Watch Her Vanish: An absolutely gripping mystery thriller (Rockwell and Decker Book 1)

by Ellery A Kane

  Olivia thought of poking holes in Greg’s logic. If Drake was really a vampire, he certainly wouldn’t be handling garlic. He wouldn’t be in this place at all. But she’d watched Leah try and fail, try and fail. Reasoning with Greg always proved futile. And messy. Like the time he’d barricaded himself in her office and dissected every red ink pen, convinced they contained blood to feed the undead. The red stains on Leah’s tile floor never did come out.

  “If what?” she repeated, as calm as she could manage.

  “I can’t tell you! But I did it. I did it!” Greg reared back and struck his head on the wall. Again. And again. And—

  “Hank!” Olivia yelled, pressing her own alarm. “Restrain him.”

  Stunned, Greg barely resisted when Hank finally moved in. He weakly flailed one arm that glanced off Hank’s shoulder. Hank rolled Greg to his stomach and secured him in cuffs, as a small group of officers filed in to help.

  “Hold on,” Deck said, as Hank hauled Greg to his feet and started him walking. “Let me talk to him.”

  “Step aside, Detective. This here’s Crescent Bay turf. Now, I understand you’ve gotten the go-ahead to speak with Devere. You already know I don’t give a rat’s ass about him. Or Petowski, for that matter. But I don’t think the warden would take too kindly to you randomly interrogating our inmates, and I’ve gotta keep the boss happy.”

  Unfazed, Deck trailed behind them. “I can get your garlic,” he told Greg, without a trace of derision. “My partner and I just made a friend in the kitchen. Whatever you need, it’s yours.”

  Hank pushed Greg forward toward the therapeutic module—a glorified cage—near the entrance, but he dug his heels in, craned his head back to Deck.

  “Six cloves. For a necklace. Like Sam in The Lost Boys.”

  “Done.”

  One firm shove and Greg stumbled into the cage. “Sit down and shut up,” Hank told him.

  Greg folded himself onto the small metal seat as Hank slid the lock into place, glowering. “You’re getting a write-up, Petowski. Assault on staff and resisting a peace officer.”

  “Aw, c’mon, Sarge. That ain’t like you.”

  “Keep testing me, and I’ll make it worse. I’ll have you transferred down south. I hear they’ve got a lot of vampires at that maximum security facility in LA.”

  Olivia caught Deck’s eyes, the mischievous glint there. When she raised her brows at him, he mirrored her with a subtle nod. Game on.

  “Assault? Really, Hank?” She sidled up to him, drawing his attention, leading him toward the main desk and away from the cage. “He hardly touched you. Cut the poor guy some slack. After all, you do have a mutual enemy. How about we call it behavior that could incite violence? Leah and I will help you write it.”

  Hearing her name, Leah nodded. “Absolutely. We’re a team here. We know you’ve had a rough few days.”

  With Hank and Leah busy at the desk, Olivia turned back to the cage, where Greg stood calmly, peering out. Deck had vanished.

  Olivia spotted him in the back office with JB, both of them leaning back in their seats as Drake spoke. She knew that look, a watch and wait. Because sometimes, if you gave an inmate enough rope, he’d hang himself.

  “Gonna get my garlic,” Greg whispered to her, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

  After a quick glance over her shoulder, she approached the therapeutic module. “So you told the detective what you did for Drake?”

  Greg nodded, sticking out his slim chest. “He said I was extremely helpful. That I’m gonna get my garlic.”

  As Olivia walked away, she looked once more at Drake, framed in the office window. His hair, jet black. His skin, pale and shimmery under the fluorescent light. His metaphorical teeth, sharp as razors. A dark thought came to her. She didn’t speak it aloud.

  You’re going to need it, Petowski.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Will watched Devere with silent satisfaction, knowing he held Greg’s admission like an ace in his pocket.

  “I’m telling ya, Detectives. You’re barking up the wrong tree here. Did you check the cameras? I was snug as a bug in my cell all night.”

