When Olivia woke later, in the middle of the night, she felt certain someone had been there. In the room with them. That the hospital door had opened, letting in the light from the hallway. That a long, thin shadow had breached the threshold, followed by the man who cast it.
She knew because he’d left a package near the tabletop tree Leah had brought over yesterday. FROM WARDEN BLEVINS on the front in black ink.
Olivia held it, studied it. The same size, the same dirty brown paper as that package she’d watched pass from his hands to Riggs and to Termite’s. Same as the one Laura had unearthed from a sack of flour.
Her stomach flipped as she removed the wrapping. Lifted the lid.
“What is it?” Emily raised her head, her voice groggy.
Olivia frowned, still trying to make sense of it. Of all she’d imagined, never this.
“A fruitcake,” she said.
Chapter Eighty-Two
“You ready, City Boy?” JB paused in front of the hospital room door. The handwritten name drew Will’s eyes in like a magnet. Murdock, Melody.
But he thought of her sister, Maryann, instead. Of her dog, Luna. And her books. Her dumpy wardrobe. A perfectly crafted façade. Still, he saw Maryann as a victim. Melody too. Innocent in their own right—like a claw hammer or a butcher knife—but in the wrong hands, a deadly weapon. Devere had wielded the twins without regret. The way he’d always handled women.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
They nodded at the officer out front as they entered, taking their usual positions at the foot of the bed where Melody’s legs lay covered by a white thermal blanket.
She looked more herself than she had in the last ten days. The tube had been removed from her nose. Her hair had been combed. Her face, washed. Her eyes regarded them with wary recognition.
“We heard you wanted to talk.” Will figured there could only be one reason for that, so it didn’t surprise him when her first words croaked out like she’d scraped them up from her throat and spit them.
“That bitch.” Melody took a sip of water and started again. “We were supposed to leave together. Me and Drake. That was the plan.”
“So what happened?”
Will already knew the answer. He’d seen the letters between the Vulture and his birds of prey. The Osprey, Drake’s nickname for Maryann and the Falcon, his nickname for Melody. He’d read enough to realize the depths of their obsession. But not enough to understand it. Not even a post office full of letters could have done that.
“She wanted him for herself. She always had to be the center of attention. Even with our perverted stepdad, Ken. Like it was a competition, who he liked to feel up more. This whole thing was her idea, you know. Hers and Drake’s. She killed Mom. Not that I would have stopped her.”
JB dragged a chair from the corner to the side of Melody’s bed and motioned to Will. His foot still ached but he couldn’t sit. Every time he let himself relax, he imagined Devere slithering further from his grasp. Like a snake in the underbrush. To hell with doctor’s orders, he shook his head and leaned against the wall instead.
“Tell us your side of it,” Will said. “Everything you can remember.”
JB started the handheld recorder, placing it on Melody’s nightstand. She stared at it for a moment, a faraway smile on her face. The seconds ticked by on the counter as she talked.
“I remember it all. Sometimes, I wish I didn’t.”
Melody told them how Devere had seduced her. First, with kindness. He’d complimented her. Written her little poems. Taken her hand when no one was looking. Then, he’d asked for a few favors—extra helpings from the kitchen, cigarettes, dirty magazines. By the time he’d promised her a new life far from Fog Harbor and they’d armed themselves with flash bang grenades from the prison arsenal and guns from the local bait and tackle store, she’d long been a player in an irresistible game for three. Her opponent, her own sister. Her twin.
“Drake told us he had to look guilty. He selected the victims. We concocted the ruses. He told us how to stage the scene, what evidence to leave behind. What rumors to start at the prison and when. He knew the cameras didn’t work in bad weather, that it would look suspicious. So, we waited for the rain. At the end, he’d started to get frustrated. Cranky. That’s why we got into a fight in the hallway. Nobody was really taking him seriously as a suspect, even you two. So, he had us make that video at the Hickory Pit, showing the prison truck in the background. He pulled out a few hairs, jacked off into a tube. He played us all like puppets.”
Will understood he’d been a puppet, too. His own strings pulled by Drake’s skillful hands. That part, out of all of it, rankled him the most.
“Did you love the guy?” JB’s mouth twisted after he’d asked her. Like he’d tasted something rotten.
“I’m not stupid. I know what he is. What he’s done. But it felt nice being noticed. Being wanted. I didn’t realize he was doing the same with my sister. He told me I was special, prettier than her. Smarter too.”
“And the murders?” Will asked. “What was your role?”
“Maryann did the killing. She was good at it. A little too good. I should’ve known right then. We used our mother’s wheelchair to move the bodies. At least Mom was useful for something, you know?”
Will didn’t let himself feel the shiver up his spine. Later, he’d need a long, hot shower to wash this one off.
“She was a sorry excuse for a mom. She blamed us when our dad left. Blamed us when she couldn’t find a man. Then, she blamed us when the one she found couldn’t keep his hands to himself. She knew. The whole time, she knew. She just looked the other way.”
JB snorted. “So, that’s what this was all about? Your mommy issues? Give me a break.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand. But we got tired of it all. Tired of Mom. Tired of Fog Harbor. Tired of the women in this town prancing around like they’re on a runway in Paris.”
