt, though. This was the big brother who had abandoned him.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Bran said suddenly. “Why come back to Clear Creek?”
“Sheila. Why else?”
This was so bizarre Zach had trouble taking it in. He felt too much. He was thrilled but angry, too, even if he knew that was childish. And still...stunned.
As, in a completely different way, he’d been in that odd moment when his eyes had first met Tess Granath’s.
“Wow.” Bran gave something like a laugh. “Your shift over?”
“Yes. You?”
“Yeah, I took a recent vacation. Payroll got confused.” He indicated the door behind him with a gesture. “I had to clear it up. Uh...any chance you’re free? We could go get a drink. Have dinner.”
“I am.” He thought quickly. “You know The Creek?”
“Sure. Decent burgers and not a cop hangout.”
They walked out together, which Zach found to be surreal. He hadn’t seen this brother in twenty-four years. Never thought he would again, even though he’d worshipped Bran. He smiled sardonically at the thought because they’d fought, too. Zach had resented knowing his brother was in charge when Mom and Dad weren’t home. He wasn’t that much older. Sometimes Zach got almost mad enough to tell about the Playboy magazine Bran had under his mattress. But of course he never would have. Mostly, it was him and Bran against the world. And taking care of Sheila.
Until...nobody took care of her.
And then it wasn’t him and Bran together. He’d have sworn he’d grown past the hurt but discovered he hadn’t. Even so...
He’s here now. Unbelievable.
“I drive the Silverado.” He gestured.
“This is mine.” Bran stopped by a sleek, obviously restored classic Camaro. The only thing it had in common with Zach’s pickup was that both were black.
“This is a beauty.” Zach circled it. “What year?”
“A ’73.”
“You do the work yourself?”
“With some help. I really wanted one of these when I was a teenager. Took me a few years to get one.”
A memory surfaced. “You had a picture of one on your bulletin board.”
God, Bran’s grin was familiar. “A pinup,” he said.
Zach narrowed his eyes. “In place of one of the naked women in that Playboy.”
“You knew about—?” Bran gave an incredulous laugh. “This is really something.”
“Yeah, it is.” What, Zach wasn’t sure. He lifted a hand and strode the rest of the way to his pickup. That did not require him to assume a pretzel shape to get behind the wheel, was good for hauling construction materials and was just as cool, in his opinion.
He found himself smiling. Okay, almost as cool. He wouldn’t turn down the Camaro. Although Bran must have sunk one hell of a lot of money into it.
Ten minutes later his brother parked right next to him in front of the tavern. This early, they found most of the booths empty when they walked in. Two men sat on stools at the bar, one at each end. Neither even looked to see who’d come in. Zach didn’t hear any crack of a cue striking a ball from the billiards room.
He ordered a pitcher and then slid into a booth, Bran across from him. For what had to be two or three minutes, they just looked at each other.
Bran had changed and yet he hadn’t. Zach wouldn’t have expected to recognize him at first glance, but he hadn’t had a moment’s doubt. His brother had grown into the nose and jaw and too big feet and hands Zach remembered. But in the important ways, he was the same.
“Your hair got darker.”
Bran grunted and rubbed a hand over his jaw. “My stubble has more red than my hair does.” He was making as thorough a survey. “You were a shrimp. I thought you might take after Mom.”
“I stayed a shrimp through middle school. No, later than that.” He’d fought a lot of battles to prove that small didn’t mean weak, but now he shrugged. “I had a growth spurt when I was fifteen. Seemed like an inch a month there for a while.”
Bran laughed but it didn’t last long. His face showed the same incredulity Zach still felt. “Mom alive?”
Tensing, Zach said, “Yeah.” This was a sensitive subject, but he wasn’t going to cover up, either. “On her fifth marriage, I think.”
“You think?”
“I keep my distance.”
His brother nodded. “Which one adopted you?”
“Number three. Lowell Carter. He was a good guy. The marriage only lasted four years, but he and I have stayed in touch. I worked for him summers during high school and then during college, too, after the divorce.” He hesitated. “Dad?”
Bran shook his head. “He died last year.”
Dead? Zach shook his head in shock.
“He was only sixty-two,” Bran continued, “but he had cancer. He tried to quit smoking a few times, but it never took. I, uh, wrote to the last address he had for Mom, but it came back.”