  “Well, you should’ve been in Ad Seg.” Will already knew what the cameras showed. And more importantly, what they didn’t. Devere had been escorted back to his single cell at 8 p.m., with Officer Singletary securing the lock. Between 10 p.m. and 4:30 this morning, the cameras on C Block had gone dark. Warden Blevins assured them he’d stepped up bed checks, that Devere had slept through the night. “How did you weasel out of that one?”

  “Blevins thought it was too much of a security risk. I’ve got a lot of enemies in the hole. Best to keep me up here. Above ground.”

  “I’m fairly certain you’ve got a few enemies up here, too,” JB said.

  “Yeah. I’m looking at ’em.”

  Will readied his ace, prepared to play it. “Are you sure you’ve never had any garrote-making materials? Extra jumpsuits? The rolling pins? You must’ve done some research for the book, right? To make it authentic. Doesn’t Hawk use a garrote?”

  “Hawk uses a very specific type of weapon. It’s highly specialized. I wouldn’t expect you’d be familiar with it. It’s called a cutter garrote, and it’s made of heavy-duty wire. None of that namby-pamby cloth your wannabe’s been using.”

  “A cutter garrote?” JB whistled. “That’s an old military weapon. American OSS. Used during World War II. If you knew what you were doin’, turned your body to your enemy just so, you could hoist him up, and…” JB made a slicing motion across his neck, complete with the sickening sound effect.

  “That’s right,” Devere said. “Maryann told me it would be a perfect weapon for Hawk. He’s former special forces.”

  “Just like you, huh?” Will rolled his eyes.

  “I could’ve been in the military. Could’ve been a cop, too. But I didn’t want some asshole barking orders at me. Drake Devere doesn’t do chain of command. The buck stops right here.”

  Will placed his bets and laid his ace on the table. “So if somebody told me you had the hook-up on extra jumpsuits from the laundry—let’s say a few extra jumpsuits identical to the ones used to make the garrotes found wrapped around the necks of Bonnie and Laura—they’d be lying?”

  Devere flashed a solid poker face, for which Will had to give him credit. “I’d say somebody was yanking your chain. They probably heard about the murder weapons and told you a little story. You fell for it, Detective. Hook, line, and uh… garlic?”

  Will left JB at the control booth and raced back to the MHU, paper bag in hand, courtesy of Squeak.

  He stood outside the door, waving through the small window until Olivia spotted him from the main desk. Relieved, he held up the bag and smiled back at her. He’d been certain he’d have to deal with Wickersham. Which seemed a monumental ask for a day that started with another missing woman.

  Olivia left Leah and Hank at the desk and walked toward him, her eyes brightening. That look alone, that single dimple, made the trip back worth it.

  With the door unlocked, she cracked it open, leaving a sliver of shared space between them. He leaned into its warmth, wanting to be closer.

  “Can you make sure your vampire hunter gets this? I got the okay from his unit officer.”

  She accepted the bag, held it up to her wrinkled nose. “A man of your word, I see.”

  “Thanks for your help with that, by the way.” Will nodded toward the desk, where Hank had poked his head up, watching them intently. From the look of the messages he’d read on Emily’s phone, he had a feeling he’d be seeing Hank again today. Real soon. No wonder the guy looked green around the gills. “We make a good team.”

  “I suppose we do.”

  “But you’re still wrong about Drake,” he said. “And I can prove it.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. Extra jumpsuits from the laundry. That’s the price Greg paid upfront for the garlic. So, how do you explain that with your
Drake-as-the-fall-guy scenario, Doctor?”

  She stepped back, nonplussed, and he wished he hadn’t been such a smartass. “Well, that’s unexpected. But as my supervisor used to say, ‘It’s all grist for the mill.’ Profiles can change. Theories too. Just like suspects. I have to admit you surprised me with Greg. He’s not the easiest person to communicate with, especially when he decompensates like that. Are you gunning for my job now or what?”

  Will maintained his easy smile, but inside he felt another crack. The crisp, clean snap of a stem he heard every time he thought of his mother. That’s the way it sounds when your heart breaks a little.

  “I patrolled for a few years in the Tenderloin. Saw my share of mental illness down there. Trust me, a guy who believes in vampires is the least of it.”

