One Child Alive: An absolutely gripping crime thriller packed with nail-biting suspense (Rockwell and Decker Book 3)

by Kane, Ellery A.

  “And? How did Hannah respond when you asked?”

  “‘Grow up,’ she said. ‘Happy is for children and puppies.’”

  Thomas pressed his face to the glass while they drove away. He advanced the army man in his hand across the bottom of the window. Then, he raised his eyes and waved. No joy in his face, but at least his terror had subsided.

  Will turned to face Olivia, watching as she smiled after Thomas. “Did he say anything more about the policeman?”

  “Only that he wore a badge and a uniform, but…” Her face was a warning. He wouldn’t like what came next.

  “But…?”

  “The more we talked, the more fantastical his story became. By the end of it, he was chasing the bad man from the house with his army of green soldiers.”

  Will’s stomach knotted. “You don’t believe him?”

  “I’m not saying that. Children can make excellent witnesses depending on the circumstances. I just want to be cautious about taking him too literally, especially after what he’s been through.”

  “Pretty hard to do that when one of our suspects is an actual policeman.” Though Will didn’t say it out loud, he couldn’t help but think of Graham as well. That guy could not be trusted. “The policeman theory makes sense, too. With Peter being parked on the side of the road and still seat-belted in. Like he was pulled over.”

  Olivia nodded, noncommittal. “And I presume your best suspect is Jonah Montgomery.”

  “Of course. Who else?”

  She raised her eyebrows, ready to school him yet again, and began walking toward the station. Will jogged to catch up with her, resisting the impulse to take her hand.

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “I need to show you something I found in the Bastidas file. You may have more prime suspects than you think.”

  *

  Santa Barbara Police Department

  Arrest Report

  NAME: Elvis Bastidas

  ADDRESS: 21 Rule Avenue, Apt 144, Santa Barbara, CA

  DOB: 8/23/74 AGE: 20 SEX: M RACE: HISPANIC

  ARRESTING OFFICER: CHARLES SHENINCIDENT TYPE: ROBBERY;

  IMPERSONATING A POLICE OFFICER; USE OF A FIREARM

  NARRATIVE:

  AT 8 P.M. ON OCTOBER 31, 1994, ELVIS BASTIDAS WAS PLACED UNDER ARREST OUTSIDE OF THE PALM COURT APARTMENTS ON SUSPICION OF ROBBERY AND IMPERSONATING A POLICE OFFICER.

  ON THE ABOVE TIME AND DATE, I WAS ON UNIFORMED DUTY IN A MARKED PATROL CAR, ASSIGNED TO WEST FOG HARBOR. AT THAT TIME, I RECEIVED AN ECC BROADCAST FOR A POSSIBLE ROBBERY IN PROGRESS AT THE PALM COURT APARTMENTS. THE SUSPECT WAS DESCRIBED AS A WELL-BUILT HISPANIC MALE IN A POLICE UNIFORM AND WAS THOUGHT TO BE IN POSSESSION OF A FIREARM.

  THE CALLER, JASMINE GOODE, MET ME AT THE FRONT ENTRANCE OF HER RESIDENCE, APARTMENT 65. SHE REPORTED THAT SHE HAD JUST RETURNED FROM TRICK-OR-TREATING WITH HER CHILDREN WHEN THE SUSPECT KNOCKED ON HER DOOR CLAIMING TO BE A SANTA BARBARA POLICE OFFICER. HE INSISTED HE NEEDED TO SEARCH HER RESIDENCE FOR A SUSPECT WHO HAD ESCAPED FROM CUSTODY NEARBY. ONCE HE HAD GAINED ENTRY TO HER HOME, BASTIDAS BRANDISHED A GUN AND DEMANDED HER MONEY AND VALUABLES. HE FLED THE APARTMENT WITH TWENTY DOLLARS IN CASH AND SEVERAL PIECES OF COSTUME JEWELRY.

  I SEARCHED THE PREMISES OF THE PALM COURT APARTMENTS AND FOUND THE SUSPECT HIDING IN A MAINTENANCE SHED. HE WAS STILL WEARING A MOCK POLICE UNIFORM WHICH HE INFORMED ME HE HAD PURCHASED AS A HALLOWEEN COSTUME. I PLACED HIM UNDER ARREST WITHOUT INCIDENT. THE HANDGUN BELIEVED TO BE USED BY BASTIDAS IN THE COMMISSION OF THE ROBBERY WAS NOT RECOVERED.

