Wonderland (3 page)

THREE

O
scar Trejo, vice president of operations for Wonderland Amusement Park, walked across the midway to the nearest trash can and neatly vomited his breakfast into it. He was dismayed to notice that the scrambled eggs he’d whipped up that morning, a couple hours after his date for the night had snuck out, looked almost the same coming up as it had going down.

The guy under the Wonder Wheel had been dead for a while, it seemed. Oscar had assumed he was sleeping, as they’d had incidents with homeless people sleeping inside the park before. But when he shook the man’s shoulder, he’d rolled over, and that’s when Oscar’s stomach turned. The stench in the air wasn’t because the guy was homeless. It was because he was dead, his face wholly unrecognizable because, well, he no longer had a face. Something—some kind of wild animal by the looks of it—had eaten most of it away, and what was left was a bloody stump Oscar had only seen in movies. Were it not for the stench of decay, he might have thought that someone from Elm Street had misplaced a prop.

He couldn’t even begin to imagine how it had gotten here. It sure as hell hadn’t been here the day before—a decomposing human body in the middle of the park would not have gone unnoticed.

The odor—a sickly sweet rot that seemed to permeate the air in a way no other smell ever had—hit Oscar again, and this time he heaved until his stomach was empty. The alcohol he’d consumed the night before wasn’t helping matters. Fishing a tissue out of his pocket, he dabbed at his mouth, and then pulled out his phone to call Glenn Hovey. The security guard was still on duty for another half hour, and Oscar was aggravated that it hadn’t been Hovey who’d discovered the body instead of him.

The security guard didn’t answer. Cursing, Oscar left a message for Hovey to call him back, then tried the landline for the security office. Again, no answer. Either Hovey was in the bathroom watching something he shouldn’t on his iPad, or the man hadn’t shown up for his overnight shift. Again.

Chewing his bottom lip, Oscar called Bianca Bishop. It wasn’t a call he wanted to make, but of course he had to. However, the CEO of Wonderland didn’t answer, either. Where the fuck was everybody?

“It’s too early in the morning for this bullshit,” he said to himself, grimacing at the acidic taste of regurgitated eggs now present in his mouth. But really, was it ever convenient to find a dead body at work? It wasn’t like finding a dead rabbit, or a dead rat, both of which turned up not infrequently, in which case he could just call someone in the maintenance department and have it removed. A dead human being was a whole different level of inconvenience, and while he felt bad thinking of it that way, it didn’t make it any less true.

Grabbing a bottle of water from his golf cart, Oscar rinsed his mouth, trying to dilute the taste of the vomit. He mentally ran through his options.

Calling 9-1-1 was the obvious first course of action. But this was Wonderland. Things were done a certain way at the park, and if he broke protocol—which, in this scenario, meant calling 9-1-1
before
getting Bianca Bishop on the phone—he was risking a clusterfuck. The fire department, the cops, and the paramedics would show up with their lights flashing, alerting the public that something terrible had just happened here. There’d be people everywhere, investigating, examining, scrutinizing, gathering whatever evidence they could find to explain the dead body and solve whatever crime had been committed. Reporters would appear and start asking questions. Wonderland would be the leading story on the news by noon. The publicity would be terrible, and Bianca Bishop’s pretty young head would explode. And then she’d blame Oscar, even though it wasn’t his fault.

But if he didn’t call 9-1-1 and instead went to find his boss, he risked somebody
else
finding the body. The first wave of Wonder Workers were scheduled to show up in ten minutes, and there was no way they wouldn’t find it, because it was currently rotting in the midway for everyone to see. One of the Wonder Workers would immediately call 9-1-1, which of course was the right thing do, which would result in the fire department, cops, paramedics, and flashing lights. Reporters would appear. The park would be on the news by noon. But in this scenario, pictures were bound to show up on social media. Because that’s what the Wonder Workers did these days—they documented every aspect of their lives on Facebook and Twitter for the entire world to see. The pictures would go viral, Bianca’s head would explode, and the whole thing would still be Oscar’s fault.

He tried calling Bianca one last time. She did have an apartment right here in the park, on the top floor of the administrative building on the east corner, but he didn’t know if she was there and he wasn’t willing to go and knock. Last time he did that, she’d been in bed with someone. Though Oscar and the CEO weren’t lovers anymore, he preferred not to know anything about her personal relationships if he could help it.

