Stunned, he nodded vacantly, as if he’d suddenly changed his mind. “You’re right. I’m running on no sleep and too much caffeine. I lost it there for a minute. Thanks for setting me straight.”
Olivia frowned at him, her concern apparent. But he ducked his head to avoid her eyes. She’d see right through him.
“I better get back to the station. Before JB solves this whole thing without me.” Will had never counted on her doubting him, not after he’d spilled his guts, and he realized he had no clue what to do next. But Drake’s message had made it clear. He would stop at nothing to make Will pay for the past. And the price—he finally dropped his gaze to meet Olivia’s—was way too steep.
Fifty-Three
Will found JB at his cubicle hunched over the phone. Sergeant Kingsley, he mouthed, cupping his hand over the receiver. Then, he tapped the speaker button, filling the station with the sergeant’s baritone. The perfect tenor for his doomsday message.
“…The dogs lost the scent at the Earl River. No way a boy of his age and size could cross safely on his own, and his aunt says he can’t swim. I reckon our perp dumped him in the water. We may have a floater on our hands. We’ve got officers combing the banks downstream and a slew of volunteers searching the shallows. I’ll let you know what turns up.”
As he hung up the phone, JB grimaced while Will shook his head in disgust. No way Drake would end his game of cat and mouse with a body washed ashore. That wasn’t his style. Drake would keep Thomas alive as long as he could. All the better to stay one step ahead. To manipulate the pursuit. To steer Will right where he wanted him.
“You two.” Chief Flack materialized at her door, her face a map of all that had gone wrong. Deep grooves of worry lined her forehead, eyes sunk like craters in the furrowed earth. “My office. Now.”
Like men walking to the guillotine, Will and JB marched on leaden legs, neither eager for the dressing-down that seemed promised to them.
“What’s she upset about?” Will whispered.
“Probably your fault, if we’re taking bets.”
Will didn’t doubt it. He’d been off his game since day one of this case. The worst part, he’d been outmaneuvered by Drake Devere again. It twisted his gut to admit it, but he had to consider the possibility his feelings for Olivia were a distraction he couldn’t afford. It still ached that she didn’t believe him.
Tails between their legs, they took their usual seats across from Chief Flack’s desk, right in the line of fire, and prepared for a missile strike.
“Gentlemen, what is my job title?”
So, worse than a missile then. A loaded question.
“Chief of Police,” JB answered, without a trace of irony. “And a damn good one, I might add.”
“You’re absolutely right, Benson. So, why am I the last to know that Pedro Mendez was released from custody this afternoon? Last I heard, we had a confession on a quadruple homicide.”
“No argument here, Chief. That was Decker’s decision.”
Will rolled his eyes at his traitorous partner. “A decision you agreed with. Look, Chief, Mendez’s confession was total BS. His sister, Gabriella, confirmed it. He was just trying to impress his big brother and earn street cred with Los Diabolitos.”
“I see. So, what you’re telling me is we’re back to square one. Four dead victims and one missing little boy. That we have no suspects. Zero. Zilch.”
“Nada?” JB suggested, before shrinking in his chair at Chief Flack’s withering look.
“Actually…”
“Yes, Detective Decker?” Her sharp tone did nothing to calm Will’s trepidation, as he readied a bomb for dropping. “Is there something I should know?”
“Well, we’re not entirely without a suspect.”
Chief Flack raised her eyebrows, her expression eerily calm. Not unlike the landscape of Hiroshima from the bird’s eye view of a B-29 bomber.
“I have reason to suspect Drake Devere may be involved.”
“What the hell?” JB eyed him as if he’d sprouted a second head. To the chief, he added, “For the record, I have no idea what he’s talking about. This is the first I’ve heard of it.”
Chief Flack blinked back at them both, shock settling on her face. “For a second I thought you said ‘Drake Devere.’”
“Fire in the hole,” JB muttered under his breath.
Will watched the moment her confusion turned to disbelief. Her disbelief to thinly veiled indignation. She sat back, fuming. “Somebody better explain this to me. Now.”
“Thomas is just a pawn in his twisted game. This is all about me. The messages in the mine—ten times. Ten times over. Drake is trying to take from me like I took from him. Killing the Foxes and kidnapping Thomas is just the start.”
