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Spread out amongthe coastal redwood forests, snug in the upland slope of the Santa Cruz Mountains, Scotts Valley was home to thirteen thousand people. Perhaps not as well-known as its more upscale, tech-savvy San Jose neighbor to the north, Scotts Valley had been the inaugural headquarters for Netflix when it first launched. It was home to three hotels, several wineries, a skatepark, nature preserves, and local cuisine that ranged from Indian food to classic Mexican.
Lucien spared Beckett a glance sitting in the passenger seat. “Thanks for coming with me and bringing your dogs. You’ve been here before, right?”
“Many times. For some reason, Scotts Valley seems to attract lost people. They go out for a walk and get lost in the woods. I found that out by leading two different SAR teams out here. We’ve found several kids who wandered off from their campsites. Both times we were able to bring them safely back to their worried parents. But we also recovered a couple of hikers who weren’t so lucky. They went into the Santa Cruz Mountains unprepared and never walked out again. Thanks to Brodie and Journey, we were lucky to find their remains. What kind of response do you expect from this Bryan Sutherland guy?”
“No idea. Sutherland could be a jolly old laidback soul glad to have his freedom. On the flip side, he could be a holy terror jaded by prison.”
Lucien followed his GPS down a residential street and pulled to the curb in front of a brick building. The apartment complex turned out to be a former single-family residence now turned into a fourplex—two units on the first floor and two on the second. “His last known address says he’s in the bottom unit around back, Number Four.”
“I guess we’re about to find out what kind of guy Bryan is now. Should we leave the dogs in the truck with the windows rolled down or bring them with us just in case?”
“Let’s try it without the Rin Tin Tin angle first.” Lucien got out of the truck and walked around the building to the backside with Beckett trailing. The two men approached Number Four and knocked on the door. A bodybuilder-type with a shaved head and a gruff attitude answered. Bryan studied the two men before announcing, “I met with my parole officer on Friday. I haven’t been in trouble. I don’t want to buy anything. I don’t want to change my cable provider. I never found Jesus. And I don’t touch girl scout cookies.”
“Do we look like girl scouts?” Lucien deadpanned. “We’re here about Trey Rescher. Remember him? Your friend from childhood.”
Bryan’s jaw dropped. “Trey? Sure. The paperboy that disappeared a million years ago.”
“Not exactly,” Beckett snapped. “More like twenty-one years ago last June.”
“Why come to me? Trey was two years older. We weren’t exactly best pals.”
“We found your Huffy bicycle near the old treehouse. You did hang out at the old treehouse, right? All the kids in the neighborhood did back then. We wanted to know how it got there dumped in a ditch.”
Bryan scratched his chin. “You came all this way to ask me about my bike? How do you know it’s mine?”
“The down crossbar had your name etched into it. The Reschers remembered the only Bryan in the neighborhood was named Sutherland.”
“Okay, look, it took ten days, maybe two weeks, for the cops to open up the trail that went past the house where the people got blown away. Once the cops finally opened up the area, they took down the tape and let the kids get back into the woods. The trail took me right by the murder house. It was summer, and I had nothing much to do. I kept climbing the walls until my mother allowed me out of the house. Finally, I got to ride my bike down to where the treehouse used to be, near the old barn. I climbed up to the top of the big oak and sat there for the longest time, looking around, happy to be outside. It seemed like that day, I was the only one around. It felt great but spooky, a little eerie like someone was watching me. Anyway, I looked toward the barn and spotted Trey’s mountain bike leaning up against the side. I thought, wow, Trey must be around here somewhere. So I climbed down to ground level and checked it out. But there was no one anywhere—not Trey, not the little boy they’d been looking for, not a soul in sight.”
“Ah, I’m beginning to get the picture. You swapped bikes. You took Trey’s bike and left yours in the ditch,” Lucien speculated. “Am I right?”
Bryan raised his arms and ran his hands over his bald head. “Yeah. That’s about the size of it.”
“And you never told anyone about this?” Beckett pressed. “Nobody ever asked where you got an almost brand-new bike that looked nothing like yours?”
“No. My parents were already freaking out about the murders. My dad was already calling real estate agents about selling the house. All my mom wanted was to get out of the neighborhood and move us back to Oregon, near Medford, where her parents lived. Within the week, my mother had packed up our stuff. She and Dad rented a trailer and started loading everything into it. We were on the road back to Medford by the Fourth of July. I don’t remember anybody ever asking me about Trey’s bike or where I got it. If they had, I’d probably have kept it simple and made up some story about where I got it. If you’re interested, I still have it.”
Lucien’s eyes went wide. “The Trek bike? You’re kidding?”
“Nope. It’s in a storage unit about half a mile from here, where I keep my other stuff. This is my girlfriend’s place. She says her furniture looks better than mine. I’m barely allowed to sit on the sofa. So if you want the bike, let me get my truck keys. You can follow me over there.”
An hour later, Lucien and Beckett were back on the road with Trey’s mountain bike in the pickup.
“Do you ever wonder about all the little nuances in a murder investigation that tip the scale the wrong way?” Lucien mumbled. “Why didn’t the cops find Trey’s bike leaning up against the old barn? Bryan said it took law enforcement ten days before they opened up the path to the woods. Could it be that they didn’t even bother going back there?”
“Good question. But I’ve got a better one, maybe two. Was the bike there right after the murders? Or was it put there later? There wasn’t a lot of time between events. The murders occur. Shots ring out. Elliott and Trey go missing. The caretaker comes along to find the bodies within a small window of time.”
“We need to talk to the caretaker.”
“No can do. The caretaker died during Harley Bassett’s reign.”
“Weird.”
“Yeah. Weird sums up this case perfectly.”
8
After her Zoom call with her grandmother, there were chores to do—plants to water, leaves to wipe down, furniture to dust, and floors to Swiffer. Brogan didn’t mind the work. She loved taking care of the household chores herself. It reminded her of the independence she’d craved back in childhood when she couldn’t muster up the courage to tell Maeve or her grandmother that she wanted to do things for herself.
