“They dismissed that shit.”
Unfortunately, the charges had been dismissed due to the victims’ lack of cooperation. Will couldn’t blame them. Los Diabolitos would just as soon put a bullet in your back than let you get away with telling tales.
Jessie joined them, flashing Will a look of disappointment that told him she hadn’t spotted anything worthwhile. Not surprising though. After a quarter century in prison, Bastidas wouldn’t make it easy. He’d earned his PhD in criminal sophistication. Still, Will planned to have a look inside. As an active parolee, Bastidas—and his vehicle—were subject to search at any time for any reason.
“I love your tattoo.” Will contained his amusement at the innocent lilt in Jessie’s voice, knowing she could drop him to his knees with an arm bar. She pointed to the Spanish script across his collarbone. Venganza dulce. Unlike Bastidas’s other tattoos—most of them symbolic of his loyalty to his gang—this ink looked fresh. “Did you get it in the joint?”
“A month ago.” Bastidas grinned, his teeth a crooked fence beneath his thin mustache, holding up his paper-thin tank top as Jessie moved closer. “You can look, but you can’t touch. Gabriella wouldn’t like that.”
“Sweet revenge,” she said, eyeing Will as Bastidas preened. “What does that mean to you?”
“My freedom. A life lived well is always the best revenge. That’s what mi abuelo used to say.”
A life lived well? Will imagined Bastidas’s grandfather rolling in his grave. “How did you feel when you heard about Fox and his family?”
“I didn’t shed any tears, if that’s what you’re asking. Hell, I’m proud of the SOB who had the cojones to send Fox to hell. But I didn’t do it—the guy had a long line of enemies—and if I had I would’ve gone about it another way.”
Will waited for the explanation, dreading it all the while.
“Me, personally, I would have done the wife and kids. Left that sorry SOB alive to suffer alone.”
Not glimpsing a trace of a soul in his dark, beady eyes—time hadn’t changed that—Will studied the rest of him. He wore a slim gold band on his ring finger and a thick gold chain around his neck, a cross dangling over the tattoo Jessie had asked about. Along with the scar on his neck, he had a few other shank marks on his upper chest. “How’d you get that burn on your hand?”
“This?” Bastidas turned his right hand to the side, where the flesh had been stripped away. “I’m a roofer. Ever heard of hot tar? Well, it’s damn hot.”
“When did it happen?”
“A couple days ago.”
“Looks pretty nasty. You get any medical treatment?”
Bastidas scoffed. “Gabriella put some mineral oil on it. Dissolved the tar. Lost a little skin with it. No big deal.”
Will held up his phone. “Do you mind if I snap a picture of it?”
Bastidas didn’t hesitate. He raised his right hand toward the eye of the camera, flashing the sign for Los Diabolitos. “Whatever gets your rocks off, ese.”
Thirty minutes later, and Will had excavated the Chevy suburban with the meticulous enthusiasm of an archaeologist. All he’d managed to unearth were a few discarded food wrappers—apparently, Bastidas shared JB’s sweet tooth—and an old marijuana roach slipped beneath the floormat. Though Will could’ve busted him on a violation of his parole conditions, it hardly seemed worth the paperwork.
“Lovely guy.” Jessie shook her head, lamenting, while Will drove them back to the station. Any hope he had of ruling Bastidas out had been crushed beneath the ex-con’s work boots.
“A real gentleman. But, did he murder the Foxes?”
“I wouldn’t bet against it,” she said. “I can talk to Gabriella, if you want. Confirm his alibi.”
Will nodded, though he doubted it would be a fruitful conversation. “What do we know about her?”
“His parole officer told me they got married in the county jail before Elvis transferred to state prison. No criminal history, but she’s on disability for mental health issues.”
“Be sure to ask her about the burn.” Will intended to show the pictures to Chet as well. To determine if the injury was consistent with a tar burn.
“And the tattoo,” she added.
“Yeah, about that… Good catch. I didn’t know you spoke Spanish.”