JB side-eyed him, before letting out a low whistle. “I’m no Doctor Rockwell, but somebody’s a little grandiose.”
Reluctantly, Will gestured to the computer on the chief’s desk, shame crawling beneath his skin. A flush worked its way up his neck to his freshly shaven face. “Do me a favor, Chief. Type Will Decker and Isabella Torro into the search bar. You’ll see I’m not crazy.”
Will waited for the results to populate the screen, for the San Francisco Post article to load. The headline burned into his brain long ago, along with the events of that day. Woman Dead in Officer Involved Shooting Outside SFPD Embarcadero Station.
As JB read over Chief Flack’s shoulder, his mouth hung open. “Are you kidding me, City Boy? You shot Mrs. Vulture?”
Eyes fixed on the screen, the chief remained expressionless, which unnerved Will even more. He’d rather she curse or yell or throw her keyboard.
“Drake has been communicating with me ever since I put him away. Once a year on the anniversary of his arrest, even after he escaped. I should’ve told you both sooner. I had no idea he’d take it this far.”
In the pin-drop quiet, Chief Flack stared ahead flatly, apparently still shell-shocked. Will kept talking, hoping to bring her back and win her over.
“I’d say we have a golden opportunity here, Chief. To catch our fugitive and put him back behind bars where he belongs.”
“What exactly would you recommend we do next, Decker?”
JB drew in a breath through his teeth, a soft noise of trepidation, but it didn’t slow Will down. “We need to put out a BOLO on Drake. Probably alert the media. He’s out for blood this time. He’ll sacrifice anybody who stands in the way of his revenge against me.”
Will had barreled ahead straight into the brick wall otherwise known as Chief Flack. He knew it the moment she rose from her chair, indignation still coloring her cheeks, and glared down at JB from across her desk. “Has your partner lost his goddamned mind?”
Smartly, JB avoided her eyes, which were now laser-focused on Will.
“I know you went through the wringer when Drake escaped. Hell, so did I. But a psychopath with a personal vendetta? Where’s the evidence? This isn’t Drake Devere’s MO. He doesn’t set fires. He doesn’t kill men. And he sure as hell doesn’t kidnap kids. Who else knows about your suspicions?”
“Only the two of you.” Will lowered his voice, added, “And Olivia Rockwell.”
“And what did Doctor Rockwell think?”
Will swallowed hard. “She agrees with you. She thinks I’m paranoid. That I need to take a closer look at one of Fox’s client files.”
“Damn right you’re paranoid. No one else finds out about this. Understood?”
“But—” Another hiss from JB, and Will fell silent, appeasing her with a quick nod.
“Until you have proof that Devere is involved, I don’t want to hear another word about it. We don’t need another media circus. We don’t need more egg on our faces. And we certainly don’t need our failures plastered all over SFTV, our tale of woe narrated by that high-heeled windbag reporter, Heather Hoffman. With yours truly taking the brunt of it all.”
JB’s brow furrowed quizzically. “No offense, Chief. But as pep talks go, that
was a bit of a downer. We need some direction here. We’ve got a missing kid and four dead bodies.”
“Direction? You need direction?”
Will winced. A mental duck and cover.
“Here’s a direction for you. Out!” Chief Flack speared the air with her finger, pointing at the door. “Get off your asses. Find the kid. Arrest the real killer. And try not to screw it the hell up.”
The chief picked up steam as she wagged her finger at them until finally she boiled over, unleashing a string of expletives before she collapsed back into her chair, spent.
JB reached the door first, leaving Will alone on the battlefield, wondering if his partner had strategically chosen the seat closest to the exit. Will scrambled out behind him before the chief found her second wind.
“I’d say that went well.” JB plopped into his desk chair, looking satisfied with himself.
“Well? Have you been doubling up on your blood pressure meds again?”
“C’mon, City Boy. We both know Chief Flack is tougher than a boiled owl.”
From the cubicles opposite them, Jessie raised her head and grimaced. A boiled owl? she mouthed to Will as he flumped into his seat.
JB leaned in conspiratorially. “That there was a lesson in distraction straight out of Sun Tzu’s Art of War. Confuse the enemy. Create a diversion, so you get out unscathed. And by the way, you’re welcome.”
“One thing’s for sure, JB. You can confuse with the best of them.”
