Chapter Sixty-Nine
Drake Devere shuffled out of the side door of the prison to the waiting transport van, Officer Murdock gripping him by the arm. He’d been cuffed exactly as Will had requested. His hands in front, connected by a chain to his ankles. It would take a Houdini to weasel himself out of that predicament. Even so, seeing Devere so close to freedom made Will’s stomach churn.
“Listen, Devere. You try anything, and it’s game over. I end you. Understand?”
“Are you threatening me, Decker?”
JB pushed Drake toward the open van.
“Those aren’t threats. Those are promises. You get one shot at this. No funny business. If Decker doesn’t shoot you, I will. Either way, Vulture goes bye-bye. Wings clipped. Stuffed like a Thanksgiving turkey. Got it?”
“You should be a writer, Detective Benson. You’ve got a real gift for metaphors.”
With Melody’s help, Devere settled himself inside the enclosed backseat, stuck in a cage where he belonged, and Will started a mental countdown.
“Handsy?”
Not even five seconds had passed before Devere spotted his MHU enemy in the driver’s seat. Warden Blevins had requested two officers familiar with his nonsense, and Hank Wickersham fit the bill. Given what they knew about Wickersham, Will didn’t like it. But the warden had overruled him.
Devere let out a gleeful yelp. “I didn’t know you were comin’ along for the ride, Handsy. Road trip! This is gonna be fun. Just keep your hands on—”
Will took satisfaction where he could find it, slamming the door in Drake’s face.
“Alright, everybody, Devere is secure. Detective Benson, Officer Murdock, and I will ride in the transport van. Ms. Hoffman, you’ll follow behind with Warden Blevins and the cameraman in your own vehicle. When we get wherever the hell we’re going, Devere stays in cuffs. We clear the scene first, before we move in.”
The tension palpable, Will’s thoughts turned to Olivia. He had to remind himself of the why.
“Remember, we’re taking a big risk here. Our goal is to get Emily home safely.”
Because the how burned beneath his skin like a fever, scorching every last one of his cop instincts.
Chapter Seventy
Olivia rang the bell for the third time. The blinds were drawn, so she pressed her ear against the door and listened for the shuffle of Nancy Murdock’s slippers against the hardwood as she scooted herself along the hall in her wheelchair.
Since Nancy had been diagnosed with dementia, she never left the house. And after she’d nearly set it on fire baking a Bundt cake, Maryann and Melody alternated their shifts at the prison to stay home with her. Olivia never understood why they didn’t get her a bed at Sundown. Especially after the rumors that their stepfather, Ken, had molested them for years right under their mother’s nose. It explained why the girls had never dated, had never really fit in. Trauma could stunt growth. Could change a sapling to a weed, a magnolia bush to oleander.
When no one answered the door, Olivia approached the garage. She stood on tiptoe, peering into the sectioned windows, at the empty space beyond, the dust motes drifting in the afternoon sunlight.
She scanned the room, stumbling back when she saw it.
She had to get inside.
Her pulse pounding, Olivia ran silently around the back of the house and withdrew the Smith and Wesson she’d kept in her waistband. Deck didn’t think she could use it. She’d seen that in his eyes. But what did he know?
She smashed the butt against the lowest window, clearing the razor-sharp shards from the sill with the barrel. Then, she hoisted herself inside.
Keeping the gun raised and ready, Olivia made her way through Maryann’s bedroom. Her flowery shirts hung neatly in the closet. A stack of books threatened to topple on her nightstand. Her prison ID badge sat on the dresser.
Olivia crept through the living room and into the kitchen. On the table, a Scrabble board, the tiles still arranged as they’d been left. Luna’s pink leash hung from the door.
Swallowing her fear, Olivia turned the knob and took the two steps down into the garage.
She lumbered to the corner, dread weighting her legs, to confirm what she’d seen from the window.
Nancy’s wheelchair, MURDOCK printed in permanent marker on the back. One of the footrests was missing. The other matched the one Deck had photographed and included in her folder. Next to it, two pairs of Correct-Tex boots. She turned the shoe over, scraped the mud off the sole. Size ten.