The call went to voice mail again, and he made his decision. He sent Bianca a brief text message describing what he’d found, and then with a big sigh, called 9-1-1.

After listening to his description of the scene and asking a few pointed questions for clarification, the emergency dispatcher assured Oscar that Seaside PD was on their way. As was protocol, the fire department and the paramedics would be coming as well. The dispatcher’s voice sounded kind of familiar and he briefly wondered if it was someone he’d dated a few years back. But of course that would be inappropriate to ask while making an emergency call. All Oscar could do was hang up and wait for the fanfare to start. A dead body turning up anywhere in Seaside was always a big deal, but a dead body at
Wonderland
was something else altogether.

He trudged back to his purple golf cart. The park’s front gates required an access card at this time of the morning; he’d have to drive back to the entrance to let everybody in.

As he gunned it through the park, Oscar thought, and not for the first time, how different his life might have been if he had never come back to Seaside. If he had stayed in the army instead of coming back to his hometown to work for his good friend Nick Bishop, who’d just bought the amusement park they’d both worked at as teenagers, and who’d had visions of turning it into a much different place. He had helped Nicky rebuild the park from the ground up, and it really should have been Oscar in charge of the park now, instead of Nicky’s niece, Bianca.

No, he wasn’t bitter, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed.

The wail of sirens grew louder and Oscar stepped on the gas. Bianca would hit the roof when she got his message, that was as certain as the sun rising. All he could hope for was that she’d take her anger out on whichever teenage Wonder Worker she was currently fucking, instead of him.

FOUR

T
he Seaside Police Department’s motto was “Protect, Respect and Serve.” It was emblazoned in large letters at the bottom of the logo, which was everywhere—on the coffee mugs, on the business cards, on the wall of the main office, and on the T-shirts you could buy from the Seaside PD gift shop for twenty dollars plus tax.

Seaside’s police force included thirty-five officers, six detectives, two sergeants, one deputy chief, and one chief of police. The wall in the main lobby featured every officer’s photograph, and soon Vanessa’s would join theirs. It was amazing to her that everyone’s picture fit on one wall. The entire police department here wasn’t even close to being as large as Seattle’s West Precinct, from where Vanessa had transferred.

The officer who’d greeted her had passed her off to another officer, a blonde who couldn’t be more than thirty, judging from the absence of wrinkles on her pert face. She’d introduced herself as Claire Moran, and she’d made a point of telling Vanessa that she’d been “volunteered” to show her around. While her words were polite enough, her tone of voice and lack of warmth made it clear there were a thousand things she’d rather be doing.

During her quick tour of the department, Vanessa was halfheartedly introduced to a dozen or so officers and a handful of administrative personnel. The rest of the staff were either too busy to say hello, or simply not interested, and with each passing minute it was more and more obvious that she wasn’t welcome here. Vanessa had no idea why she was being frozen out; this type of treatment was usually reserved for rookies, which she most certainly was not.

Sitting alone now in her new office, she unpacked the few small personal items she’d brought with her. A small framed photo of Ava and John-John was awarded the place of honor on her desk. Her black leather-bound notebook—no iPad mini for her, thank you—was placed beside the photo, along with her favorite mug from home. She was in one of six offices that lined the outer edge of the main area, and it had a glass wall that overlooked the department. Behind her, a small window showcased a view of—what else?—Wonderland.

There was a flurry of activity inside the department this morning, and whatever was going on, the officers seemed excited. Vanessa thought she heard someone say that a dead body had been found at the park, but snippets of disjointed conversation were all she could pick up.

Had someone died at Wonderland? It was ridiculous to have to ask. She was the deputy chief of the Seaside Police Department, for Christ’s sake. And it was her first day, goddammit. What the hell kind of welcome was this? Mind you, the title of deputy chief in a police department this small, and in a town as small as Seaside, didn’t mean what it would have in a larger city. While Vanessa outranked everybody here except police chief Earl Schultz, the brunt of her job was to head up the Investigative Unit, working major crimes cases hands-on. The rest of her time would involve assisting Earl in whatever administrative and political capacity he needed, which was the only aspect Vanessa wasn’t thrilled about. She detested ass kissing in all its forms.