  He felt reassured by her laughter. It meant he’d fooled her. Not that he’d lied. He had patrolled the Tenderloin. But by then, he’d already been fluent in crazy.

  Will ignored the buzzing of his cell phone. His little brother, Petey, had called a few times since Will had left him hanging two days ago. But right now, he had to focus on dodging the gladiators. That’s what JB had christened the group of reporters bold enough to position themselves right outside the station, wielding microphones instead of swords. Flinging questions sharp as arrows. Launching spears from their mouths, some of them barbed.

  Is it true there’s a third victim?

  Another woman missing?

  A serial killer?

  The phone buzzed again, insistent in Will’s hand.

  Call me, bro. Dad’s worried about you.

  As the cameras rolled, JB cleared the way. Will kept his head down. He had no desire to be front-page news again. He followed JB into the station and deleted the text, wishing he could take a blowtorch to it. His dad hadn’t earned back the right to worry about him. Not now. Not ever again.

  They rounded the corner, and JB groaned, cursed under his breath. Will considered throwing himself to the gladiators. Because Lieutenant Wheeler waited by their desks, and he wasn’t alone.

  “’Bout time you fellas showed up. The chief wants to talk to the four of you.”

  “About?” JB asked.

  “What do you think, Benson? I’m guessing it has to do with the shit storm that’s brewing out there with your double homicide and your missing person. And the lack of… shall we say, progress.”

  Will walked single file to Chief Flack’s office, JB in front, Graham Bauer and Jessie Milner behind. Like a march to the guillotine, Will had a bad, bad feeling about this.

  “Your phone’s blowin’ up, dude,” Graham told him, as his back pocket buzzed again. “It could be important.”

  Will said nothing, kept moving. Kept sighting JB’s head—his salt-and-pepper buzz cut and the mole in the center of his bald spot—like a sad little bullseye.

  “What if it’s news on Shauna Ambrose?”

  The distance to Chief Flack’s door had never felt so long.

  “Or it could be the killer. You know, serial killers contact the cops sometimes. They like to taunt us. Liv and I watched a documentary about Dennis Rader. Called himself BTK. What a cocky little shit, leaving messages for the cops. Got himself caught though. So, you might want to—”

  “It’s not the killer.” Will spoke without turning around, his ears grating at the sound of “Liv” coming out of the Neanderthal’s mouth.

  “Well, Liv says it’s pretty common for—”

  Will grabbed the phone from his pocket and spun around, making a show of studying it, as Jessie looked on behind him, wide-eyed.

  “Oh. Would you look at that? It’s your girl, Olivia Rockwell. She wanted me to know she had a great time at the Hickory Pit Tuesday night. On our date.”

  JB guffawed. Jessie’s mouth collapsed into a little pink O. Graham simply stood there like an oaf. Until the whole of Will’s message reached beyond a thick layer of hair gel and into his pea brain.

  “Hey, fuck you, man.”

  Will knew he’d regret it, but it felt too damn good to take it back. So good, it eased the sting of the real message. Not from Olivia, of course, but Petey.

  Word on the street down here is that you got your ass handed to you the other night by Oaktown. Watch your back, bro. You know what happens when you poke the hornet’s nest.

  Chief Flack ruled from her throne of cheap wood and pleather, sizing up JB and Will with a deep frown. There were only two seats at the chief’s desk, and Will started to wish he’d given his to Graham. Helmet Hair and his partner waited in the corner silently.

  “Two bodies. One more missing. A whole lot of loose ends. And not a single viable suspect.”

  “Is that a question?” JB asked.

  “I’m not done yet.” Chief Flack stood up, paced behind her desk. “I’ve got local media on my ass. National media too. Now the FBI wants a piece of the action. They were planning to send a task force up here to investigate corruption at Crescent Bay. Apparently, they received a tip linking these crimes to contraband smuggling. Cell phones, drugs, weapons. That sort of thing.”

  Will nodded vigorously. Figured he’d use his head while he still had it. “It’s definitely a possib—”

  “Save it for your team, Decker.” She gestured to Graham and Jessie. “Gentlemen, meet your new partners, Officers Bauer and Milner.”

