Chapter 6

Six

W alter

The four of us left the bar a lot more subdued than when we'd arrived.

"I'm going to call my cousin at San Joaquin," Denny said. "Gene, you're going to contact LA?"

"Yeah," Gene said. "And I'm going to follow up with CHP. Dax, you'll keep working the Buttonwillow case?"

"Yes, and Walter's getting on an airplane in a few hours. Right?" Dax turned on me. So did the others.

"You don't honestly believe?—"

"You don't have a choice," Denny said. "Captain Barnett mandated it. You haven't taken vacation in two years. Not even holidays. I know this is your baby?—"

"It's not my baby," I said, trying to play this right. These men were my closest friends. They knew me better than anyone. "But I've invested twenty years in this case." More, actually, but I didn't need to remind them.

"Then let us gather the information," Denny said. "When you come back, we'll have more leads for you to follow up."

I cursed and turned away from them and took a few breaths, trying to slow my pulse. "How do you expect me to sit on the beach with a little umbrella in my drink when everything's shifted?" This information could bring me closer to finding out what really happened to Dane Donovan.

"Look, you're off the clock," Gene said. "Doesn't mean you can't do a little snooping around. How about I set him up with my LA connections? Maybe he goes down to sit by the pool at some swank Beverly Hills place with a little umbrella drink instead, while he looks over case files. Ain't no law against that."

Out of all of us, Gene was the one most flexible about interpreting policy and procedure. Most of the time it pissed me off. I was a by-the-book detective who put humanity first when dealing with victims and families. And though I knew I was dangerously close to crossing a line of professionalism—my captain had specifically told me to take a break from police work—there was no way I was going to walk away from this case now, not even for a week.

Denny looked me over, his brows furrowed. "I swear to God, Muse. Don't make me have to call your mother. You get three hots and your ass better be in that rack eight hours minimum per day, you got it? This time off is supposed to be for your mental and physical health."

"Right, of course. Gene, text me your LAPD contacts. I'll call tomorrow, see if I can set up a meeting. I'll sleep before that, all right?"

I wasn't fooling any of them, but they understood.

"Don't go off half-cocked, Muse," Gene said with a chuckle, and he pulled me in for a bro hug. "We gotchoo," he whispered in my ear.

I hugged the other guys, making sure Dax knew to keep me posted on the new case, and I walked to my truck fully intending to go home.

My phone buzzed as I opened the door.

"Detective Muse."

"Detective, this is Taylor in dispatch. We received a call on the tip line for you. Information regarding the Buttonwillow homicide."

"That should go to Detective Dax Brown. I'm on," I ground my teeth before the last bit, "vacation."

"They specifically requested you, Detective. I'm sending the callback number to your phone. You can pass it on to Detective Brown if you like."

"Thank you," I said, but she'd already hung up. A follow-up buzz indicated a text. I finished climbing into the truck and started it up, the cold seeping in through my jacket. I blew on my hands and then hit the call button.

It rang three times before a male voice answered.

"Yeah?"

"This is Detective Walter Muse of the Kern County Sheriff's Department. I was given this number from the tip line?"

"Right. Thank you for calling. Sir, my name is Ryan Wells, and a friend of mine has some information about separate incidents at the Buttonwillow Rest Area. He'd like to speak with you."

Ryan Wells? "You were there this morning. At Buttonwillow," I said. "You spoke to the CHP."

"Yes, sir. We were there. Are you still in LA?"

I flinched. "How did you know I was in LA?" Had I been tailed? Was I that off my game I hadn't noticed? Maybe the guys were right to push me to take this vacation.

"My friend says he saw you outside the gates of the house we're staying at in Laurel Canyon."

What the hell? "What's your friend's name?"

Ryan was quiet for a minute, and then I heard him muffle the phone and talk to someone else."When can you be in Laurel Canyon? We'll explain everything when you get here."

At this time of night, it shouldn't be a problem to get there in an hour, but it was already ten o'clock."It would take me an hour."

"Good. We'll be up. Do you need the address?"

"Give it to me just to be safe."

I typed it into my GPS app as he spoke. Of course, the smart thing to do would be to go home and sleep and then head out in the morning.