  SHORTLY AFTER MY ARRIVAL ON THE SCENE, TWO OTHER PALM COURT RESIDENTS CAME FORWARD, ALLEGING THEY HAD BEEN ROBBED UNDER SIMILAR CIRCUMSTANCES.

  Twenty-Four

  Olivia sat in JB’s vacant desk chair watching Deck’s eyes scan the ancient arrest report and waiting for his reaction. She’d really started to enjoy one-upping him but she didn’t want to rub it in. Not if she intended to put her lips on his again in the not-so-distant future.

  “I know it’s old,” she said. “At least two years before he got arrested for murder. It could be nothing.”

  “Impersonating an officer? Shit.” Somehow he managed to looked pissed off and awestruck simultaneously. “That’s what you meant about not taking Thomas literally. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

  “It’s a big file. I didn’t even think of it until Thomas said what he said about the bad man.”

  Deck sat back, both hands behind his head, looking defeated. Then he flashed a sudden frown at the stack of files on his desk. “Hey, Milner. Did you take the phone records from my desk?”

  Jessie peered over the cubicle partition and shook her head. “Haven’t seen them. But Graham was carrying a stack of files when he walked out a few minutes ago. I think he’s in the break room.”

  Before Olivia could say a word, Deck sprang to his feet. She followed him down the hallway past the lieutenant’s office, where Graham had commandeered a table inside the sad little break room, with its prehistoric coffeemaker and grumbling fridge. His feet propped on a chair, he didn’t look up from the papers in his lap.

  “You took evidence from my desk?”

  With a smirk, Graham raised his eyes. Olivia figured he’d been expecting this, relished it even. “Chill, Decker. I am your partner. I just wanted to help out.” He cast a surprised glance her way, as if he’d just noticed her there. “Oh, hey, Liv.”

  Ugh. From his mouth, that nickname rankled. She barely smiled at him.

  “Hand it over, Graham.”

  Predictably, Graham made a show of it, huffing as he dropped the files onto the table, sending one of the folders tumbling to the ground. “Suit yourself.”

  Then he proceeded to the countertop, taking his time filling his coffee cup and swirling in two sugars. “How’ve you been?” Graham asked her, chewing on the end of the stirrer. “I didn’t get a chance to talk to you on the Fourth. It would be nice to catch up, talk shop. Maybe share a few ribs at the Pit.”

  Olivia contemplated how best to tell him she had no interest in any of the above.

  “Get out.” Will pointed at the door, emphatic.

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Leave. Now.”

  “Since when do you call the shots around here?” Graham stalked toward Will, the same way he’d ended up chest to chest with Peter Fox, before he’d hauled off and punched him.

  “Since you tampered with evidence at a crime scene. I know you lifted the cell phone off our victim.”

  “Prove it.”

  Olivia rolled her eyes, stepping between them, though she didn’t mind seeing Graham put in his place. “You two are ridiculous.”

  Graham shrugged, knocking Will off balance with a bump to the shoulder. “I get it. You want a little alone time. Can’t say I blame you. But Liv knows who’s the bigger man here.”

  He stomped off before Olivia could remind him that she could speak for herself.

  “That guy is insufferable.” Deck quickly shut the break room door. Turning to her, he grinned. “But he’s not entirely wrong.”

  “About which part?” Olivia felt the heat from his dark eyes as he walked toward her. She could already feel his back muscles beneath her fingers, the roughness of his stubble against her mouth. She braced for it, welcomed it.

  He zipped right past her without an answer, dropping to his knees in front of the locked shred bin. Once a week, Fog Harbor Mobile Shredding collected the contents of the bin for disposal. “Help me get this thing open before anyone else comes in.”

  Two bent paper clips later and the box yielded, the door swinging open in Deck’s hand.

  “Should I be concerned that an officer of the law is remarkably skilled at lock-picking?”

  He looked back at her, smug and annoyingly irresistible. “I’m a man of many hidden talents, Doctor Rockwell.”

  “Humility is apparently not one of them.”

  Chuckling, he lifted the bin from inside, setting it on the table and sifting through t
he papers at the top of the pile, plucking one from the refuse.