The room began a slow, dizzying spin, threatening to put her on her ass. Olivia dropped into the wheelchair to stay upright. She closed her eyes. Took deep breaths, the way she taught her patients. In through the nose, out through the mouth. The gentle humming of the freezer the only sound.
When she opened her eyes, she looked at it. A small piece of blue fabric protruded from its lid.
Olivia’s heart throbbed, picturing Emily in her blue raincoat.
She moved toward the freezer, even as she willed herself away. She had to look. She couldn’t not.
With effort, the lid creaked open. The light came on. Nancy Murdock stared back at her, her freezer-burned face perfectly preserved and dotted with ice crystals. She wore a blue caftan. The garrote, still looped around her neck.
Olivia retreated, collapsed to the ground, shaking. She might’ve stayed there forever if her phone hadn’t buzzed in her pocket. An alert from the tracking app. The red dot was on the move.
Chapter Seventy-One
“So, where are we headed, Devere?” Hank eased the van through the parking lot, approaching the turn for Pine Grove Road.
“Out of town. You know that old loony bin?”
Will stared out the windshield, glad Devere couldn’t see his face, the shock that had surely paled him a little.
“Willow Wood?” Hank asked. “That place is a death trap. Uh—I mean, it’s falling apart. The floors have bound to be rotted through by now.”
“How you’d get out there, Devere?” Will asked, as the caravan rumbled onto the main road. “Did the Vulture fly?”
Devere cackled. “Hot-wired a prison work truck. But you already knew that, Detective. I assume you got my little home video.”
Hank cleared his throat, his face reddening. His knuckles white on the steering wheel.
“Oh Handsy, this is awkward. Did I not get your good side? If you ask me, you delivered an Oscar-worthy performance. Such raw emotion.”
“Shut up.” JB pounded on the steel mesh, but Devere didn’t flinch. He pressed his cheek to the window, and Will watched him smile in the rearview.
“Beautiful day, ain’t it, Detective Decker? It reminds me of our anniversary. A rare bit of sunshine in the middle of winter. Just like that day in February, when we first met face to face. We’ve come a long way together.”
“I said, shut your piehole.”
“It’s okay,” Will said. “Let him talk. He can’t help it. He’s obsessed with me.”
“If anyone’s obsessed, it’s you. Poor thing. The things you did to catch me the first time, the lines you crossed. And look where it got you. All alone here in Fog Harbor. Exiled by your own family. All you’ve got left is your badge, your cases. Your old-as-dirt partner. And a cat with one eye. It’s sad.”
Will felt the sudden jolt to his heart, the electricity in his veins but he showed no signs. Just let it course right through him, frying his nerves in self-imposed silence.
“But you know what’s sadder? All that effort, and you’ve only ever caught me because I wanted you to.”
“Yeah, well, prison blue is your color. It really brings out the deadness in your eyes. Congratulations on ending up exactly where you wanted to be. You’ll have the rest of your life to enjoy it.”
When they turned down the road to Willow Wood, Will gripped the door’s handle. He couldn’t wait to get out of this coffin of a backseat. To be free of the poison that wafted from Drake, making it impossible to breathe.
H
e looked past Officer Murdock, who’d squeezed herself into the center seat, to JB. But she seemed to believe his worried frown, his I-told-you-so sigh was meant for her.
“Don’t worry, Detective. He’ll be out of your hair in no time.”
Willow Wood’s redbrick carcass loomed over them. Like most dead things, some of its pieces had been swallowed by the forest. A fallen redwood rested against the roof. Another leaned precariously toward it. Vines fell like hanging rope out of its broken windows, and its crumbling spires cast long shadows on the grass. But the unexpected sunlight glowed through the windows that remained, giving a flicker of life to its ramshackle eyes.
As Will waited for Officers Murdock and Wickersham to escort Devere from the van, he checked his phone. No signal. Go figure.
