Watch Her Vanish: An absolutely gripping mystery thriller (Rockwell and Decker Book 1)

by Ellery A Kane

  “JB, why don’t you give it a taste?” Will didn’t even try not to be smug, his own pie carefully discarded in the trash two inmates ago. “Pumpkin is your favorite, isn’t it?”

  “Sure. I was just saving it.” With the precision of a surgeon, he lifted the spork and extracted the tiniest sliver of pie. “Did Cannibal help?”

  “He’s leadman. He’s got his hands in everything around here.”

  JB raised the spork to his mouth, grimacing, and took the bite. Trying not to laugh, Will watched Squeak, as Squeak watched JB.

  “Well, I’ll be damned, Squeak. It’s delicious.” JB licked his lips and shoveled in another piece. “My compliments to the baker.”

  “Thank you, sir. Now, what can I help you with?”

  JB dabbed at a spot of whipped cream on his chin. “My partner and I were hopin’ you might be able to point us in the right direction. You see, we’ve been chasin’ our tails on these murders. The only thing we can come up with is this place. Crescent Bay. Do you know if Ms. Ricci got herself caught up in any shady business?”

  An animal caught at a watering hole, Squeak looked ready to bolt. “You see this scar?” he asked. “Oaktown Boys cut me up somethin’ good my first year in the joint when I told on ’em for slicin’ up my cellie. Since then, I keep my head down and my mouth shut.”

  “But you make a damn good pie.” JB tap-tap-tapped his finger on the plate, collecting the last bits of crust.

  “That I do. Lord willing, if the parole board sees fit, I’ll be making pies out there. At my own bakery. I want to call it Squeak’s Sweets.”

  Will locked eyes with JB. Nodded his head ever so slightly.

  “What if we could bend the ear of those commissioners?” JB asked. “Make Squeak’s Sweets a reality.”

  “I’d say, I’m listening.”

  Ten minutes and a whole lot of bullshit promises later, Squeak leaned forward, whispered, “We order a lot of flour.”

  JB frowned. “I don’t get it. Flour?”

  “I think Squeak is saying Laura made some special orders.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m sayin’.”

  “For who?”

  “That there is above my pay grade.” Squeak stood up and wiped his hands on his jumpsuit, leaving white palm prints on the sides of his thighs. “But I will tell you this – you best be careful. When it comes to money, ain’t no lines some folks won’t cross.”

  As Squeak backpedaled toward the kitchen, JB called out to him. “Think I could get another piece of that pie?”

  “Sure thing, Detective. One Squeak special comin’ right up.”

  After he’d retreated behind the swinging door with a wave and a grin, JB turned to the officer stationed at the exit. “What’s he in for?”

  “Mike LaRue? Poisoned his grandmother.”

  One hour and an intriguing conversation with June Chatham later, JB still hadn’t forgotten about that pie.

  “I feel feverish.” He splashed his face in the visitors’ bathroom, as Will washed his hands. “Do I look pale to you?”

  “It’s the middle of winter in Fog Harbor. Your skin hasn’t seen the sun in weeks. What do you expect?”

  “I don’t know, City Boy. My stomach’s cramping. It looks a little swollen.” He turned to the side and patted his belly. “Doesn’t it?”

  “Are you asking me if those pants make you look fat?” Will grinned at himself in the mirror, studying his raccoon eyes, rubbing his day-old stubble that hid the bruise on his jaw. In these godawful fluorescent lights, he looked more like a street bum than a detective. “Or if you’re about to become Squeak’s second victim?”

  “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  Will shrugged, turning away from his own reflection before it got any worse. “Maybe a little.”

  “Alright then, you have your fun. But if I drop dead…”

  “I’ll be sure to let everyone know you went out doing what you loved. What you were best at.”

  “Being a damn good cop. Ain’t that the truth.”

  JB puffed his chest and pushed open the door, strutting back onto the main prison thoroughfare, good as new. Will waited until he’d gone to deliver his punchline to the vagrant in the mirror.

  “Stuffing your face.”