The smartest thing to do would be to call Dax, Gene, or Denny. Any of them, really.

"I'll be there in an hour."

Apparently, the smart thing was not on the menu.

"Thank you, Detective. My friend, he's… well, he's really nervous to talk to you. I don't know his whole story, but it's harsh, if you get me."

Alarms started going off in my mind, but I was already pushing the go button on the GPS and putting my truck in gear."I'll be there as soon as I can. If you could, please keep him there?"

"Yes, sir. He's agreed to let us help. Don't make me sorry I called you, feel me?"

"I do."

"Oh, and Detective? Mind picking up a carton of Marlboros?"

"Cigarettes? Okay…"

We hung up, and I drove like the devil was chasing me. He had been ever since my father was assigned Dane Donovan's case.

Forty-nine minutes later, I pulled up to the same gates I'd stood in front of earlier that day, where I'd thought I'd seen a ghost for the second time in a day.

Who the hell was I going to find at Ryan's? I ran through all of the information I'd gotten from the phone call; he'd said "the house where we're staying." What the fuck was I walking into? Wells had a record, but not for anything violent. He was a damn rock star, for crying out loud. I'd asked Siri to play music from his band—Backdrop Silhouette—on the drive down, and it almost blew out my speakers when it came on. I had to scramble to turn down the volume.

I'd often been accused of having stunted musical growth. I preferred singer-songwriter type music and the classics from the '60s and '70s. It took me back to the time when things were good… when my parents were in love and things were happy at our home, before my father had his break.

I parked my truck at the curb and got out, looking around. I texted my location to Gene, figuring he was the one person who wouldn't freak the fuck out.

Jesus, Muse. You were supposed to go home.

I got a call off the tip line. The same guys who called in the vic this morning. Tell Dax in the morning, okay? If you don't hear from me by eight, ping me. If I don't get back to you, send my last known to LAPD.

The three dots floated for much longer than usual.

Fuck you, Walter. Be safe.

"I love you too," I sent back, using voice text. I rang the buzzer on the pole next to the gate.

"Detective?" a voice spoke from the speaker.

"Yeah."

The gates opened slowly, and I made the walk up the long, dark driveway. The house had floodlights and security cameras, and it looked like it had been renovated recently. I knew this had been the home of Tess Miller until she'd passed away under suspicious circumstances. The details were sketchy in my mind at this late hour, but I remember it wasn't pretty. Diane had sure been shaken up about it.

The front door opened as I approached.

"Thank you for coming," Wells said. I stepped past him into the foyer, handed him the carton of cigarettes that set me back a pretty penny, and was startled to find a hulking blond guy standing behind him, scowling at me.

"Detective, this is my husband, Kal Alexandrou. There are no weapons or drugs in the house that I'm aware of, but it belongs to my producer, Scott Cross. If you need to search the place, I give consent as long as you know we've been here less than twenty-four hours. I can provide his contact information if you need it."

I stood with my back to the wall and raised an eyebrow at him. "I appreciate that. But you're no longer on parole, from what I understand. Is there anyone else here?"

"Me."

It was good the wall was at my back.

The ghost appeared in the entryway to what looked like a living room, and I would have fallen over backward otherwise.

My hand involuntarily went to my weapon at my right side." You ."

He walked closer and stood beside Kal. He came up to the guy's sternum.

The size is right. The hair is the same. Those eyes…

And up close, he looked even more familiar, like I'd seen him before. Talked to him.

The carnival. The Troubadour.

No way.

Ryan looked between us and put a hand on the smaller man's shoulder.

"Detective Muse, this is Dee Dee."

He couldn't be a ghost, then, if these two saw him. Right?

Ryan picked up on my attempt to avoid a freak out. "You look like you could use some coffee? Tea?"

"Please."

Ryan chuckled. "Kal, honey, please grab Detective Muse a coffee. You remember how to use the Keurig?"

The big man nodded but was hesitant to leave his husband's side, much less Dee Dee's.

"I'm fine," Ryan murmured to ease his concern, pushing up on his toes to kiss his cheek. Then he turned to smile at me. "Come on. Let's sit."