“Your cat has one eye?” JB muttered.
“That’s not the point. Never mind.”
“I get it, City Boy. And there ain’t no tellin’ how he knows. No way that Jack-the-Ripper wannabe had time to pull off these murders and swing by your house. He probably paid off some flunky like McMillan to spy on you. Just don’t let him inside your head.”
Devere smirked at Will as he shambled toward them. Too late.
“In there.” Devere pointed into the dark mouth of the lobby. The ornate front doors stood ajar, as if someone inside had expected visitors. “She’s in there.”
Chapter Seventy-Two
Olivia hit redial, speeding down Pine Grove Road, desperately chasing the red dot otherwise known as Will Decker. She could only hope she wasn’t too late. That Em was still alive. Deck too.
“You have reached Detective William Decker with the Fog Harbor—”
She looked at the map on her phone again and cursed, realizing where they’d stopped. On the road with no name, where only one vehicle at a time could travel. It carved a path through the towering redwoods. At the end of its twists and turns stood a large, brick building, long abandoned. Hotel developers had purchased the land years ago, but it remained as it had when its doors were shuttered. Beyond it, a stark cliff with a sheer drop into the ocean and a set of stairs down to secluded Willow Beach.
She’d been there before with Erik, that day he’d carved their initials. And she’d run from Willow Wood then. So fast, she’d left her favorite jacket behind. Denim with blue rhinestones on the collar her mom had sewed herself. Probably, it was still inside somewhere, rat-eaten and mildewed. Slung over that old mattress.
With two miles to go, she pressed the accelerator to the floorboard, the Buick straining with the effort. She tried Deck again. No answer.
The turn in sight now, she dialed the station.
“Fog Harbor Police Department, how can I help you?”
“Chief Flack, please. It’s an emergency.”
“The chief is monitoring an operation. She asked me to hold her calls.”
Olivia groaned in frustration. “That’s what I’m calling about. Detective Decker’s in trouble. I know who—”
The call dropped, the signal lost, as she steered the car onto the road to Willow Wood. The Buick toiled up the dirt path, steam pouring from beneath the hood. Until it finally gave up, dying on the hill.
Olivia thrust open the door.
She imagined Emily huddled in a cold, sunless place. Bound and gagged. Her throat raw from crying. Rope burns on her wrists. She screamed her sister’s name.
Chapter Seventy-Three
Will breached the threshold, flashlight in one hand, Glock in the other. JB followed with his gun drawn, covering the door.
They waited inside while Officer Murdock guided Devere up the stone steps. Per Will’s instructions, Warden Blevins, Heather, and her cameraman lagged at least ten feet behind. Wickersham had been relegated to patrol the outer perimeter.
The brittle bones of the place creaked in protest as they made their way across the lobby, past the nurses’ station. Frozen in time, a calendar hung from the wall proclaimed it December 1992. Will’s mother had been long gone by then. His father, well on his way to becoming captain.
Behind him, Heather loud-whispered to the cameraman. “Get a shot of that.”
She shrugged when he glared at her.
Will stopped at the entrance to a maze of shadowy hallways, paint peeling from the walls like a snake shedding its skin. Door after door after door laid out before them. Some closed, some opened, some halfway in between. To choose felt like a cruel game.
“Which way, Devere?”
Drake lifted his cuffed hands and gestured toward the first long corridor of patient rooms. At its end, an elevator shaft marked with a blood-red sign: CAUTION: OPEN SHAFTWAY.
Beyond the nurses’ station, the cold raised goosebumps beneath his jacket. But not only the cold. Dread began to thrash in his stomach. It only got worse the further they went.
They cleared the rooms one by one, and the group filed down the hallway.
“Room 34,” Devere said, finally. “That’s the one. She’s in there.”
The door had been left slightly ajar. Its frame so warped Will doubted it would close anyway. He nudged it with his boot, and it barely moved. Staying flush against the wall, his gun ready, he pushed it the rest of the way, moving inside, as JB trained his sights on the hallway ahead.
