Wonderland (7 page)

He disappeared down the hallway. When he was out of sight, Vanessa leaned against the wall, almost dropping the hard drive. Why did this have to happen to her now? He was single, she was single, and on the surface, there was no reason why they couldn’t get to know each other better.

Except that she’d only ever loved two men in her entire life. One was dead because of her, and the other one was a criminal who’d used her to save himself. She seemed to be a magnet for toxic men, and if Oscar wanted her, then she could only assume that he must be toxic, too.

TEN

J
ust as Oscar Trejo had said, there was nothing much to see on Wonderland’s security footage. Though there were several cameras placed in the midway, only one had been working at the time Homeless Harry would have been dumped, and that particular camera was not angled to show the pavement underneath the Wonder Wheel, nor did it show the path leading up to it. The footage showed only twenty minutes of Blake Dozier climbing up the last two-thirds of the Wonder Wheel, and that was all. There was nothing to show how he got down, what he might have seen, or when he’d left the park.

Vanessa decided that Donnie Ambrose was the perfect person to take a closer look. The young detective had a dual degree in criminology and computer science, which made him the closest thing Seaside PD had to a computer forensics expert. If Donnie couldn’t find anything, they were probably out of luck, unless Earl Schultz was willing to hire an independent specialist. She doubted he would be; the footage really wasn’t much, and it wouldn’t be worth the expense.

Leaving Donnie back at the department, Vanessa took the unmarked over to Blake Dozier’s house, hoping to find the kid at home. But nobody answered the door, and his cell phone went straight to voice mail. Vanessa left a message, and then called Blake’s father, who, as it turned out, was in China on business.

“Why are you calling me?” Derek Dozier asked, sounding half irritated and half sleepy. It was almost 5 a.m. in Beijing, and he wasn’t pleased to be awake so early. “You want to talk to Blake, call Blake. Did you try him at Wonderland? They can page him if it’s an emergency.”

“He’s definitely not at work, sir,” Vanessa said. “And while it’s not an emergency, your son is a person of interest in a case I’m working.”

“Oh, Christ. What’s he done now?”

“He broke into the park after hours and took a picture of himself at the top of the Wonder Wheel,” Vanessa said. “And then he posted the photo online.”

There was a pause, and then Derek Dozier said, “And?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re not seriously telling me that the deputy police chief of Seaside is calling me in China because my son climbed a Ferris wheel?” Dozier said. “Christ, you people really don’t have anything better to do but say, ‘How high?’ when the park says, ‘Jump!’ My son’s a free climber. It’s what he does. He’s not hurting anyone.”

“It’s not about the Wonder Wheel, sir, although I’m sure the park will take that up with Blake when they speak to him,” Vanessa said. “Breaking and entering is still a serious offense, but that’s not why I need to talk to him. Do you have any idea where he is?”

“You want to know where Blake is, you follow him on Facebook. That’s how I keep tabs on him. He checks in everywhere.” Dozier was starting to sound sleepy again. “And if he doesn’t check in, it’s because he doesn’t need you to know. He’s an independent kid, and I love that about him. He’ll get back to you when he gets back to you. Works for me. Why are you special?”

At that, Derek Dozier had hung up.

Her next stop was Glenn Hovey’s house. Donnie Ambrose offered to come with her for this one, as he knew Hovey vaguely from his own Wonderland days. She told the detective she was fine going by herself. Vanessa had always preferred working alone. Some cops were better when they partnered up, as they could feed off each other to get the job done. Vanessa hadn’t had a partner in years, and she liked it that way.

She pulled up to the Hovey residence and double-checked the address she’d been given. Yes, this was the right house, but the 1960s-style rambler looked as if the Seattle Seahawks football team had thrown up all over it. For starters, it was painted in team colors. The siding was dark blue and the shutters were neon green, a color combination that looked great on a jersey, but terrible on a house. A six-foot-tall Seahawks “12” flag hung from the eaves trough above the garage, and pasted to the living room window was a Seahawks decal that covered the glass almost entirely. The hydrangea bushes in the garden were also blue, green, and white. The house had to be an eyesore for the neighbors, whose homes were all done in shades of beige and brown. Vanessa was a Hawks fan, but this was ridiculous.