  Will let JB go on ahead. Glancing down at his watch, he decided he’d meet him at the Mental Health Unit. The warden had assured them Drake would be busy in therapy with Olivia until 10:30 a.m. anyway. Will could think of worse things than lying on her couch. He’d taken enough introductory psych classes at San Francisco State to know they had a word for that. Erotic transference.

  He peered in through the window of the library toward the circulation desk. Maryann’s head rested in her hand, her elbow propping it up as she gazed downward, flipping the page of a book. At the table, Morrie read aloud from a law book while another inmate took notes.

  Maryann looked up when the door clicked shut behind him. She lowered her copy of Wuthering Heights and took a sip of tea from a mug that bore the face of a dog with glasses, a tiny book between his paws. “Well, hello there, Detective.”

  As he approached the desk, she frowned and lowered her voice. “Any news about Shauna?”

  “Why? What have you heard?”

  “That she’s missing? That maybe—God forbid—the Seaside Strangler struck again.”

  “Seaside Strangler?” JB would absolutely lose his shit. “Where did you hear that name?”

  She twittered, her cheeks flushing. “Oh, I… well, I just made it up. A strangler in a town by the sea. It fits, doesn’t it?”

  Will raised his eyebrows, cocked his head at her.

  “Remember, I watch a lot of—”

  “Forensic Files. Yeah, I remember. Did you know Shauna well?”

  Behind her thick lenses, Maryann’s eyes darted to the inmate table, where Morrie and the others sat stiffly. When she spoke, Will had to lean in to hear her. “That girl wasn’t cut out for this place. When they aren’t, you can tell right away. They get too comfortable too fast. They forget where they are.”

  “June said you told her about the picture Shauna posted. How did you find it?”

  Maryann beckoned him behind the counter and into the small office. He did a double take at the stuffed white poodle seated beside her desk. “I can’t bear to leave my Luna at home, so Melody had her made for me. Doesn’t she look real? Just like my little princess.”

  Will made noises of polite agreement as he shut the door behind him. “So, how did you find that photo?”

  “I didn’t. I’m not much for social media. Seems like a popularity contest if you ask me. And I was never real good at those. But Shauna was constantly posting pictures and tweeting. Anyway, she showed me and Melody the photo herself. At the Hickory Pit. She was pretty tipsy at the time.”

  “What did she say about it?”

  Grimacing, Maryann wrung her hands together. “I don’t want to get her in any more trouble.”

  “I think we’re beyond that now. If you know something, you need to tell me. Now.”

  Maryann reached for the stuffed dog and clutched it to her chest, strangling its soft body. “She said Drake had asked her to take the photo with a cell phone he had. He wanted her to post it online to drum up some publicity for his book. I didn’t tell June the rest of it. I figured what I’d already said would be enough. I did it for her. For Shauna. I was worried about her. A girl like that… well, the Vulture eats girls like that for breakfast.”

  “Spit it out, Maryann. What else did she say?”

  “Drake asked her to get intimate, if you know what I mean? She told him no, and he cursed at her. Called her a tease, which, if you ask me, isn’t so far from the truth.”

  “When?”

  Maryann’s chin quivered. “One week ago.”

  “Does anyone else know?”

  She lowered her eyes. “Just me and Melody.”

  Will had to hurry. Drake’s therapy session ended in exactly ei
ght minutes. As he hoofed it down the hallway, running on fumes, he tried to remember the last time a case had worked him over like this one. Dead ends, unanswered questions. Suspicions he couldn’t pin down careened like lawn chairs in the tornado of his thoughts. At the center of it all, Drake Devere.

  “Stay away from Olivia.”

  Will spun around, his guard up. Ready.

  On either side of the red lines, a few inmates loitered, talking and laughing and leaning against the wall like kids with hall passes. Yesterday, after the skirmish in the hallway, Warden Blevins had put the whole place on lockdown, but today it was back to business as usual. Inmates going to work, to the yard, moving as they pleased with more freedom than Will thought fair. Only one of them met his eyes.

  Morrie shuffled his wheelchair down the newly buffed concrete toward Will, a stack of books balanced on his lap. The crepe-paper skin and the clouded blue irises couldn’t hide the criminal he’d once been. Hard and hot-blooded, that man swam just beneath the surface, darting from the light, hiding in the shadows. But Will saw him for what he was.