Will scanned the room, his heart kicking like a frog in his throat.
A skeleton bed frame pushed to one corner.
A broken mirror leaned against a graffitied wall.
A bedpan. The smell of decay.
A ragged teddy bear slumped on the floor, eviscerated. Its stuffing scattered.
A closet door, bolted shut. The sight of that padlock—the newest, shiniest thing in the room—chilled him.
“Where the hell is she, Devere? I told you. No games.”
When Drake didn’t answer, Will returned to the hallway.
“Where is she?” He shoved Devere against the wall and out of Melody’s reach, holding him there with a forearm to his neck. He poked the barrel of the gun into Drake’s ribs. “You think you’re safe with a camera here? You think my finger won’t slip?”
“Careful.” A hint of a smile played on Drake’s face, even as it reddened with the effort of breathing. “It would be a shame to see you turn into your brother.”
From inside the room, JB called Will’s name. “Get in here. I think I heard something.”
JB tugged at the lock. Then rammed the door with his shoulder. It didn’t budge. Will joined him there, pressing his ear to the slim opening in the wood. Past his own breathing and the rapid rat-tat-tat in his chest, he thought he heard a strangled whimper.
“Shit. We need a hammer. Or a crow bar. Something.”
“There’s a Halligan bar in the trunk. That might work,” JB said. “I’ll radio Hank.”
Will headed back toward the door. He couldn’t wait to call Olivia, to hear the relief in her voice. But right now, he needed to lay eyes on Drake. Because he couldn’t shake the bad feeling that had clung to him from the moment they’d entered this place.
“Looking for this?” Drake’s tongue darted from his mouth. In its pink center, a small, silver key. The sort that would fit a shiny new padlock. It snaked back between his teeth like quicksilver, and he swallowed.
Will didn’t believe in ghosts. But he sure as hell believed in monsters.
Chapter Seventy-Four
Olivia’s lungs burned as she raced up the hill. But she couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t. Every time she thought of slowing, she pictured Emily’s face. Baby Emily, with her cherub cheeks. Her perfect tiny fingers latched onto Olivia’s thumb.
Her legs ached. Little girl Em. Her curls and mischievous smile. Her making a mess of the wall with her paint set.
The incline grew steeper, the path more treacherous.
She stumbled over an exposed root, breaking her fall with her hands. Emily in her hand-me-down prom dress, her cap and gown, her fuzzy pink slippers. She plucked a fat thorn from her palm, and kept going.
Finally, she spotted the
spires of Willow Wood, extending their crooked limbs into the sky. As she reached the courtyard, she looked up in wonder, enchanted and terrified.
It looks like a haunted castle, she’d once told Erik, gaping.
I’m gonna lock you up in the dungeon, he’d teased, grabbing her from behind.
Olivia stopped, gasped. Reached for her gun.
A hand on the ground, still as a stump, the rest of the body hidden behind the prison van, its tires slashed. Keeping her eyes up, Olivia moved around the back of the vehicle.
Hank lay there, face down. She hurried to him, rolled him to his side. His bulletproof police vest still intact, his gun missing. A wire garrote had been pulled tight around his throat. So tight it had cut through his flesh. His eyeballs bulged, blood red from the strain.
Terror coursed like ice water in her veins, and she froze. Eight years old again and waiting for her father to scoop her up and carry her away.
But then, she spotted the woman, familiar yet strange, slinking toward the side of the building, a gun in her hand. Their eyes met.
She wasn’t eight years old anymore.
They both started running.
Chapter Seventy-Five
Will heard Olivia’s voice, frantic and screaming his name. Impossible.
“Deck!”
She materialized, specter white, at one end of the long hallway. She darted toward him, pointing past him to the elevator shaft. The door stood open, like the portal to another world.
“Maryann!”
Devere smiled, baring his teeth.
Watch Her Vanish: An absolutely gripping mystery thriller (Rockwell and Decker Book 1) Page 33
