Twenty
Deck glowered as he exited Second Chance and stalked toward the car. Before he reached the passenger door, Olivia glanced up into the rearview mirror, certain the day’s wreckage would be apparent on her face. Thankfully, she’d beaten her tears back into submission, even if her green eyes had dulled.
Deck dropped into the seat. Spoke to the glove box, his voice one-note. “Anything you want to say to me?”
Olivia knew exactly what he wanted. What he deserved. But she hadn’t been all wrong. “You’re welcome?”
“I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that you crossed a line. You jeopardized a homicide investigation. Not to mention, snooping through an ex-con’s room? It’s dangerous. Those guys are on parole for a reason.”
She offered him an olive branch. The best contrite smile she could manage. “I’m sorry.”
He buckled his seatbelt with a sigh. “And thank you. He eventually gave up her first name. Shelby. And said she ran away from San Francisco. He claims that’s all she told him.”
“But you don’t think he did it?”
“Do you?”
“Not likely. A guy like that, young and impulsive, he wouldn’t have put so much effort into hiding the body. He would’ve dumped her and been out of there.”
“Maybe. But where could he go? Besides, he knew she was a runaway. He probably figured no one was looking for her. That the body would never be found.”
Olivia didn’t have the strength to argue. “What now?”
“We need to get a firm ID on Shelby. I’ll give JB a call, have him get a jump on searching our missing database before I head back tomorrow.”
Olivia started the car, the rumble of the engine turning her stomach. They drove for a while in silence. Back up the Embarcadero, the road mostly deserted now in the twilight. “What do you think will happen to Chuck?”
“Winters? I can’t arrest him, if that’s what you mean.”
“I know that. I just wondered, do you think he’ll end up back in prison?” She saw her father’s sky-blue eyes as she spoke.
Deck didn’t answer right away. She liked that about him. That he took his time, even with her silly questions. “There are two kinds of people I encounter in this job. A few are monsters, like Drake Devere. The rest are just men who’ve made big mistakes. Winters didn’t seem like a monster to me.”
“That’s pretty enlightened for a cop. Are you sure I’m not rubbing off on you?” She joked but his words soothed her soul. Still, she had to ask one more. “What about my dad? What kind of person was he?”
She’d never said it out loud before, but the words had weighed on her for years, heavy as stones. She’d seen her father in every patient she’d sat across from. Every murderer, every criminal, every gang member. And now, knowing he’d been an informant for the police, she understood him even less than she had before.
Deck lifted his hand to reach for hers. Stopped short. Returned his hand to his thigh. It disappointed her but she knew better than to do anything about it. This was how she wanted it. How she needed it. Simple. No strings and no complications.
“I could tell you what I think. But I’m pretty sure that’s one of those questions you have to answer for yourself.”
Twenty minutes later, Olivia parked alongside Deck’s rental car outside Valley View State Prison. Still feeling melancholy, she suddenly wished she didn’t have to leave him here in the dark lot. “So, any plans for tonight?”
“Drowning this day in ginger ale at Aces High nightclub.”
“Aces High? Why does that sound familiar?” When his face darkened, she cursed herself for asking, remembering that the nightclub had been the site of the officer-involved shooting that had sent his brother, Ben, to prison. “Sorry, I—”
“It’s okay. My other brother, Petey, still runs the place. It’s a local cop hangout.” Which probably was Deck’s way of saying shrinks were not welcome. She could take a hint.
“So, we’ll catch up tomorrow then.”
After he’d exited the vehicle, he tossed the case folder on her seat. “Some light reading in case you can’t sleep.”
Olivia drove from the prison in a fog, replaying the day in her head. From Henry Decker to Chuck Winters and back again, she felt the weight of them pulling her under, fraying her nerves until she sped down the highway toward the San Francisco Art Institute, imagining all the dreadful things that happened in the world. All the dreadful things that could happen to little sisters in the big city.