She rang the doorbell, and a moment later a small woman in her late seventies was eyeing her suspiciously. She had a face like a road map, her hair silver with a purple tinge. Dressed head to toe in baggy Seahawks sweats, she was holding a Seahawks mug half filled with coffee. A lit cigarette dangled from the corner of her wrinkled lips, which were smeared with coral lipstick. The lipstick was the only thing that wasn’t a team color.

Jesus
, Vanessa thought.
Imagine if it was actually football season.

“Whatever you’re selling, I don’t need it, don’t want it, or can’t afford it,” the lady said. Her hand was shaking, an old-age palsy of some sort, and the coffee in her mug was dangerously close to spilling.

Vanessa held up her gold shield. “I’m Deputy Chief Castro, ma’am, Seaside PD. I’m looking for Glenn Hovey. Is he home?”

The woman’s eyes narrowed, wrinkling the already crinkled skin around her eyes even further. “What do you want with Glenny?”

“Is he home?” Vanessa repeated.

“I’m not telling you where he is until you tell me what this is about,” she said.

Vanessa smiled. “I assume you’re his mother?”

“I’m Sherry Hovey,” the lady said. “Glenny didn’t do nothing. He’s a good boy.”

According to Vanessa’s quick background check, Glenn was fifty-three. Not exactly a boy. “I love your house.” She made a show of looking around. “The colors are wonderful. I just bought my son a Russell Wilson jersey. He doesn’t get it till his birthday, though.”

The lady’s demeanor instantly softened and the door opened a bit wider. “Well, I obviously had to repaint when the Hawks rebranded a few years back. Not all the neighbors are happy, but I think it adds color to the neighborhood.” Her chin jutted out. “Our family’s had season tickets dating back to 1976.”

“Wow. I hope you got to go to the Super Bowl.”

The old woman scoffed. “You’d think! We didn’t get picked. Not the year before, neither. They do it by lottery, which is a load of bull crap considering we’re the most loyal fans they got.” The door opened wider. “I’d sooner sell this house than give up our Hawks tickets, that’s how loyal I am.”

“Hopefully next year.” Vanessa clucked in sympathy, resisting the urge to wave away the cigarette smoke wafting into her face. “Do you think I could speak to Glenn, ma’am? You may have heard, a dead body was discovered at Wonderland.”

The woman stiffened again. “Saw it on the news. Some homeless guy. Why would Glenny know anything about that? You trying to accuse him of something?”

“No, ma’am,” Vanessa said. “I’m sure he didn’t do anything. In fact, it doesn’t even look like he was at the park when it happened. But he was scheduled to work that shift, and I do have a few questions for him.”

“Damn that park, they’re always accusin’ him of stuff. Whatever happened ain’t Glenny’s fault. Wonderland thinks they’re the sun that all of Seaside revolves around.” The woman scowled and the door opened just a little bit more. “Mind you, Glenny can be a little flaky, you know. But that’s why he needs to keep his job. He’s got good medical and dental, and I got the Big C. Beat it twice so far, but it’s back again. Without Glenny’s insurance, I’d be on Medicaid.” She shuddered, and the coffee came close to spilling again.

“I’m so sorry to hear that.” Vanessa paused for exactly three beats, then said, “Do you know where I can find Glenn, Mrs. Hovey? He’s not a suspect or anything, but I sure would like to cross him off my list and move on.”

“Glenny’s not here.” Sherry Hovey hesitated. “I don’t exactly know where he is. He don’t tell me where he goes. If he’s not working, he likes to gamble—poker and blackjack mainly—so he’s probably at some casino somewhere. He’ll be back when he’s back.”

Vanessa made a mental note to put one of the officers on phone duty. All the casinos in the area needed to be called. “And when did you see Glenn last?”

“Let’s see . . .” Sherry Hovey’s face scrunched up. If a person could personify a prune, she was doing it. “Yesterday afternoon, I guess. I had a doctor’s appointment, which he took me to, and then we went to Tres Hermanos for dinner with Margie from next door. Glenny don’t much like Mexican, but Margie and I love it, and Glenny goes because he don’t cook. And then he was supposed to go to work.”

“And when did you last talk to him?”

“Not since then, neither. He don’t have to check in with me, he’s a big boy.”