“We moved a lot,” Zach said even as he absorbed the news that his father was dead. There’d be no reunion. He was surprised to feel grief despite everything. He guessed he shouldn’t be. Even abused kids continued to love their parents, and he hadn’t been abused.
Dad’s death was a setback to his investigation, too. There’d be no chance to ask the hard questions now, although he hadn’t yet figured out how to ask your own father whether he’d committed an unspeakable crime. But he would have found a way.
If he’d come back five years ago, Dad would still have been here. Two years ago.
I wasn’t ready. Didn’t have the skills to tackle an investigation this challenging.
He shut down the niggling doubt in his pat explanation. Exploring subterranean fears held no appeal.
A curvy blonde squeezed into jeans that were too tight for her and button-up Western-style shirt delivered their pitcher and glasses and appeared a little miffed at their disinterest. They both ordered burgers and fries.
“You married?” Bran asked.
Zach shook his head. “Are you?”
“Engaged. Paige is a nurse in Mount Vernon. She’s kept her apartment so far.”
“One of you will have to commute.”
“She’s watching for openings at the hospital here in town.” Bran didn’t sound very interested. “Where are you living?”
Zach told him about the house he was buying.
“You’re planning to stay?” His brother sounded surprised.
“That wasn’t my plan.” Wasn’t? Isn’t.
“What was?”
“Like I said. Look into Sheila’s death. Make some money on the house. Get answers, get out of here.”
“And now?”
Zach took a long swallow of beer. “Still the same, except I’m not making myself popular on the job. The sheriff would really like to see me gone.”
Big brother leaned back with a frown. “Why?”
“Because I saw another deputy beat a guy to death the other day.”
“Right. Damn. You’re the new guy,” Bran said slowly. “There’s a second witness, too. A woman.”
“That’s right. I think she’ll stay the distance.”
Bran smiled. “Going by what I saw, I’d put money on it.”
“What you saw?”
“She came in yesterday morning. Nobody told you?”
Zach shook his head. “I’m off Sunday and Monday.”
“According to her, a threat was taped to the back door of her business. Instead of calling the city PD, she ripped it off the door and blew in, insisting she wanted Detective Delancy or nobody. Who’s a jackass,” he added as an aside. “She slapped it on his desk and as good as said Hayes wrote it. Said our department had no business investigating one of our own. That woman had fire in her eyes.”
Zach groaned.
“Then she told Delancy no threat would make her back off, and he could take it to the bank. Or words to that effect.”
Why hadn’t she called him? Damn it, he’d given her his number.
“What did it say? The threat?”
“‘Back off bitch or else.’ No comma. Red marker, slashed on the paper.”
“Sounds like Hayes, all right,” Zach growled.
Bran contemplated him. “I take it your stand is unpopular.”
He huffed out a laugh then nodded toward their approaching waitress. “Here comes dinner.”
A couple of Harleys pulled up outside. Zach didn’t recognize either of the black-leather-clad bikers who took a turn around the Camaro before coming in and straddling stools at the bar, not seemingly bothered that two cops occupied a booth. Bran stayed relaxed, but was watchful, too.
Zach had swallowed a couple of bites before his brother asked, “Are you sure about what you saw?”
He set down the burger. “You doubting me?”
If so, this was going to be a real short family reunion.
Bran scowled. “I don’t know you. What I heard is that a Hispanic guy went for Hayes’s weapon and they scuffled. He went down, hit his head on a concrete step and died. I’m asking what you saw.”
That was fair enough. It still took Zach an effort to unlock his jaw. He took a swallow of beer and started talking.
Eyes sharp, a couple of lines furrowing his brow, Bran never looked away from his face. At the end he said, “So you can’t swear this Alvarez didn’t go for the deputy’s weapon.”
“No, but the woman had a different angle. I’m hoping she knows.” He shrugged irritably. “Either way, Hayes had complete control from the minute I arrived. Alvarez was unarmed. Hayes could have had him on the ground and cuffed at any time. Instead he hammered him.”
“He’s on leave.”
“Yep. Because the ‘incident’ did result in a death,” Zach said with curled lip.
“You’re getting the feeling the department wants to soft-pedal it?”
“Oh, yeah. Because they think of themselves as one big family. In times of trouble, they stand behind one another. That’s a quote from the sheriff, by the way. Me, I wouldn’t understand that, coming from the big city the way I do.” He grimaced. “Stokes seems okay, but he’s bending to pressure.”
