The Butcher Read online

  “You saw him on the news?” Sam said, sitting up straighter. “So was he killed by the bear?”

  “Oh no, he was fine. He was on the news for completely different reasons.” Bonnie’s lip curled up in disgust. “He was always on the news. People believed he was a hero.”

  “Tell me his name.” Sam’s phone buzzed on the coffee table. She glanced at it but made no move to pick it up. “Please. Tell me.”

  Bonnie hesitated. The phone continued to vibrate. “Answer your phone first.”

  Holding back her frustration, Sam reached for her phone and answered the call. “Hey, Jase. It’s not a good time. Let me call you back.”

  “Wait, everything going okay?” Jason said. She could hear SportsCenter on in the background and it sounded like her friend was chewing something. Whatever it was, he swallowed it. “Just making sure the redhead hasn’t poisoned you and you’re not on your living room floor, writhing in pain.”

  Despite the intensity of the last few minutes, Sam couldn’t help but chuckle. “With an imagination like that, you should be the writer. No, we’re good here. Just catching up. Lots to talk about. I’ll call you later, okay?”

  “Want me to come by later?”

  “Sure. I’ll call you.”

  They disconnected. Bonnie smiled at her. “Sweet of him to call. Are you sure you’re dating the right guy? Jason sure seems sweet on you.”

  Sam felt her face grow hot. “Now you sound like Matt. Jase and I are just really good friends, I swear. So, about the Butcher—”

  “What does Jason do now?”

  Sam gritted her teeth, stifling a sigh. Obviously Bonnie wasn’t going to tell her the Butcher’s name until she was good and ready. She forced a smile. “A bunch of different things. He owns some real estate, and has a few endorsement deals. He guest commentates on ESPN once in a while.”

  “And it’s Matt who has the restaurant?”

  “Yes, he’s a chef. He opened up his restaurant about two years ago, after he’d had a lot of success with his food trucks.” Despite her anxiety, Sam felt herself puff with pride. “He’s also about to star in his own reality show on the Fresh Network.”

  “Wow!” Bonnie was suitably impressed. “I should check out his restaurant while I’m in town. What’s it called?”

  “Adobo,” Sam said, spelling it for her. “I’d be happy to take you there for dinner before you go home. And Matt’s last name is Shank, if you want to look him up. He’s kind of a local celebrity. Now, what was it we were talking about before—”

  “I’m sorry, what?” Bonnie froze. “His last name is Shank?”

  “Yes. You’ve heard of him?”

  “I . . .” Bonnie looked pale. She set her wineglass down on the side table with a shaking hand. “Actually, the last name sounds very familiar. What does his family do?”

  “He was raised by his grandparents, actually,” Sam said, not sure why Bonnie seemed so freaked out all of a sudden. Then she slapped her forehead. “Jesus, I can’t believe I didn’t mention this to you earlier. Matt’s grandfather is the former chief of police of Seattle, Edward Shank. The one who brought down the Butcher. Obviously you’ve heard of him. Duh. Everybody knows who the Chief is.”

  “Oh, I’ve heard of him.” Bonnie’s voice was tight. “I definitely know who he is.”

  “He’d probably love to meet you. Obviously he’s long retired, but he still has a fascination with true crime.”

  “Bet he does.” The older woman shifted uneasily on the sofa. “A man like that, probably can’t get it out of his system.”

  “I can’t believe I didn’t tell you that right off the bat.” Sam shook her head. “It’s just that we got caught up talking about my mom, and somehow it slipped my mind. So you see, I do have connections. If I can prove Wedge wasn’t the real Butcher, I know Edward will pull strings to reopen the investigation. He’s not chief of police anymore, but he still commands a lot of respect around here. The mayor and current chief of police both used to work for him.”

  Bonnie smiled, but it didn’t touch her eyes, and every inch of her body seemed tense. “It’s okay, honey. I don’t blame you for not thinking of it. When we met on the forum, we were both trying to stay anonymous, and you telling me that your boyfriend’s grandfather is the former chief of police might have given away your identity. And obviously, once you found out my relationship to your mom, it wasn’t exactly the first thing on your mind.” The older woman twirled a lock of auburn hair around her finger, and it appeared she was thinking very hard about something. Finally she said carefully, “So tell me, does Matt’s grandfather know what you think? About Sarah and the Butcher?”

  Sam nodded. “We’ve discussed it. A lot. And of course he thinks I’m full of shit, but he tolerates my questions, thank God. However, if I had a name to give him that he could check out . . .”

  Bonnie took a deep breath and sat back. “Actually, Sam, I don’t think I can tell you. I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”

  “You’re joking,” Sam said in disbelief. “But I thought you came here to—”

  “I think I’ve told you too much already. Dammit, had I known . . .” Bonnie stood up, looking flustered. “You know what, I should go. And I think you should let this go, Sam. Maybe write about something else.” She looked around. “Now where did I leave my purse . . .”

  “What in the hell are you talking about?” Sam knew her tone was rude, but she couldn’t conceal either her confusion or her frustration. Why was Bonnie freezing up all of the sudden? They were just about to get to the important part of the conversation, which was the Butcher’s real identity. “You’ve told me everything else already, so why not tell me the Butcher’s name? I thought you wanted justice. I can do something about it, you know. It’s not just Edward. I have personal contacts at Seattle PD. I can call Detective Sanchez right now—”

  “I changed my mind.”

  “You changed your mind?” Sam was on her feet now too, incredulous. She glared at the older woman. “Are you serious? That’s incredibly unfair, Bonnie. You can’t come here, to my house, and give me all this information about my mom, and then decide you’ve changed your goddamned mind. I need answers. I need to know who the Butcher is. It’s not fair for you to keep that information from me.” Sam crossed her arms over her chest. She was shouting, but at this point, she didn’t care. “You don’t have the right.”

