“The case with Drea, you mean.” Will had been saving that one, and it felt damn good to use it. “Shelby’s best friend. Your common-law wife. The probation officer’s report said you two lovebirds have been on and off for a good thirty-five years. I’m no mathematician, but—”
“So what? Am I the first guy to mess around? Go ahead, indict me for cheating.”
Will felt his own past rising up in him. Like a dead thing he’d buried. The nights his dad didn’t come home, chasing leads until the sun rose over the Golden Gate. The nights he did, Will’s mother cleaning crime scene blood from his boots. No wonder she’d gone off the deep end. “Maybe you got tired of Shelby. Maybe that baby was a complication. Or maybe you’re just the kind of asshole who can’t pick on someone their own size.”
“I’m done talking. I told you what I know. Anything else, you can ask my lawyer.”
Simpkins shot daggers at Will as the guard escorted him out. But Will paid him no mind. These DV guys were all the same. At the first sign of a challenge, he’d lawyered up. The playground equivalent of getting a bigger bully to fight your battles.
Will smacked his hand against the wall. “Sorry. Guess I pushed too hard.”
“Nah. We got what we needed for now. Besides, I kinda like seeing you hot under the collar. Not so buttoned-up and by-the-numbers.”
Will rolled his eyes. “Hey, since when do you have a kid? I thought you said you—”
“I did. Right after my first divorce. Snip, snip.”
“Then who were you talking about?” But as soon as Will said it, he knew. An entire wall of JB’s cubicle bore the photographic evidence.
“My dachshund, Princess. Anybody lays a hand on her, it’s lights out, brother.”
Warden Blevins waited for them outside the door. “A fruitful conversation, I trust.”
Will preferred Blevins stay out of it, so he let JB answer. The surest way to keep the warden in the dark. “About as fruitful as a peach tree in the desert.”
Blevins puzzled for a moment. “I see.”
“We’ll let you know if anything comes up.”
“Please do. As warden, I like to have my finger on the pulse of this place. Every one of these inmates is my responsibility. I take that seriously.”
Will started to feel uneasy again. That nagging shadow darkening his mood. When the warden asked him for a word in private, he suspected his day was about to take a turn for the worse.
“Forgive me if I’m overstepping here, but I’ve been keeping an eye on your brother’s safety, as you asked, and I thought it peculiar that he’d been ducated two days in a row for an appointment in the MHU. In fact, he’s there as we speak. Were you aware that he’s being treated by Doctor Rockwell?”
Thirty-Eight
Seated in her office in the MHU, Olivia returned Ben’s hard stare. She waited for him to break the stalemate and blink first. Apparently hardheadedness came standard issue in the Decker family.
“Look, I know you don’t want to be here, but I’ll call you back every day if I have to.” He’d learn she could be just as stubborn. “I heard my father might’ve still been informing, possibly for SFPD or…”
“I told you, I can’t help you.” Today, he’d reluctantly sat in the chair reserved for her patients but only because Sergeant Weber had made her rounds. Frowning and pointing at it until he’d lowered himself onto the seat as if it had been rigged for explosion.
“You’re not at all like your brother, are you?” If he expected a bomb, she’d give him a dirty one. “He always does the right thing. Even when it’s hard.”
“Fuck you, lady. What do you know about it?” Boom.
“I know he didn’t have to spend his money to keep you safe. Or get you transferred here.”
Ben’s laugh had a sharp-toothed bite. “Yeah. He did some good. But he’s the main reason I’m in this shithole.”
“So it’s Deck’s fault you shot and killed someone? In my profession, we call that externalization of blame.”
His smile set her on edge. But she’d keep pushing through the bravado. She hadn’t given up on him.
“Deck was there. And he’s not as innocent as he seems. It could’ve just as easily been him that pulled the trigger. Problem was, he didn’t have the balls to do it. But he didn’t think twice about selling me down the river.”
“That’s one way to look at it. It probably helps you sleep at night.”
“Go ahead then. Tell me the right way to look at it, Doctor.”
“You both made bad decisions, drinking too much and bringing your guns with you. You both violated police procedure. But you’re the one who shot Rochelle Townes. Deck just had the guts to admit it.” She paused, took a breath. Sent up a silent prayer that Ben still had at least one soft spot left in him somewhere. “And now you’re the only one who can tell me what my dad was up to. The only one who can set this right.”
