The Closer He Gets. Janice Kay Johnson

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