  “Did you say something to me?”

  “Not a word, Detective. Not a word.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Olivia nodded, listened. Seethed.

  In his quest to keep an eye on Drake, Warden Blevins had crossed the line. He’d gotten Drake to her office under the pretense she’d requested to meet with him. The warden said you wanted to see me? he’d asked, his dark eyes glinting and eager. To talk about yesterday. The incident with Officer Murdock, the riot.

  She’d thought of turning him away—shouldn’t he be in Administrative Segregation?—and storming right down to the warden’s office and telling him he’d gone too far. But her curiosity had her pinned. She couldn’t let him leave. Not with Shauna missing, and the whole prison talking.

  Midway through the session, just as Drake had gotten down to the nitty-gritty, JB appeared outside her window. He didn’t approach the door. Just sat at the end of the bench, waiting. Half listening, she shifted in her seat to get a better view of the unit. Hank had come in late this morning, pale-faced and sullen. Without a single lame joke, he sat himself quietly in position, hunched over the desk, still as a piece of driftwood. She craned her neck a little to see past him.

  “Then that bitch Murdock started roughing me up.”

  Drake had a way of jolting her back, dizzyingly fast.

  “Sorry for the language, but hey, if the shoe fits…”

  “So Officer Murdock got physical with you for no reason?”

  “I’m sure she’ll come up with some bogus story about how I mouthed off. But she’s the one who got out of line. Told me she believed the rumors, thought I killed Bonnie and Laura. She said, ‘You’re gonna fry for it, Devere.’”

  Olivia looked at Drake with skepticism. She’d read the pending rules violation report, where Melody had claimed Drake cursed at her and swung his elbow, striking her on the shoulder.

  “What’re they gonna think now that Shauna’s missing?” he asked her. “That asshole Decker is going to be on me like white on rice.”

  “Did you ask Shauna to take a photo of you?”

  Drake hung his head, pouted. “Just one time. But she didn’t have a problem with it. She wanted to do it. She was a fan of my work.”

  “Sounds like something the old Drake would say. Taking advantage. Using a woman as a means to an end.”

  “When you put it like that, Doc… You think I hurt Shauna, don’t you?”

  “It sounds like you feel everyone is against you. Even me.”

  Movement outside the window caught Olivia’s attention. Deck had joined JB on the bench. He looked worried, but his face softened when he saw her watching. He raised his hand in a brief wave.

  “It sure seems like you are. You got two cops outside, licking their chops. What am I supposed to think?”

  “Well, they might be waiting to speak with you. Shauna was fired yesterday. They know about your picture, your phone.”

  “Or maybe they’re here to warn you,” he said, with a shrug. As if her words had glanced off his armor. As if his words didn’t press a blade to her neck.

  “Warn me?”

  “Think about it. Bonnie. Laura. And now Shauna. I’m the common denominator. It stands to reason the next victim might be you.”

  “Next victim?” She sounded like a broken record, echoing Drake. Felt like one too. Something dark and awful scratching away inside her brain. “How do you know there will be a next?”

  “I told you. Someone is setting me up. Doesn’t this remind you of anything? Hell, I’d sue the bastard for copyright if I knew who.”

  A shiver zipped up her spine, thinking of Drake’s book. Of the last chapter, the fourth victim: Lacey Lawson, Hawk’s therapist.

  The moment Drake stepped out of Olivia’s office, the air felt lighter. Some patients were like that. They brought their own atmosphere.

  JB corralled him before he’d made it far, and directed him to one of the unused offices at the back of the unit. Olivia slumped in her chair, exhausted.

  “You okay?” Deck asked from the doorway. She let herself look at him. Really look. Not like this morning when she’d ducked away from his gaze. “It seemed kind of intense there at the end.”

  “Yeah. Well, that’s Drake.” Under the shadow of his stubble, she could still see the bruise on his jaw. The angles of his face familiar to her somehow. Maybe it was knowing he’d held the photo of her, Em, and their father, and kept it as sacred as a secret of his own. “Wait a minute. Were you lip-reading?”

