Unseen (Nell Brach Book 2), page 1
UNSEEN
NELL BRACH, BOOK TWO
S. E. GREEN
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
The Nell Brach Series
Other Books by S. E. Green
About the Author
Copyright © S. E. Green, 2023
The right of S. E. Green to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted per the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1976. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real people, alive or dead, is purely coincidental.
PROLOGUE
Cathy lifted the latch. The gate swung inward. Up ahead a squirrel darted across the trail, quickly vanishing into the pine trees that lined both sides.
Rebecca, Cathy’s best friend, pulled the gate closed and relatched it. “What do you want to do for your big four-o?” she asked.
“Hot dogs,” Cathy said. “With chili, cheese, and onion. Lots of onion.”
Her friend gagged.
They laughed.
“Well, how about we start with this.” Rebecca slid her hand into the deep pocket of her baggy jeans. She brought out a stained and scuffed ring box. Cathy gasped.
“Now don’t get too excited,” Rebecca said. “I made it.”
Cathy grabbed the box. She cradled it to her chest, rocking it. “I’ll love it. I promise!”
“Maybe you should look at it first before you make any promises.” Rebecca smiled.
Cathy opened the box. Inside rested a ring with three silver wires twined together, holding a blue moonstone in place. “That’s my birthstone!”
“I know, you goofball.” Playfully, Rebecca punched her. “Try it on.”
Eagerly, Cathy did, sliding it onto her middle finger. It was perfect. She hugged her friend’s shoulders, hard. “Thank you. This means the world to me.”
“You are very welcome.” Rebecca squeezed her back.
They each wore large well-worn backpacks—a burgundy one for Rebecca and a blue one for Cathy—filled with everything they owned. Cathy always joked that Rebecca’s pack weighed more than she did.
The friends fell in step along the trail that cut through Memorial Gardens. With a Zippo lighter, Cathy lit a cigarette.
Rebecca crinkled her nose. “Those’ll kill you,” she said, as she always did.
Cathy took a drag anyway.
They’d been in Iris, Tennessee, a few months now.
Miles of open trails! Forestry! Grand Smoky Mountain views!
That’s what the city’s website said. All Cathy knew was that she liked it a whole lot better than many of the other towns where they’d taken up living.
Between Francis House, the local shelter, and Tent City, the encampment out in the country, they made provisions for the homeless here.
Plus, her daughter was here.
She was the last person Cathy expected to see. It had been ten years. Her daughter had grown into a young woman, but she instantly knew her face. Cathy had been waiting in line at Francis House for a hot meal and hopefully a cot when she walked right out the door, past Cathy, and on down the sidewalk where she climbed into a van and drove away.
Cathy had stood frozen, unable to believe it.
“You look like you saw a ghost,” Rebecca had said.
“I-I just saw my daughter!” Cathy had been so excited, she shouted the words. Everyone in line had turned.
That had been four weeks ago now and Cathy hadn’t seen her daughter since. She’d asked around, but no one knew who the young woman was. Cathy began to wonder if it had all been in her mind.
Off to the right, a water tower glinted in the setting September sun. Beyond that, a paper factory whispered with activity.
Side by side the friends continued walking, rounding the curve in the trail. Cathy had been living a couple of years on the streets when she met Rebecca, who was older by ten years and took on a protective big sister role. They instantly became friends and had been that way since. Knowing someone had your back was the key to surviving this life of theirs.
The bordering trees came alive with chirping birds and the sound of small animals scurrying through pine needles. Up ahead two squirrels chased each other. Overhead, one lone bird coasted on the warm breeze.
Cathy paused to pick up a stick. She swished it through the air like a sword. Her mood dipped. What would her daughter’s reaction be upon seeing Cathy again? Would she remember her? Of course, she would, Cathy silently admonished herself. But would she recognize Cathy was an entirely different question. Ten years of living on the streets had not been kind to her. She looked nothing like the woman she used to be.
Maybe Cathy should stop asking around about her and leave things be. They both had moved on. It wasn’t like she had thought of her daughter every day or even every week. She thought of her now and then, though, wondering where she was, what she was doing, and what she looked like now.
“You’re suddenly very quiet. Anything wrong?” Rebecca asked.
“Just thinking about my daughter,” Cathy said.
“No luck finding her?”
“Nope. She wore khaki pants, a navy top, a white ball cap, and climbed into a van. That’s all I’ve got.”
“There are a lot of vans that come and go from Francis House.”
“I know,” Cathy sighed.