“What big city?”
“Portland, Oregon.”
Bran nodded acknowledgment. “Nothing like being the new guy and stirring up trouble.”
“Oh, yeah,” he said again. “But Ms. Granath is right. This investigation can’t stay in-house. Does the sheriff really think the two of us are just going to go away and the department can bury the whole thing along with the body?”
Still with that frown, which might be permanent, Bran swirled some fries in ketchup and ate them before saying, “I don’t know. I’ll keep an ear to the ground.”
What was that supposed to mean? I’m on your side? I’ll mull it over? Or he wasn’t taking a stand of any kind but felt he had to say something?
Zach resumed eating.
It had to be a couple of minutes before Zach asked, “Have you tried looking into Sheila’s murder?”
“Off and on. No one wants to talk to me. My last name is Murphy.” He shrugged. “A couple of the detectives were around then and know who I am.”
“Nolte?” The name rose from Zach’s subconscious, surprising him.
“You remember the cops’ names? You weren’t very old.”
He frowned, dredging his memory, finally having to shake his head. “Only his. Because of the actor.”
“Except he wasn’t Nick,” Bran added.
“Last name’s all I remember.”
“It’s Darren. But he has retired to Arizona. I tried to get access to records through Scott Wiegand, the other one I remember interviewing Mom and Dad. I didn’t get the feeling he cares much if they ever close the case.”
“I always wondered how much investigation they actually did.”
“DNA wasn’t on their register then.” Bran dumped salt on his fries. “I kind of get the feeling it still isn’t. I asked if they’d thought about testing her nightgown, but he mumbled something about no budget.”
Zach straightened. “They still have her nightgown?”
“I don’t know. The fact that he didn’t want to talk about it gives me a bad feeling.”
“Shit.” Zach brooded for a minute. “What did you find out?”
“Nothing. He shut me down.”
“You know they both thought Dad did it. They just couldn’t prove it.”
“That’s bullshit,” Bran snapped.
The two men locked eyes.
“Is it?” Zach asked.
“You’re seriously asking?” His brother was pissed. “What would make you think something like that? You knew Dad!”
Zach glared. “Who do you think did it? Came in our house without breaking a window, got Sheila outside without her so much as screaming? Tell me that.”
“One of Mom’s many lovers,” his brother said bitterly. “She might have handed out keys as often as she spread her legs.”
Zach wanted to take offense but their mother had liked to pick up men. A little thing like a wedding ring on her finger didn’t stop her.
Another thought occurred to him. “That’s why you went with Dad.”
“I tried to tell you. You wouldn’t believe me.”
“She was my mother!”
Turned heads told him he’d let his voice rise. As if he cared.
“She was a slut,” his brother said flatly.
“Dad lied to the investigators.”
Bran jerked back. “What?”
“He claimed he slept the night through. He didn’t. I heard footsteps...and he took a piss. Then I thought I heard the back door.” The memory haunted him. But he’d been a kid, barely nine. Maybe he’d dreamed it. Fallen back asleep after hearing his dad get up to use the john. Awakened again when the killer carried Sheila out. “He got up sometimes at night and went outside for a smoke.” Mom hadn’t let him smoke inside.
“You didn’t say anything.”
“He was my dad. I didn’t want to think...” He rolled his shoulders to release the tension. “But I did, anyway. And as an adult? A cop? Yeah, I think.”
“You’re wrong.” Bran reached for his wallet, pulled out two twenties, tossed them on the table and slid out of the booth. He looked down at Zach. “And I’ll prove it.” Then he walked away.
He’d blamed Mom. Told Zach he hated her. No wonder he’d never written back to her and refused to come to the phone when she’d called him.
Zach hadn’t had the guts to say no when Dad called him. Mostly he’d mumbled and made the conversations so useless and awkward, the calls had come further and further apart until they’d ceased altogether.
It was Bran he’d refused to talk to at all. Zach had called it pride, then. Now, stupidity was the word that came to mind. In his hurt, he’d severed the ties that meant the most to him. Whatever happened with their parents, he and Bran could have stayed in touch. Continued to be brothers. Now...who knew?