My brain kicked back on. "No one else is in the house?"

"Just us three," Ryan said. He put his arm around Dee Dee's shoulders, and I followed them into the living room.

Dee Dee looked back at me, his green eyes wide.

The pretty man with the green eyes.

My dream.

Had I somehow superimposed the two men together?

I shook my head. Pull it together, Muse. Thankfully, they took the couch facing the entryway, and I took a chair that had a wall behind it. In this open floor plan, there were at least three doorways that led off of this room and a wall of glass that looked out onto a patio with a swimming pool.

Why would Ryan take the chance of calling me here if there was something suspect going on? The way he was taking care of this Dee Dee, he seemed genuinely concerned. I relaxed the tiniest fraction.

"Detective?" Ryan asked, leaning forward with his fingers laced between his knees. "Where do you stand on phenomena that's not easily explained?"

I rested my hands on my thighs and thought of the best way to answer that. "Fairly open, although I think most things have a simple explanation once you get to the bottom of them."

He nodded and turned to look at Dee Dee. "Do you want to start?"

Dee Dee seemed so small on the overstuffed leather couch. His feet barely touched the ground. He wore a forest-green crew neck sweater and a pair of baggy jeans, with white ankle socks on and no shoes. His hair was wet, as if he'd showered recently.

"I'll talk." He brushed his hair back off of his shoulders. "I know something about the murder that happened this morning."

"Okay," I said, trying to keep my breathing even. "Thank you for coming forward. But before we go any further, I'm off duty at the moment. At some point, we'll probably need an official sworn statement from you."

His green-eyed gaze held me captive, and I watched as his mouth moved, perhaps preparing to speak, perhaps taking care with his words.

"There are two parts to the story. The first is the most straightforward."

"Okay." I was trying to be patient but I was on the edge of my seat, all of my senses honed in on this small man who looked so much like the ghost I'd been chasing for years.

"I was working at a carnival outside of Las Vegas. My routine there was to write poems for people. There's a little hocus-pocus about it, but that's all you need to know."

And there it was. The two faces superimposed. This man before me looked so much like Dane Donovan. He looked and sounded like the Troubadour. He worked at the carnival writing poems.

I didn't need to be a detective to put these pieces together.

Hocus-pocus? Woo-woo? Magic?

Didn't matter. I was a believer.

I was looking at my cold case in the flesh. I'd also seen him when I was ten years old, three years after he disappeared, at the carnival… though I'd been told that was impossible.

And my father? He said he'd seen a body at the scene of Dane's disappearance. He'd gone to call for backup from his patrol car, and when he returned, the body was gone. No one had believed him.

When we'd seen this man at the carnival, he'd recognized him, just as I was now, despite insisting to me later that it wasn't him.

I felt closer to my father than ever… and that wasn't necessarily a good thing.

"Go on," I said, my voice cracking.

Dee Dee blew out a breath and slid his hands forward and over his knees, probably a bit freaked out by my reaction to his story. He had beautiful hands with long fingers, but even in the dim light of the living room, I could see scars on his knuckles.

"A man came to my booth and he rubbed me the wrong way. You ever have a strange feeling about a person? I would imagine that, being a cop, you sometimes come across people you just know are bad ."

I nodded slowly, his voice so melodic it danced over my skin like a light rain. I listened to him with my whole body.

I'll write you the prettiest little poem.

"It was late, and I didn't want to write him no poem. The carnival director, he don't let bad people in. I don't know if this guy was already bad, or he wanted to be bad, but he definitely wanted something. He…" Dee Dee seemed to hit a wall, and his eyes went wide. Ryan whispered something to him, and he nodded.

I tried to be patient, seeing as this guy might be able to answer a lot of questions that had plagued me since I was a kid.

"Look, I know this don't make no sense, but what I do—or what I did —was use a talking board, and I get messages from it. Believe it or don't, that's your business."

Oh, I believed it. I'd seen it. I held up my hand. "Please, continue."

Dee Dee exhaled in a huff and crossed his leg over his knee, exposing delicate ankles from under his jeans. In that moment, I understood why it was once considered inappropriate for ladies to show their ankles in public. I was mesmerized by him.

