Wonderland (12 page)

“They’re awesome,” Vanessa said. And she meant it.

“Anyway, Wonderland knew he was an artist, and so they had Ty do the mural at the side of the food court.”

“The one that’s a rendering of the midway?” Vanessa knew the mural, and was surprised to learn that it hadn’t been painted by a professional. “It’s beautiful.”

“That was Tyler.” The fatherly pride Tanner felt was obvious. “They didn’t pay him extra or anything, but he was thrilled to do it. But he was only allowed to work on it at night, after the park was closed. Sometimes he wouldn’t get home till three, four in the morning. And then one night, he never came home.”

“Was he always alone in the park when he was painting?”

“Usually. Sometimes cleanup crew would be there, but otherwise it was just him and whoever was assigned to security.”

Vanessa looked at the file. “Glenn Hovey. That’s the security guard on schedule that night.”

“Yep. He’s a fucking weirdo if I ever met one.”

You’re not the first person to say that
, Vanessa thought, recalling her conversation with Margie Hamilton, the Hoveys’ next door neighbor. “In what way is he weird?”

“He just makes you feel uncomfortable,” Tanner said. “Tyler said he stared a lot at the kids, the boys in particular. Hovey denied having anything to do with Ty’s disappearance, said he wasn’t even aware of when Ty left the park. Security footage from that night showed Ty leaving the park through the side gates, alone, so Weiss didn’t press Hovey about it. And that’s the last anyone saw of my son.”

“When did you file the missing persons report?”

“Not till the end of the next day.” Tanner heaved a sigh. “I was working late at the shop, and I didn’t realize he was missing until very late the next night. My wife and I were separated at that time, and she’d moved to California with Jenna. Tyler stayed with me.” He choked up on the last four words.

“It’s not your fault.” Vanessa rested her hand on his forearm for a second. “We can’t be with our kids all time. Was anything missing from his room?”

“All I could confirm was that Tyler’s bag was missing. It was this old smelly knapsack he’d gotten at an army surplus store when he was in Seattle once. He took it with him to work every day. I haven’t seen it since.”

“What about his clothes? Were of any them missing?”

“I don’t know. Do I look like the kind of guy who notices people’s clothes?”

No, he did not. She looked at the file again. “And his cell phone?”

“He had a BlackBerry Curve,” Tanner said. “I know that because it was my old phone, which I gave to him. He must have had it with him. Part of me hopes . . .”

“Part of you hopes what?”

“Part of me hopes that Ty did run away, that he’s out there somewhere, living his life, and happy.” Tanner’s voice was thick and his eyes moistened. “I’d be pissed that he didn’t call, but I’d get over it in two seconds if I knew he’d been out there the whole time, and was okay. But my gut tells me that’s not true. Ty was a good kid, a considerate kid. If he wanted to take off and do his own thing for a while, he would have told me and his mother. He would have said goodbye.”

Vanessa’s cell phone buzzed and she checked it, allowing Tanner the moment he needed to regroup. It was David Cole calling. She pressed decline, sending it to voice mail. Aiden Cole’s father had promised to send her something with his son’s fingerprints on them, but she hadn’t received it yet, so the call could wait. Once she ran the prints against Homeless Harry’s, they’d know immediately whether Harry was actually Aiden Cole. If it was, it would be terrible news for Mr. Cole. And what could that mean for Tyler, Tanner’s son? Could he have suffered a similar fate?

“What is it?” Tanner said, interrupting her thoughts. “Your face is doing a thing.”

“What thing?” Vanessa focused her attention back on him.

“You know, like you’re thinking of something unpleasant.”

“I’m working on something,” she said, wanting to be honest with him as much as she could. “When I figure it out, I’ll let you know. But I’ll be honest with you, Tanner—” She stopped. She hadn’t asked if it was okay to call him by his first name, but the man didn’t even blink. “There’s not a lot to go on.”

“I know.” The big man cracked his knuckles. “The private investigator I hired said the same thing. But unlike Seaside PD, at least he didn’t keep insisting that my son ran away.”

“You hired a PI?” Vanessa was surprised. A good private investigator was expensive. “Good for you.”

“Nothing came of it, but I needed to feel like I had done everything I could,” Tanner said. “He was a retired cop from Seattle PD.”

“I came from Seattle PD. Who was it?”

