My Brother's Keeper Read online

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  My Brother’s Keeper | Abigail Roux

  the table in front of him. He played with the short chain on his cuffs as he waited.

  Micah slid into the chair opposite him and picked up

  the phone, looking through the Plexiglas divider worriedly.

  Addison didn’t look well. Micah knew he was going into

  withdrawal after quitting cold turkey and several weeks in

  jail, and he knew it had to be horrible going through

  something like that in an environment where no one gave a

  shit. Addison swallowed nervously and picked up his own

  phone, leaning forward as he held it to his ear.

  “That color doesn’t really suit you,” Micah observed softy

  as he knocked his knuckles gently against the glass and

  then rested the tips of his fingers against it.

  “And I was so sure I’d be winning beauty pageants,”

  Addison murmured sorrowfully.

  The ghost of a smile he had managed fell once more,

  and he looked at Micah sadly as he placed the tips of his

  own fingers against the divider, lining them up with Micah’s.

  He did it discreetly, as if he were afraid to display anything more in front of the other inmates. Or perhaps it was the

  guards he feared, Micah thought grimly.

  He turned and looked up at the video camera near the

  ceiling and then back at Addison again.

  “Talk to me,” Addison murmured. “I haven’t heard from

  Brayden in days. What’s going on?”

  “Your brother’s gone,” Micah told him softly, deciding to

  forego the small talk.

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  Addison’s knee stopped bouncing, and he stared at

  Micah, unmoving and unblinking. “What?” he finally

  breathed.

  Micah shook his head and pressed his lips together.

  “He’s gone. Him and your daddy’s yacht,” he muttered.

  Addison wasn’t looking at him any longer. His eyes had

  unfocused, and his knee was bouncing once again. Finally,

  he looked up at the camera that was even then relaying their conversation to an observation point, and he met Micah’s

  eyes again.

  “He did it,” he murmured. “He really did it.”

  “Yeah,” Micah growled softly as he watched Addison’s

  eyes darken. “Can I call that fucking detective now?”

  “IS this Detective Sam Walker?” a soft, oddly gruff voice

  asked when Sam answered his phone.

  “It is,” Sam answered as he tried to finish up the

  paperwork on the Bainbridge case. Addison Satterwight was

  safely in jail and awaiting trial for murder in the first degree, obstruction of justice, possession, and any number of other lesser charges. All in all, it should have been a satisfying end to the case. Sam just couldn’t figure out why it still nagged at him. “Who is this?” Sam demanded.

  “That’s not really important, Detective,” the strangely

  soft-spoken voice drawled in amusement. “What is important

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  is that you’ve overlooked one little detail in your most recent investigation.”

  Sam froze and looked up, scanning for Morgan amidst

  the ordered chaos of the station. His call waiting beeped at him discreetly. He ignored it. “Which investigation would

  that be?”

  “You’ve captured a pawn, Detective,” the soft voice told

  him tauntingly. “The game never ends with a pawn.”

  Sam froze and stared at his partner across the room,

  the phone held to his ear as his grip tightened on it. The call waiting beeped once more.

  “Detective Walker?” the soft voice on the phone queried

  in amusement. “Are you still with me?”

  “You think Addison Satterwight was a pawn?” Sam

  inquired carefully as he quietly tried to engage a recorder on the call. “Why would you say that?”

  “Check up on your loose ends, Detective,” the voice

  murmured. “Brayden Bainbridge has cleared out his family’s

  accounts and left the country on his father’s private yacht.”

  Sam cursed as the line went dead. He waved frantically

  at Morgan as he tossed the cell phone down and stood.

  “DONE?” Brayden inquired as Daniel flipped the satellite

  phone closed.

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  “Done,” Daniel grinned. He held up the phone and then

  slung it like a Frisbee into the ocean.

  Brayden watched it sail through the air and splash

  down with a slight smile.

  The yacht was not a particularly large one, but it was

  big enough that it required at least two men to maneuver it.

  That had been Daniel’s only demand when Brayden had

  approached him with the plan. Daniel hadn’t wanted to be

  expendable, when all was said and done.

  That had been before Brayden and Daniel had truly

  known each other, though, before the trust had formed.

  Brayden wasn’t worried about Daniel killing him as they

  sailed off to somewhere with no extradition laws and tanned beauties who would bring them drinks on the beach all day

  long, nor was Daniel worried about Brayden doing so any

  longer. He was one of the first true friends Brayden had ever had.

  “Poor Sonny,” Brayden murmured as he reached into

  the bucket beside him and withdrew a bottle of champagne.