“Does he have a cell phone?”

The woman recited the number, and Vanessa jotted it into her notebook. “But he won’t pick up if he don’t know who’s calling.”

Vanessa handed her one of her freshly minted business cards. “Have your son call me as soon as possible, okay? He’s not in any trouble. Just crossing my i’s and dotting my t’s, as the saying goes.”

“Sure.” The old woman held the card as far away from her face as possible and squinted at it. “I’ll tell him.”

“Go Hawks!” Vanessa said, pumping a fist.

The woman snorted. “Easy, sweetheart. It’s not even football season yet.”

The door slammed shut.

•   •   •

Vanessa sat in the unmarked Dodge with the window rolled down, trying to figure out her next move. She had a rookie officer named Nate Essex making calls to all the casinos within a hundred-mile radius—of which there were several—but she didn’t expect to hear back from him for at least a couple of hours.

The woman who lived in the house next to Sherry and Glenn Hovey’s was watering her tomato plants, and she had turned around several times to look at Vanessa inside the car. Their eyes met through the windshield, and finally the woman turned off her hose and motioned her over, looking around furtively as she did so.

Vanessa got out of her car. The woman wasn’t quite as old as Sherry Hovey, but she had similar purple-tinged white hair.

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” she said. “Did you need something?”

“I’m Margie Hamilton. Come inside.” The woman led Vanessa through the garage and directly into a kitchen that smelled like beef stew and chocolate chip cookies. She promptly took a seat at the table and indicated that Vanessa should do the same. “I overheard you speaking to Sherry. Didn’t want her to hear us talking. So you’re the new deputy chief?” She pronounced deputy as
deppity
.

“Yes, ma’am, I am.”

“Earl didn’t mention he was hiring a woman.”

“You know the chief?” Vanessa was surprised.

Margie Hamilton shrugged. “Oh sure. I used to live next door to him when he was married to his first wife. No, wait, Irene was his second wife.” She thought for a moment, then waved a hand dismissively. “Anyway, we were neighbors about fifteen years ago, is what I’m saying. I downsized when Louie—that’s my late husband—died. Had a massive heart attack on the way to work one morning, dropped dead in the driveway. The old house was too big for just me after Louie passed, especially once the girls were grown. Anyway, whenever I run into him at the grocery store, Earl always says hello.”

“Mrs. Hamilton, did you know something about Glenn Hovey?” Vanessa asked.

“Oh sure, that’s why I waved you in here. I didn’t want Sherry hearing me, so what I’m telling you, you don’t repeat to her, you know what I’m saying?”

“Got it.”

“Okay, so Glenny, he’s a little batty.” Margie made a twirling motion with her finger near her temple. “He’s not crazy or stupid or nothing, but he’s kind of awkward, though some of that probably comes from living with Sherry for too long. She always says he got weird after what happened to him when he was fourteen. Or was he fifteen?” She paused again, then waved a hand. “He was still a boy when it happened, is what I’m saying.”

“What happened to him?”

“The Clown Museum.” Margie said this as if Vanessa was supposed to understand exactly what she was talking about. “It messed him up something awful. He was never quite right after that.”

Vanessa bit back a sigh. It was important to be patient, and to not show frustration, even though she was tempted to shout at the woman to make her point already. “I asked Mrs. Hovey if she knew where Glenn was. She wasn’t sure.”

“Oh, she probably don’t know. She don’t
want
to know, you know what I’m saying? Sherry’s protective of her boy, but she likes to pretend that his problem is gambling. His problem’s not poker, no matter what she told you.” Margie leaned in slightly, and did the twirly thing again with her finger. “His problem goes way deeper, know what I’m saying?”

Biting her lip, Vanessa said, “No, ma’am. No, I really don’t.”

“He’s got other . . . addictions.”

“Such as?”

“You know. Those blue movies.”

“Blue movies?”

“Dirty movies. Sex movies.” The older woman paused for dramatic effect. “
Porn
.”

Vanessa tried not to laugh. “I see.”

“He been caught two or three times watching porn at work. Can you imagine? That’s not right. He’s around all those kids, he got no business watching movies like that with kids around. But it’s because of what happened to him when Glenny was a kid, you know what I’m saying? It’s like he don’t know that it’s wrong.”