She listened to the seconds on the office clock tick by until she couldn’t bear it any longer. “Too bad you’re too much of a coward. Deck is braver than you. And you’ll always resent him for that, won’t you?”
Ben leaned forward, studied her with those familiar brown eyes. His lacked light, though. Snuffed out by this place or never there to begin with, she couldn’t tell which. “Damn. It sounds like you’re into my brother.”
Olivia opened her mouth to mount a half-hearted protest. But the door banged open instead. Deck charged in first, chastising her with his glare. Then his mouth.
“What do you think you’re doing talking to my brother behind my back?”
JB lingered back at the lobby desk, grimacing, but Sergeant Weber had followed right behind.
“I tried to stop him,” she said, helpless.
Only Ben seemed amused. He stood up, smirked at Olivia. Nodded at Deck. The history between them palpable. As if the past had taken shape, forming a visible wedge. “Guess we’re done here.”
Deck blocked the doorway, glaring at them both, until Ben forced him to move. He headed straight for Deck, took a cheap shot with his shoulder on the way out. But he stopped then, looked back. “Don’t pull a Radovsky, man.”
Thirty-Nine
A Radovsky. Will blinked, temporarily stunned by the name he hadn’t heard since high school. Pretty boy Phil Radovsky had been the definition of clueless, always insisting the girls who swarmed his locker and left him notes with red lipstick just thought of him as a friend. Or worse, a kid brother. He’d maintained the party line right up until he’d been voted Most Handsome by Ben’s senior class. A miscount, he’d argued.
Olivia’s eyes shot daggers straight at his heart. “Is there a reason you’re in my office, Detective?”
The desk sergeant who’d chased after him cleared her throat in obvious triumph. Behind her, JB approached the door.
“Will, let’s go. Doctor Rockwell’s got work to do.” Not a trace of sarcasm. Not one bad joke. Didn’t even call him by his nickname. Now Will knew he’d messed up big.
Still, he couldn’t let it go. His mind flashed to the Hickory Pit, to Olivia’s pointed questions about Ben. To that white-hot sting of betrayal he could trace right back to Amy Bishop, and even further. To his mother and her leaving. “We’ll talk about this later.”
When Will spun around, he spotted his brother waiting for his officer escort at the locked outer door. A part of him ached for the big brother who’d always been faster, stronger, smarter. But this man was someone new. A stranger who knew everything about him. And maybe that’s what bothered him most about seeing him in Olivia’s patient chair.
JB tried to hold him back, but Will shrugged him off and stalked toward Ben, feeling both curious and mad as hell.
“A Radovsky, huh?”
One corner of Ben’s mouth turned up. Then the other. That smartass smile one of the few holdovers from the old Ben. “Don’t worry. I didn’t tell her you wet the bed at sleepaway camp.”
When the officer unlocked the door, Ben stepped forward, hi
s eyes cutting to the badge clipped to Will’s belt. He walked away without another word, and Will watched him go. His broad shoulders, his purposeful swagger.
“Escort!” the CO called out. The inmates stepped toward the wall, giving them a wide berth.
Will stayed there, rooted to the concrete, until Ben had disappeared from sight. When JB patted him on the shoulder, he realized how lonely he felt. How stupid he’d been to storm in here, taking Warden Blevins at his word. But mostly, how much it unnerved him that his convict brother still moved like a cop.
When they reached the Crown Vic in the prison parking lot, JB held out his hand. “Keys.”
“I’m driving.”
“Like hell you are. Blevins got you all wound up. What’d the guy say to you anyway?”
Will eyed JB over the hood as he opened the driver’s door. The mention of the warden reignited the fire in his blood. “I’m over it.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear it. But you made an ass of yourself in there. Good luck getting Olivia to speak to you again.”
“Thanks for your support.” He’d be lucky if she even looked his way. “But for your information, she didn’t tell me she was talking to Ben. She was probably pressing him for information about her dad.”
“And how do you know that?”
“Because I know her. And I know Ben. He’d never go within fifty feet of a therapist, even if he did need help. And she’d never do therapy with him. That would be unethical, given our… friendship.”