Melody’s face reddened as she talked. Her hands curled into her blanket, a death grip.
“He promised us a new life. But he told me we’d split from Maryann once we crossed the Canadian border.”
Melody’s eyes trailed toward the window, where a light rain had started to fall, tear-streaking the glass.
“So, Canada? That’s where he’s headed.” The fishing boat had been found abandoned days ago on a beach ten miles from Devil’s Rock. Three hundred miles from Canada. Far from the razor wire of Crescent Bay.
She shrugged. “I hope you catch him. I’d like to stick the needle in myself.”
JB’s eyes widened, not for the first time. “Jeez,” he muttered.
“What do you know about his accomplice?” Will asked. “Female as well?”
Melody shook her head. “Couldn’t tell ya. He wasn’t exactly forthcoming.”
Will took a breath, readying himself for his last question. For the answer he knew would make him feel like the biggest fool of all.
“Did Devere ever leave the prison?”
Melody’s bitter guffaw startled him. “Not once. But he wanted to. Before we did the first one, he told me he wished he could be there. That’s when Maryann got the idea for keratoconjunctivitis sicca.”
JB made a face. “For what?”
“Dry eyes,” Will said, as Melody nodded.
“Maryann made Drake a fake medical chrono. He could check out audiobooks from the library. It made perfect sense. He wouldn’t be there to witness the life draining from their faces. But he could hear them gasping. Could hear Emily struggling in the basement. Could hear the last breath Bonnie took. We got all of it on tape.”
JB opened the glove box as soon as Will started the car. “That was some crazy shit, partner. I need a Twinkie. A foot rub. And a long vacation.”
“How about a raise?”
“Hell, yes. That too.”
Will noticed the gold band on a certain stubby finger when he accepted the second Twinkie from the package. “Did you run off to Vegas when
I wasn’t looking?”
“Nah.” JB laughed, his cheeks flushing.
Will recognized the look, though he’d never seen it on JB’s face. “You look happy, man.”
“Tammy and I are givin’ it another go. Her and Princess moved back in last night. She asked me to wear my ring again. Just so everybody knows I’m off the market.”
“Congratulations.” Will extended his cake for a Twinkie toast, but JB wrinkled his nose. Shook his head. Took a whopping bite.
“You keep your Twinkie to yourself, City Boy.”
As Will sighed, JB spoke with a mouthful. “Wanna know the best part?”
He waited for the punchline, already rolling his eyes in anticipation.
“I don’t have to spring for another goddamned wedding ring.”
Chapter Eighty-Three
Olivia placed an order—two number fives and a side of mac and cheese—and retreated toward the booth in the back to wait for Deck.
Not for the first time that night, she reminded herself this was not a date. Even though she’d worn her hair down and spent way too long rifling through her closet to pick an outfit. Even though she’d taken a long swig of her beer to quiet the restless butterflies and imagined the way Deck would smile when he saw her.
She had to get a grip. Keep her hands, her lips—and, most importantly, her heart—to herself. Because the alternative led down a dead-end road. To other dead-end things. Like the l word. Things with teeth that made wounds that never closed. Nearly losing Em had reminded her of that. JB had been right. Some words should never be said aloud.
“I found your name on the wall.”
Olivia jumped, spilling a little foam onto the floor as she plunked down her glass on the table, and turned to Deck. He stood at the site of Erik’s meticulous carving, running his finger across the notched wood with a mischievous grin.
“Did you? I’m sure more than one Olivia R. has passed through Fog Harbor.”
“But I doubt those Olivia R.’s were named Cutest Couple with Erik Z. by the graduating class of 2002, as seen in the Fog Harbor High yearbook. Go Sharks!”
She slid into the booth and took another sip, feeling her cheeks flame. She’d been stupidly proud of that title, relishing it more than her other designation. Most Likely to Succeed. It didn’t get more dead-end than that.
“Don’t look so surprised. I am a detective.”
Something dark passed across Deck’s face as he took the seat opposite. His smile dampened, and she felt a stab of pity. Guilt, too. “A good one,” she said.
“That’s debatable.” He took his phone from his pocket, swiped the screen, and displayed an online article to her as evidence. Former SFPD Detective Botches Serial Murder Case. “And you should see the comments.”
She pushed it away, shaking her head at him. “It’s total BS. You were one hundred percent right about Drake. You told the chief it was a bad idea. She should’ve listened to you. I should’ve listened to you.”
“Can I get that in writing?” He laughed a little, all breath. “You know, your profile was spot on. It takes a lot to impress Chief Flack. You were right about the murders. Copycats. Female copycats at that. I totally missed the boat.” He paused for a beat, hanging his head. “Literally. And I almost got you killed in the process.”
“True. But, you also saved me. It’s the ultimate paradox. Like being a wise fool.”
“Well, when you put it like that…”
She laughed. “Look, the only thing that really matters is we found Em. And she’s gonna be okay. We’re already talking about her starting at San Francisco Art College in the spring.”
