The Closer He Gets

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.