Just then a siren went off in the distance at the paper mill. A large plume of dark smoke billowed into the sky. Rebecca turned to look.
Taking one last drag of her cigarette, Cathy paused to grind it out on the sole of her tennis shoe before tucking the butt into the front pocket of her yellow shorts. “Gotta do a number two.” She cut off the trail into the woods.
Behind her, Rebecca continued walking. “Meet you at the end.”
The end of the trail wasn’t far, and Cathy waved as she disappeared into the pines. A few yards in, the scent of a skunk had her backtracking. She stepped back onto the trail, now seeing Rebecca further up, and crossed over, disappearing into the other side.
She went further in than needed. It wasn’t like either one of them was in a hurry. Plus, she wanted to think. She found a downed tree with a natural hole where the limbs separated and came back together. She placed her backpack to the side, lowered her elastic-banded shorts and underwear, and gave a little hop to get up. Her shorts gathered around her ankles. Her shoes barely touched the ground.
As Cathy sat over the hole, she looked out over a leaf-covered gulley that dipped and then climbed back up.
Idly, she wondered if her poop would roll down into that gulley.
Further out more trees spread over several acres of the nationally protected forest. She’d heard some Civil War fight occurred here. Other than the trail, there was nothing to Memorial Gardens but acres of pine trees. There certainly weren’t any gardens.
Cathy had gotten used to this life. She couldn’t imagine resuming a “normal” one.
Nothing moved in the forest. No sound came—not even the birds and squirrels. Just one minute ago, they were so active.
Overhead the late summer sun shifted, about to set. The canopy of leaves and branches cast the area with shadows. Soon this area would be dark.
Her feet dangled from her perch. She swung them back and forth, sifting through the fallen pine needles.
She began humming a song she hadn’t thought of since her daughter was a baby. The humming turned to soft singing. The soft singing became louder. She laughed. She couldn’t remember the last time she belted out a tune.
Cathy closed her eyes and began again.
If she hadn’t been singing, she would have heard the footsteps.
If she hadn’t had her eyes closed, she would have seen the shadow.
If she hadn’t had her shorts down, she might have been able to run.
ONE
Monday, 11 a.m
In Sheriff Owens' office, I stand beside my partner, Detective Vaughn London, watching the video filmed three weeks ago at a maximum security facility in Knoxville.
“Rylan Scott, this death warrant orders your execution in thirty days for the crime of murder in the first degree of Paige Bell. You will be relocated to the intensive management unit and placed on death watch for the duration of your incarceration. Your attorney has been provided with the same forms and documentation.”
Rylan Scott. That name is vaguely familiar.
“Do you understand everything I just told you?” the government official asks.
The inmate, dressed in orange and with a shaved head, nods.
“Do you have any questions?”
“No.” The inmate shakes his head. “But I’d like to see Detective Nell Brach, if possible.”
The video ends.
Surprised, I look at Sheriff Owens.
“Thirty days. That’s this Friday,” Vaughn says. “He’s being executed at the end of the week.”
“Why me?” I ask. “And why am I just now seeing this?”
“There were some hang-ups with the request, but it’s finally been approved and left to your discretion,” Sheriff Owens says. “You can ignore it, or you can go. This only landed in my inbox this morning. It’s the first I’m hearing of it as well, though I did review this.” The sheriff hands me a folder. “Rylan Scott violently stabbed his sister-in-law to death and left her alone to bleed out on the kitchen floor of the apartment he shared with his wife and daughter. The murder weapon was found in his truck, covered in her blood. Unbeknownst to Rylan, his young daughter was in the bathroom. She saw everything. The little girl remained hidden. In the end, it was Rylan who ended up calling nine-one-one. However, it was the cops who found the little girl hiding in the bathroom.”
“What about the mother?” I ask.
“Gone. She was partying with friends. Stumbled home days later only to discover her husband had been arrested for killing her sister and that her little girl had been placed in foster care. After giving a statement, she signed over rights and left.”
I blink. “Rights to her daughter?”
“That’s what the file says.” He nods to it. “When you look at that, you’ll see the mother and sister are identical twins. It’s believed Rylan thought he was stabbing his wife, not her sister. Only afterward did he realize it was the wrong twin, had an attack of conscience, came back, and dialed emergency. Your grandfather was good friends with the lead investigator and asked to consult on the case. From what I can tell, your grandfather did not believe Rylan Scott was guilty. Though the specifics on that aren’t clear.”