Olivia felt grateful when Deck agreed with her, knowing it wasn’t the whole truth. The thought of Drake walking free in the world had kept her awake most nights, her gun within reach on the nightstand. Fully loaded. She’d never make that mistake again. Even so, she woke up in a cold sweat sometimes, convinced she’d seen him standing in her doorway. All shadow and teeth.
Deck puzzled for a moment, resting his head on his chin. “So you’re saying we were both right. And wrong. Does that mean we make a good team? Or a hopeless one?”
“I think it means we’re splitting the check, and we need to work on our timing.”
He grinned, and she hoped he hadn’t read too much into it.
“What about Chief Flack’s offer to help out on our cases? Do a little profiling again? JB and I could use your expertise—well, JB could anyway—assuming you learn to follow police commands. Are you in?”
Olivia gulped her beer. She’d known the train was coming when she’d tied herself to the tracks and agreed to this non-date. “On one condition.”
“Name it.”
She forced herself to look into his eyes so he wouldn’t doubt her. Kept her hands clasped in her lap. Ignored the brutal twist of her heart. “We keep things platonic. Just friends.”
“Forget it, then. Offer withdrawn. You’re fired.”
They both laughed. Olivia’s clunking from her throat, hollow.
“Kidding.” She hated how easily that word rolled off his tongue. “Friends it is.”
Epilogue
Two Months Later
Even on a dreary Monday in February, Cy had found the sun. He rolled onto his back in a spot of warm light on the walkway, lifting his head when Will pulled his truck into the garage. By the time Will slipped back out the garage door, Cy had righted himself to a dignified position, licking his front paw.
“You hungry, buddy?”
The cat followed him up the steps, waiting not-so-patiently as Will checked the mailbox. His plaintive meows channeled Will’s soul. Because he hadn’t forgotten the date even if he’d wanted to. It had been there all day, banished to a dark corner of his mind.
As Cy weaved through his legs, Will sorted through the stack. Bills, junk mail. A coupon for ten dollars off ribs at the Pit he planned to put to quick use. Nothing from Devil’s Rock, Oregon. Not even a Happy Anniversary, Decker postcard. It didn’t give him the relief he’d expected. He preferred the predictable Vulture. The one who’d left him staring out at the ocean, gray and churning, where a small motor boat had left its wake. He’d emptied the Glock, but by then the boat had been too far away to hit. As it passed the rock jetty, it had idled, swaying on the waves, and Devere had raised his hand. Will pictured it some nights. The way Devere looked like a fisherman returning home from a journey, celebrating his whopping big catch. One detective, reeled in and writhing. Hooked firmly by the gullet.
Disgusted by the memory, Will tossed the mail on the counter, changed into a pair of shorts and the T-shirt his Secret Santa had given him for Christmas—FHPD printed on one side, CITY BOY on the back—and headed back to the garage, where Cy waited by his bowl.
Will upturned the bag of kibble into the dish. It overflowed as he stared at the large unmarked envelope resting in the cat’s bed.
A chill zipped up his spine. It went straight to his heart, and for a split second he swore it stopped, like an old watch someone had forgotten to wind.
He took the envelope with him as he retrieved his gun from the counter. As he searched the garage, the house, the backyard. Satisfied he was alone, he tore it open and removed the book inside. The cover image drawn by the same hand as the first. A bird’s talons, dripping red, below the title.
Hawk’s Revenge
Book Two in the Bird of Prey Series
by Bestselling Author, Drake Devere
Will flipped through the pages, desperate. As if he expected to find the man himself pressed between the parchment paper. Or the last shred of his dignity, hidden like a petal, carefully preserved. Or a memory he’d boxed up and put away, knowing one day it would claw its way out, slimy and malformed.
He found himself back at the end of the beginning, when he hadn’t been so by-the-book, had been more like Ben, making a choice to cross a line. To walk into a bar in Modesto. To order a girl a strong drink and another and another. To walk her out to her car. To a
sk for her help. Just one little favor.
We have overwhelming evidence on your boyfriend.
We could charge you for obstructing.
All we need is Drake’s DNA to put him away forever.
We won’t go for the death penalty. I promise.
Will thought about her sometimes, Drake’s girlfriend, Isabella Torro. She’d met him the next day with hair from Drake’s comb and a cup he’d discarded in the trash. More than enough for a DNA sample.
He studied the dedication meant for him. It had been printed in ink this time for the whole world to see. The ultimate schoolyard call out. As he read, the scar on his hand tingled.
For Will
What you did to me will be done to you ten times over.
How could he have known Isabella would change her mind? That her guilt would turn vile and vengeful. That she’d be there, waiting for him outside the station. That she’d sink a knife into his hand, go for his partner too. That he’d have no choice but to shoot Isabella in self-defense. No choice but to live with it.
Sweat dripped onto the concrete as Will fired another jab-cross into the bag’s meaty flesh. He’d exhausted himself, so that when Petey pushed open the garage door and stood there, he could only stare back at him.
“Ain’t you gonna say nothin’, big brother?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Ask me why I’m here, for starters. Then, tell me it’s been too long. That you’re glad to see me. Hell, maybe even give me a man hug.”
Watch Her Vanish: An absolutely gripping mystery thriller (Rockwell and Decker Book 1) Page 35
