Her Perfect Bones: A totally addictive mystery and suspense novel

by Ellery A Kane

  “When are you going to stop lying to me? I know you were there that day at the Double Rock. Dad told me everything.”

  Olivia sucked in a breath. “When? What did he say?”

  “I visited him a few weeks ago. Right after you helped me with the move down here. He said there were a few things he needed to get off his chest. Things he was planning on telling the parole board. Is it true? You saw Tina dead?”

  Olivia nodded. Though dead seemed too nice a word for the garish wound across Tina’s throat. The bright red blood seeping from her neck. If Olivia shut her eyes, she could still smell the sharp metal of it.

  “Why didn’t you tell me? All these years, you’ve been keeping that inside. That’s messed-up, Liv. Especially for a shrink.”

  “I know, I know. But Dad made me promise not to tell anyone what I saw. And by the time you were born and old enough, it felt safer not to.” She searched Emily’s face, wondering how much she really knew. “Did he say anything more? About that day, I mean?”

  “Someone else was there. He said you’d tell me at the right time. That I shouldn’t push you. That I’d know when.” Em shuffled toward her and took a seat at the kitchen table. Olivia sat down too, grateful for the near darkness. “So?”

  Olivia knew the power of that word. A prod, gentle but too pointed to ignore. She’d used it enough times on her patients. She swallowed hard. “So…”

  Olivia had hoped never to come back here. To the squalor of the Double Rock Projects. And especially not with Emily, who had never laid eyes on this place. By the time Em had been born, they’d already relocated to Fog Harbor to be close to their father at Crescent Bay State Prison. Except for the bright green spray paint that declared this Oaktown Boys’ territory, the jaundiced color of the long two-story buildings still matched the dying grass. Cigarette butts and food wrappers dotted what was left of the lawn like wildflowers. Even the air seemed different here, heavy as concrete on her chest.

  Still, she felt lighter, unburdened, having finally told Em the truth.

  Why would Dad lie about something like that? her sister had asked when she’d spit it all out. For so long.

  Olivia couldn’t answer. Could only see her father’s prison-issued boots swinging above the ground.

  As they crossed to the sidewalk, Olivia pointed to the twin hulking rocks in the courtyard. No one knew where they’d come from or why, but they’d always been treated with reverence, unlike the rest of the Double Rock. No graffiti, no climbing, no public urination.

  “This is it.”

  “Wow.” Emily ran her hand along the top of the first stone. “I didn’t expect it to be so… literal.”

  Olivia stared up at the second floor. A set of concrete stairs led to Apartment E, the blue door she’d called home for the first eight years of her life. The same blue door she’d seen in her nightmares ever since. “That’s our unit. Was our unit. A woman called Miss Pearl lived two doors down. She took care of me sometimes. Dad carried me to her apartment after the murder.”

  Olivia remembered Miss Pearl’s face turning white at the sight of them, but she hadn’t sent them away. Her father had washed Tina’s blood from his hands in her kitchen sink.

  “Do you really think she’s still there?”

  Olivia shrugged and started up the steps, with Emily following behind her. When she passed the door marked E, she didn’t slow down. Didn’t even look. She felt a heat from within, though. Like the past was still alive in there and burning.

  Apartment G was a few doors down at the end of the hallway. Olivia recalled it being farther away; in her memory, her father had carried her for miles, her heart thumping like a rabbit’s foot in her chest.

  “Ready?” She directed her question to Em, but she meant it for herself.

  Olivia had already knocked by the time Emily nodded. The sharp sound echoed in the early-morning quiet. As she raised her fist to the door again, it flew open, and she gasped.

  Termite Colvin.

  “What the hell time is it, lady? Are you a cop?”

  She blinked at him a few times before she realized the skinny, pimple-faced kid in front of her with his lanky arms blocking the doorway couldn’t be Termite. Termite had grown into a tattooed beast of a man, like his father. She’d seen him herself months ago at Rocky’s Salvage Yard, the Oaktown Boys hangout spot in Fog Harbor.

  “I—I’m sorry. I must have the wrong—”

  “Settle down, Scotty. Is that little Olivia Reilly?” A sun-spotted face appeared beneath the boy’s arm. “Not so little anymore, I see.”

