Speak No Evil (27 page)

“Because the police were asking about him.”

“Don’t go looking for him, Brandon. Why don’t you come over to my house? We can kick back, talk about Dad.”

“No. You don’t like him. You never have. You’re just going to try to tell me to forget about him like you always do.”

“That’s not true.”

“What?” Brandon’s voice was muffled and in the background of the phone Carina heard a female voice murmuring.

Then Brandon hung up.

THIRTY
-
FOUR

B
RANDON STARED AT THE WAITRESS.
Denise.

“Kyle’s here?” he repeated.

“He just walked in with that detective who was asking all those questions about Angie’s murder.”

Al, the weekend cook, called out an order. “Denise! Pickup.”

“Got to get that. See you later.” She grabbed the food from under the heat lamps and started for the swinging doors.

Kyle was here in the restaurant. With a cop. Brandon replayed his conversation with Kyle on the phone.

Come over to my place.

Kyle’s cell phone had caller ID. He knew Brandon was calling from the Shack. He didn’t say anything about being here, too.

Another waitress popped her head into the kitchen as Denise exited. “Watch it, Sherry. You almost knocked over my tray.”

“Put it down, Kyle says there’s a gas leak and we have to get out.”

“Gas leak?” Al said, quickly shutting off all the burners. “Are you sure?”

Sherry shrugged. “That’s what he said.”

Brandon stayed in Kyle’s small office so Sherry couldn’t see him. Heart pounding, he watched as Al and Denise exited the kitchen.

Why was Kyle with that cop? Why didn’t he tell Brandon he was here? Had the police figured something out? But he’d covered his tracks so well. Hadn’t he?

He was alone in the kitchen. Being alone was dangerous, he realized. He left the office and glanced through the half-open blinds next to the storage room. A cop stood half behind a tree with his eyes trained on the kitchen door.

Brandon quickly got out of sight.

Being alone was definitely dangerous. He should have called Denise back.
Something.

He fingered the gun in his windbreaker pocket as he crossed the kitchen and peered through the swinging door window into the hallway. Beyond the hall he saw customers leaving the the restaurant. Food still on the tables. Everyone leaving at once.

Kyle had betrayed him.

He didn’t know how the police had figured everything out, but somehow Kyle was part of it. His own brother. Of all people who should have understood, but instead he was one of
them.

Movement in the hall caught his eye. Someone was coming out of the restrooms.

Without hesitating, Brandon pushed the kitchen door a foot open. A boy of about eight or nine was walking back to his table.

“Hey,” he said.

The boy slowed. Slowed enough for Brandon to grab him and pull him into the kitchen.

The kid drew in a breath to scream. Brandon didn’t want to hurt him. Instead, he covered his mouth with one hand and showed him the gun.

“See this?”

The boy nodded.

“I’ll kill your mother if you say a word.”

Carina had to get everyone out as quickly as possible.
Now.

The waitstaff had done a good job while Kyle was on the phone with Brandon. More than half the restaurant had been cleared. She watched as two waitresses and the cook came out of the kitchen. She approached Sherry.

“Is the kitchen empty?”

“Yes,” she said.

The other waitress said, “No, I think Brandon is still in the office on the phone or something. I’ll go get him.”

“No, I will,” Carina said. “Just leave.”

She started toward the kitchen, flipping her radio on and discreetly talking into the mic. “Suspect may be alone in the kitchen.” She spotted a woman still sitting at a table making no move to get up. There were two sodas on the table.

“Ma’am, do you have a guest with you?” Carina asked.

“My son is in the bathroom.”

“I need to ask you to leave. There’s a possible gas leak.”

“I’ll wait for my son.”

“How long has he been gone?”

“Just a few minutes.”

Carina had been in the restaurant for six minutes. She hadn’t seen the boy pass her to get to the restrooms, which were off the hall that connected the kitchen—and the rear office—with the main restaurant.

“I’ll get him for you.”

“No, I’ll get him. He’s my son. I don’t know you.”

Carina discreetly flashed her badge. “You can’t go back there.”

“What happened? What’s wrong?”

The panic in her voice caught the attention of the remaining patrons.

“Nothing is wrong. Gas leak. We don’t want anyone getting hurt. I promise, I will get your son.”

The mother was clearly torn. She bit her lip. Carina motioned a waitress over. “What’s your son’s name?”

“Josh. He’s only eight.”

