“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.”