She laughed. “You can thank my mom for that one. She’s a high school Spanish teacher. Her and my dad were always using it as their secret code, so naturally my brother and I became fluent. Though I’m sure she never thought I’d be using my language skills to translate a parolee’s tattoo.”
“She’d be so proud,” he teased. “And hey, if Graham asks, you don’t know anything about the case.”
She pressed two fingers together, zipped them across her lips. “Mis labios están sellados.”
Twenty-Six
Back at the prison, the rest of Olivia’s Monday afternoon crawled until she couldn’t stand it any longer. She said goodbye to Leah and Sergeant Weber and escaped the MHU, anxious to get home, throw on her running shoes, and hit the trail behind her house. She needed to think. About Thomas and Graham and Elvis Bastidas. About the horseshoe and the policeman and what it all meant. About Javier Mendez and her father.
But mostly, she needed to outrun her own fear. Now that she’d finally admitted her feelings for Deck—to herself, anyway—she’d started to count the ways one of them would inevitably mess it up. After all, the odds weren’t in their favor with her failed marriage and his broken engagement between them.
“Em?” Olivia saw no signs of her sister in the house. No dishes on the coffee table. No shoes tossed in the hallway. The television regarded her with its unremitting dead eye. And yet, the rental car her sister had commandeered in San Francisco for the trip back to Fog Harbor sat unmoved in the driveway.
Telling herself she’d be ridiculous to panic, Olivia checked the kitchen counter for a note that might explain where Em had disappeared to. Nothing. Not even a breadcrumb. Feeling decidedly guilty, she glanced over her shoulder before she cracked the door to her sister’s room, waiting for someone to stop her.
Next to her unmade bed, Emily had propped her easel and started another painting—the firework-lit sky above Shell Beach. The paint, still wet. Olivia gathered a pile of her sister’s clothes and tossed them on the rocking chair near the window. A business card fluttered from the pocket of the jean shorts Em had worn yesterday.
Spade Investigations
Nick Spade, Private Investigator
[email protected]
Just then, Olivia heard the rumble of an engine outside. The front door opened, and her sister called to her. Before she left the bedroom, Olivia tucked the card into her pocket, safeguarding it until she could figure out what to do with it.
“Hey, Liv.” Em had already kicked off her pointy-toed flats and plopped into a chair at the kitchen table. “Did you get my note?”
“What note?”
“The note I left on the kitchen counter. Remember Tara from the prison?” Emily had worked as a dental hygienist at Crescent Bay for a while before she’d made the move to San Francisco. “We went for coffee at Myrtle’s.”
“You didn’t leave a note.”
Emily frowned, huffing out an annoyed breath. “I definitely did. Trust me, I know how you freak out if I go off the grid for a split second.”
“Can you really blame me?” The past flashed between them like a lightning strike. She’d almost lost Em to Drake Devere. The truth of that had wormed itself into her heart and mind, burrowed so deep she couldn’t unknow it, couldn’t unfeel it.
“It’s not like I’m going to get kidnapped again. That’s a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing.”
“You’re right.” Olivia’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “I’ll be sure to give the bad guys the message.”
She spun around, determined to get into her running clothes and tear out the door as quickly as possible.
“Liv.” No matter how angry she was,
she never could ignore her sister’s voice. “I really did leave a note. I swear it.”
Her mind finally blown clear, Olivia slowed her pace as she traced the river’s edge leading to the rocky beach by Little Gull lighthouse. In another quarter mile, the redwood cover would lessen, the dirt, tree-lined path giving way to sandy shores. Already she could smell the brine of the ocean. Maybe she’d take off her shoes and wade in. The sea, a cure-all for her worries.
While Olivia walked, she thought of her sister, of that rogue business card she’d slipped into her sock drawer with plans to do her own investigation. Why would her sister hire a PI? And without telling her? It unnerved Olivia the same way little Thomas had with his strange accusations.