Her new badge, ID, and business cards were ready, but she didn’t yet have a username to access her account. Officer Moran had showed her where the break room was and she’d poured herself her second coffee of the day. The coffee tasted like shit, but she sipped it anyway, in desperate need of caffeine thanks to all the alcohol she’d consumed the night before. Drumming her fingers on her desk, she couldn’t help but think of the guy from the bar. Had he been disappointed to wake up this morning and find her gone? Would they run into each other again? Did she even want to?

She’d been at her new job for exactly twenty minutes and already she was thinking about a man.
Stop it
, she told herself.
Find something else to focus on
.

Opening the top drawer of her desk, she found a half dozen used ballpoint pens, a couple of business cards that said
CARL WEISS, DEPUTY CHIEF
on them (the man she’d been hired to replace), and a partially eaten Twinkie with the wrapper still attached. She tossed the Twinkie into the trash and sighed.

Happy first day
, she thought. As her daughter would say, it sucked being new.

There was a light knock on her open door and she looked up to see a man standing there. Midtwenties, muscular and clean-cut, his hair buzzed short, he was dressed in civilian attire. His posture told her he was a cop; the gold badge clipped to his belt said he was a detective.

“Good morning.” He had two coffee cups on a tray in one hand, and a stack of files in the other. The coffee was from the Green Bean café downtown, and the aroma was fantastic. “I was supposed to be the one to show you around on your first day, but I was running late this morning and the lineup at the Green Bean was long.”

“Long, but worth it,” Vanessa said, feeling absurdly grateful for his friendly demeanor. “Coffee cures all. Please say one of those is for me.”

“I didn’t know what you’d like, so one’s an Americano and the other one’s a vanilla latte.” He held the tray up. “Your choice.”

“Latte, please.” She took the beverage and gave him a smile. “Way to suck up to your new boss.”

He blinked. “I—”

“I’m kidding.” She laughed. “I’ll take suckage any day over the icy blonde who gave me the tour and made it clear I ruined her morning. Thank you for the coffee. Vanessa Castro.” She offered him a hand, and they shook.

“Donnie Ambrose. Detective, Investigative Unit. It’s nice to meet you. And you must be talking about Claire. She’s never been a morning person.”

“Have a seat.” Vanessa gestured toward the chair across from her desk. “You look awfully young to be a detective, if you don’t mind my saying.”

“I’m twenty-six.” He sat down, crossing his legs comfortably. “I was promoted about a month ago. But you’d think it happened yesterday; people here are still mad about it. Detective spots don’t open up often, and competition is fierce. I’ve only been with PD for five years.”

“You must have done good work as an officer, then.”

He shrugged, a modest expression on his face. “I love the job, and I aced the detective’s exam. I also graduated from PSSU with a dual degree in criminology and computer science, so that gave me a leg up.”

“Impressive,” Vanessa said with a smile. “I studied criminology at PSSU, too. What are you doing working for a small-town police department? The FBI loves guys like you.”

“You think?” Donnie said with a surprised grin. “I’d love to work for the FBI, and god knows I’d love to get the hell out of Seaside. But it’s not that easy to make the jump. I grew up here, and there’s a lot of history. But, you know, maybe one day.”

She nodded. History was a powerful thing. And she of all people understood how hard it was to start over someplace new.

“Those your kids?” he asked, glancing at the photo on her desk.

“Ava and John-John,” Vanessa said. “Fourteen and seven, respectively.”

“They look like you. You’ve got your hands full.” Donnie placed the stack of files in front of her. “Anyway, Earl wanted me to make sure you were up to speed on all of IU’s active cases. You up for it?”

“Of course. By the way, what happened at the park? I overheard some of them talking about a dead body?” She nodded toward the main room, which was still buzzing with activity. “Everybody seems so wound up.”

“Nobody updated you? Call came in from Wonderland earlier this morning. One of the employees found a dead body near the Wonder Wheel. Deader than dead, actually.” The young detective wrinkled his nose. “Apparently there’s a stench.”

“Really?” Vanessa was surprised. “If there’s an odor, then that means he’s been dead for at least a few days. Which means he couldn’t have died in the park. Which means he died someplace else and somebody deliberately moved him.” The wheels in her brain were turning, and despite her hangover, she was getting a little excited. She had expected things would be quiet in Seaside, but a decomposing body dumped in a public place was an interesting case, for any city. “The Wonder Wheel’s right by the midway, isn’t it?”

Donnie nodded. “The body was in plain view.”

“Who caught the case? Maybe I should head over. Homicide’s my specialty, assuming that’s what this is.”

