She rubs her neck, stiff from spending so long on the road, but it doesn’t help much. It’s taken her and Nate a few days to drive to Colorado from northern California—almost thirteen hundred miles—and after she helped him find a girl who went missing from a summer camp, now it’s his turn to hold up his end of the deal: helping her to clear her name and find her son. Nate, just two years out of prison himself, was used to being alone after having spent seventeen years on death row for a murder he didn’t commit. He wasn’t keen on the idea of working alongside a disgraced ex-cop like Madison, but she thinks they’re finding their way. She’ll always be grateful to him for giving her a trial run as an unlicensed private investigator. It’s almost impossible to find work when you’re a convicted felon.
Nate slips back into the booth, sitting opposite her, and sips his coffee. Then he fixes her with his serious blue eyes. “Now would be a good time to fill me in on what happened here seven years ago. Because we’re almost in Lost Creek and I want to know what we’re walking into. So far you’ve only given me the bones.”
She puts her coffee down, knowing he’s right. “Well, as you already know, I’d recently been promoted to detective. I loved being a police officer but I worked hard for my promotion. I wanted to do some real investigative work, instead of just acting like a social worker for the locals. But I didn’t even get a chance. I was arrested just five days into my new role and not one of my team spoke up in support of me or stayed in touch when I was sent down.” She shakes her head, still devastated by how quickly they turned.
“What exactly got you arrested? Who was the victim?” he asks.
“Officer Ryan Levy. He was my coworker but also my friend.” She pauses. She can picture Ryan now, clear as day, laughing while they chatted in the police cruiser on the way home from work that afternoon. “It’s like I spoke to him just yesterday.”
Nate nods. “That’s the problem with being locked up: time freezes inside. When you’re released, you expect to find everything the same as when you left it, but it doesn’t work that way.”
He’s right about that. “Ryan and I were on shift together the day he was killed. I didn’t have a detective for a partner because there was only one other detective in our department—Don Douglas—and he had a thing about working alone. I was asked to attend a residence after we received a call from a guy who said he was being seriously assaulted by his partner, so I requested an officer attend with me for backup. Ryan volunteered.”
Nate frowns. “Douglas didn’t want to go with you even though someone’s life was at risk?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t even know where he was that day. He was new to the team and a classic lone wolf, never wanting to tell anyone anything about himself. I expect he didn’t stay with the department long after my conviction, as he clearly hated it there.” She can feel the old resentments rising. “After that domestic disturbance, which ended amicably because Ryan managed to defuse the situation, he drove us to a coffee shop and treated me to coffee and a slice of cake for my birthday. We were there for less than an hour.” She looks up at Nate. “Five hours later, he was dead.”
“Were you the last person to see him alive?”
She gives him a stern look. “No. The killer was.”
He leans back. “I wasn’t trying to catch you out. I may only have known you for a few weeks, but if you’ve hired me as a PI to look into your conviction after you’ve already served your time, I’m going to assume you have nothing to hide.”
They sit in silence for a while.
“You’ve had a long time to think about this,” he says. “Who do you think killed Ryan?”
The million-dollar question. “I don’t know. That’s why I need your help.”
He frowns as he considers possibilities. “Was he causing problems at the station? Did he have a beef with any of the other officers? Perhaps he was dating another cop’s wife and the husband found out?”
She shakes her head. “From what he told me, he was single. And as a team we all worked well together. Until Douglas joined us.”
Nate pauses, and she just knows he’s wrongly putting two and two together in his head. She’s short on patience this morning and it irritates her.
“Were you and Ryan dating?”
“No. We were good friends, but we weren’t seeing each other.” She doesn’t explain how it could have ended up that way, given the chance.
“Sorry,” he says. “It’s just that I remember you told me previously that you and Stephanie split because you started seeing a guy. I wondered if that was him.”
“No. Stephanie and I split way before Ryan was murdered.” She tries not to snap at him. It’s difficult to relive everything, but she has to remember that Nate’s trying to help her. He had a much tougher experience than her and he still manages to stay positive. Well, most of the time, and only when he has enough cocaine to see him through the darkest days.
She wonders whether a crutch like that would help her cope too. She picked up a bad smoking habit in prison, but that’s mostly over now. She’s intending for the cigarette she enjoyed earlier, before the sun was up, to be her last.
He leans in. “When we first met, in California, you told me you believe someone from your police department must have framed you for Ryan’s murder, but why frame you? Did you rat someone out? Were you investigating one of them? Or had you arrested a cop’s family member? I need to try and understand what their motive would be.”
She looks down. “I don’t know what they think I did to deserve it and I don’t know who stood to gain from Ryan’s death or from framing me. Trust me, these are questions that plague me, but I wasn’t around to do any digging once I’d been arrested.”
The waitress brings their bacon and eggs over and refills their coffees without asking.
“What did you talk about in your final conversation with Ryan?” asks Nate. “Did he share any problems he was having?”