  Miss Pearl smiled at her, and the years fell away. Olivia saw herself at five, six, and seven years old, eating chocolate chip cookies at Pearl’s cracked Formica table, while her parents screamed bloody murder at each other two doors down.

  “How long has it been, dear?”

  Olivia knew it to the day. “Twenty-seven years, give or take. This is my sister, Emily.”

  “And who are you again?” Scott narrowed his eyes at them both, his mouth a grim line.

  “Scott Michael Colvin, show our guests some manners.” The old woman nudged him, and his spine straightened. “You remember Xavier? Termite, they called him Termite back then. Scotty is his boy. He’s staying with me for a while.”

  At the mention of his father’s name, Scott’s face softened, turned boyish again. No wonder Olivia mistook him for Termite. The same Colvin blood ran through his veins.

  “You know my dad?” he asked.

  “Knew him. A little. It was a long time ago. He gave me some shoes once.” Olivia left out the other parts. That Termite had stolen those shoes, and everything else he’d ever given her. That he’d been there the day of Tina’s murder, her blood pooling around him.

  Miss Pearl ushered them inside, and Olivia found herself running her finger down a familiar crack in the table, noticing how much smaller everything looked. The cookie jar. The brown armchair. The dolls Miss Pearl sewed—Olivia had one growing up—two yellow buttons for the eyes. Even Miss Pearl.

  “You two look just like your mama. I was real sorry to hear she passed away a few years back.”

  Emily’s eyes welled, and Olivia found her hand beneath the table. “We have some bad news.”

  Miss Pearl waved Scott down the hallway, shooing him into another room. When she returned, her blue eyes went glassy. “I already heard about your dad. Word gets around fast at the Rock. You know that.”

  “What did you hear exactly?”

  “He got denied parole and couldn’t go on living in that hellhole.” She leaned in, drawing Olivia and Emily toward her. “Between us girls, I know that ain’t what happened. Your daddy was a complicated man. But he loved two things more than himself. His family and the Oaktown Boys. It took him too long to figure out there ain’t no good solution to that equation.”

  “By any chance, did he leave something with you?”

  Miss Pearl reached into her housecoat and withdrew a plastic key chain decorated with a single faux pearl. She pointed to the longest key in the batch, the number 19 engraved on its small brass head.

  Emily took it from her, worked the key off the ring and placed it on the table.

  Olivia touched it with reverence. “I don’t understand. Did he mail this to you?”

  “Oh, honey.” Miss Pearl patted her arm. “I’ve had it since May third, 1992. The day your daddy burst through that door, carrying you, both of you looking like you’d seen a ghost. His hands dripping red all over my linoleum. He pressed the key into my palm and told me exactly what to do. And Lord knows, I did it.”

  She lowered her head, her tears falling freely now. “Sometimes, I thought about getting rid of it. Couldn’t stand the sight of it. But I kept it for you. When I look at that key, all I see is the blood it left on my hands.”

  Seven

  Will had hoped to never come back here. To the barbed wire and concrete walls of Crescent Bay State Prison. Every time he drove past the sprawling gray structure on Pine
Grove Road on his way to the station, he averted his eyes. Because the last time he’d set foot inside it, its most dangerous inmate, Drake Devere, had escaped on his watch.

  But he had no choice now. His brother Ben needed his help. Carrying his guilt like a stone on his shoulders, he plodded down the hallway toward the administrative offices to find Warden Lester Blevins.

  After pressing the button at the door, Blevins’ secretary, Leeza, ushered him inside, and he followed her clicking heels to the end of corridor. “He’s waiting for you.”

  “Detective Decker, to what do I owe this pleasure?” The warden leaned back in his desk chair and regarded Will through wire-rimmed glasses, his lip curling as if he smelled something unpleasant.

  Without asking, Will took the chair across from him and tried to hide his own scowl. He had a laundry list of reasons to dislike Blevins and an even longer list to justify his mistrust. “Nice plaque.”

  “I don’t recall seeing you at the ceremony.”