The sheriff checks his phone, then excuses himself, leaving me and Vaughn in his office.
I open the folder. Rylan Scott’s mug shot greets me. Unlike the video, in the mug shot he has shaggy brown hair and a full beard. He’s also ten years younger, putting him at thirty-five in this photo. Next, I see the shot of Paige Bell sprawled on her stomach across the yellow kitchen linoleum. Blood soaks her oversized T-shirt, pooling on the floor beneath. The stab marks are chaotic, done in an angry frenzy, starting in the front and then switching to her back as she tried to crawl away.
Nineteen in all.
Jesus.
Next, I look at the photos of the twin sister and her daughter. With dark features and pretty olive skin, the sisters are most definitely identical. The daughter’s lighter, favoring the father.
I hand the folder to Vaughn who’s been eagerly waiting. Today he wears a psychedelic paisley tie that makes me wince. We’ve been working together for five months now and I don’t think I’ve seen the same tie twice. He told me they were meant to disarm people. It works. People—including me—do tend to stare at them.
“Thoughts?” he asks, flipping through.
“I’m no twin expert, but I find it hard to believe a husband mistakes a wife to the extent that he kills the wrong sister. Also, if the wife was gone partying for days on end, it couldn’t be the first time. Where did Rylan think his daughter was, if not in the bathroom? And what killer stashes the blood-soaked weapon in his own vehicle? Not to mention coming back to the scene and calling it in? Don’t even get me started on the mother signing over the daughter to the system. What the hell?”
“I don’t know who the woman is but I already don’t like her,” Vaughn adds.
My phone buzzes with a text. It’s Grace, my best friend.
Grace: Just a friendly reminder that you have a commitment.
Me: Believe me, I didn’t forget.
“I took the afternoon off.” I show Vaughn my phone. “My ‘family obligation’ awaits.”
He winces. “Good luck.”
“More importantly, good luck to you. Your sergeant’s exam is today. How do you feel?”
“Nervous. Ready.”
“You got this.”
“You do realize if I pass I’ll outrank you, which means I get to boss you around.”
My eyes narrow. “Just try. And it’s not if you pass, it’s when.”
Outside the sheriff’s office, our newest hire in charge of domestic violence, Sergeant Chris Rogers, laughs loudly. “I told you I’d kick your ass at golf. Y’all don’t believe this country boy can swing!”
“That guy gets on my nerves,” Vaughn mumbles.
“Yep.”
TWO
Monday, 12:15 p.m.
When I arrive at City Park, my favorite running spot, everyone is already here. There’s my family—Tyler, Mom, Dad—and Mom’s best friend Olivia’s family—Luca, Grace, her husband Matthew, and their kids.
It’s been five months since Dad re-entered our lives. Why am I the only one less than thrilled? Mom, as usual, welcomed him right in like he hadn’t been absent during my entire childhood, Tyler’s as well, and during her incarceration. Tyler followed suit, quickly forming a bond. Olivia watches for Mom’s cues, then jumps in, as a best friend should. The only one sort of on my side is Grace, who is currently walking toward me.
Dressed in a white sundress and with her youngest on her hip, she smiles prettily and waves. “I was wondering when you’d show.”
I close the door of my white Ford Interceptor and slide my new aviators on as I survey the gathering. Matthew’s manning the grill. Tyler and Dad are tossing a football. Mom and Olivia are sitting at the picnic table drinking lemonade. Luca’s under a tree scrolling his phone. And Grace and Matthew’s two oldest are chasing each other.
The all-American summer family cookout.
Once upon a time, Luca would’ve been tossing the football with them, but he and Tyler still do not get along. I no longer worry about it. Luca crossed a line with Tyler. My brother has every right to be upset. I didn’t tell Mom or Olivia about what Luca did to Tyler at school, but I had a good old-fashioned talk with Luca. A come-to-Jesus discussion as my grandfather would have said.
There is nothing wrong with healthy fear. Luca now has that with me.
Grace’s youngest, now nine months old, reaches for me and I happily take her. “Oof, she’s getting heavy.”
Grace laughs. “Of the three, she’s my biggest eater.”
I tickle her chubby belly. She smiles and giggles. “Okay, that’s about the best sound ever.”
With a sigh, Grace looks over at our families. “What do you think the ‘big announcement’ is?”
“I don’t know. If I had to wager, I’d say Dad’s moving here from Georgia. All this back-and-forth he’s been doing has got to be tiring. All I know is, he’s not moving in with me and Tyler. He’s getting his own place.”