  He smirked at her. “Did you know lip-reading is admissible in court?”

  “You’re unbelievable.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  She thought he might leave when he glanced toward the office where JB and Drake had disappeared. Instead, he came inside and planted himself in her patient chair.

  “Have you heard anything about Shauna?” she asked.

  “Nothing. The entire police force is looking for her.” He reached behind him and gave the door a little push. It clicked shut. “You know it probably won’t end well, right?”

  She nodded, but it took effort to swallow the truth. “Em’s going to lose it. Shauna’s the first real friend she’s had in a while. When she came back here, she left a lot in Corvallis. I think she always planned to go back. Like this was temporary.”

  “For you too, huh?”

  “I thought so. At first. But I like it here. It’s slower. Less complicated. Or, it used to be.”

  “I know what you mean. My mom used to say that even if you win the rat race—”

  “Wait. Let me guess. You’re still a rat?”

  His easy laugh was a salve, and she lost herself for a moment. Got too relaxed. Said the very next thing that came to mind, no filter.

  “You quote your mom a lot.”

  In an instant, his face changed. She’d learned to study the faces in that chair. To know when she’d pushed too far, or not far enough.

  “What did she think of you joining the old family business?”

  Then, just as quickly, his face changed again. Whatever lay behind his eyes, he’d buried it deep. “Am I paying for this, Doctor?”

  “In my defense, you did voluntarily place your butt in the hot seat. Once you sit there, everything’s fair game.”

  Behind Deck, JB’s face appeared in the window. He quietly cracked the door.

  “Well, then I’d better relocate my butt—”

  “Good lord, City Boy. Sounds like I got here just in time. This is how you impress a lady? By talking about your keister? No wonder you’re single as a slice of Kraft cheese.”

  Deck didn’t turn around, didn’t acknowledge him. He made an exasperated face at Olivia, and she laughed.

  “Can we go do our jobs now?” Deck asked, shaking his head.

  JB shrugged, rolled his eyes. “That’s exactly what I came down here to find out.”

 
Olivia spotted Leah across the hall, wrapping up the Understanding Schizophrenia group, and she went to wait for her there, taking a seat on the bench outside. Since the vampire incident with Drake, Greg Petowski had insisted on affixing a handmade wooden cross on the door during their daily meetings. Greg had carved it himself in the hobby shop, with a loop of twine stapled to the back so he could hang it around the doorknob.

  The group filed out, Greg at the rear, teeth clenched. He moved with purpose, unhooking the cross and holding it in one hand as he extended his finger, the nail long and yellow, toward the office at the back of the MHU.

  “Bloodsucker! Demon! Liar! Infidel!” Greg spit out the insults rapid-fire, as if each one was a silver bullet aimed at Drake’s heart. “You promised me garlic,” he yelled. “Months ago, you promised.”

  He tossed the wooden cross onto the floor, and it landed with a thud beneath the bench. He watched as Olivia picked it up, offered it back to him. Agitated, Greg shook his head and began to pace.

  “I need garlic. It keeps me safe. Safer than that thing!”

  A methodical Hank plodded over to them from behind the desk. He drew his pepper spray, readied his alarm, and Greg collapsed in tears, folding to the ground like a crumpled question mark.

  Leah waved Hank off, but he loomed over Greg, a towering statue about to topple. “Wait,” Olivia said. “Take it easy. He’s just afraid.”

  Hank stopped and stared at them, then slowly lowered his hands as if Olivia’s words had traveled a long way to reach him.

  She and Leah both crouched near Greg, well out of his reach. In the MHU, you could never be too careful. With the angry ones, the suspicious ones. Even with the fearful ones.

  “Greg, what’s going on?” Leah asked. “Let us help you.”

  “Drake… promised… me… garlic… from… the… chow hall… if…” Every word, punctuated with a sob.

  “If what?” Olivia felt eyes on her as she spoke. Carrie, Jenny, the whole MHU watching her. Judging. She’s Devere’s psychologist… And Deck, over her shoulder. He must’ve left Drake in the office with JB.