“It’s Earl’s.” The detective looked at her like she should have known that. “Because it’s Wonderland.”

“Seriously?” Vanessa was confused. In her experience, the chief of police’s job was largely bureaucratic. She’d never heard of a police chief being a first responder to a crime scene.

“Earl handles all the Wonderland calls personally,” Donnie said. “Things are done a specific way when it comes to the park.”

Vanessa’s desk phone rang before she could ask him to elaborate. Thinking it might be Earl, she answered it right away. “Detective Castro,” she said, and across from her, Donnie grinned. “Oops. I mean Deputy Chief Castro.”

“I’m looking for Carl Weiss.” The man on the other line sounded cross.

“I’m sorry, he’s retired,” Vanessa said. “This is the new deputy chief. Is there something I can help you with, sir?”

“Yeah, I’m calling about my son for the three dozenth time. I want to know what you’re doing to find him.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“It’s not my name that matters, lady, it’s my son’s name. Aiden Cole.” The man spelled it, making a point to overenunciate each syllable. Vanessa dutifully wrote it down in her black notebook. “He went missing three years ago and you guys aren’t doing jack shit. He was only eighteen, still a kid. Did you say Carl Weiss is retired? I call that idiot every month for an update, and he didn’t say anything about retiring the last time we talked.”

Vanessa looked at Donnie and pointed to the files he’d brought with him, mouthing, “Aiden Cole?”

“Archives,” Donnie mouthed back, shaking his head. “Basement.”

She nodded. “Carl Weiss retired about a month ago, yes,” she said into the phone.

“Well, hallelujah.” The man snorted in Vanessa’s ear. “He was absolutely useless, so I’ll take that as good news. I rode that man’s ass like a donkey about Aiden, calling him every month, because god knows he could never be bothered to call me. But then again, why would he? That would mean he had something new, and why would he have something new if he wasn’t working the goddamn case?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t have the file with me right now,” Vanessa said. “I apologize, it’s my first day. Is it all right if I call you back when I’ve had a chance to look it over?”

“Are you really going to call?”

“I give you my word. I’m a parent, too. I have a fourteen-year-old daughter, and I can’t even imagine what you’ve been going through these last three years. I am so sorry.” There was a long silence on the other line, and after a few seconds, Vanessa was beginning to wonder if they’d been disconnected. “Sir?”

“I’m here,” he said. “Thank you for what you just said. You actually sound like you give a shit.”

“I do,” she said. “Now can I get your name and phone number?”

“David Cole.” He sounded less harsh, and he gave her the numbers for his home, office, and cell. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. It’s just, my dealings with Weiss were never productive.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Cole,” Vanessa said. “Give me a day or two to look over the case, and then we can talk about your son more in depth. Does that work?”

“That’s fine.” His voice faltered. “Well, thank you. I look forward to hearing from you.”

“We’ll speak soon.” Vanessa disconnected and looked at Donnie, who’d been checking his text messages. “That was David Cole,” she said.

“I gathered that.” Donnie put his phone away. “He always calls every month at the same time. If he can’t get ahold of Weiss, he’ll shout at whoever’s unfortunate enough to get stuck talking to him.”

“Well, I don’t blame him.” Vanessa’s sharp tone made the young detective sit up straighter. “If he calls every month, why is his son’s case in the archives?”

“That’s where they put all of Carl Weiss’s unsolveds,” Donnie said. “Aiden Cole was his case.”

“What do you remember about it?”

“Not much,” he said. “Because there wasn’t much to remember. It was three years ago, I think. Aiden was supposed to catch the Greyhound bus to Seattle after the end-of-summer staff party at Wonderland, the one they do every year. And then he was supposed to catch the ferry to Bainbridge Island, where he lived. He never made it home. We don’t even know if he got on the bus.”

“And the party was the last place he was seen?”

“I believe so, unless Weiss found some new information at some point. Which would be in the file, which is archived in the basement, which is a disorganized mess. I can go dig it up, if you want,” he said, looking unhappy. “Might take all day, though.”

Vanessa thought for a moment. “What’s Claire Moran’s extension?”

“Three-five-five.”

She punched it into her desk phone. “Officer Moran,” she said when the woman picked up. “This is Deputy Chief Castro. I need you to retrieve a file for me in the archives.”

“I . . . okay,” Moran said on the other end, clearly caught off guard. “That’s in the basement. I can ask someone—”