“You bet your ass I can.” He smacked his desk with gusto. “Now, how the hell are we going to find Devere?”
Will took a deep breath, not wanting to admit how helpless he felt. At least JB had his back. “So, you believe me then?”
“Nah. Not really. But then, it’s not the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. My second ex-wife, Lydia, used to carry a disposable camera in her bra just in case the aliens abducted her.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
Jessie cleared her throat, covering a laugh, and motioned them over. “Take a look at this report that patrol sent over for investigation. It happened this morning near the Airbnb where Thomas and his aunt were staying.”
Will read over her shoulder, his intuition giving him a firm kick in the ass.
*
POLICE REPORT
Fog Harbor Police Department
REPORTING PARTY: DOUGLAS JESSUP, DVM
ADDRESS: WHISKERS AND TAILS VETERINARY CLINIC, 39 PINE GROVE RD, FOG HARBOR
DATE: JULY 8
INVESTIGATING OFFICER: SCOTT GREEN INCIDENT TYPE: BREAKING AND ENTERING
NARRATIVE:
AT 7:00 A.M. ON JULY 8, DR. DOUGLAS JESSUP CONTACTED POLICE REGARDING A POSSIBLE BURGLARY AT THE WHISKERS AND TAILS VETERINARY CLINIC.
ON THE ABOVE DATE, I WAS ON UNIFORMED DUTY IN A MARKED PATROL CAR, ASSIGNED TO WEST FOG HARBOR, WHEN I RECEIVED AN ECC BROADCAST RELATED TO A POSSIBLE BURGLARY IN PROGRESS.
UPON MY ARRIVAL, I WAS CONTACTED BY THE CALLER, DR. JESSUP, WHO MET ME AT THE FRONT ENTRANCE OF THE BUSINESS. DR. JESSUP REPORTED THAT HE HAD FOUND MINOR DAMAGE TO THE BACK DOOR WHEN HE ARRIVED AT WORK THAT MORNING. FEARING HIS BUSINESS HAD BEEN BURGLARIZED, HE CONTACTED POLICE AND WAITED OUTSIDE.
I ENTERED THE PREMISES AND CONDUCTED A SEARCH FOR THE POSSIBLE SUSPECT(S) WITH NEGATIVE RESULTS. I CONFIRMED THAT THE LOCKING MECHANISM ON THE BACK DOOR HAD BEEN TAMPERED WITH. DR. JESSUP INFORMED ME THAT THE CLINIC DOES NOT HAVE VIDEO SURVEILLANCE.
Fifty-Four
Will surveyed the crowded Whiskers and Tails waiting room, while JB side-eyed the corgi to his right. Tongue lolling, the dog trotted over and took a long, wet lick of JB’s dress shoe, before aggressively sniffing his pants leg. “Sheesh. At least buy me dinner first.”
“I’m so sorry, sir.” The dog’s middle-aged owner grinned apologetically, tugging at the leash. “Wilson has a shoe fetish. The stinkier, the better. Not that yours smell badly, of course.”
JB offered Wilson a hearty scratch behind the ears. “My wife agrees, little buddy. She tells me I should own stock in Odor Eaters.”
As the dog went in for another taste, Dr. Jessup appeared in the doorway, a monogrammed pet carrier in hand. After delivering a yowling Mr. Whiskers to his owner, the vet ushered them inside. His white coat, a perfect match for his snow-white hair.
“Detectives, thank you for coming.”
Will followed the doctor through the halls of the clinic and into his office. JB trailed behind, pausing to encourage a basset hound with a plastic cone around his head. When he’d caught up to them, Dr. Jessup asked, “How’s my favorite dachshund, Princess? Has she been sticking with her diet?”
Fighting off a laugh, Will raised his eyebrows at JB. He felt certain bagels were not on Princess’s diet. Even the wheat ones JB despised.
“To the letter. Just like her dad.” JB patted his belly.
“And how’s that scrappy feline of yours, Detective Decker?”
Will moved aside a Reserved for the Cat throw pillow and took a seat on the chair opposite Dr. Jessup. “Missing, actually.”
“Oh dear.”
“I don’t suppose anyone brought in a one-eyed orange tabby in the last day or two?”
“Not that I’ve heard. But I can put a flier up in the office if you’d like. I hope he has a collar.”
