My Brother's Keeper Page 11

  “THEY didn’t charge me,” Addison murmured as they sat in

  Brayden’s living room. He was slumped low on the couch,

  looking slightly strung out, and Brayden glared at him

  hatefully for a long, tense moment. “What?” Addison finally blurted defensively. “They didn’t charge me!”

  “They were focusing on you and Micah for motive. Are

  there any prior… lovers that could hurt you?” Brayden

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  ground out with difficulty. “Anyone that I need to be aware of?”

  Addison’s leg bounced as he rested his booted feet

  against the coffee table. The knickknacks and books on the

  table rattled and vibrated threateningly with his nerves. He bit his lip and looked away, slouching further and sighing.

  “Seth,” he finally answered. “Seth Ramirez was one that

  Father went after and a lot of people knew about. They’ll get to him soon.”

  “Right,” Brayden whispered. He remembered when his

  father had been about to fire Ramirez. Addison had come to

  him and pleaded his case, begging Brayden not to let it

  happen. “We’ll take care of it,” Brayden murmured as he

  stood and walked toward the phone.

  “What does that mean, take care of it?” Micah asked

  nervously.

  “Micah,” Addison murmured as he waved a calming

  hand at Micah. “He’s just going to call him and talk to him.”

  Micah rubbed his hands over his face as his knee

  bounced nervously. “What do I do if they come talk to me

  again?” he asked Addison as Brayden moved away from

  them with the phone.

  “Just answer their questions and tell them the truth,”

  Addison advised in a soft, tired voice.

  Micah nodded jerkily.

  “If it makes you feel better, they won’t be talking to you

  again,” Addison told him as he reached out and petted

  Micah’s knee.

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  “How do you know?” Micah asked worriedly.

  “They’ve got everything they need from you,” Addison

  told him with a careless shrug.

  “And what is that?” Micah asked tentatively.

  Brayden hung up the phone and set it down with a

  thunk. He looked over at them and sighed heavily. “Motive,”

  he answered flatly.

  “SETH Ramirez?” Sam questioned as they came up behind

  the scruffy man they had spoken with on their first visit to the club.

  The man straightened and plucked his earplug out of

  his ear. Sam noticed, just as he had the time before, that the man didn’t bother to turn off his MP3 player.

  “Yeah?” the man answered as his eyes darted between

  them apprehensively.

  “Detectives Morgan and Walker. Mind if we ask you a

  few questions?” Morgan greeted as he flashed his badge.

  Ramirez shuffled and looked around nervously. “I guess,

  sure,” he answered in a mumble.

  “What can you tell us about your relationship with

  Addison Satterwight?” Sam asked without preamble.

  Ramirez glanced around again and back at the two

  detectives with a worried frown. “Why do you want to know?”

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  Sam took a step closer and reached down to unclip the

  man’s MP3 player from his belt. “Maybe you’d rather talk

  about music?” he suggested in a friendly manner as he used

  his thumb to force the cover off the player. It was completely stripped of all its internal parts, and inside the plastic shell was a tiny bag of fine white powder.

  “Fuck, man,” Ramirez groaned as he looked away in

  disgust.

  “Tell us about Sonny,” Sam demanded.

  “There’s nothing to tell, dude,” Ramirez answered.

  “How long were you together?” Morgan asked as he

  watched Ramirez over the top of his sunglasses.

  “Not long, okay?” Ramirez answered defensively. “We

  just hooked up to get high and fuck, all right?”

  “Did Reggie Bainbridge ever speak with you about his

  son?” Sam queried as he moved slowly in a circle around the man.

  “Yeah,” Ramirez nodded heatedly as he turned his head

  to follow Sam’s movements. “The old fuck threatened me,” he said as he looked back at Morgan and pointed to his own

  chest. “Told me he’d get me put in jail if I didn’t leave Sonny alone.”

  “Did you tell Sonny?” Sam asked from behind him.

  “You bet your ass I did,” Ramirez answered as he turned

  his head to look back at Sam. “I was going to get fired; I had to do something,” he added defensively.

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  “How did Sonny react?” Morgan questioned without

  moving.

  “He was pissed, man,” Ramirez answered eagerly. “He

  was like, ‘not again’ and he left to go bitch out his dad.”

  “Was Sonny in love with you?” Sam asked softly, closer

  to Ramirez’s ear now.

  “Shit, no,” Ramirez huffed. “I mean, we weren’t serious

  and he wasn’t pissed about it because it was me or anything.

  He was just tired of it, you know? Tired of his dad sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. I heard that it had happened before. Sonny was pissed,” he repeated needlessly.

  “He saved your job, though?” Morgan asked curiously.

  “His brother did,” Ramirez nodded. “I owed him after

  that.”