Will didn’t say that Warden Blevins had shown him the ducats for a mental health assessment originating from Olivia’s computer. Had wondered aloud if Olivia had crossed the line. She’s been through a lot with her father. Perhaps it’s impacting her professional judgment. I wouldn’t want the other inmates to get the idea he’s a narc. But don’t worry, I’ll look out for him.
“Friendship. Right. And yet, you took Blevins’ word over hers. That’s messed-up, City Boy.”
Will sighed; he hated when JB was right. He slid the keys across the hood and slunk around the back of the car toward the passenger side. “Just drive.”
Forty
Shaken, Olivia stared across the quiet lobby of the MHU at Leah’s office. The closed door, the darkened window. She needed a friend right now. She couldn’t stop seeing Deck’s face, his outrage. Couldn’t stop wondering how he’d known. But the worst part, he’d been right to be angry with her.
“Doc?” Sergeant Weber waved to her from the desk. “Come over here a sec.”
Olivia dragged herself over, hopeful the sergeant wouldn’t try to apologize. She’d done nothing wrong. A few of the inmate patients followed her with their eyes, and she found herself hoping they hadn’t seen the outburst in her office. Nothing like a little drama to spark the Crescent Bay rumor mill.
“I found this on the desk after Inmate Decker signed out. Should I document it?”
She slid a small scrap of paper toward Olivia. Ben had torn the corner from the treatment sign-in log and scrawled a message in pencil.
“No need.” Coming alive again, she balled it in her fist. “I’ll handle it.”
Olivia returned to her office, shut the door. She opened her palm and read the message. Check 115s for Wyatt Anderson.
Half-smiling again, she turned to her computer. Maybe Ben had a little of his brother in him after all.
Rules Violation Report
INMATE NUMBER: 36RHU3
INMATE’S NAME: WYATT ANDERSON
FACILITY: VVSPVIOLATION
DATE: 2/17
VIOLATION LOCATION: SENSITIVE NEEDS YARD (SNY), UNIT Z
SPECIFIC ACT: POSSESSION OF INMATE MANUFACTURED WEAPON
CIRCUMSTANCES OF VIOLATION:
ON FEBRUARY 17TH , VALLEY VIEW STATE PRISON (VVSP) OFFICIALS RECEIVED INFORMATION FROM A CONFIDENTIAL SOURCE INDICATING THAT OAKTOWN BOYS DROPOUT WYATT ANDERSON WAS IN POSSESSION OF AN INMATE-MANUFACTURED WEAPON, ENDANGERING THE SAFETY AND SECURITY OF INMATES AND STAFF WITHIN THE SENSITIVE NEEDS YARD (SNY). ACCORDING TO THE CONFIDENTIAL SOURCE, THE WEAPON WAS INTENDED FOR USE IN AN ATTACK ON SNY INMATE BENJAMIN DECKER (INMATE NUMBER 57YVI9).
CORRECTIONAL OFFICER REYNALDO ORTIZ SEARCHED CELL 3L IN UNIT Z, BELONGING TO ANDERSON. HIDDEN IN THE SPINE OF A BOOK, OFFICER ORTIZ LOCATED AN INMATE-MANUFACTURED WEAPON MEASURING FIVE INCHES LONG. THE WEAPON WAS MADE FROM ROUND METAL STOCK AND MEASURED APPROXIMATELY SIX INCHES IN LENGTH AND ONE QUARTER INCH IN DIAMETER. IT HAD BEEN SHARPENED TO A POINT ON ONE END, WITH MASKING TAPE AROUND THE OTHER TO FORM A HANDLE. THE WEAPON WAS MARKED AND SECURED IN THE CAPTAIN’S SAFE.
INMATE STATEMENT:
“No comment.”
FINDINGS: GUILTY, SHU TERM 6 MONTHS
Forty-One
Lieutenant Wheeler met Will and JB at the station door, trailing them back to their cubicles. “Chief’s in a mood. You two best mind your p’s and q’s.”
“Yes, sir.” JB grinned as he gave a stiff-armed salute. “I take it she saw the morning show.”
“Oh, she saw it alright. She’s been on the phone with the execs at SFTV for the past hour, trying to convince them to pull the plug on that crazy reporter.”
