Wonderland (26 page)

THIRTY-THREE

Under the Clown Museum

I
f Blake had a pen and piece of paper, he would write notes to the person inside the cell next to his. He had so many questions for his dungeon-mate. What was their name? Were they a girl or a boy? How long had they been here? Had their captor ever said anything about letting them go at any point? And last—and this one was kind of important—how’d they get their goddamned television to work? Blake had called out these questions several times, with no answer, and could only assume that the other person wasn’t able to talk.

Clearly his captor didn’t kill everybody, or at least didn’t kill them right away. Blake wanted to know what to expect. His dungeon-mate, whether the person realized it or not, was keeping him alive. Not so much because of the food sharing—Blake was much better at rationing his supplies now—and obviously not because they were able to make conversation to pass the time, which obviously they weren’t. It was the simple knowledge that someone was
there
. Someone was
close
. Sometimes Blake talked for an hour at a time, and though his dungeon-mate never responded, he might hear an occasional tapping sound, as if the person was saying, “I’m listening.” It made all the difference in the world.

Once, Blake had rolled over a mini Snickers bar inside the Camelbak thermos. He didn’t particularly like Snickers bars anyway, and thought it would be a gesture of goodwill, considering the person had given him five candy bars when Blake was in the throes of hunger spams. Awhile later, the thermos had come back to him with a Twix bar inside it. They had done that a few times now, trading Snickers bars for Twix, and he supposed that in itself was a form of communication.

His captor had been back to replenish their supplies twice. Blake had still not heard the man’s voice. He was always dressed in shapeless black clothing, always wearing a ski mask, and in the dark of the dungeon, it was impossible to distinguish any physical characteristics. The only thing Blake was certain of was that he was a man. Once, Blake had thought his eyes looked blue, but it could just have been the way the light from the TV in the next cell was reflecting.

Footsteps approached once more and Blake sat up in the dark. He was probably sleeping sixteen hours a day at this point, maybe more. There was nothing else to do; there was no daylight to regulate his sleep cycle. He rubbed his eyes, and a moment later, his captor appeared with a box. Blake’s stomach growled at the sight of it. Candy bars were okay, but he was craving the turkey and Swiss sandwich he hoped would be inside.

“Dressed in the usual attire, I see.” Blake made a halfhearted attempt to sound like his old self. “You really should consider wearing something other than black. I think blue is the hot color this season. If you let me out, we can go shopping, and I’ll help you pick some stuff out.”

No answer.

“I do like the mask, though. Are masks back in style now? I was thinking of getting one to cover my zit. Or do you think that’s overkill?”

Again, no answer. Blake gave up. It wasn’t worth the energy.

“Look, man,” he said. “I don’t know who you are, but everyone’s looking for me by now. You can’t keep me here forever. Eventually, they’ll find me. I have no idea what you look like, so why not just let me go?”

No response. Instead, his captor started tossing in food, all the same stuff as last time and the time before, and soon there was a variety of junk food and sandwiches scattered across the floor.

Blake walked slowly toward the bars and placed his hands on the cold metal. “There has to be something we can do to negotiate. Whatever you want, just ask me. Is it money? My dad’s got lots. He works all the time and he does pretty well. If you tell him what you want, he’ll find a way to pay it.”

Again, nothing.

“Or maybe it’s something you want from me, specifically.” Blake’s voice grew desperate. “If you tell me, maybe I . . . maybe I can give it to you.” He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. Who knew what sick things this psycho might make him do?

A short laugh emanated from the man in black, catching Blake off guard. Lifting an arm, he pointed to the decaying body in the corner.

“You know why he’s over there?” his captor said. His voice was so low Blake had to strain to hear him. It sounded like a normal voice, and just like the rest of him, nothing was distinguishing about it, either. “Because he talked too much. So keep talking. I know they train you to do that. All you Wonderland boys, you think you have so much to offer the world. You think you’re so young and so beautiful, that you’re special. It never occurs to you that things won’t work out as planned, and that you won’t get the things you want. Well, I have news for you. You’re not special, and there are a hundred other boys right above you, right now, who have exactly the same things to offer as you. So keep talking. Keep talking, and piss me off. See how that works out for you.” He pointed again to the dead body. “Ask Tyler how well that worked out for him.”

He disappeared from Blake’s view, and a few seconds later, Blake could hear food being tossed into the next cell. And then his captor was gone.