  Will read the words that had been immortalized on cheap mahogany after Blevins’ supposed heroics during Drake Devere’s escape. Fog Harbor Police Department Bravery Award. For outstanding heroism by a citizen. “Something came up.”

  “No doubt. I’m sure you’ve been busy hunting the Vulture. It must sting, knowing he got the better of you.”

  In the silence, Will choked on his pride. It stuck in his throat like a shard of bone, but he swallowed it anyway. Along with that damn nickname—the Vulture—that reminded him of the way Drake had disappeared completely. Like he’d up and flown away. “Listen, I’m not here on a social call. I need a favor. It’s for an inmate at Valley View.”

  “An inmate?”

  “Not just an inmate. My brother, Ben Decker.”

  The warden’s brows raised. “Ah, I see.”

  “So, you know about the case?” Will waited for the look. Pity, revulsion, or curiosity. But Blevins’ face was unreadable.

  “Doesn’t everyone? It was quite a media spectacle. I imagine it was hard for you to show your face around San Francisco after that.” Revulsion, then. “Of course, I fully support your decision to testify against him. Sometimes, you have to do the right thing, even if it leaves you all alone.”

  Will nodded, feeling those words like a punch to the gut. “Ben’s been having a hard time with the Oaktown Boys at Valley View. He’s in danger. I was wondering if you could help him.”

  “I’m not sure what you have in mind.”

  “A transfer. Here. To Crescent Bay. As soon as possible. Where I can keep an eye on him. You can keep an eye on him. Just get me an audience with the warden down there, and put in a good word. That’s all I need.”

  “That’s a big ask, Detective. Warden Ochoa doesn’t like people getting in her business any more than I do.”

  Will set his eyes on Blevins. “Having a former cop in Crescent Bay might have its advantages. Unless you’ve got something to hide?”

  Blevins paused. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Will sat in his truck in the prison parking lot, staring at his phone. He still couldn’t dial Olivia’s number. She probably hated him right now, and rightfully so. He’d been the one to ask her to call her father back in December, to tell him to look out for Ben in Valley View. And look what it got him. Another body piled on his conscience.

  He tossed his phone on the seat and sped back to the station, grateful JB had been too stunned by the news about Olivia’s father to ask any questions when Will told him he’d be late. As he floored it down Pine Grove Road, Will felt hunted by the ghosts of his past. He could almost see them in his rearview mirror, snapping at his heels, refusing to let him go.

  Will parked the truck and hurried inside to find Officer Jessie Milner occupying JB’s seat. Her smile faltered when she saw him approach. Will wondered if he looked that bad, as Jessie usually saved her frowns for her numbskull partner—Olivia’s ex, Graham Bauer. After their help on the Seaside Strangler case, Graham and Jessie had been given permanent promotions to Minor Crimes, which sat fine with Will as it gave him more time for the real detective work of homicides.

  “Where’s JB?”

  “Chief Flack’s office. She wanted a full debrief on the Jane Doe case. In the meantime, Detective Benson asked me to make a few calls about that guy who once owned the cabin—Grimaldi.”

  “Any luck finding him?”

  “Turns out he’s still alive and kicking at the Knotted Pines Retirement Home in Brookings. About fifteen miles from here. The head nurse said he doesn’t get many visitors.”

  “I guess that means he’ll be happy to see us.”

  Will made an effort, but the corners of his mouth couldn’t quite reach a smile.

  “You alright?” Jessie asked.

  “Peachy.”

  “Well, this might cheer you up.” She handed him a printout of Grimaldi’s criminal record. Only one entry, but it was a doozy. Kidnapping, forcible confinement, and assault and battery. “I pulled the police report too. There wasn’t much to it. I guess they had trouble tracking down the victim. But I’ll give you one guess where it happened.”

  “The cabin?”

  Jessie nodded.

  “Good work.” Will tucked the sheet into the file folder on his desk, a twinge of excitement piercing the numbing fog of the morning. “Is Graham here today?”

  “Called in sick.”

  “That’s a shame. What do you think? Hung-over? Bad hair day?”

  Jessie’s mouth twisted. Like she couldn’t decide whether to spill it or let the truth burn her tongue. “I’m guessing you didn’t catch Good Morning, San Francisco?”

