Maryann laughed. “A venue? You make it sound so formal. We were going to have it at our house since Melody and I finally fixed the place up a little.”
“Your mom is okay with that?”
“Oh, she’ll be out cold the whole time. Our stepdad, Ken, always did say she could sleep through anything.”
Chapter Forty-Six
After JB had pled his case to ex-wife number four, Tammy Benson, she sighed and laid a pitying hand on Will’s shoulder. “Jimmy goes through partners like he goes through underwear. I’ll say a prayer for you, Will Decker.”
“Thanks. I need it.”
“Hey, you’re supposed to be on my side, City Boy. Bros before—”
Tammy smacked JB’s arm, momentarily silencing him. A rare and illustrious feat, as far as Will could tell. “And you wonder why I left you.”
It didn’t last long. “C’mon, Tam. Everybody knows I left you. I can’t be with a woman who doesn’t respect me.”
She rolled her eyes. “Get ready for a life of celibacy then, Father Benson.”
“I’ve got no problems in that department. I’ll have you know, the offers keep rolling in.”
Tammy’s laugh—a single, discordant note—and the way she watched and waited for JB’s reaction told Will two things. She’d pronounced JB full of bullshit a long time ago. And she wanted him back anyway. He wanted her too, judging by the way his gaze lingered on her cleavage, just visible beneath her lab coat.
“That may be true, but I’ll bet you don’t get many repeat customers.”
“You never had any complaints.”
When they locked eyes, Will wondered if Tammy was about to demand a do-over. Right here, right now in the lobby of the Del Norte County crime lab. He cleared his throat, tapped his watch. “I don’t want to interrupt this reunion, but…”
“Will you do it, Tam? When Chet sends it over, just bump it to the front of the pile. He should be done with the autopsy by this afternoon.”
“I can’t make any promises. I’m just a lab tech in Fog Harbor.” She paused, waiting for JB to pout. “But I know a gal at the San Francisco County lab who owes me a favor. They’ve got that fancy new rapid DNA machine down there on loan from the FBI.”
JB pumped his fist in the air and leaned toward Tammy’s cheek, lips puckered. She pushed him away half-heartedly, her manicured fingers grazing his chest. “It’s not for you, you big nincompoop. It’s for that young girl and the other two victims. For all of us Fog Harbor women. I can’t even take Princess for a walk anymore without looking over my shoulder.”
JB winced. “How is my girl? Does she miss her daddy?”
Tammy slipped her cell from her back pocket and scrolled through her photos until she found the right one. She shielded the screen from JB, so only Will could see. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.
In the photo, JB dozed in a recliner, his head drooping. A black Dachshund laid belly-up across his chest, his small, furry head just beneath JB’s chin.
“He’s a big teddy bear.” Tammy cast a flirty glance at JB. “And don’t let him tell you otherwise.”
JB didn’t say a word until Will had steered the car back on the road, pointed in the direction of Crescent Bay State Prison.
“Breathe a word about that picture and I’ll make your life a living hell.”
“And that’s different how?” Will chuckled, grateful for a distraction. Leave it to JB to make him feel better with a threat of eternal damnation. “Seems like Tammy’s still hung up on you. Why’d you two call it quits?”
JB shook his head. “If you have to ask, you’re not as smart as you look, City Boy. And to be honest, you don’t even look that smart.”
Will figured why, or he had a good guess. But it hurt to admit it, to say it out loud. His father was no different, his badge driving a bitter wedge between him and anyone who tried to get too close. You don’t have a job. You are the job, Will had heard his mother say once, right before she’d dissolved into a puddle of tears.
“Did she eat all your doughnuts? Scratch your Camaro? Interrupt you in the middle of the big game? C’mon, why’d you leave her?”
“She left me, just like she said. Same as the others. It’s the job, man. It gets them every time.”