  “Anything?” She peered over his shoulder, the EasyTalk cell logo visible at the top of the page. Her heart sank as she read. As much as she despised Graham and lamented that she’d ever been suckered in by him, she’d never expected this. “That’s Graham’s cell number.”

  At 3:53 p.m., Graham had laid down the gauntlet via text message.

  Okay, asshole. You name the time and place, and we’ll finish this. You want my badge? You’re going to have to pry it from my cold, dead fingers.

  Peter had wasted no time in responding one minute later. The exchange reeked of booze and testosterone.

  Thank you for threatening me. Now I have even more evidence to present to your chief in the morning. You think I’m scared of a police officer in Hicksville, USA? I’ll have your badge in my pocket before you can say Barney Fife.

  The final text had come from Graham at 4:15 p.m.

  Be careful. I know where you’re staying. I’ll make you and your family wish you’d never set foot in Fog Harbor.

  Deck let out a long, slow breath. “Looks like we have another, other prime suspect.”

  “What will you do?”

  “I need to talk to the chief ASAP. At a minimum, he’s got to be put on desk duty until we can rule him out.” He reached for the doorknob, when she stopped him with a finger in his belt loop.

  “Doctor Rockwell.” His voice squeaked out, a little hoarse. “What are you doing?”

  She leaned in toward him, bringing her mouth mere inches from his. “Don’t leave the evidence behind,” she whispered, pointing behind him to the shred bin he’d forgotten to return to its place.

  He nearly brushed his lips against hers, before stepping out of her reach. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  Twenty-Five

  After walking Olivia to the door, Will headed to Chief Flack’s office. Even as he pondered the horrific notion that Graham had murdered the Fox family, his body wouldn’t stop tingling. He felt like a teenager. He seriously needed to keep his hands to himself and his head in the game.

  “What did you say to Graham?” Jessie called out from her desk. “He stormed out of here madder than a hornet.”

  Will gave a cryptic shrug, tucking the incriminating phone records under his arm. “Can you follow up with Bastidas’s parole officer? Find out if he works today.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Chief Flack beckoned Will into the lion’s den while she finished a phone call. “Yes, Mayor Crawley. I understand your position. I’ll be sure to let him know.”

  When she hung up the phone, she closed her eyes and began counting. Very. Very. Slowly.

  “Uh, Chief?”

  A quick shake of her head silenced him. After she reached ten, she opened her eyes and plastered a smile on her face. “I take it you had a disagreement with Bauer again. The mayor would like to remind you of the importance of the Bauer family to the city of Fog Harbor.”

  Will’s mouth dropped. He knew that Graham’s uncle Marvin had donated a tidy sum to Crawley’s re-election campaign, but that didn’t earn Graham carte blanche to do whatever he pleased, up to and including murder. He slid the page of deleted text messages across the chief’s desk. “Well, you let Crawley know that his crowned prince is a suspect in a quadruple homicide. I caught him tampering with evidence.”

  Chief Flack studied the page, her expression darkening. The well-worn grooves in her forehead deepened.

  “That’s Graham’s cell number,” Will explained. “He sent those messages to Peter Fox on the afternoon leading up to the murders. Then, he stole the phone off Peter’s body and deleted them. And today, he took the records off my desk and stuck this in the shred box.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Jessie said he took off. Probably to cover more of his tracks.” Will waited for the chief’s head to explode. For her to throw her desk placard. To yell. Anything but the placid face he saw right now. “Please tell me you’re pulling him from the case.”

  She nodded. “That seems prudent. But let me deliver the news. We have to be delicate about it. Besides, you don’t really think he’s behind all this, do you?”

  “Why does everyone keep asking that?” He hadn’t deemed Graham capable, but he couldn’t close his eyes to the facts. “It’s not about what I think. I go where the evidence leads me.”

  “I’ve known Graham since he moved to Fog Harbor to live with Uncle Marvin. Fresh out of community college, he was determined to be a cop. Youngest rookie we’ve ever had on the force at age twenty-three. He even got a commendation a few years back for interrupting a robbery at First National. I know he’s a disaster, but—”

  Will felt nauseous. In a mere five minutes, he’d become alarmingly earthbound. “Please don’t make excuses for him.”