As he bent down to gather his food off the floor, he started to cry again. It was really fucking hopeless; he was never getting out. Not anytime soon. He didn’t know who Tyler was, but Tyler was dead, and eventually Blake would be dead, too. Nobody was coming for him, because nobody believed this dungeon really existed.

The TV in the next cell went to commercial, and once again, for what felt like the hundredth time since he’d been here, the Wonderland jingle began to play.
Welcome to Wonderland! Or as we like to call it, Funderland! There’s something here for everyone . . .

Walking to the bars, Blake spoke to his dungeon-mate. “Turn it off.” His voice was thick from crying.

The music kept playing. The lights from the TV kept flickering.

“
Fucking turn it off!
” Blake screamed as loudly as he could, and a second later, the TV shut off.

The silence, for the first time, was a relief.

THIRTY-FOUR

V
anessa thought it best not to tell Tanner Wilkins that his missing son had been sleeping with Wonderland’s CEO, not until they knew definitively whether Bianca Bishop had been involved in Tyler’s disappearance. Jerry agreed.

“Tanner’s mellowed out over the years, but he still goes from zero to sixty in three seconds whenever it has anything to do with his kids,” Jerry said to Vanessa that morning. She noticed he was rubbing the back of his neck, and guessed he had a knot in it because he’d slept on her sofa the night before while baby-sitting John-John. Vanessa hadn’t made it home until well after midnight. “If she turns out to be the doer, we’ll tell Tanner everything. If it was just a fling and nothing more, we say nothing, because if the kid had wanted his dad to know, he would have told Tanner himself. Damn, my neck hurts.”

“It’s the sofa, it’s old,” Vanessa said. “I’m sorry you got stuck playing nanny to my kid, Jerry. Can I at least pay you for last night?”

“Girl, please.” Jerry looked about as offended as she’d ever seen him. “Your kid is the coolest kid I know. We watched the Avengers movie, ordered pizza, and made popcorn. Best night I’ve had in a while. If you need me to watch him again, let me know.”

“He’ll be okay, he’s got a sleepover tonight with his friend from day camp.” Vanessa still felt bad. “But this isn’t why you came here. You came to Seaside to help me solve Tyler Wilkins.”

“Yeah, and that’s exactly what I’m doing, isn’t it?” The private detective grinned. “I’m helping you with what
you
need, so you can work your ass off solving this thing. In the end, it’s all the same. Besides, the progress you’ve made since I’ve been here shows I’ve taught you well, Grasshopper. So go succeed where I couldn’t. If I leave here knowing Tanner finally has his closure, I’ll have peace of mind.”

“Thanks, Jerry.” Her guilt alleviated somewhat, she managed a smile.

“By the way, I ran a background check on the name you gave me, the creepy janitor Miss Ava complained about. Carlos Jones.”

“And?”

“Nothing. Clean. No arrests, not even a parking ticket. I managed to sweet-talk someone at Wonderland HR to look into his employee file, and he’s been a janitor for two years at the park, never late, works overtime when asked, never even takes a sick day. He’s gotten merit raises both years. Some people are just weird. But she was right to check if she didn’t feel right about it.”

“That’s good to know. I’ll tell Ava.”

Vanessa had also tried apologizing to Oscar for being so busy, but that was hard to do when the man wasn’t responding to any of her messages. She was starting to feel like she’d been dumped. It didn’t take a relationship expert to tell her, “He’s just not that into you.”

She didn’t know what she did or didn’t do, and suspected it wasn’t anything in particular, other than allowing herself to be caught. Men loved to chase. They loved the hunt, they loved the sex, and when they were certain they had you, they left. She’d sent him three texts, two more than she was comfortable with, and all had gone unanswered.

Okay, then. Fuck it. That’s what she got for letting him in.

Of course, it was always possible that he’d just used her to get details on the cases involving the park. Even though Oscar was leaving Wonderland—assuming that was even true—he was surely still loyal to it, and would want to tell his CEO as much as he could about Seaside PD’s investigations. Vanessa tried not to think about the fact that his office was right down the hall from Bianca Bishop’s, whose plush space she was sitting in right now.