When Olivia spotted Emily waving to her from a bench outside the entrance of the art institute, she felt relieved. She pulled over at the curb and waited for Em to toss her supplies and portfolio in the back seat next to the case folder Deck had insisted she keep.
“How was class?”
Emily crossed her arms over her chest, shook her head. “Spill, Liv. Why did you need to pick me up? I thought we were past this overprotective big sister thing.”
Olivia shrugged, pointing to the glove box. “I picked up Dad’s stuff this afternoon at the prison.”
Em went straight for it, forgetting about her big sister shakedown—at least for now—and opened the plastic bag. “Is this a sketchbook?”
She flipped through the first few pages, beaming. But the tears came quick behind.
“I think we finally figured out where you got your artistic talent.”
Emily sniffled, then smiled. “Remember that time Mom tried to paint a unicorn on my wall?”
“You mean, the rhinoceros?”
“The ugliest thing I ever saw.”
They both laughed, Em wiping at her eyes, as she reached the final page in the sketchbook. “Look at this one. It’s so elaborate.”
Olivia leaned over, caught her breath. Her father had titled the drawing In the Old Days and signed his name in the right corner.
“That’s the Double Rock, isn’t it?” Emily pointed to the pencil-shaded building in the background. In the foreground, he’d drawn the faces of his past. Olivia recognized her mother, herself, Miss Pearl. Even Termite. Around the border, he’d added the intricate details, the pop of color that surprised her. A motorcycle, its tank painted green. A door in a haunting shade of blue. One of Miss Pearl’s dolls, unmistakable with its yellow button eyes. Her father had captured it all, like a dream.
“Hand me that folder.” Olivia reached over her shoulder to the back seat, her heart thwacking away at her rib cage.
“What’s wrong?”
She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Not yet. She opened the case file and removed the envelope with the photos, hurrying to find the right one. She spotted it, then. Just as she’d remembered.
Opened the magnifying app on her phone. Zoomed in.
A shiver zipped up her spine. As if a gust of wind had blown straight through the yawning hole in her rib cage.
She and Shelby shared something in common. They’d both grown up in the Double Rock.
Twenty-One
The gaudy lights leading to the Aces High nightclub stained the sidewalk red, and Will cursed his stupid brain for not understanding the difference between then and now. He hadn’t expected to feel this way; like no time had passed at all. Like he might blink and be right back there, watching himself stumble out of those doors with Ben behind him. Both of them drunk and looking for trouble when they’d spotted Rochelle Townes loitering in the shadows. He couldn’t have known then where that night would lead. His brother, in prison. Him, living with the memories. He thanked God he hadn’t invited Olivia here, as much as he’d wanted to spend more time with her. He didn’t want her to see this part of him. Not ever.
As Will left his rental car and approached the entrance, his legs grew heavy, and he nearly turned back. But a familiar voice pushed him forward, head first into the past.
“No way. Is that Will Decker? Or am I seeing ghosts?”
“Hey, Rudy. It’s me. In the flesh.” Though Will couldn’t deny the place felt haunted. Or that standing here again, in th
e glow of the neon, leeched the life from him, left him half-dead inside. “Long time, no see.”
Rudy shook Will’s hand, then pulled him in for a bear hug. At least someone around here still had his back.
“Too long, man. Way too long.”
Rudy had been there too, the night it happened, looking much the same. With his ponytail and his black cowboy boots and the ACES HIGH SECURITY T-shirt stretching across his broad chest. Will knew Rudy had blamed himself. He’d told Will as much outside the courtroom.
“Rumor has it the boys in blue ran you clear out of town.”
“You know what they say about rumors.”
“Where there’s smoke, there’s fire?”
“Whoever yells smoke probably started the fire.” Will chuckled, but the truth of it all hurt. “Is Petey working tonight?”
“Petey’s always working. He’s inside.” Rudy swung open the door, and the scent of booze and cigarettes grabbed Will by the throat. He could hardly breathe through the thick of the past. “Hey, Deck. Friday is cops drink for free. Unofficially, of course. Be careful in there.”