Warden Blevins sat, steely-eyed, behind his desk, his hands steepling beneath his chin. As Will and JB waited at the threshold, he nodded at Leeza, his secretary, allowing them entrance. She ushered them to the two chairs arranged side by side and scurried out. Though the warden showed no sign of surprise, Will felt certain he’d been waiting for them.
“How can I help you today, Detectives? More bad news to deliver?”
Will nodded. “Unfortunately, we discovered the body of Shauna Ambrose this morning. We’ve notified her grandmother and her parents, and we’ll need access to her employment records, same as we did for Bonnie and Laura.”
“Of course. I placed the institution on a temporary lockdown this morning as soon as I heard. The inmates are getting restless. Rumors have started to circulate about the nature of the evidence, that it might point to one of their own. In here, any upset of the applecart brings all the bad apples to the top. As you can imagine, we’ve got a lot of bad apples. Some of them rotten to the core.”
JB chuckled. “There’s a few of them rotten apples we’re particularly interested in.”
“Devere, I presume.”
“And Tommy Rigsby,” JB added. “Goes by Riggs.”
“Riggs, huh?” Warden Blevins unfolded his spindly legs and walked to the barred window behind him. The sky gray through the dingy glass. “He’s one nasty SOB. Affiliates with Oaktown. How’s he mixed up in all this?”
Will cut his eyes at JB, answering for them both. “We’d rather not say. Not yet.”
“I understand.” But Will didn’t miss the slight flare of Warden Blevins’ nostrils that suggested the exact opposite of understanding. The warden unlocked the file cabinet behind him, removed a large envelope, and laid it on the center of his desk, a small bulge protruding from its middle. Like a snake that had swallowed a rat. “I’ll call over to B Block and have them send Mr. Rigsby right over. In the meantime, you gentlemen may be interested in this.”
“I hope it’s Devere’s confession,” JB said. “Or a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup. Either works for me.”
Will cast a disapproving glance in his partner’s direction.
“What? Don’t you know the road to heaven is paved in peanut butter and chocolate?”
“I can’t help you there. But IGI did finish their investigation of the phone we recovered from Devere’s cell. It’s all yours.”
After Warden Blevins excused himself to round up Tommy Rigsby, Will slid the envelope toward him and opened it, fishing out a cell phone fancier than his own.
“What should we look at first?” he asked, as JB peered over his shoulder.
“Hell if I know. I’ve still got a flip phone and an AOL email address.”
Will navigated to the photos, the last one taken on Friday, December 6th at 1:30 p.m. “This is the one Shauna posted online.” In it, Drake and Shauna posed by the Changes banner. Devere had one arm around Shauna’s shoulder and the other raised, giving the camera a peace sign. He’d written two words at the bottom with one of those photo-editing apps.
Stupid Slut.
“Real nice fella. A true gentleman,” JB said, as Will began scrolling through the others, most of them selfies of Devere posing on his bunk with a copy of Bird of Prey, smug but unsmiling, in various states of undress. JB punctuated each shirtless photo with a guttural groan.
“Make it stop,” he pleaded, as Will neared the end, with only a few photos remaining. All of them taken in mid-November.
The first was a photo of Bonnie standing at her classroom podium, taken at a strange angle, as if the photographer—Devere presumably—had snapped it in secret from his desk. He’d captioned it, Thieving Whore.
Laura, bent over and peering in
to the industrial oven. He recognized her raven hair pulled into a bun, her apron’s strings tied in a bow at her back. This one had a caption too. Greedy Pig.
JB’s breath quickened, matching Will’s, as he opened the last photo, the hairs on his neck prickling when he realized. A woman’s figure, captured from a distance on the Crescent Bay yard. Her auburn hair, caught by the wind, leaving a trail of flames behind her.
“I’ll be damned. Is that…?”
“Olivia.” Even as he said her name, Will couldn’t tear his eyes from the awful words beneath the photograph, scrawled in angry red strokes. The whole of it gripped him, no different than that broken-necked bird.
Arrogant Bitch.
By the time Warden Blevins returned, pronouncing Tommy Rigsby on his way with an officer escort, Will and JB had combed through the rest of the phone.