From somewhere in the woods, Olivia heard the sudden snap of a twig, and her head jerked toward the sound. The sun had already begun its steady descent, with the dappled light turning to shadow deeper in the forest. She peered into the darkness between the tree trunks, waiting to discern the slightest movement, listening for the smallest sound.
Seeing nothing, she kept walking, forcing herself to look straight ahead, no matter how terrified she felt. If she didn’t look, it couldn’t be real. Even so, her body telegraphed the signs of danger. The fine hairs prickled at the back of her neck. Unease fisted her stomach. Hot as it was out, a chill coursed through her, as it seemed a pair of eyes followed her step for step, a presence flitting in and out of her periphery.
By the time she’d reached the clearing and spotted the lighthouse, she felt remarkably silly. But she knew one thing for certain. She’d take the long way back. Up the stairs, through the parking lot where she always did her best thinking, and back down Pine Grove Road to home.
Olivia watched the waves roll in and out, leaving a trail of white foam behind them. In the quiet gloaming, a new horror gripped her. If Emily had left a note, where had it gone?
With a half mile to go down Pine Grove Road, Olivia heard the growl of an engine behind her, a pair of headlamps illuminating her path. Already jumpy, she stepped off into the ditch, breathing hard and squinting into the brightness until the shiny black truck with its monster tires had stopped alongside her.
Graham Bauer lowered his window. “Need a ride?”
“Sure.” In a way, she felt relieved, preferring the devil she knew to the one who might be lurking in the shadows. She forced a smile, knowing it would soften him to her questions. Deck had his interrogation style. She had hers.
“Your sister told me I might find you out here. She said you went for a run.”
Olivia climbed up into the cab, disquieted by his admission and the gun in the holster on his waist. He’d been looking for her. The truck rumbled on, beast-like, down the deserted road.
“I need to talk to you about Detective Decker. He’s barking up the wrong tree. I think the guy’s got it in for me.” Graham took his eyes from the road and settled them on her thighs, bare in her running shorts. “He trusts you. Can you talk to him for me?”
“And tell him what, exactly?” Olivia slid her legs out of Graham’s reach, crossing them toward the door.
“That I didn’t have a goddamned thing to do with those murders.”
She thought of the phone records Deck had dug out of the shred box, where Graham had left them to die. “Are you sure about that?”
“C’mon, Liv. You know me.”
“Then, tell me what happened between you and Peter Fox. And don’t say ‘nothing.’”
Graham steered the truck off the road and into a turnout. He parked and cut the engine. The sudden silence dropped like a curtain around them, and Olivia warded off the sudden and irrational need to escape. “I was drunk. Drunk people say things they don’t mean.”
“Drunk people also do things they regret.” Olivia recalled their one night together. How he’d insisted she have that third glass of wine.
“I didn’t do anything.” And there it was. His hand on her knee. Like a chess game, she moved it aside.
“Why did you shred those pages from the phone record?” Checkmate. But then, he rested it on his gun instead.
“Because it made me look guilty. And to be honest, Liv, I don’t have an alibi. I went home, and yeah, I texted the guy like an idiot. I got his cell number from the incident report. Then, I laid on the couch for a couple of hours, eating potato chips, flipping through the channels, and feeling sorry for myself. I watched that movie you like—National Treasure. They show it on SFTV every Fourth. That’s when I heard the call on the radio. About the SUV on fire.”
“You should’ve just told Deck the truth. Now, he doesn’t believe a word you say.”
“What about you? Do you believe me?”
“Honestly, I’m not sure.”
Graham groaned like she’d punched him in the gut. “Are you sleeping with him?”
“What?”
“You heard me. You can’t trust that guy. Remember he snitched on his own brother. And he’s trying to make me look bad to impress you.”
Olivia pulled on the door handle, ready to end the conversation one way or another. It didn’t budge. “Let me out.”
She tugged again, feeling panic rise in her throat. Graham’s mouth kept moving but she couldn’t hear a word over the white noise in her brain. All she saw was his hand coming toward her with intention.
Desperate, she slung her elbow at his face. It glanced off his chin and she screamed as he reached across her. Pressed the button she’d been too fear-blind to see.