  Graham extended his hand toward JB. It hung in the air for a solid three seconds before he let it drop to his side.

  “Our new what? Since when are we the last to know?”

  “Listen, Jimmy. I would’ve called you first, but you were up at Crescent Bay. No cell phones allowed.”

  “Not legal ones anyway.” Will tried to defuse the tension.

  “You’re both great detectives. But you two are in way over your heads on this one. We’re a small-town police department. We’re not equipped to handle a serial killer.”

  “Jesus. Can we please stop saying that goddamned word? We only have two victims. Two. Ain’t nothin’ serial about that.” JB let out a long, fiery breath. “You gonna say somethin’, City Boy? Or are you in agreement with this bullshit?”

  Will weighed his options. But nailing Graham with a throat punch didn’t seem like a smart career move. “I don’t think we have a choice here.”

  “You don’t.” Chief Flack returned to her throne, content with her decree. “Besides, Bauer and Milner are eager to learn. Aren’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” They answered in unison but only Jessie appeared sincere, flashing the chief an eager smile.

  JB shook his head. “You two best stop kissin’ her ass and start kissin’ mine.”

  “That’s all.” Chief Flack waved them out. “You’ve got forty-eight hours to bring me something solid. Or I’ll have to turn our evidence over to the Feds.”

  As soon as the door closed behind them, JB escaped out the side entrance, cigarettes in hand, leaving Will to fend for himself with the knaves.

  “Truce?” Graham asked. “We’ve got to work together on this. To catch this asshole. For Bonnie and Laura and Shauna.”

  “Fine. For them. Just remember, JB and I are the detectives here. We’re the experts. We call the shots.”

  Jessie reached the side entrance first.

  “I wouldn’t go out there if I were you,” Will warned. She stuck her head out the door, coughing as she ran straight into a cloud of JB’s smoke. Graham stopped short, blocking the exit.

  “Then you best remember to steer clear of my girl.”

  “I don’t think she’s your girl anymore. If she ever was.”

  “That’s none of your business. You know, I told her the truth about you, William Decker. Man, you are Internet famous. I googled the shit out of you. Olivia doesn’t like snitches any more than I do.”

  Will studied Graham’s face. Thought of how he’d like to rearrange it. Once upon a time, fifteen years younger and a rookie cop, he wouldn’t have thought twice. But then he’d seen things that changed him. He’d collected them, bur
ied them at the bottom of the junk drawer of his brain. Bullet holes in a child’s bedroom. Blood pooling on the asphalt like melted ice cream. A mother falling to her knees. The protruding handle of a knife, its blade stuck down to the bone. A pair of dark, lifeless eyes that belonged to Rochelle Townes. His brother in prison blues.

  “You sure about that?”

  He turned around before Graham could answer. Made it halfway down the hall, before he heard his partner let loose.

  “Can’t a man smoke his goddamned cancer sticks in peace?”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Olivia stopped in the clearing and waited for Emily and Leah to catch up. She poked at the thick grass with her walking stick as another group of volunteers passed her, their neon safety vests disappearing into the redwood grove that bordered Highway 187.

  Olivia listened to the river in the distance. The wet whisper of the water unnerved her more than the sudden cries of the gulls. More than the sound of the other volunteers calling Shauna’s name. She’d thought she could do this—comb the woods for her sister’s missing friend—but she’d been wrong. It reminded her of Bonnie. Of the vigil and the church. The drainpipe. She kept waiting for a scream to split the late afternoon stillness. Like the kind of crack in the ice you fall right through.

  “We should head back soon,” Olivia said, the moment she spotted the other two. “It’s getting dark. I’ll bet Baby Chapman’s getting hungry.”

  “I’m fine. Jake’s picking up dinner tonight. Trust me, this baby will be well fed.” Leah gave a sad smile and patted Olivia’s shoulder. “Besides, I can’t stop thinking about Shauna and her poor grandma. She must be worried sick. At least I feel useful out here.”

  Emily walked on ahead of them, her eyes down, searching. As they followed her, the river’s voice deepened to a throaty growl, and Olivia began to whisper.

  “I’ve got a bad feeling, Leah.”