Donnie Ambrose hadn’t been able to track the woman down the day before, and in hindsight, it was probably for the best. It was really Vanessa’s job to put Bianca Bishop on the spot, because once Earl Schultz found out about today, heads would certainly roll. Earl had been wrapped up in city council meetings and gala planning all week, which Vanessa had taken advantage of, as having her boss distracted allowed her to do her job without feeling micromanaged.

Bianca sat primly across from her, hair in a bun, blouse buttoned up to the chin, appraising her with green eyes that revealed nothing. During Vanessa’s time at Seattle PD, she’d interviewed prostitutes, gang bangers’ girlfriends, abusive mothers, and a woman who’d drowned her newborn baby on purpose. And yet she’d never met anyone like Bianca Bishop.

She’d read an interesting book a couple of years back called
The Psychopath Test
, in which the author, Jon Ronson, suggested that as much as 4 percent of all CEOs could be classified as psychopaths. Psychopathic traits included narcissism and a lack of empathy for others. In that regard, Bianca Bishop appeared to fit that definition fairly well. Wonderland’s CEO seemed completely self-absorbed and emotionally distant. And charming, when she had to be.

“I’m really glad you’ve come by,” Bianca said. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting Earl’s new deputy chief, and I must tell you, I was pleased he hired a woman. We don’t have nearly enough women in positions of authority here in Seaside.”

“Thank you,” Vanessa said. “I didn’t expect to be so busy right off the bat, was hoping to settle in a little bit more, but dead bodies are notoriously inconsiderate of a cop’s personal needs.” She waited a beat for the laugh—or at least smile—the joke should have generated, but the CEO’s face remained blank. “Anyway, my son is a huge fan of Wonderland, and I’ve been promising to bring him here since we moved. Haven’t been able to make it happen yet.”

“How old is your son?”

“Seven. He’s hoping he’s big enough to ride the Legion of Doom.”

Bianca crossed her legs. “If you’re interested, I’d love to offer him a special tour of Wonderland. If he can be here early one morning before the park opens, I can have one of the ride mechanics show him how the Legion of Doom is maintained. He’ll be allowed to operate the control panels to make the roller coaster move.”

“He would go nuts for that.”

“Call me directly and I’ll arrange it.” Bianca’s words were polite, but her face continued to remain largely expressionless. “I met your daughter the other day. How’s she enjoying Elm Street? I hear she’s doing very well.”

Ah, that explained the sudden transfer.
“You make it a point to check on your new Wonder Workers?” Vanessa smiled. “I wouldn’t think you’d have time for that.”

“I don’t normally,” Bianca said. “But she struck me as enthusiastic, mature, and ambitious. That’s a rare combination in girls her age. I wanted to ensure she was in the right job to make the most of those qualities. But you’re right, I’m normally much too busy to have personal contact with the Wonder Workers.”

“So then I suppose you don’t consider sex to be personal contact.”

Bianca blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You were having sex with Aiden Cole, is that right?” Vanessa didn’t miss a beat. “Also known as Homeless Harry?”

“What?”

“Aiden Cole,” Vanessa said patiently. “You were sleeping with him three years ago just before he went missing. You just said you don’t have much personal contact with the Wonder Workers, so I assume that means you don’t consider sex to be personal contact. Or perhaps the Wonder Workers you’re sleeping with are the exceptions to that rule. Which is it?”

Bianca’s face reddened. “I can assure you, I’ve never had a sexual relationship with any of my Wonder Workers. How dare you come into my office and accuse me—”

She stopped. Vanessa was holding up the naked picture of Bianca and Aiden Cole, the one Jacob Wei had texted her. “Normally I’d ask if this was you, but considering I can clearly see your face in the photo, I don’t think it’s necessary. You have gorgeous hair, by the way. You should really wear it down more.”

Bianca let out a breath and leaned back in her chair. Her demeanor—which had been polite but strangely distant to begin with—shifted to hard and cold. “Where did you get that?”

“I can’t say,” Vanessa said. “And I apologize for showing it to you, but I wanted to spare you the trouble of lying to me.”

“Why are you here, Deputy?” Bianca stared at her. “Is it to embarrass me? Because if that’s the case, I should tell you that you’ve made a huge mistake. The chief of police is a very good friend of mine, and once I tell him how you’ve treated me, he will be very disappointed.”

“And the mayor is a very good friend of mine,” Vanessa said. “And when he hears of Earl’s disappointment in me, well . . .” She held out her hands, palms up. They were empty. “These are all the fucks he’ll give.”