“I will bring him to you. Trust me.”

Without waiting for an answer, Carina nodded for the waitress to escort the mother out.

Carina spoke into her mic. “All units. Potential hostage situation, minor child. Am checking status.”

She glanced back to the front, where she’d left Kyle. He was nowhere to be seen.

Had she made a mistake to trust him?

She stood outside the swinging kitchen doors, back against the wall. She heard a voice in the kitchen, but couldn’t make out the words.

Carina looked into the kitchen through the windows in the doors. Where was Brandon?
Where was Kyle?

First, get the boy out. Then secure the suspect. She ran down the short hall to the men’s restroom and entered. “Josh?” she called quietly. “Josh?”

No answer. She looked in the two stalls. The bathroom was empty.

Heart pounding, she checked the women’s room next. Empty. She swallowed her panic.

Her hand on her gun, she left the bathroom and walked right into Brandon. A boy stood in front of him, shaking.

“Josh,” she said.

She was only four feet away from the boy, but she didn’t dare rush him. Carina listened to what Brandon heard. Silence. Distant voices. Ocean waves. Then in the distance, sirens.

He turned and saw her. Did he recognize her? She couldn’t tell.

“Excuse me,” she said, plastering a smile on her face, “thank you for finding my son. Josh, I told you to come right back to the table. The waitress said there’s a gas leak, we need to get out.”

She reached for Josh and Brandon pulled the boy closer to his side.

“I know who you are.” Brandon narrowed his eyes at her.

“Don’t make it worse. Turn yourself in.”

He laughed. “It can’t get worse for me.” He showed her the gun he had on Josh. “Give me your gun.”

“Let the boy go. Let him go. You don’t want to hurt a child.”

“Put your gun on the floor and kick it to me. That’s what they say in the movies, right?” As if demonstrating his knowledge of the theater, he pointed the gun directly at Josh’s head.

Against every instinct, she removed her gun from her fanny pack, placed it on the floor, and kicked it to Brandon.

“Go in the kitchen,” he commanded.

She did, glancing at Josh. “It’s going to be okay, Josh. Focus on me, okay?”

Josh was small for his eight years, with large, trusting brown eyes. Just like Justin’s.

No way in hell was Carina going to get Josh killed.

“Josh, you with me?” she asked quietly.

“Shut up,” Brandon said. Josh squirmed, but Brandon pulled the boy close.

Brandon looked her dead in the eye, gun on the kid. “Denise told me Kyle was here. Where is he?”

“I’m right here.”

Kyle walked through the kitchen doors, hands up.

They stood in the parking lot behind two SWAT vans looking at blueprints of the Sand Shack. Nick, Detective Dean Robertson, SWAT team leader Tom Blade, and several cops. Dean was in charge, and Dillon was on the radio.

“We have line of sight into all areas of the main dining hall. There’s only one window in the kitchen”—Dean placed his finger on the northern wall—“here.”

“My men have line of sight into the kitchen and my top marksman is holding at this position.” Blade pointed to an area on the map thirty yards away. “And another man here”—he pointed—“has sights on the back door. According to my men, Burns has Detective Kincaid and a minor child in the kitchen.”

“What about the bathroom windows?” Nick asked.

“They’re small split glass, no way an adult could fit through,” Blade said.

“We’ve secured the main doors. I want to send men into the main dining hall, but we can’t tell if he’s watching. If he stands here, by the kitchen doors, he’ll be able to see anyone who enters.”

“So we wait,” Dean said. “Let Dillon Kincaid try to negotiate a surrender. He’ll be here in twenty minutes.”

“Sir,” Blade interrupted, “isn’t that a conflict? His sister’s in there.”

“Not for me,” Dillon said over the radio. “But we might not have the time. Burns is agitated. He feels trapped. He can and will do anything to get away. Remember, he has nothing to lose.”

“I agree,” Nick said.

“Do we have a line of sight on Kyle Burns?” Dillon asked.

Blade responded. “No, but he hasn’t left the building.”

“He’s in there,” Nick said, pointing to the kitchen. “My instincts tell me he’s right in the middle.”

“Carina said in her last conversation with me that Kyle was being helpful,” Dillon said, “but we need to be cautious.”

“I’ll go in,” Nick said.

“You’re out of your jurisdiction, Sheriff,” Blade countered. “My men have this covered.”