Zach pushed his plate away but reached for his glass and drained it, his thoughts reverting to the quarrel that had stood between them then and, apparently, still did. Bran held Mom responsible for the tragedy.
Me? I blamed Dad. He lied. No matter what, he was supposed to keep us safe. Sheila’s bedroom was right next to Mom and Dad’s. How could he not have heard somebody grabbing her, carrying her outside, raping her right there in the backyard? Unless...
A harsh sound escaped him. He had loved his brother more than anyone else in the world. As if he’d time traveled, the devastation he’d felt when Bran had decided to go with Dad was new again. As painful in its own way as the one glimpse he’d had of his sister’s body before he’d backed into the house and yelled for his parents.
He could still close his eyes and hear his mother’s screams.
Dad had gone terribly silent and so angry everyone in the house had tiptoed around him. There’d been raised voices behind Mom and Dad’s bedroom door. Mom might not have actually accused Dad, Zach didn’t know. But their eyes had told the story. They had held each other responsible.
When Bran had told him about the men their mother saw during the day when Dad was at work, Zach had refused to believe him. He remembered Mom’s screams—and Dad’s lie.
So nothing had changed, he thought wearily. Bran and he had made their choices back then and they weren’t about to unmake them. Bran, at least, had an agenda—to prove their father’s innocence. Zach just wanted answers.
Working together apparently wasn’t an option.
It would be interesting to see whether Bran admitted on the job to having a relationship with the pariah in the department.
* * *
TESS WAS FUMING when she finally let herself out and locked the back door of Fabulous Interiors on Wednesday afternoon. She didn’t care what Todd Berry’s excuse was this time. She was so done with him. This was the third time in just over a month he’d failed to show up to do a job without having so much as called. She had gone out herself in his place to install tile today, which she hadn’t dressed for. She had no doubt the splotch of mortar on her blouse was permanent. The things she’d intended to accomplish today had gone undone. And, of course, she had to go back out to the Lacombes’ house tomorrow to spread the grout.
And, blast it, she liked installing tile. When she didn’t have a long list of other things that needed to be done. This was why the store relied on contract installers.
Of which she now had one fewer to call on.
Keys in hand, she reached her car, parked in its usual spot beside the big green Dumpster. She cringed every week when she heard the garbage truck drop the container back into place. Please don’t let them miss. So far, so good.
Then she saw her front tire and whimpered. Oh, crap. All she needed was a flat. A slow leak? Maybe she’d driven over a nail...
Heart pounding, she walked around her car. All four tires were flat. Slashed.
She made another circle, looking for a note or another kind of message. But apparently the slashed tires were the message.
Tess called 911, then a local towing company. And, finally, she scrolled her contacts until she found Deputy Zach Carter’s number, which she’d added right after he’d left her house last Thursday despite her certainty she would never need to use it.
Please let him answer. She desperately wanted to hear his deep, calm voice.
He answered on the third ring with an urgent, “Tess?”
She sagged in relief. “You recognized my number?”
“I put it in my phone,” he told her without apology. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes. Um, Monday morning, someone taped a nasty note to the back door of my business.”
“I heard about that.”
“Just now, I locked up and was about to get in my car to go home. But, gee, what do I find? All four tires have been slashed.”
“Are you parked on the street?” His voice had changed indefinably. Became cop.
“No, the alley. All the downtown merchants do. The street parking is for customers.”
“Are you alone?”
Suddenly wary, she turned to look up and down the alley. “I don’t see anyone else.”
“Go back inside,” he ordered. “I’ll be there in five.”
“No, I’ve already called 911 and for a tow truck. One of them will show up anytime.”
“You’re vulnerable, Tess.” The tension in his voice got to her. “Don’t wait out there alone.”
“Okay, now you’re scaring me,” she told him, hurrying back across the alley. Thank God she still had her keys out.
Then she heard an engine and looked to see the tow truck lumbering toward her.
“Tess?” Zach said. “Are you there?”
She slumped against the shop door, willing her pulse to slow. “Yes. Yes, I’m okay. The tow truck is here. You don’t need to come.”
“I’m already on my way.” He was gone.
She dropped her phone back into her handbag and smiled wryly at the muscular young guy hopping out of the tow truck. “Am I glad to see you.”
“I get that a lot,” he said with a grin.