  He watched the bubbles thoughtfully, feeling a twinge of

  regret as he thought about his little brother sitting in prison and going through what had to be some hellacious

  withdrawal. Then he smiled and looked up at the horizon. He poured himself a glass, then another one for Daniel.

  “To Addison,” Daniel proposed with a grin as he held up

  his glass. “The perfect pawn,” he drawled in amusement.

  The crystal clinked with a lonely echo over the open

  water.

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  “WE know your brother did this,” Sam urged. “We know

  that, Addison, but we have to have your help.”

  “What do you need?” Addison asked him hollowly as

  Sam sat opposite him in the small room.

  “We need the murder weapon,” Sam answered softly.

  Addison’s dark eyes rose to meet Sam’s. “The antifreeze? It has to be in that club, kid,” Sam said to him urgently. “Your brother knew every nook and cranny. He stashed it

  somewhere thinking he could go back and dispose of it. He

  didn’t expect the autopsy to be performed—”

  “Why was the autopsy performed?” Addison asked

  dazedly, as if he didn’t quite understand what Sam was

  telling him; that his brother was a murderer and had set him up to spend life in prison.

  “Your father left specific instructions,” Sam sighed.

  “Is that even legal?” Addison asked with a frown.

  Sam actually smiled at him sympathetically. “When you

  have the kind of money your father did, anything is legal.”

  Addison stared at him and swallowed with difficulty.

  “You sound like Brayden,” he whispered.

  Sam was silent as he watched the pain enter the man’s

  expressive eyes.

  “Why did he do it?” Addison finally asked, his agonized

  voice barely audible.

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  “I don’t know, kid,” Sam answered regretfully. “You

  remember what I told you about the will we found? The

  handwritten copy of your father’s will? He was going to cut you both out, and we think Brayden found out, somehow.”

  He waited a moment and then leaned closer. “Did your father kill your mother, Addison?” Sam asked softly.

  Addison shook his head as he reached up to wipe at his

  eyes, his hands still cuffed together. He pressed his lips

  tightly together and looked at Sam pitifully.

  “Brayden believed he had,” he answered hoarsely.

  They sat there in silence for a long moment, Sam

  waiting breathlessly for Addison to continue.

  “Brayden knew where all the hidey-holes at the club

  were,” Addison finally said shakily. “But so do I,” he added determinedly. “Take me out there,” he requested bitterly.

  “We’ll find your smoking jug of antifreeze.”

  SAM and the two uniformed officers followed Addison up the

  hidden stairs and into the dark hexagonal office. He looked around the empty room with narrowed eyes as Addison

  shuffled off to the side with his shoulders slumped and his head bowed.

  Sam stepped over to him and took his hands, reaching

  into his own pocket to retrieve the key to the handcuffs. He unlocked them wordlessly as Addison stared at him with

  liquid brown eyes.

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  “Show me,” Sam ordered quietly. “No tricks,” he added

  sternly.

  Addison didn’t seem to be in the mood to argue, though,

  and he nodded and stepped around Sam slowly. He went to

  the desk obediently as he rubbed his wrists slowly. Sam felt a stab of guilt over the way he had treated the kid

  throughout the investigation, but he tried to push it aside.

  The only thing he could do now was catch the real killer for him.

  He watched in silence as Addison revealed hidden

  compartment after hidden compartment in the desk,

  demonstrating to Sam how to get to them and what was in

  them. Most were innocuous papers or trinkets. There was a

  flask of what smelled like bourbon. There was a box with the faintest hint of perfume that Addison refused to open, and

  when Sam investigated he found that it contained letters

  addressed to Reggie Bainbridge from a woman. Addison’s

  mother, Sam realized with a pang of sympathy.

  “Are there any others?” Sam asked as soon as Addison

  appeared to be done with the desks.

  “There are a few in the bookcases,” Addison answered

  softly. Sam gestured to the walls and Addison moved to the

  nearest bookshelf. He reached up to the highest shelf,

  standing on his toes and stretching, and tipped a book

  toward him. There was a click and the row of books near his waist slowly swung open. Addison backed away and Sam

  took out his pen and used it to open the shelf the rest of the way, shining his penlight into the dark compartment.

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  “Empty,” he announced with a disappointment he

  couldn’t quite conceal.

  Addison nodded and moved to the next bookcase over.

  He kicked at the baseboard and the wooden panel fell to the floor with a clatter. He then slid his booted toe under the bottom shelf and there was another click as the entire lower front of the bookcase creaked open. Addison used his foot to nudge it open further and then stepped away again. Sam

  knelt and raised his penlight, shining it into the

  compartment.

  Inside sat a blue jug of PEAK brand antifreeze.

  “Fuck,” Sam breathed as he lowered his head.