Madison waits for the waitress to leave. “I’ve gone over that conversation a million times in my head.” They’d talked about the department, and how Don Douglas had a reputation for being a cold fish. “There was nothing significant. It was just a normal bitch about work. Afterwards, Ryan gave me a ride home and I assumed he was going on to his place from there. He lived alone just a couple of blocks from me.”
She sips her fresh coffee as Nate makes notes in his yellow legal pad. She knows he doesn’t yet trust smart technology, having spent so long inside.
“Did he actually tell you he was going home?” he asks.
“No, but he was still in uniform and it was early evening by then. There was nothing to suggest he had plans to go somewhere else.”
“And he didn’t ask you over to his place?”
“No. He knew I had to get home for my son. Owen and I were looking after the neighbor’s house that week, while she was on a cruise. We’d agreed to feed the cat every morning and evening and water her house plants.”
“Okay. And what do you know about what happened next?” he asks.
Madison pictures the scene. It’s easy, because her lawyers showed her the crime-scene photos and they were widely shared during her trial. She’s never been able to get those images out of her head. “The TV was on in Ryan’s living room, there were candles lit around the fireplace and dinner was in the oven: two frozen pizzas that had burnt to a crisp by the time the police arrived.” She pauses. “Ryan was sprawled face down on the kitchen floor with one gunshot wound to the back of his head. The medical examiner determined that his face had hit the stove as he dropped to the floor because his front teeth had been damaged and he had bruising around his mouth.” She tries to hide her trembling hands.
Nate raises his eyebrows. “Jesus, he was shot from behind? Isn’t that execution style?”
She nods and takes another drink. “Yeah. But Detective Douglas was convinced the scene told the story that he was on a date because of the candles and the two pizzas instead of one. Everyone in
town knew that Ryan and I worked together. Team that with the fact that several people spotted us eating cake together earlier that day, like it’s some kind of goddam crime, and everyone jumped to the conclusion that it was me he was on a date with.”
Nate shakes his head and drops his pen. “That’s a shockingly lazy assumption. Surely Douglas must have investigated other possibilities? Especially because Ryan was shot from behind.”
“No. Unfortunately he didn’t.”
“But why not? Someone in your department must have spoken up on your behalf. Made them see you weren’t capable of murdering a friend, never mind a fellow police officer.”
She takes a deep breath and tries to steady her hands. It almost feels like being on trial all over again. Hesitantly she says, “He didn’t consider anyone else for the murder once he realized the shot was fired from my service weapon.”
Nate’s mouth actually falls open. “You’re shitting me?”
She shakes her head and sips her coffee. “I shit you not.”
5
The breaking news music makes everyone in the diner look at the TV above the counter in unison. A male news desk anchor is talking about a development over in the nearby town of Lost Creek. Madison sits up straight as the anchor cuts to a live outside broadcast and the familiar face of her high school friend, TV reporter Kate Flynn, appears. It doesn’t look like Kate has aged a day since she covered Madison’s trial, and Madison finds herself feeling sad that their relationship deteriorated when Kate chose her loyalty to her job over their long-term friendship.
“Shocking news coming from the Fantasy World amusement park this morning, folks,” says Kate, with a grave look on her immaculately made-up face. “We have unconfirmed reports that a teenage girl has died here overnight. Rumors suggest it could be a suicide, although we’ve been unable to get hold of the investigating detective for comment.”
The camera moves past Kate’s shoulder and zooms into a wide shot of the amusement park. The roller coaster and the Ferris wheel are silhouetted against the blue morning sky.
“Jeez, that place is still open?” says Madison.
Nate follows her gaze. “What place?”
“Fantasy World. Owen used to beg me to take him there every weekend in summer. I’d always come away with a headache from all the screaming and loud music.” She sighs. “Maybe they’ll shut it down completely after this. It’s been there over forty years and is long overdue a complete refurbishment, or better still, pulling down altogether. I’m surprised those rusty old rides haven’t killed anyone recently.”
She remembers a girl from her school who fell off the runaway mine-train roller coaster during its upside-down loop because some idiot didn’t secure the safety bar properly. All the boys in her class congregated where the poor girl had landed, silently in awe of witnessing their first dead body. These days they would probably pull out their cell phones and start recording. Stories about the girl’s ghost haunting the park were always popular at school.
“You’re going to gloss over what you just told me, aren’t you?” Nate looks serious. “About your service weapon being at the scene of the crime you were convicted of.”
“It’s been a long few days, Nate. We have plenty of time to discuss that later.” She wants to watch the news report. It’s her first glimpse of Lost Creek in a long time.
On screen, the camera operator does a good job of trying to find something newsworthy with his lens, but the police cordon is too wide. All the rides are shut down. Without the colorful lights and loud dance music, the place loses its magic.
“We have unsubstantiated reports that the girl’s death took place on or near the park’s famous Wonder Wheel, but we don’t yet know her identity,” Kate continues. “We have, however, managed to find a worker from the park willing to talk.”
An older woman with curly gray hair steps into view. She looks a little worse for wear.