  “Did Sonny’s brother ever ask for a return favor?” Sam

  questioned as he tapped the bag in his palm pointedly and

  circled back around to stand in front of Ramirez.

  The man looked down at Sam’s hand and then up at the

  two of them nervously. “No,” he answered unconvincingly.

  Sam looked at his partner and smirked at him. “Did you

  catch that, Ray?”

  Morgan nodded as he looked at Ramirez. “Sounded like

  obstruction to me.”

  “Shit, man!” Ramirez whined in dismay.

  “What did Sonny’s brother ask you to do in return?”

  Sam asked again forcefully.

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  “He… he called me, early this morning,” Ramirez

  answered regretfully, looking slightly ill now. “Warned me

  you’d be coming to talk to me.”

  “What else did he say?” Morgan asked neutrally.

  Ramirez pursed his lips stubbornly and looked away.

  “How much does obstruction go for these days?” Sam

  asked Morgan curiously.

  “Long enough,” Morgan answered with relish.

  Ramirez turned his head to glare at them. Finally he

  sighed and shook his head. “He asked me to forget some of

  the things Sonny and I had done, okay? He’s worried about

  Sonny’s rep, man. Worried about the possession charges.”

  Sam and Morgan shared a look, and Sam nodded as he

  raised the bag and waved it in front of Ramirez’s face.

  “And so should you be,” he murmured in a low voice.

  “Anything you want to add?” he prodded. Ramirez watched

  the bag apprehensively but remained silent. “If we find out you were withholding anything from us, Seth, life could get very ugly. The boys in county lockup ain’t too worried abo
ut whether you like to be high when you get on your knees or

  not.”

  Ramirez closed his eyes and sighed shakily, turning his

  head away again. “When Sonny got high,” he said softly, “he used to talk about how much easier life would be if his dad croaked.”

  “Did he ever ponder helping his dad along?” Sam

  questioned.

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  Ramirez looked down at the sidewalk and worked his

  jaw back and forth in agitation. “He said that… God,” he

  breathed in obvious distress as he looked up at the sky and then away from Sam and Morgan. “He said that there were

  so many poisons that were undetectable, it would be easy to do it. He said cops never suspect a guy of poisoning because it’s a woman’s way of killing and they’d just look at old

  girlfriends.”

  Sam glanced again at Morgan, who was looking at him

  with barely concealed triumph. “Would you testify to that in court?” Morgan questioned.

  “Shit, no. Hell, no,” Seth spat vehemently.

  Sam looked down at the bag in his hand and then over

  to Morgan. “What do you think is in here, about nine, ten

  grams?”

  “Ten grams!” Ramirez shouted in outrage. “That’s not

  even one!”

  “At least ten,” Morgan nodded in agreement. “Plenty

  enough for trafficking charges.”

  Sam gave a low whistle and held up the bag. “That’s

  fifteen to twenty hard time, easy.”

  “Fuck, man!” Ramirez shouted in disgust as he ran his

  hand through his hair. “Fine,” he muttered. “Whatever,

  okay? Just… Christ.”

  Sam smirked at the man and handed him back the bag.

  “Get another hobby, okay?” he suggested before he and

  Morgan turned and walked away.

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  When they were out of earshot, Sam retrieved his phone

  from his pocket and dialed. “That should be enough for some phone taps,” he told Morgan happily. “We’ll nail this fucker down.”

  BRAYDEN sat behind the desk in the hexagonal office,

  exhausted and worried. He stared at the top of the desk for a long moment, thinking through the problem.

  It was just after four in the morning. He had awoken in

  a tangle of sheets and sweat with the phone ringing, and his heart had been hammering so hard he’d been lightheaded

  when he’d finally found the receiver and answered the call.

  “I just remembered something, boss,” Daniel Grace’s

  soft, gruff voice had murmured to him without so much as a

  greeting. No matter what the subject matter, Daniel always

  sounded like he was amused.

  “Do tell,” Brayden had muttered groggily.

  “That security system on the storage shed?” Daniel had

  drawled, and Brayden’s stomach had begun to coil as he sat

  up in bed. “It keeps records of entries.”

  Brayden had remained motionless for a long time after

  hanging up the phone, fighting with himself. Did he really

  want to go through with it?

  In the end, he had convinced himself that there was

  really no turning back. He had dressed and driven out to the club, his stomach roiling the entire way.

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  Now, Brayden sat in his office in the dark, and the

  nerves in his stomach had yet to uncoil. Downstairs there

  was a sign on the entrance to the club that regretfully

  informed its members that it would be closed for the next

  two weeks in order to provide them with a more elegant

  atmosphere in the future. The club around him was silent.