  “The TV show?”

  “Yeah. His new girlfriend, Heather Hoffman, is the host.”

  “Girlfriend?”

  Jessie shrugged. “That’s what I heard. But it’s just Hickory Pit gossip. Take it with a grain of salt.”

  Will shook his head, already fearing the worst. Hoffman had gotten her start at the Fog Harbor Gazette and catapulted to journalistic infamy after she’d released video of Drake Devere’s escape. It wouldn’t be the first time Bauer had tipped her off, and now she must have decided to put him on the payroll. No other reason she’d be interested in that buffoon.

  Jessie searched her phone for the footage, finally displaying the screen to Will. A regal Heather Hoffman sat behind a news desk, her perfectly straight blonde hair catching the light. A garish headline scrolled behind her. Mummified pregnant girl found in barrel.

  “My guess is Graham leaked her the story, and he’s playing hooky to avoid the chief’s wrath.”

  Chief Sheila Flack didn’t say a word to Will when he poked his head into her office. She simply gestured to the empty chair beside JB with a sympathetic nod. Which could only mean JB had gone rogue and told her something resembling the truth.

  “Fill me in, gentlemen.”

  After they’d recounted the whole sordid tale, from finding the barrel and its contents, to the bracket on the wall and Chet’s gruesome discovery, Chief Flack shook her head and sighed. “Sounds like Grimaldi’s got some explaining to do. I assume you two will head up to Knotted Pines before lunch and give him the old Decker and Benson shakedown.”

  Will chuckled. “With all due respect, the man is eighty years old. Too much shaking and he might break a hip. We’ll be lucky if he can remember back that far.”

  “Any other leads? What about the sand? Those fingerprints on the camera?”

  JB leaned forward, excited. “Just like we thought, the sand is man-made. The kind that’s produced from hard granite stone by crushing, probably purchased at a hardware store. But that’s not the good part.” He rubbed his hands together, flashing Will a devilish grin. “We got a match on the prints. An ex-con named Chuck Winters. What d’ya say, Chief? That’s worthy of Detective of the Year, isn’t it?”

  “Do we know his whereabouts?”

  Will matched JB’s smile and looked right at him as he spoke, waiting for his jaw to drop. “Second
Chance Halfway House in downtown San Francisco. He’s a third striker, who just got out on parole.”

  “What?” JB looked as incredulous as Will had hoped. “How could you possibly know that? You said you needed the morning off. You weren’t even here when Lieutenant Wheeler dropped off the report.”

  Will shrugged. “The real Detective of the Year doesn’t take vacation. I’m always working. I called the lab on the drive over. Tammy was more than happy to fill me in.”

  “That devil woman.”

  Chief Flack played referee. “Don’t get ahead of yourselves. Either one of you. We’ve got a dead girl in a barrel. The media vultures love this stuff. Hoffman’s already circling. Let’s wrap this one up quick. We can’t afford any more bad press.”

  “You hear that, City Boy? She’s talking to you.”

  “We should take a trip down to San Francisco,” Will said. “Pay Chuck Winters a visit.”

  Chief Flack nodded. “You should take a trip, since you’re familiar with the city. Head down this afternoon. JB will stay close to home and canvass the area. Maybe one of the locals remembers a young pregnant girl from way back when.”

  Will side-eyed his partner. “You’re okay with that?”

  “The chief has spoken. Besides, I can’t miss another tennis lesson or Tammy will be swinging at my balls.”

  “Alright. What do we do about SFPD?” As soon as Will uttered those four letters, shame flooded his body, taking him right back to the moment he’d turned in his badge at the police headquarters in downtown San Francisco. It had been months since he’d been run out of town by his old department. He couldn’t imagine going back. “Should we call ahead? I don’t want to step on any toes.”

  “Already done,” JB told him. “I talked to one of the detectives this morning. She said she’d relay the message to Winters’ parole agent.”

  With a droll smile, Chief Flack smacked the table. The signal to get their asses in gear. “Okay, gentlemen. Don’t let me down. I want an ID on our victim ASAP.”