“He’s a lot older than you,” Tanner said. “His name is Jerry Isaac. He was just starting his own PI firm back then. Know him?”

“Oh, do I.” Vanessa couldn’t help but grin.
PI
firm
was probably overstating—Jerry Isaac was a one-man operation with a two-room office in an old building in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood. “I know him quite well. He was my training officer back in the day. You chose well; Jerry would have done everything he could. I’ll give him a call, see if has anything else to add.”

“I’d appreciate that.” Tanner checked the time on his phone and stood up. “I should go check on Jenna. Thanks for your time, Deputy.”

“No need to thank me,” she said. “Just doing my job.”

“No, I mean it,” he said. “You’ve shown more interest in Tyler than anybody here did when he first went missing. It means a lot to be taken seriously.”

“I don’t know how much I can do, but I can promise I’ll do my best.” She offered him a smile. He didn’t need platitudes or empty promises. No parent did.

“You ever need work on your car, come see me.” He smiled back, and it made him look about ten years younger. “Or if I ever see you at the Monkey Bar—that’s a local spot right near the clubhouse—beers are on me.”

“That’s not necessary,” she said with a laugh. “But I appreciate it.”

“Tell you what.” Tanner’s bright blue eyes were focused on her face. “You find my son, and I’ll buy all your beers and work on your car—
all
your cars—for free, for as long as I live. How’s that?”

“I’d be stupid not to take that deal.” She offered him a hand.

“Yes.” He squeezed her hand, holding it a little longer than necessary. “You would be.”

SIXTEEN

T
he Wonder Wheel Kid’s selfie was splashed all over the TV news. Blake Dozier’s father, Derek, finally home from his business trip to China, had finally decided that it really
was
weird that his son wasn’t returning anyone’s calls or texts, and he’d filed an official missing person’s report earlier that morning. Blake’s smiling, handsome face at the top of the Wonder Wheel was the most current photo Seaside PD had, and it had made the jump from social media to mainstream media—with the middle finger blurred out, of course.

But believe it or not, that wasn’t the top story.

The big news of the day was that Seaside PD had officially released the identity of Homeless Harry, and it turned out to be none other than Aiden Cole, the Wonder Worker who’d gone missing three years ago. The official cause of death was blunt-force trauma. Aiden had been murdered.

Wonderland was officially fucked.

Oscar continued to watch the press conference on TV, and police chief Earl Schultz was doing his best to downplay it all.

“Chief, is there any connection between Homeless Harry and the Wonder Wheel Kid?” a reporter called out.

“I think it’s disrespectful to address them by their media-dubbed nicknames, Kurt, when we know what their legal names are,” Earl said to the reporter. “And no, there is no connection at all between Aiden Cole and Blake Dozier. Aiden Cole was a cold missing persons case that is now a homicide, and Blake Dozier is a new case that will be investigated fully, and without bias.”

“Is it true Blake Dozier was the only person at Wonderland at the time Aiden Cole’s body was dumped there?” a female voice called out.

“We’re still working on that, Sarah. We don’t know who might have been at the park other than Blake at that time. As you know, Wonderland is a big place and it will take awhile to narrow down the list of people who might have been at the park at that time of the morning. Next question.”

“Chief, do you have any working theories on who might have killed Aiden Cole?”

“He wasn’t killed at the park, we know that for a fact, Jeff,” Earl said, his tone firm. “There is no evidence to suggest any kind of foul play has taken place anywhere on Wonderland grounds. Wherever Aiden Cole was killed, it wasn’t at Wonderland, and I can’t speculate about why his body was left at the park. As for Blake Dozier, we can’t confirm that he even went missing from Wonderland. The picture that’s circulating around is misleading. If Blake Dozier did meet with foul play, there’s no evidence to suggest it happened on park premises.”

Thank you, Earl.
Oscar allowed himself a small smile in the privacy of his office. Bianca would be pleased. Earl had managed to protect Wonderland while at the same time being forthcoming about what he knew about the Wonder Wheel Kid and Homeless Harry. Not an easy feat. Genius, really. He made a mental note to thank Earl at the Seaside Hospital gala fund-raiser in a few days, assuming they didn’t run into each other before then. Seaside was a small town, after all.