She told him they were waiting for the police and then discussed options. He could load her car and take it to the tire store or he could go pick up four tires for her and change them here. Of course, she’d still have to take her car in for an alignment, but she could wait until tomorrow. Deciding on choice number two, she called Les Schwab and explained, agreed on the best tires for her car and gave the man her credit card number.
By that time a shiny black pickup had pulled into the alley behind the tow truck, and Zach had jumped out and started toward her, his gaze locked on her face. His intensity made it impossible to look away.
Tess was embarrassed by the rush of relief she felt. It wasn’t as if she had been assaulted or even that she’d been waiting alone. But until this minute, she hadn’t felt safe. Her knees seemed about to give out. The awareness she felt for Zach as a man—tall, lean, strong and purposeful—didn’t help.
Reaching her, Zach murmured, “Tess,” then finally turned to the tow truck driver and exchanged a few words. With a deep rumble, the truck departed.
“Still no police?” Zach asked, frowning.
“No. I’ve only had to call them once before, when we had a break-in. It took them half an hour that time, but it wasn’t an emergency. I mean, the guy was long gone.”
“This one presumably is, too, but I want to look around.”
He circled the Dumpster and went as far as each end of the alley, scanning the pavement as well as each side, pulling himself up a couple of times to look over fences. He returned, shaking his head. “Nothing.”
“What would you expect to find?”
He grunted. “Nothing. But you never know. The CCPD officer should look in the Dumpster to make sure our guy didn’t toss the knife.”
“Oh, sure,” she scoffed. “With fingerprints intact.”
His grin softened his usually bleak expression. His sharp blue eyes searched hers. “You okay?”
She’d crossed her arms tightly, Tess realized. Holding herself together. “I’m a little freaked,” she admitted.
“This is going to cost you, too.”
“My insurance might cover part of it. I’ll study the policy when I get home. If not—” Thank goodness for the indignation that made the fear recede. “Damn it, I bought a full set of new tires in November.”
Zach crouched beside one of her front tires, inspecting the slash and giving her an excellent view of his broad back with the olive-green shirt taut across it. “Nobody will be fixing these, that’s for sure.” He rose with an athletic ease she envied and faced her. “No note?”
Tess shook her head. “I assumed this was the ‘or else.’”
His eyes were very intense. “Or only the beginning. This kind of harassment may continue.”
She couldn’t help a small shiver. “What about you? Have you had anything like this happen?”
“Not yet.” His jaw muscles knotted. “I was given a few days’ grace to think about whether I want to rock the boat. I’m expecting to have another sit-down with the sheriff any day. The closest to a threat that’s come my way so far is being told I won’t be very popular with my fellow deputies if I insist on bringing Hayes down.”
Oh, heavens—her muscles were tightening and she wanted to retreat a step. “You’ve been worrying about whether I’d back down, but it’s more likely you will.”
“No.” There was no give in the one word, but his expression revealed his troubled state of mind. “The police culture does push us to support one another, and there’s good reason for that. We do a tough job. We have to be able to trust fellow officers. Civilians don’t always understand why we react the way we do...the split-second decisions we make. And we’re human. We make mistakes. This...was different.”
Watching him, Tess felt a burning in her eyes and sinuses. Yes, her first instinct had been right. This was a good man. She could trust him.
She took a shaky breath. “Okay. Thank you.”
“You didn’t call me about the note.”
“It made me mad, but I considered it petty. This is different.” In so many ways. What scared her most was that whoever had done this damage must have used a knife, and probably not a wimpy little pocketknife. This wasn’t just property damage. It was an escalation of the threat. Those deep slashes repeated the threat in an ugly way.
Or else.
At the sound of a car turning into the alley, they both turned. Tess relaxed to see the rack of lights atop the white police car that she knew would have a blue stripe down each side.
Then Zach focused on her again, the intensity burning in his eyes. “Tess, if anything else happens, however petty it seems, call me.”
“But...you implied we should keep contact to a minimum. You didn’t want us to be seen together.”
She couldn’t miss the determination in the hard lines of his face.
“This campaign to silence you trumps that. Promise me, Tess.”
Unable to tear her eyes from his, she finally nodded. “I promise,” she whispered. “But you have to let me know if they threaten you, too. Okay?”
“Deal.”
A door slammed behind him. Zach turned but rested a warm, reassuring hand on her back.
Safe, she thought, letting herself lean just a little. For now.