“I’ll let you know if I need you to crack any skulls.”
As Will pushed through the door into the darkness, he thrust his shoulders back and forced a grin, even as the memories flooded in around him, threatening to drag him under.
“Ginger ale on the rocks.”
“You sure you don’t want somethin’ a little stronger?” Petey wiggled his eyebrows and reached for a bottle from the stocked shelf behind him. More red lights behind the bar cast an eerie glow on his brother’s pale face. “What about a splash of caramel vodka?”
Will shook his head. More than two years sober, he could still feel the heat of Grey Goose spike the roof of his mouth, burn his throat, incinerating every bad feeling on the way down. The only problem with torching his sorrows was that somehow his were fireproof.
“Man, it’s good to have you back here. I didn’t think I’d ever see you sittin’ on one of my barstools again. Gimme a little spin for old times’ sake.”
Will frowned at his brother and kept both feet on the ground. Though he had more than a few fuzzy memories of drunken whooping as he spun, the room blurring around him, he didn’t know that guy anymore. And with a few off-duty cops sharing pitchers in the corner, he wasn’t about to draw attention to himself.
“Don’t get used to it. I came here to find out what the hell’s going on with Ben and the Oaktown Boys. I thought they were supposed to lay off him. We’ve been making the payments.”
Since Petey had shown up in Will’s garage a month ago, telling him Ben had to pay to stay alive at Valley View, Will had been mailing $150 a week to Aces High. Petey had promised to take care of the rest.
But the moment Petey shrugged his bony shoulders, Will wanted to pummel him.
“You have been sending them the money, right?”
Petey sidled over to Will’s corner of the bar, his hands raised in surrender. “All but last week, bro. I had to settle up with Vinnie for bailing me out.”
“You’re unbelievable. Everything that happened with Ben, and you haven’t changed a bit. Thirty-eight years old and still stealing money from the collection plate.” Even Will’s best efforts hadn’t stopped their father from snatching the belt off the brass hook and taking it to Petey’s backside after he’d caught him swiping money from the church’s donation basket as they’d passed it pew to pew. “From your own brother, no less.”
“You sound like Dad.” Petey always knew exactly where to aim his arrows. “Always callin’ me a loser. I never was good enough for him.”
But then, so did Will. “Turns out Dad was right about some things.”
“Yeah, I guess he was.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Petey had already turned his back to Will, skulking off to shake a martini for a redhead in a slinky black top. Will stared after him, unsatisfied. It wasn’t like Petey to give up mid-fight.
“I think it means you’re still an asshole.” The woman’s voice came from behind him, straight from his old life.
Before he saw her, Will felt her hand squeeze his shoulder, smelled the intoxicating lilac of her perfume. Now, he understood. Petey hadn’t given up. Petey had left him alone with Amy Bishop—Homicide Inspector Amy Bishop, ex-fiancée Amy Bishop. No doubt about it, Petey had won.
“At least I’m consistent.”
Amy’s head tipped back as she laughed, revealing the ivory hollow of her throat. Will could still remember the places she’d liked to be kissed.
“How are you, Deck?” She sipped from her glass. Irish whiskey, neat. Will remembered that, too.
“Great. Actually, better than great. Fantastic.” He noticed her hand on the bar, her bare ring finger.
“Well, you look good,” she said. “I guess the simple life suits you.”
He had no intention of telling her how she looked. Perfect, as usual. With her brown hair coiled at the nape of her neck. Her fingernails, slick with red polish.
Amy slid onto the barstool next to him. “I heard you might be in town working a case. I figured you’d show up here.”
“Couldn’t let that chance pass you by, huh?” Will took a swig of his ginger ale, rethinking his sobriety. “So, is that what this is? One more kick to the dead horse?”
“Actually, I wanted to apologize. I handled our break-up poorly.”
Will had waited a long time for her to say those words. But now, hearing them, he wondered why he’d cared so much. “Don’t sweat it.”
“Seriously, though. I shouldn’t have—”
“Thrown your engagement ring out the window?”