The comments on Blake Dozier’s Facebook and Twitter page had climbed to well over a thousand. The commenters, who’d initially expressed admiration over Blake’s Wonder Wheel selfie, had then turned sympathetic when the news broke that Blake was considered missing. A flurry of comments saying “Stay safe, Blake” and “Come back to us, Blake” filled up the middle portion of the comment thread.

But now, mere hours later, they were beginning to turn vicious.

Someone had suggested that Blake was not really missing at all, that he had staged his own disappearance to draw attention to his picture. Another person, who’d apparently known him in high school, said that Blake had been an asshole who’d picked on him and so he wouldn’t be surprised if Blake was lying dead in a ditch somewhere after having messed with the wrong person. And yet another kid, a fellow climber no less, said that Blake shouldn’t even be calling himself an urban free climber because the Wonder Wheel was
only
150 feet high.

One minute social media was your friend and saying kind things; the next minute social media was a self-righteous bitch telling you exactly what a fuck-up you were. Oscar wondered if Blake Dozier’s father was reading these ugly comments.

He had gone to look at the Wonder Wheel earlier that morning, and the crime scene cleaning team that Earl had sent to the park the night before had done a stellar job. No traces of Homeless Harry, aka Aiden Cole, remained, though Oscar was sure if you held up one of those special blue lights to the dark asphalt, you would see traces of him still there. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was what you could
see
, and everything appeared normal. The thick cardboard wall surrounding the base of the wheel had finally been removed. Even the stench was gone.

It was as if nothing had happened at all.

Oscar continued to watch KIRO-7 as Earl was peppered with a few more questions, to which he replied with vague, professional answers. In the background, standing slightly to the police chief’s left, stood deputy chief Vanessa Castro. Oscar leaned forward to get a closer look.

Goddammit, she looked sexier than ever. It was a warm day and she wasn’t wearing a jacket, so her gun was visible in its holster. Her silk blouse clung to the contours of her curvy but athletic body, and her midlength dark hair hung in shiny, loose waves around her face. Minimal makeup, but she didn’t need any. Her eyes were large and expressive, and as Earl spoke, she scanned the audience, missing nothing.

Oscar was doing a little digging into her background, and with the press conference over, he turned his attention back to his computer. A quick Google search had turned up several articles linking Vanessa Castro to the Marcus Henry trial—they were the first six hits. Apparently Seaside’s new deputy chief had been close friends with the drug kingpin, a friendship that dated back to when they were teenagers and Henry was still a resident of Seaside. It was brought up during the trial that Detective Vanessa Castro had been intimately involved with Henry before her husband died. After Henry’s acquittal, she left Seattle PD and joined Seaside PD, which suggested she’d been pushed out of her old police department.

Further down the page of Google links was her late husband’s obituary. Dated six months earlier, it said that Major John Castro of the U.S. Army, retired, had died three days before Christmas at the age of forty-one, leaving behind a wife and two children. In lieu of flowers, donations should be made to the Magnolia Foundation. Oscar had never heard of it before, and when he clicked on the website, he saw that the Magnolia Foundation was a not-for-profit organization that assisted military veterans in receiving treatment for a variety of mental health disorders, including depression, anxiety, and post-traumatic stress.

Interesting
. Oscar had suspected that Vanessa had a colorful past—why else would someone choose to leave Seattle for Seaside, if not to get away from a colorful past?—but he hadn’t expected a recently deceased husband and a questionable relationship with a high-level drug dealer. Vanessa had told him she was in no place for a relationship, and Oscar was beginning to understand why. In that sense, she and Bianca were alike.

He mentally cursed himself again. He had to stop comparing Vanessa—and every other woman he met—to his boss and former lover. With Bianca, it had always been just about sex, but with Vanessa, there was chemistry on all levels. Vanessa was smart and ambitious, but she also had a family. She seemed more centered, and softer in all the ways that mattered. She made Oscar want more. And he was ready for more.

After more than twenty years with the park, Oscar wanted out of Wonderland.

Having grown up in Seaside, he’d started working at the park as a part-timer when he was in high school. It was almost a rite of passage for the local kids that they’d work at the amusement park once they turned fourteen. Seaside’s World of Wonder, as it was originally called, had been created and built by Jack Shaw.