  “No excuses,” Chief Flack agreed. “But he’s not as different from you as you think. Ambitious. Competitive. Family history of law enforcement.”

  “Oh, please.”

  “I just don’t see him as a cold-blooded killer, Decker. I want to make sure we stay focused on what’s important here. Getting justice for that family. For that little boy.”

  Will recognized defeat. Sometimes, you had to concede a battle to win the war. “You’re absolutely right, Chief. I’m heading over to interview Bastidas now, and I’m taking Jessie with me.”

  Will found Elvis Bastidas exactly where his parole agent told Jessie he would be. Sweating buckets at a construction site on the outskirts of town. The man lumbering in a stained tank top on the roof of the soon-to-be Tasty Treat didn’t bear the faintest resemblance to his mug shot. His time in the joint—twenty-five-plus years—had been unkind. He’d lost his full head of black hair and gained fifty pounds, a chest full of bad tattoos, and a nasty knife scar beneath his chin.

  “I think that’s his wife’s car.” Jessie pointed at a beat-up Chevy suburban with a bad paint job and two bullet holes in the rear hatch. “His parole officer said it was a beater.”

  “Go check it out. Let me know if there’s anything worth taking a looking at.”

  With her swingy blonde ponytail and sweet smile, Jessie reminded Will of a kindergarten teacher. But he’d watched her clock a sub-five-minute mile in the Fog Harbor Turkey Trot last year, and she always outgunned Graham at the range. Her disarming appearance gave her a leg-up. No one ever saw her coming. Case in point, Bastidas didn’t notice her scoping out his ride.

  But when he spotted Will standing at the bottom of the ladder, he unleashed a string of curse words in Spanish.

  “I know why you’re here, and you got the wrong guy, ese,” Bastidas yelled down to him. “I’ve been keeping my nose clean. Ask my PO.”

  “We did.” According to Bastidas’s parole officer, he’d reported right on time after his release and had found a job almost immediately. “And if you’re telling the truth, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

  Bastidas began a slow and awkward climb down the ladder. His pants struggled to stay in place beneath his belly. Finally, he planted his work boots in front of Will, giving said pants one more hopeful tug. “Did you have to show up here at my job?”

  “Would you rather come down to the station?”

  He groaned and wiped the sweat from his forehead with a black handkerchief. The color of Los Diabolitos. “Just hurry it up. I’ve got work to do.”

  “It’ll be quick and painless,” Will promised.

  “Yeah. Like a bullet to the head.”

  An image flashed in Will’s mind. Hannah Fox and her oldest son laid out on the lawn, matching bullet wounds to the center of their foreheads. “Tell me about your relationship with Peter Fox.”

  “There ain’t one. Unless you count me hating the guy’s guts. He represented me—if you want to call it that. Sorry excuse for a public defender, and that’s really sayin’ something. He convinced me to accept a plea deal and wouldn’t let me take the stand. I know those jurors would’ve seen it my way. That shoo
ting was self-defense.”

  “So, you admit you had beef with him?”

  “Ain’t no secret. I’m sure you read my love letters. That’s why you’re here. Am I right?”

  Will pulled up a copy of the most recent correspondence on his phone and read it out loud for Bastidas. “Pretty graphic. You can understand why I’d feel compelled to talk to you. You threatened him, called him a dead man walking. Implied you’d been stalking his wife and kids. You get out of prison and the whole family turns up dead. I’d say you’ve got some explaining to do, starting with where you were the night of the Fourth.”

  “At Shell Beach with my old lady watching the fireworks show. You can ask her. She’ll vouch for me.”

  Will had been at this detective gig long enough to have a practiced poker face, but Bastidas putting himself at the crime scene warranted a twitch of his eyebrows. If his only alibi was the woman who laid her head on the pillow next to his, he was in big trouble. “Anybody else see you there?”

  “Yeah. A whole beach full of white people. Tourists.”

  “Did you interact with any of them? Have a conversation?”

  “Look at me. What do you think?”

  Bastidas didn’t want to know what Will thought. That the chip on his shoulder wasn’t going to get him very far. “You ever impersonate a cop?”

  “What would I want to do that for?”

  Will shrugged. “Police report says you did. Back in the early nineties. A couple of robberies at the Palm Court Apartments.”