“That too.” She laughed again, a little too hard. Leaned in, invading his space. “But, I was going to say, I shouldn’t have left you when you needed me most.”
“It’s water under the bridge. Two cops together would’ve never lasted.”
“Hey, Bishop!” A voice bellowed from the back of the bar, looking for trouble. From the same table where Ben had once toasted to Will and Amy’s future. Where Will’s brothers in blue had raised their glasses to him. “You’re starting to smell like a rat.”
“Pipe down, Mussman. You’re an idiot.”
“You should go,” Will told Amy. “I’m on my way out anyway.”
She nodded, gave him a Mona Lisa smile. “You’re different.”
He shrugged. Not sure how she meant it but knowing she was right.
“In a good way.” She pressed her lips to his ear, whispered. “Wanna get out of here?”
After Amy retreated to the table in the corner, Will knocked back the last of his ginger ale and waved Petey over. “We’re not done talking about what you did. But you need to make it right. Now.”
“I will. I promise. Just as soon as I—”
Will slipped him three hundred dollars. More cash sacrificed to the Oaktown fire. “Tonight.”
“Tonight. I swear.” Petey gestured to the back table, where Amy had found a seat between Mussman and another drunk loon out of uniform. She commanded the attention of every man within a five-mile radius. Always had, even as a rookie cop. “Are you sweet on somebody new, Deck?”
“None of your business. Why?”
Petey chuckled. The mischievous snicker he’d had as a boy. “’Cause I’ve never seen you tell Amy no.”
Will said his goodbyes to Petey and pushed through the door in a hurry, anxious to get back to the hotel and take a long, hot shower. To wash off the stink of cheap booze and cigarettes. To cleanse himself of the memories, too—Amy and Ben and SFPD. To watch all of it swirl around the drain. If only it worked like that.
In an instant, it hit him. The past could do that. Blindside you like a ton of bricks. Will raised his eyes to the parking lot, half expecting to see Rochelle Townes up to no good. She and her boyfriend, Mac, peddled drugs in the Tenderloin. But that night, they’d been peering into the window of Ben’s brand-new Dodge Charger. One word from him and they�
��d taken off running, Will and Ben in drunken pursuit.
“Leaving already?” Rudy’s voice startled him.
“Not my scene anymore, I guess.”
“Not mine either, Detective. But somebody’s gotta pay the bills.”
Will gave Rudy a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Take care of Petey for me, will ya?”
“Don’t worry about Petey. That man is like a cat. He’s got nine damn lives and he always lands on his feet. You just look after yourself.”
As Will headed down the sidewalk back to his rental car, he checked his phone. One missed call from Olivia. One unread text message.
Spotted something in the photos. Might be important.
Will stumbled over the concrete wheel stop, catching himself before he bit the asphalt, just as a camera flashed at him from the parking lot. He righted himself, held up a hand to block his face.
“Detective Will Decker, stumbling drunk out of Aces High nightclub. Just like the night his brother shot that poor woman. That’s quite a teaser for the morning news, don’t you think?”
“Who the hell are you?” He’d recognized her right away. But he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing that.
She pursed her lips, irritated. “Heather Hoffman. Journalist for Good Morning, San Francisco.”
“Journalist? I assume you’re using that term loosely.”
“My reporting on the Drake Devere case was nominated for several national awards. You must remember I was there the day you let him escape.”
“I’m sure you’re next in line for the Pulitzer.” Will pushed past her, hoping she’d go away. But she matched him stride for stride.
“So you don’t mind, then? If I run this photo on the air tomorrow. The viewing public will be riveted by my tale of the do-gooder Decker gone wrong.”
“I didn’t drink a drop, and you know it. Are you seriously trying to blackmail me? You’ve already got a cop on your payroll. What more could you possibly want?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” She grinned broadly, revealing her unnaturally white teeth. “The scoop on your cold case. A pregnant girl bludgeoned to death and mummified in a barrel. People go crazy for that kind of thing.”
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