Dillon said, “Sheriff Thomas has experience with killers like Burns. Wire him and let him go in.”

Dean looked from Blade to Nick, nodded. “We’ll position men in the main dining hall if we’re able. Stay away from the kitchen window.”

Nick nodded. He pushed down his fear for Carina’s safety. This was part of the job. She was a fellow officer. His goal was to get the boy and Carina out alive.

Dillon said, “We’ll try talking first, urge him to put down his weapon and release the hostages. But our primary goal is to separate him from the hostages.”

“I understand,” Nick said as Blade fitted him with a Kevlar vest and wired him. If Brandon didn’t voluntarily surrender, their only choice would be to take him down.

“I’m patched through to your frequency,” Dillon said to Nick. “I’ll give you whatever help I can. But trust your instincts, Nick. They’re solid.”

“Ready?” Dean asked him.

“Ready.”

Brandon stared at Kyle.

“When I was talking to you on the phone, you were here. You were here with
her.
” He waved the gun loosely at Carina, then aimed it back in Josh’s general direction. He didn’t look comfortable with the gun. He may never have used one before. But even the worst shot could kill someone a foot away.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Kyle said.

“Don’t talk to me like I’m stupid!”

“Put down the gun, Brandon, please. Don’t do this.”

Brandon kept the gun on Josh. Carina had to find a way to distract him. Get him to release the kid. Brandon was standing close to the kitchen doors, his back against the counter. Josh was in front of him. Carina was also in front of him about four feet away, her butt up against the butcher-block-style work island. The stove was to her right, and Kyle was between the doors and the stove.

The work island was full of partially cut vegetables. A seven-inch-long knife rested on the edge, only a foot from Carina’s hand. Knife versus gun and hostage. Not fair odds, but it might be useful.

Brandon had put her gun high on the shelving unit inside the doors to his left, her right. Not easily accessible, as she’d have to stretch to reach it, but not impossible if he were distracted.

“Brandon, I can help you,” Carina said, diverting his attention to her as she continued to assess the situation and Brandon’s state of mind.

“Shut up. You’re a woman. Women lie.”

“But I’m a cop. Leah’s alive, Brandon.”

He shook his head. “I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true. She’s on her way to the hospital right now. Right before you left the house you tied a garbage bag over her head, but you didn’t wait for her to die. You left. I arrived at your house as you were leaving. Another officer jumped out and found Leah as I followed you.”

“I’m not stupid,” he said. It seemed to be important to him that he be seen as smart, Carina thought. Okay, she could play with that.

“No, you’re not stupid, Brandon. In fact, you’re one of the smartest killers I’ve ever faced.”

“I’m not a killer.”

He said the words without emotion or meaning. He didn’t believe it.

“You almost got away with it,” she said, keeping eye contact with Brandon. Kyle was inching across the room, heading slowly toward the stove. “We had nothing after Angie. You did a good job cleaning her body. We had no evidence.”

A small, smug smile cracked Brandon’s lips, but he didn’t say anything.

“It was Becca that screwed you up.”

“You’re lying.
Again
,” he added for emphasis.

“We have proof,” she said. “DNA evidence.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Believe it. Plastic attracts hair. We know you covered Angie with a wool-cotton-blend blanket when you suffocated her. But you didn’t put a blanket on Becca. You wrapped her in plastic wrap, but you laid on top of her as she died. Your hair attached to the plastic.”

“Now I know you’re lying. I shaved my body.” He moved Josh to the side and pulled down his pants just enough to show that he had in fact shaved.

“I didn’t say pubic hair,” she answered quietly. But her mind wasn’t on what she was saying. She was staring at Brandon’s navel. Four rings, including the missing earrings from Becca and Jodi, protruded. One hoop had the shell, leaf, and rose charms of the navel ring in one of Angie’s online pictures.

Carina swallowed her revulsion.

“Do you know why I was asking questions about your father? Because the DNA evidence we found was a
close-blood-relative
match. That means that a brother, son, nephew, uncle, or first cousin of your father left his DNA on the body of Becca Harrison.”

“Not possible.” Brandon shook his head.

“It’s just us,” Carina said. “You, me, and your brother. No one else will know. But it’s been bugging me since the beginning. Why did you kill Angie? Was it because of her sex diaries? Was it because she wouldn’t go out with you? Why?”

Brandon turned his full attention to her and for the first time, Carina was scared.