Will nodded, trying to keep himself focused. It had been easier to compartmentalize in San Francisco. When he’d been a pariah with a broken engagement and no real friends to speak of. When he’d been branded a snitch and a traitor by the very department where he’d taken his oath. Now, he had friends and a cat with a shiny new name tag. A woman who’d captured his heart.
“We’re here about the burglary,” JB said, breaking the silence. “There’s a chance it might be connected to a homicide we’re working. Can you tell us more about what happened?”
“Well, like I told Officer Green, it’s the darnedest thing. I lock the place up myself every night. In twenty-five years, I’ve never had a break-in. But yesterday, I left early and all hell broke loose. My granddaughter had a swim meet, and I didn’t want to miss it. So, my vet tech, Lauren, agreed to close up shop for me. When I arrived this morning, I parked in the back like I always do. First thing, I noticed the lock sticking a bit when I tried to get in. The frame had some damage, too. Like someone forced it open. Naturally, I called you folks. The locksmith’s due out at five to repair the damage and install a deadbolt. I’m even contemplating one of those new-fangled security cameras.”
“Would you show us the back door?” Will asked. “We may want to send our techs over to dust for prints.”
“Of course.” Dr. Jessup led the way past the kennel to a nondescript door that opened to the staff parking lot and the forest beyond. Though Whiskers and Tails abutted the same redwood grove where Thomas had gone missing, the trees looked different here, their branches regal in the dappled light from the late-afternoon sun. A stark contrast to the crooked fingers that had clawed at Will’s back on the trek to the mine.
The door itself appeared exactly as the doctor had described. The frame splintered menacingly around the lips of the lock.
“Pried open,” Will suggested to his partner. “Maybe a crowbar?”
JB surveyed the damage. “Sure looks that way.”
“Did you want to see the fridge too?”
“The fridge?” Will felt a prickle at the back of his neck, skirting the fine line between curious and dreading. “Was something missing?”
Dr. Jessup stepped across the threshold and into the parking lot, closing the marred door behind them. His usually sunny demeanor darkened. “I’d rather the staff not hear this. It would trouble them greatly.”
“Now you’ve got me spooked, Doc.” JB patted him on the shoulder. “It can’t be that bad.”
“After Officer Green left, I did a quick walk-through of the clinic. I didn’t notice anything missing. Even the chow chow puppy that we neutered for Mrs. Delacroix. Those little guys can fetch up to three t
housand dollars. No pun intended.”
“Three what? For a what?” JB’s mouth gaped. “It cost me four bucks for gas money to drive out to Brookings and back to get Princess. Free to a good home.”
“I always say the wet kisses come standard no matter how much you pay.” Dr. Jessup gave a half-hearted chuckle before he kicked a small pebble across the lot. It bounced and skittered, coming to a stop beneath the doctor’s pickup truck. “Around noon, we had a trauma case come in. A Lab named Susie hit by a car off Highway 187. In the middle of surgery prep, that’s when I realized.”
“Realized what?” Will asked.
Dr. Jessup raised his head from the pavement. Beneath the still water of his kind brown eyes, fear darted like an eel. It made Will nervous. “Five pints of whole feline blood were missing from the medical fridge.”
After they’d sent an uneasy Dr. Jessup back inside to tend to his patients, JB regarded Will with the same face he’d pulled when he’d eaten his first sugar-free doughnut. Unadulterated disgust.
“Feline blood?” he repeated. “What the hell would anybody want with—?”
Will cocked his head at his partner, watching the truth of it take shape. “Looks like we may have found the source of our animal blood.”
“Whoever did this is one sick puppy.”
“No doubt about that.” Will tamped down his palpable relief. At least there was a chance the blood hadn’t come from his own feline, and he could hold out hope for Cy’s safe return. “We’ll have to get the techs down here to look for fingerprints.”
“How far is Whiskers and Tails from the Airbnb?” JB asked.
Will typed the address into the mapping application on his phone, raising his eyebrows at the answer. “Jessie was right. It’s about a quarter mile. Probably closer if you cut through the grove.”
“Bingo. I’ll bet the perp’s holed up here somewhere,” JB said. “These guys always operate from a home base. Maybe an abandoned cabin or… What’s wrong?”
One Child Alive: An absolutely gripping crime thriller packed with nail-biting suspense (Rockwell and Decker Book 3) Page 22