  Addison was silent, staring at the compartment with a

  distant, dazed expression.

  “That fucker,” Sam spat angrily, finally letting it boil

  over. “Murdered his own father and framed his only brother

  for it,” he surmised in disgust.

  “No,” Addison whispered. It was the first word he had

  spoken that had been unprovoked by a direct question since

  they had signed him out of the detention center. “He didn’t frame me,” he murmured with a shake of his head. His

  haunted black eyes moved to look down at Sam. “He just

  used me as a distraction.”

  Sam stood and looked at him, unable to hide the

  sympathy in his expression. “He knew we’d look at you,” he

  said as realization dawned. “You were an easy target because of the drugs and the lovers. All he had to do was push us

  just a little in that direction, and he was free to get away,” he 132

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  said in disgust. “Then he had his buddy Daniel call to get

  you out.”

  “He knew as soon as he left I’d be cleared,” Addison

  went on softly as he looked back down at the antifreeze. “I was just a pawn he moved around to protect himself.”

  Sam watched the kid worriedly, wondering what it

  would feel like to have your only brother, your only family, betray you so horribly. He couldn’t imagine.

  Addison raised his head and looked around the room

  sadly. “What happens now?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

  “The murder charges will be dropped,” Sam answered

  after a moment of looking Addison over. “Your brother will be charged, and a warrant will be issued for his arrest. But….”

  “They won’t find him,” Addison whispered with certainty

  when Sam didn’t finish.

  Sam merely nodded curtly.

  “And the possession?” Addison questioned in a low voice

  as he looked over at Sam.

  Sam inhaled deeply and then pursed his lips. “I’m

  betting if you give the DA the name of your dealer, you can walk,” he finally guessed. “But I can’t promise anything.”

  Addison met his eyes for another silence that stretched

  on and then turned his gaze back to the antifreeze in the

  compartment. He swallowed hard and looked down at his

  hands. After a long moment, he shook his head and held his

  hands up to Sam with his wrists pressed together. Sam

  looked at him in confusion

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  “I’m not like my brother,” Addison told him softly. “I’ll do my own time.”

  WITH the murder charge dropped, Addison easily made his

  bail.

  Six weeks after entering the Metro West Detention

  Center the day he was arrested for his father’s murder,

  Addison was released back into society.

  Sam had never known the feeling of being wrong before,

  but Addison’s wrongful arrest still bothered him. First, the kid had lost his father, a painful thing even if he hadn’t

  really liked him, then he had been wrongly accused of

  murder and hassled by Sam and his partner over everything

  from his dead mother to his sexual preferences, then he had lost his brother to something that was worse than death, in Sam’s opinion, and finally he had been tossed in jail to detox on his own. The entire case had felt wrong to Sam from Day

  One. He wanted to put at least one aspect of it right again.

  “A kid that pretty don’t need to be in prison,” Sam

  muttered as he leaned against the hood of a beat up old ’71

  Camaro.

  “He’s tougher than he looks,” Micah responded

  confidently as he s
at on the hood beside Sam.

  Micah Parrish, Sam had been shocked to find out, had

  visited Addison at least once a week since the day of his

  arrest, often several times a week. He had stuck by the other 134

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  man despite the murder charges and despite the mess his

  life had become, and he had proved himself to be more than

  merely a swamp rat looking for a meal ticket. Even after

  discovering that Brayden had cleaned out the family bank

  accounts and left Addison with nothing but the club, Micah

  had not abandoned him.

  Sam had eventually forced himself to approach Micah

  one day when he had been leaving the detention center. He

  had apologized, even though Morgan had warned him not to,

  both for the things he had said to Micah and for Addison’s

  situation. Now they sat together, waiting for Addison’s

  release.

  There was a clank in the distance and a long, low

  growling sound as the outer gates of the prison began to roll open. Micah slid off the hood of the car, and Sam

  straightened as Addison appeared around the corner,

  walking with his suit jacket slung over his shoulder. Under his other arm he held a large manila envelope that probably contained whatever had been on him when he’d been

  arrested. As far as Sam knew, the thing should be empty,

  except for maybe some glitter and confetti.

  Addison walked with his head down, squinting his eyes

  in the early morning light. The gates began to rumble closed as soon as he passed by them. Sam could practically feel

  Micah vibrating beside him.

  When he finally looked up at them, Addison actually

  smiled as he drew closer. He looked relaxed and, possibly

  more importantly, clean and sober. Sam knew that inmates

  could smuggle in drugs fairly easily, but it looked as if

  Addison had refrained. He had taken advantage of the

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  situation to clean himself up, and it appeared to have done him a lot of good. He looked like a different man.

  Sam hung back as Addison drew closer, and he watched