  A computer printout was laid out in front of him. It

  listed dates and times, and right there near the end was the entry he had been looking for. The night before their father had died someone had entered the shed at three in the

  morning. Roughly ten minutes later, the printout showed

  that someone had then entered the club itself; a security

  code only two people still living possessed.

  Brayden’s hand was shaking as he reached for the

  phone. It was time to end this.

  “TELL me you didn’t do this,” Brayden Bainbridge’s voice

  requested softly on the recording.

  There was a static silence. Then Addison Satterwight’s

  voice murmured, “I didn’t do it, Brayden. Have they looked at Daniel? He has the code too, and—”

  “Not to the club itself,” Brayden interrupted him with a

  growl.

  “How do you know it wasn’t Father going in and it’s not

  just some big coincidence? I’m telling you, Brayden, Daniel is—”

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  “Daniel had no reason to kill him, Sonny!” Brayden

  shouted suddenly.

  Sam glanced at his captain and grinned. “Here comes

  the good part,” he murmured.

  “And I did?” Addison’s voice shot back angrily on the

  recording.

  “You told me yourself,” Brayden hissed. “You said he

  was making your life hell and—”

  “That doesn’t mean I’d kill him, for Christ’s sake!”

  Addison shouted in return.

  “What about your mother?” Brayden asked softly.

  The static hissed on the recording in the silence that

  ensued.

  “What about her?” Addison’s guarded voice murmured.

  “He drowned her the night she died, Sonny. We both

  know it.”

  There was another long, tense silence. Sam cleared his

  throat and looked up at his captain. He pointed his finger at the computer as the digital recording played on.

  “I saw you that night. The night of the party,” Brayden

  finally murmured. “Coming out of the panels from the

  stairwell. I thought you were just up there getting high.”

  There was another silence.

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  “I was just getting high, Brayden,” Addison answered with a resigned sigh. “I always do at those fucking things. I can’t stand them; you know that!”

  “You killed him, didn’t you?” Brayden whispered in

  obvious anguish. “What am I supposed to do with that?” he

  asked his brother desperately.

  The silence on the recording stretched on, and Captain

  Gonzalez leaned closer as they listened.

  “Do what you have to, Brayden,” Addison’s voice finally

  responded, suddenly cold and hard. “It’s your conscience

  you have to worry about. Mine’s clear.”

  The recording ended, and Sam looked up, raising his

  eyebrows inquiringly at his captain.

  “Go pick him up,” Gonzalez ordered with obvious

  pleasure.

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  V

  BRAYDEN stood on the deserted terrace of his club, looking

  out at the figure of his brother sitting in the sand. Addison sat beside Micah on the beach, both of them resting their

  arms on their knees as they watched the sun rise out of the sea. It was an unusually sweet scene, and Brayden found

  himself second-guessing his actions, and not for the first

  time.

  It was too late for second thoughts, though. What was

  done was done.

  They had been
out there all night, from what Brayden

  could tell. From the state of their clothing and hair, they had gone dancing somewhere. Somewhere that littered glitter and confetti all over its patrons as they writhed on the dance

  floor, apparently. Both men sparkled dully in the rising

  sunlight. They had probably gotten high before, after, or

  during the festivities if Brayden knew his brother like he

  thought he did, and then they had come out here to wait for the sun.

  Brayden was still standing there and watching them

  when they came to arrest Addison. He followed the police

  down to the beach, only to be forced to stand aside with

  Micah and watch sadly as they wrenched Addison to his feet

  in the sand and turned him around roughly to hold his

  hands behind his back. Addison didn’t struggle.

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  “You have the right to remain silent,” Walker growled to

  him as he cuffed him with a brutal clank of the handcuffs.

  “Brayden,” Addison murmured as he met Brayden’s eyes

  pleadingly. “I didn’t do this,” he insisted quietly.

  Walker held him by his elbow and looked over at

  Brayden with something like pity. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law,” he continued as Addison locked eyes with Brayden even as he was jostled in

  the soft sand. “You have the right to have an attorney

  present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you,” Walker continued as they frog-marched him back toward the terrace.

  “I didn’t do this, Brayden,” he breathed as they passed

  by. “Help me,” he pleaded.

  “I’m sorry, little brother,” Brayden murmured to Addison

  as they marched him away. “I’m truly sorry,” he said as the waves crashed behind him.

  MICAH stood at the checkpoint and allowed the guards to

  search him. He nodded as the guard reminded him pointedly

  that their conversations were monitored by video and audio, and then he was ushered through.

  Addison sat at the first station. He wore an orange

  jumpsuit with Miami-Dade Corrections written in block

  letters all over it. His knee was bouncing, and he couldn’t seem to keep his handcuffed hands still as they rested on