Click.
She flung herself out the open door and slammed it shut behind her. The truck roared to life and left her standing on shaky legs in a cloud of dust.
Twenty-Seven
Will barreled down Pine Grove Road toward the turnoff for home, distracted by the slipperiness of his suspect list. He couldn’t put his finger on any one of them. Not for very long. Bastidas had given them a convenient alibi. And ballistics had tested Jonah’s service weapon and determined that gun had not fired the fatal headshots. Which left Will with exactly nothing.
A flash of movement in the ditch distracted him for an instant. When he turned his head to the road again, the startled white eyes of a deer blinked back at him. Will cursed, slammed on his brakes, and watched his bag from the Hickory Pit go flying.
His trunk screeched to a stop. The deer, already vanished in the thicket.
Standing on the side of the road, in the glow of his high beams, a familiar pair of legs.
Will leaned out his open window. “What in the hell are you doing? You almost got me killed.”
“You, or the deer?”
“Well, you certainly annihilated my number five, to go.” Will glanced despairingly at the floorboard.
“Side of mac and cheese?” The corner of her mouth lifted, revealing that single dimple that drove Will crazy.
“Of course.”
She hung her head. “Then, that is a tragedy.”
“Seriously, though.” He cocked his head toward the passenger seat. “Get in. It’s not safe for you to be jogging out here at night.”
Will detected a trace of trouble in her eyes. She offered no reply, just hurried around and hopped inside, collecting the Hickory Pit bag and returning it to the seat between them.
“Are you okay?” Though he felt pulled to look at her, he kept his focus on the road this time.
“I’m fine.” But the way she said it made Will nervous.
“What happened?”
“If I tell you, will you promise not to go full cop on me?”
“What does that mean? I am a cop.” Will pulled into Olivia’s driveway, comforted by the sight of the warm yellow light through the windows. He parked behind the Buick and turned to her, taking her in. Her face, flushed. Her hair, damp with sweat. A tendril had escaped her ponytail and latched itself to her cheek.
“Just don’t make a big deal out of it. I ran into Graham, and I think I overreacted.”
“Already, I don’t like this.” He white-knuckled the steer
ing wheel. “Did he hurt you?”
“See. You’re doing it.”
Will sighed hard and leaned back against the seat, resting his hands in his lap. “Alright. Cop mode disengaged. Proceed.”
When Olivia stopped talking, Will shook his head in disbelief. He told himself to stay calm and pull it together, but he couldn’t stand the idea of Graham trying to bully her, to turn her against him. “I can’t believe the nerve of that guy.”
“Right. Like he needs you to make him look bad.”
Will gave her a sideways glance. “Like I’m so desperate to impress you.”
“Well…” She smiled, soothing the flare of indignation in his chest.
“But he’s wrong about everything else,” Will countered. “And I don’t believe his story.”
“I don’t either. National Treasure ended at noon on the Fourth. Em and I watched it before we headed to the beach.”
Will took in the revelation, questioning his own instincts. “I didn’t think Graham was capable of something like this. I should’ve known better.”
“Don’t beat yourself up. I still don’t think Graham did it. Sure, his ego was bruised, and he was ticked off. But he hardly knew the Foxes. That kind of brutality requires something more intimate. The kind of deep-seated anger that comes from stewing in your own juices for a very long time.”
Still uncertain, Will set about distracting himself. “My turn. If I ask you something, will you promise not to go full shrink on me?”
He never tired of hearing her laugh. “Deal.”
But suddenly, he clammed up, not sure he had the guts to spit it out. “I really wish you’d dropped Graham with a jab-hook.”
“That’s not a question.”
Busted. “Why did you change your mind about…” He volleyed his hand back and forth between them, as his face warmed. He could interview a murder suspect no problem, but Olivia and her teasing green eyes made him nervous. “Us? The just friends thing.”
One Child Alive: An absolutely gripping crime thriller packed with nail-biting suspense (Rockwell and Decker Book 3) Page 11