In the last two months, Devere had made calls to Heather Hoffman, as well as to several reporters at SFTV, the most popular San Francisco station. Even a few national networks. He’d also created a Facebook page for his main character, Hawk McGee, where Will found a few of the shirtless photos had been posted and commented on by his fans. Each comment more disturbing than the last.
R u the author? Impressive.
Smokin’ hot.
Innocent man. Framed by the cops.
Marry me, Vulture!
If I have to die, I wouldn’t mind if you did it. #chokemeout
“I don’t get it,” JB had said. “These women look so normal.”
“He’s the ultimate bad boy, I guess. Even Charlie Manson had a fiancée.”
As the warden loomed from the doorway, Will tossed the phone on the desk, still reeling from that photo of Olivia and what it meant.
“When were you going to tell us about this?” Will asked, pointing to the cell. His outrage spurred him to his feet. “There are photos of the victims on there.”
Warden Blevins shrugged, and Will fought the urge to throw a hook, snap one of his pencil ribs in two. “I haven’t looked at it myself. But IGI thought it was pretty tame. Compared to some of the other stuff they see.”
“Tame? Devere was stalking these women. Taking clandestine photos, calling them obscene names. Then they turn up dead, and we’re supposed to believe it’s a coincidence?”
“I understand, Detective Decker. But these are the women he interacts with on the daily. As far as I know, only three of them have been murdered.”
“So far.” Speaking his fears out loud knotted Will’s stomach. “Did you even bother to tell Olivia that her photo is on this asshole’s phone? I want him moved to a more secure location. Now.”
Warden Blevins’ pale cheeks reddened, little splotches of fire. “Listen here, Decker. I’m the captain of this ship, and I don’t take kindly to you giving me orders. We’ve already got regular patrols outside Devere’s cell every night. The guy’s in a maximum security prison. That’s razor wire out there. What more do you want from me?”
A few choice words were poised like drawn arrows on the tip of Will’s tongue, but he never got the chance to unleash them.
First, the panicked shouting from the main hallway. A scream Will couldn’t categorize as male or female, human or animal. Only a living creature fighting like hell to stay that way. The alarm blared. Then, boots on concrete.
Warden Blevins took off in the direction of the noise, Will and JB behind him. As Will ran, the scene materialized, slowly, slowly, slowly. Then, in an instant, shades of red and panicked voices. The sickening, metallic scent he’d grown used to in this job.
A body lay at the bottom of the staircase at the far end of the hallway, surrounded by officers. One of them knelt over the inmate, breathing into his mouth. Another held a handkerchief to his chest, blood seeping through the officer’s fingers.
Will swallowed his own vomit. Not at the sight of the blood. Or the fear he felt rise up in him like an old friend. Not even at the dying inmate’s face. Which he’d never seen in person but recognized from the mug shot he’d found the night prior on the Internet.
When he trusted himself to speak without upchucking, he turned to JB. “It’s Riggs.”
What had him sick to his stomach, he’d spotted at the periphery. Three officers surrounded the suspect. The man’s frail hands, cuffed behind him and slick with the blood he’d spilled. A shank tossed on the polished concrete. His glasses and his wheelchair, discarded in the fray.
This face Will had seen before. It belonged to Morrie Mulvaney.
JB let out a low whistle as they carted Riggs off in a body bag. “What the hell was that? I tell ya, the Robbery-Homicide Division ain’t no picnic but it makes this place look like Disneyland.”
Will shushed his partner so he could eavesdrop. They’d hauled Morrie to his feet, and he’d started talking before they’d even finished reading him his rights. As old as he’d looked already, he’d aged ten years in the last fifteen minutes.
“…the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have—”
“Lord, forgive me,” he mumbled. “I had to do it.”
“The right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.”
“You think I care about that bullshit? Ain’t no attorney can help me now. Not even Atticus Finch.”
“You wanna make a statement, Mulvaney?”