The CEO fell silent. A few seconds later, having regained her composure, she said, “Are you always this aggressive and rude?”

“Only when someone lies to me.” Vanessa put her phone away. “I have no patience for liars. If you’re straight with me, this will go much faster. I personally don’t care whether you had with sex with Aiden Cole, because he was eighteen and it was legal. It’s obviously inappropriate given the fact that you’re the boss of, well, everything, but that’s not for me to judge. And he looked pretty happy in that picture.”

“Do I need a lawyer?”

“Why, did you kill him?”

“Of course not!” Bianca said hotly.

“Then why would you need a lawyer? Aiden is dead. It’s not like he can file a sexual harassment suit against you, which he threatened to do, didn’t he?”

Bianca’s jaw tightened. She seemed not to know what to say to that.

“How long were you sexually involved with Aiden?” Vanessa asked.

“Six weeks. Seven. I can’t remember, exactly.”

“And why did it end?”

“It ran its course,” Bianca said. “As relationships do. He wasn’t surprised. He’d already moved on, anyway. But he did get upset, and some unkind things were said. I didn’t take them personally.”

“Was Tyler Wilkins upset when you ended it with him, too?”

Bianca sat up straighter. “Tyler Wilkins? What are you talking about?”

“You were sleeping with him, too,” Vanessa said. “I have pictorial proof of that, as well. Do you need to see it, or can we skip that part and just go straight to the truth?”

Bianca stared at her, trying to gauge whether Vanessa was bluffing. Vanessa didn’t have the sketch of Bianca nude that Carl Weiss had found under Tyler’s bed, but she had no doubt it had existed.

“It was also a brief fling,” Bianca finally said. “What have I done that’s so wrong? I’m here at the park all the time. I live in Seaside, for Christ’s sake. Do you know how difficult it is to meet men here? They’re all married or they’re teenagers. Haven’t you ever slept with anybody you worked with?”

“How many Wonder Workers altogether?” Vanessa asked.

“There have been . . . several.”

“Kyle Grimmie?”

“Yes.”

“Blake Dozier?”

A full five seconds passed, and then the CEO slumped in her chair a little. “Yes.”

“Did you kill them?”

Bianca’s head snapped up. “They’re dead?”

“We think so.” Vanessa was surprised by Bianca’s reaction. The woman seemed genuinely shocked. “We haven’t found them yet, but there’s evidence to suggest that Blake, Tyler, and Kyle are all dead, yes.”

The CEO slumped deeper into her seat and let out a long, slow breath. “I didn’t kill them.”

“Assuming I believe you,” Vanessa said, “I have to ask you the next obvious question. You were sleeping with these boys—sorry, young men. They’ve all gone missing. You weren’t concerned about that?”

“I . . .” Bianca looked around, helpless. It seemed to be the first genuine emotion, other than shock, that the woman had registered since Vanessa had begun speaking to her. “Of course I was concerned. But you have to understand boys at that age. They don’t stick around. The ones who are local, who grew up in Seaside, they want out. The first chance they get, they go off to college, or they join the military. They leave. The ones who are in Seaside for the summer to work at Wonderland can’t wait to go back to where they came from once the season’s over. They leave, too.” Her expression grew distant. “Some go off and do great things. Some are never heard from again. I don’t track where they go. When they’re gone, they’re gone.”

There was an element of truth to what Bianca Bishop was saying, but of course Vanessa couldn’t let her off the hook that easy.

“Okay, back to Blake,” she said. “Did you see him before he died?”

Bianca shook her head. “No. I was actually trying to avoid running into him. He didn’t take the breakup well. He wanted to get back together.”

“Were you in your apartment here the night he died?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t see or hear anything unusual?”

“The walls are soundproofed. I wouldn’t have heard a thing.”

“So you were alone.”

“Yes.”

“That’s a terrible alibi,” Vanessa said. “Why didn’t you tell anyone you were here?”

“Nobody asked.”

Sadly, Vanessa could believe that. She herself hadn’t been aware that there was a private apartment inside Wonderland, because Oscar hadn’t mentioned it, and neither had Earl. Neither had Carl Weiss, for that matter. She’d had to hear it from Donnie, who’d told her as an afterthought.

“Tell me about your relationship with Glenn Hovey.”

Again, Bianca looked surprised. “Well, he’s worked here a long time. Since the beginning, actually.”