Yes,
that
Jack Shaw, who’d built several of Seattle’s tallest buildings. Jack Shaw, who was one of the Pacific Northwest’s wealthiest men, according to
Forbes
magazine. Jack Shaw, who had a thing for young teenage boys, and who’d built World of Wonder just so he could have a legitimate reason to be around them. Jack Shaw, who’d eventually be accused of sexually assaulting more than half a dozen boys from the ages of fourteen to sixteen. Jack Shaw, who’d died horribly in a fire shortly after being formally charged with sexual abuse, and as a result had never been brought to justice.

At least not the legal form of justice, anyway.

Oscar was twenty-six and had just finished a five-year stint in the army when his mother told him the big news over dinner. She’d been thoroughly unimpressed with Nick Bishop’s decision to buy the park, and was delighted that Oscar hadn’t heard, because it meant she could drop the bomb herself while offering her opinions on the whole thing, of which there were many.

“You should see the dump that the park is now, Ozzie,” Isabel Trejo had said to her son, lighting her third cigarette in a row. “Seaside’s World of Wonder.
Christ
. What the hell is Nicky thinking? Hell,
I
still remember it from when I was a kid. It was tacky even then, though of course when you’re a kid all you care about are the rides and the cotton candy. But it’s a fucking dump. If anybody should know that, Nicky should. He said he got it for a bargain price, and he’d have had to, because who else would buy it?”

“It’s been for sale for a while, hasn’t it?” Oscar said, fanning the smoke away from his face. His mother didn’t notice. They were only halfway through their meals, and she would go through at least two more cigarettes before they were finished. Oscar hated the way she looked when she smoked. The skin around Isabel’s mouth was like paper, and it crinkled when she puckered to take a drag, instantly aging her twenty years.

“It was on the market for a couple of years. I didn’t think Shaw’s widow would be able to give it away. Obviously, she was desperate to get rid of it. Not for the money, of course; that bitch is loaded. But she’d want it out of her life, you know? She’d want it
away
from her. Not that I blame her.”

“I can’t believe Nicky would buy it. Are you absolutely sure?”

“Kiddo, it’s all over town. Besides, I just talked to Betty at the bank.” Isabel exhaled a long stream of smoke from her nostrils. “I stopped in to get some cash and she couldn’t wait to tell me what he paid for it.” She said the number, and it was lower than even Oscar could have imagined. “Your loco friend is now the proud owner of the world’s ugliest amusement park. Christ, he’s not even thirty. What the hell is he thinking?” she said again.

“Well, maybe he’ll fix it up.” Oscar’s mind was racing. “Make it all shiny and new. I’m sure he has a plan.”

“With what money? He just spent it all to buy the goddamned park. He finally gets his big payday and
this
is what he blows his cash on? Un-fucking-believable.”

All Oscar knew about Nick’s finances back then were the rumors he’d heard filtered through his mother. A couple of years after Oscar joined the army, Nick had been in a car accident, causing him to lose partial function of his leg, and he’d sued somebody and won. The full story, which he would learn from Nick himself later, was that an eighteen-wheeler had barreled through his car after it failed to stop at a red light. Nick had been rushed to the hospital with a leg that had been shattered in a hundred places (a likely exaggeration, but whatever), along with a broken arm. At the hospital, he’d contracted the infection that had caused permanent nerve damage, forcing him to walk with a noticeable limp even after his broken leg had healed. For two years after, he’d been embroiled in a lawsuit against both the trucking company (which had been aware that the brakes for the truck were in need of servicing) and the hospital (which hadn’t employed the correct safety measures to prevent a staph infection). And he’d won. How much, exactly, Nick had never confirmed, but it had clearly been enough to buy the park outright. The trucking company and the hospital both had deep pockets.

The money to renovate World of Wonder had ultimately come from the bank in town. The amusement park had long been an eyesore for Seaside, and with Jack Shaw finally dead, nobody was more invested in seeing it cleaned up and thriving than the town was. Though Nick Bishop had no credit to speak of, his loan application had been pushed through. And a year and a half later, Nicky reopened the park, changing the name and rebranding it Wonderland. It was now bigger, with more rides, more games, and more food. Wonderland had turned a tidy profit ever since.

But some things remained the same. Nick hadn’t wanted to change everything. “Part of the appeal of Wonderland is the memories,” he’d said once, when Oscar had suggested replacing some of the older attractions with more modern ones. “Adults spend a lot of time here with their kids, because it was magic for them when
they
were kids. If we change too much, it ruins the magic.”