“Ma’am, I understand you work here, is that correct?” asks Kate.
“Sure do. I’ve worked the cotton candy stand for over twenty years.”
“And how did you react to this morning’s tragic news?”
“I’ve only just been told!” the woman says, clearly shaken. “I can’t believe something like that has happened here, and on July Fourth too!”
“Can you tell me what the atmosphere was like here last night?” probes Kate. “Were there any reports of trouble, or anything out of the ordinary?”
The woman looks shocked at the suggestion, which Madison finds laughable considering that the place breeds trouble. Always has.
“No, ma’am. Everyone was in the party spirit. It was busier than usual, perhaps a little rowdier, but that’s to be expected given the occasion. We had a small fireworks display at seven for the little ones, and then the big display at nine for the adults and teens. As far as I’m concerned, everyone was enjoying it.” She leans in to Kate. “But truth be told, I was a little wasted by ten o’clock. I can’t hold my liquor like I used to and I don’t remember getting home.” She grins into the camera.
To her credit, Kate keeps a straight face. “I see. And do you know the identity of the unfortunate girl who died here last night?”
The woman shakes her head. “Nope. I just hope to God I don’t know her. Working at a place like this, you get friendly with the local kids. And those of us who work here are all one big family. I’d hate to lose any one of them.” She starts dabbing her eyes with her sleeve. “Even though it sounds bad, I’d rather it was a customer.”
Madison is overcome with a strong feeling of dread as two male cops—one white, one black—emerge from the park. The cameraman signals to Kate and she spins around and immediately runs toward them, forgetting the woman. “Detectives, are you able to give us a statement about what happened here last night?”
Madison thinks they both look like they’d rather be anywhere else than on camera, but when they realize it’s probably in their best interests to give Kate something rather than risk her speculating, one of them slows down, signaling to the other to keep walking.
Everyone in Lost Creek knows who these detectives are, because they’re the only detectives the town has. And Madison knows them better than most. Mike Bowers and Don Douglas. She’s shocked that Douglas is still in Lost Creek and her skin crawls at the thought of inevitably bumping into him.
“Thank you for your time, Detective Bowers,” says Kate.
“No problem,” says Mike. “We were called out here at approximately six o’clock this morning to a report of a deceased sixteen-year-old girl on the Ferris wheel. We haven’t yet notified her parents, so I won’t be releasing her name.”
“But you do know her identity?” asks Kate.
He nods slowly. “I believe we do, but I want to be sure.”
“And how did she die?”
Mike looks uncomfortable now. He’s not aged as well as Kate. He’s gray around the temples and he looks exhausted. He’s gained a little weight too, which is surprising as he was always a keen runner. “Let’s wait for the medical examiner’s report before we speculate on that, shall we? That’s all I can tell you right now.” He smiles and walks away to join Detective Douglas in the parking lot.
As the camera follows them, Madison can see that the coroner’s van has arrived to transport the girl’s body to the morgue.
“That poor girl’s mother,” says Nate.
She finishes her coffee. “I don’t miss delivering news like that.” But she’d be lying if she said she didn’t miss every other aspect of the job. She’s already wondering how the girl died and whether it was a homicide. With Steph being killed nearby only three nights ago, Mike needs to be checking whether the cases are linked. Madison knows she needs to speak to him as soon as possible about what happened to Stephanie.
Nate pulls his wallet out to pay the check, then gathers his things.
Madison stands up. Her heart beats a little faster at the thought of arriving home and facing her past.
<
br /> 6
Lost Creek, Colorado
Detective Mike Bowers stares at the dead girl slumped on the Ferris wheel—named by her boss as sixteen-year-old Nikki Jackson. He swallows two pills without water. He’s getting a throbbing headache above his right eye. Probably because, like everyone else in town, he was celebrating a little too much last night and now he’s paying for it. It doesn’t help that the day is already too hot, his cell phone won’t stop ringing, and Detective Douglas has left him to do all the work.
“You’re saying you don’t know the whereabouts of the employee who found her?” he asks the park’s owner, Trevor Sanders.
“Afraid not. He obviously called this in to you guys,” Trevor nods to Nikki’s body, “then called me. He’d already left by the time I arrived. I haven’t seen him since and his phone is switched off.”
Mike wonders why someone would flee the scene of a suicide. “What’s his full name?”
“Ricky Gregor. This is his first summer here.”
Mike writes it down on his small pad. “Address?”
“I’m pretty sure he told me he lives in an apartment over the coffee shop in town, but don’t quote me on that.”
Mike raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t get references on this guy?”
Trevor smiles patiently. “Working here doesn’t pay that well, so it attracts three kinds of people: teenagers, older women whose kids have flown the nest, and the kind of adults who can’t get work elsewhere for whatever reason. That leads to false names and backgrounds, so sure, I ask for references, but I’m willing to bet the majority of them are fake, along with half these people’s names.” He shrugs as if to say it’s not his fault or his problem.
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