"Normally, I don't let no one touch the planchette with me, but this guy, he put his fingers on before I could stop him and… it took us both back into a very bad memory."

I scooted forward to hear him better, as his voice had gone quiet at the end."Was this memory something that had been fresh in your mind?"

He shook his head vigorously and his hair fell in his face."No, sir. I didn't even remember what happened. I only remembered the time I'd been at this carnival. They told me they'd found me… injured." He really spread that word out, like he wasn't totally comfortable admitting it. "Once I was better, they asked me what I could do, and I told them I had a way with words. Like poetry, you know? So that's what I did. But when this guy jumped into my memory with me, it was like it was happening for real. Again . He watched, he didn't try to help me or nothing, he just… let it happen. When I finally pulled my hands off and the memory went away, the guy was smiling, all excited like, and he said, ‘I'll see you again.'"

The message at the scene this morning flickered in my consciousness.

"You don't remember this man? Do you know if you'd ever seen him before?"

"I don't know, I don't think so. I don't know how I could've, seeing as he was young and I?—"

"Detective, do you take anything in your coffee?"

Kal interrupted Dee Dee and shot a look at both him and Ryan. What was that about?

"No, thank you." I accepted the mug but set it down on the table next to the chair, still not totally comfortable with this situation.

Ryan whispered something to Dee Dee, and I thought maybe he was trying to help, but I felt like I was only getting the tiniest fraction of their story.

"So you don't think you knew the guy, hadn't seen him before. What happened then?"

Dee Dee tucked his hair behind his ear, and I saw a long, jagged scar on his left cheekbone. He kept his head ducked, like he didn't want it visible.

"Nik and Mr. Ame—they're in charge of the carnival—they escorted the guy off the premises. But it didn't sit right with me. I had a gut feeling that the guy liked what he saw so much, he wanted to do it to someone himself." He slid his hands between his thighs and looked at the ground. "I wanted to stop him."

Ryan watched him, and then he looked at me. "We picked him up on the highway in Mojave at like four-thirty in the morning. Hitchhiking. He said he needed to get to Buttonwillow, and seeing as he was like a hundred miles away, we couldn't let him walk. So we drove him, but when we arrived, we were too late."

I had so many questions.

"Do you make it a habit of picking up hitchhikers?" I asked Ryan.

He smirked. "Not hardly. Let's just say that my husband and I met last year under some peculiar circumstances, and we made a pact that if we ever came across someone who needed help like we did, we'd help them on their way."

I sat quietly with that information for a long moment. None of them could have had anything to do with what happened at Buttonwillow, if what he said was true."Got anyone who can corroborate that you and your husband were on the road at that time?"

He thought for a minute. "We left from the parking lot at the Hard Rock Hotel in Vegas. I had to scan our key card to get out of the hotel lot, so that would show what time we left, I think. We decided to get an early start so we could miss the traffic and watch the sun come up."

I nodded. I highly doubted a rock star would have committed such a brutal, calculated murder like the one we'd seen at Buttonwillow and then invite me to his house, but stranger things had been known to happen.

"And what time did you leave the carnival?" I asked Dee Dee.

Dee Dee frowned. "I'm not sure."

"Do you remember where it was?"

"Somewhere in the desert, but I'm sure it's gone by now."

"Why Buttonwillow?"

Dee Dee's eyes flared, and I watched his Adam's apple bob in his throat."That's where it happened to me." His gaze flicked to Kal's and back to me. "The bad thing."

His admission slammed me back into my seat. I couldn't speak. How was this even possible? "Do you have any identification?"

"No."

"What's Dee Dee? Like a nickname?"

"I think so."

"Where do you live?"

"I don't know."

"Do you know your birthday?"

"Novem… uh?—"

"Social Security number?"

"Why?"

"What day is it?"

"I'm not sure?—"

"Who's the president?"

"Jimmy Carter!"

The room fell silent.

I got up and moved to his side, my movement startling Dee Dee and sending Kal rushing toward me to defend his friend.

I held up a hand to stop Kal from laying hands on a police officer and stared at Dee Dee as he sank farther into the sofa. I lowered my voice.

"Why do you look identical to Dane Donovan?"