“Fat chance of that.” JB dropped into his chair, started rummaging through his snack drawer, which had been reduced to a gluten-free shell of its former self. “Blonde hair, blue eyes, not a shred of journalistic integrity. She’s a ratings boon.”
Lieutenant Wheeler nodded gravely. “Any idea how she got into the cabin?”
“No telling with her.” JB opened a bag of unsalted pretzels and popped one in his mouth. “That chick would sell her grandmother for a story.”
“Easy there.” Graham poked his head over the wall that separated their cubicles. “She’s just doing her job.”
“I’d keep that thought to myself if I were you,” Will told him. “Unless you want to explain to Chief Flack—”
Wide-eyed, JB coughed, alerting Will to the looming shadow over his shoulder. The chief’s scowling face was reflected in his computer screen.
“Well, somebody damn well better explain it to me.”
Lieutenant Wheeler backpedaled toward his office—“p’s and q’s, gentlemen”—and disappeared inside. Will felt the heat of Graham’s eyes on him, relieved he’d thought to return the key to the small envelope in the case file first thing that morning before Chief Flack arrived.
She made her way to the other side of the cubicles, stopping just short of Graham’s desk.
“Got anything to say for yourself, Bauer?” A flush crept up Graham’s neck. He swallowed hard. Opened his mouth, shut it again. “Think carefully. Because you’re one morning broadcast away from the unemployment line. If it weren’t for your uncle, I would’ve canned you already.”
“I—I don’t—”
Will looked right at Graham, momentarily savoring the grim pallor of his face. Word around the station was that his uncle Marvin had donated a shitload of money to the mayor’s re-election campaign, which explained a lot. Like why Graham still carried a badge. “I have a pretty good idea what happened, Chief.”
“I’m listening.”
He took his time, while Graham squirmed. “Me and the lab techs were the last at the cabin. Somehow we must’ve forgotten to lock up.” It pained Will to say it, but he figured she’d buy it. Back at SFPD, some detectives had been notorious for neglecting to secure their crime scenes. “That, or Hoffman broke in. It wouldn’t surprise me if she knew how to pick a lock.”
JB chuckled. “Probably keeps a burglar kit in her handbag.”
The chief expelled an exasperated breath, glaring at them all before she walked away. When she reached her door, she cast a final disapproving look over her shoulder. “Whoever was responsible, don’t let it happen again. Next time, I’ll involve Officer Schmidt with Internal Affairs, and he won’t be so forgiving.”
“Damn. Officer Schmuck.” JB crunched another pretzel. “Chief’s not messin’ around. ”
“No, she’s not.” Will stared at G
raham until he lifted his eyes. “The key will stay in my pocket from now on.”
Will studied the stack of old police reports he’d printed. They spanned the course of thirty years but each read the same as the one before it. Officers were contacted by female complainant Drea Marsh who alleged—[insert despicable violent act here]—by cohabitant Brandon Simpkins.
The photos told the story. Each picture screamed a thousand awful words. The blue-black eyes, the jagged split of the lip, the defensive bruises on her arms, the bald spot where Simpkins yanked a handful of hair. Somewhere along the way, the spunky Drea who’d posed with Shelby had died. Her spark doused, so you couldn’t see the light in her eyes anymore. In her place, a gray imposter. And with every photograph, it seemed Drea too had marked her body until even her delicate neck bore a spiderweb tattoo.
“Looks like we caught a break. Shelby’s friend, Drea, moved up to Fog Harbor last October, after they transferred Simpkins to Crescent Bay.” Will tossed half the pile on JB’s desk. “They’re not exactly a match made in heaven. If she knows something, maybe she’ll finally be willing to talk.”
JB winced after he’d scanned the first report, then the second and the third. The end results also identical. Complainant refused to cooperate with investigation. The cops had gotten lucky the last time, when Brandon hauled off and clocked Drea in the crowded parking lot of a Raiders game after she’d smiled too long at a fellow tailgater. When she’d slapped him back, he’d rammed her head into the side of a pick-up truck in front of a dozen witnesses, leaving her with a missing tooth and a concussion.
“My money says she’s not talking.” JB gestured to the sheaf of papers. “That’s what you call graveyard love.”
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