Morrie hung his head, grimacing. His own bloody palm prints stained his prison blues. “Like I said, he gave me no choice. I had to do it.”
Will turned those words over and over and over in his mind. He wanted to question Morrie himself. But Warden Blevins lurked nearby, his eyes trained on the detectives. Even as Will watched Morrie, he felt the heat of them on his back.
“Who gave you no choice?” the officer asked.
The question lingered unanswered.
“Detective Decker?”
Will turned toward the breathy voice of Warden Blevins’ secretary. She smiled, all teeth, despite the chaos and bloodshed around her. That’s what happened when you worked in a prison, he supposed: a man getting shanked in the hallway became your new normal. No different than patrolling the streets of San Francisco, where he’d acclimatized to dead junkies with needles in their veins and sixteen-year-old kids firing ghost guns over the color of their jerseys.
“The medical examiner is on the telephone for you. Says it’s very important.”
Will and JB followed her back to the office. After she’d left them alone, Will put the call on speaker.
“Will Decker, Homicide. You’re on speaker, Chet.”
“Hey, Deck. Sorry to bug you guys. I just finished up with the victim. I couldn’t wait to tell you. There’s something you both need to know.”
“Give it to us, man,” JB said. “We need some good news.”
“As we thought, I found several strands of black hair clutched in her right hand that I rushed over to the lab for processing. There was no evidence of vaginal or anal penetration, similar to the first two victims. The garrotes appear identical. Manner of death, consistent with the others.”
“C’mon, Doc. The suspense is killin’ me.”
Will leaned in, saying a silent prayer for something that could salvage this day. Could bring it back from the brink.
“I also found a small amount of bodily fluid on her thigh. I can’t say for sure but I’m betting it’s semen. Our perp messed up big, times two. We’ve finally got his DNA.”
JB clapped his hands together. “Hot damn. I can’t wait to tell the chief. Screw forty-eight hours. We caught us a killer in twenty-four.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
After Leah called, Olivia locked herself in the bathroom, leaving Em staring at the television, zombie-like. She dropped to her knees over the toilet, desperately wanting to vomit. To puke it all up and flush it away. It being her past. It being that conversation with her father and whatever he’d planned to tell her about that long-ago night. It being the image she cou
ldn’t get out of her head now, though she hadn’t even seen it for herself. Morrie springing to his feet, spry and determined, his arthritis momentarily forgotten. Poking two deep holes in Riggs’ chest with a shiv fashioned from a metal bedpost. Riggs bleeding out before the ambulance had arrived. Apparently, despite the lockdown, Morrie had been given permission to leave his cell for a medical ducat. He’d been waiting at the bottom of the stairs for Riggs and his escort, attacking suddenly before the officer could stop him.
Leah also told her Deck had been there—that’s how Leah had found out. He and JB had come to the MHU looking for Olivia. That thought, of all the things sloshing in her gut, finally did it. Guilt rose up in her throat and she heaved until her stomach had emptied.
“Are you okay in there?” Emily asked.
“Fine.” Though she could see her face in the mirror, pale as a ghost. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
A splash of cold water and a few swipes of blush to her cheeks and she returned to the land of the living. She opened the door to find Emily still standing there.
“I know you liked Morrie.” Em wrapped an arm around her shoulders, but Olivia shrugged her off, afraid she’d cry again. Since this morning with Deck, her tears had remained dangerously close to the surface.
“It’s more than that. I thought he was…” Olivia waved her hands as if she could conjure the right word to sum her dismay. She had no right to feel betrayed. Morrie owed her nothing. But somehow it ached just the same. “I thought he’d changed. After all these years and all the good he’s done for other inmates, I actually believed he was a decent guy.”
“Oh, Liv. I get you’re a shrink and all. But you’re not a human lie detector.”
Olivia raised her eyebrows at her sister. “Neither are you.”
Watch Her Vanish: An absolutely gripping mystery thriller (Rockwell and Decker Book 1) Page 26