  “I’m scared, okay?” Bonnie’s face was white, a mask of anguish. It was obvious the woman was totally spooked. “I’m scared. Please, Samantha. Just let it go. I’m not ready.”

  “I don’t care if you’re scared, and I don’t care if you’re not ready.” Sam’s voice was tight. “This isn’t about you. The information you have isn’t yours to withhold. I need to know.”

  “The only thing you need to know is that your mother loved you.” The older woman’s voice broke. “With all her heart, she loved you, and she would be so proud of the woman you’ve become.”

  “That’s sweet of you, but goddammit, who killed her?”

  Bonnie ignored the question. Plucking her purse from the floor where she’d dropped it, she headed for the front door. “When I get back to Sacramento, I’ll send you those pictures, okay? You should have them.”

  “Bonnie, who killed her, goddammit?”

  The older woman shook her head and reached for the doorknob.

  “Bonnie, don’t go. Please.” Not knowing what else to do, Sam burst into tears, more out of sheer helplessness than anything else.

  The older woman turned back and grabbed her in a tight hug. “It’s better this way, Dumpling. You need to trust me. Whatever I do next, I don’t want you involved. Sarah wouldn’t want that, either. You have to trust me.”

  “I don’t understand any of this.” Sam’s voice was shaking. “Why now? Why’d you even want to meet with me if you weren’t prepared to tell the truth?”

  “Like I said, I changed my mind.” Bonnie’s eyes were moist but her tone was firm. “I
’m sorry, sweetheart. I don’t know what else to say.”

  Sam went over to her purse and fished around, then pulled out a business card. “This is Sanchez’s number. If you won’t talk to me, will you talk to him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Take the card, please. And just think about it.”

  Bonnie took it and slipped it into her purse. “I’ll think about it. I should get back to the hotel.”

  “Just let me get my purse. I’ll drive you.”

  Bonnie wiped away a tear. “Sam, I know I don’t have the right to ask, but will you keep this conversation between us?”

  “Who would I tell?” Sam said, more confused than ever. She grabbed her purse from the sofa. “You haven’t given me anything to go on. Sanchez isn’t going to want to hear from me unless I have an actual name to give him.”

  “What I mean is, I don’t want you to say anything to anyone,” Bonnie said. “Okay? Can you give me your word? Just wait for me to figure it out. I promise I will.”

  “I don’t have anything to tell, because you haven’t told me anything,” Sam snapped, reaching for her keys. “But I won’t mention to anyone that we met. Can you at least tell me one thing first?”

  “Sure. What’s that?” The older woman sounded relieved.

  Sam looked Bonnie directly in the eyes. “Is the Butcher still alive?”

  “Yes. Very much so.” Bonnie’s face darkened. “You of all people should know, Sam. You’ve studied it enough. Monsters like that don’t die unless they’re killed.”

  * * *

  Edward watched as Samantha left the house with the red-haired woman, the two of them getting into her car. After his conversation with Matthew, he thought it might be a good idea to drop in on the kid’s girlfriend. While he didn’t really think Matthew would say anything to anyone about the crate, he had been drinking a lot lately, and something could have slipped out. Edward wanted to be prepared. After all, Samantha had her own agenda. Didn’t everyone?

  He had been surprised to look through the window to see she had a guest. Thankfully he hadn’t rung the doorbell, because what a guest she was. Time might have wrinkled her skin and expanded her waistline, but Edward never forgot a face. She was the only one who’d ever gotten away, and he’d looked for her for a good two years before finally giving up. No doubt she’d changed her name after she’d left Seattle, maybe even more than once.

  But now she was back, and it was Edward’s chance to finally tie up a loose end. And, of course, have a little fun in the process. He had no idea what the woman had told Samantha, but he would find out. Edward had always been an expert at making people talk.

  Waiting a few seconds, he started the engine on the Seville, then slowly followed Samantha’s white Mazda down the street. As he drove, his groin tingled. Looking down, his eyes widened in surprise.

  Goddammit if there wasn’t a tent in his trousers. Would wonders never cease. He had an erection, his first one in years. In the darkness, Edward Shank grinned.

  Perfect timing.

  11

  If people would just do what they were fucking told, people wouldn’t have to worry about losing their fucking jobs.

  Matt knew he was in a bad mood, but for Christ’s sake, he had good reason to be. Adobo had never been busier and yet he was understaffed ever since two servers had quit without giving notice. Lauryn Kinney, his day manager, had been late twice in the last week due to some custody battle with her ex over her son (Matt didn’t know the details, as he hadn’t really been listening). And now his old college friend PJ Wu was asking for a few minutes to chat in private, no doubt to ask for another advance on his pay, probably because he’d gotten in too deep with his bookie. Again.

  To top it all off, Matt had the Fresh Network people calling to try to schedule a time to meet with him, and they were pushing for him to fly down to San Francisco for a meeting at their offices. As if he had time for that. There just didn’t seem to be enough hours in the day.

  He was fucking busy, okay? And if people couldn’t keep up, then maybe he needed to hire new people. Adobo was currently Seattle magazine’s Best Restaurant in their Reasonably Priced/Casual Fare/Ethnic Foods category, and this was all due to Matt’s blood, sweat, and tears. Nobody worked harder than he did because nobody had more to lose than he did, and he certainly did not have time for half-assed employees who thought they deserved to get paid for hours they hadn’t even worked yet. Jesus Christ, the balls on some of these motherfuckers.

  Matt inhaled and forced himself to listen to PJ’s latest woe. Lately, his assistant head chef had been such a little shit, and Matt still hadn’t quite forgiven him for the gum incident. But surprisingly, PJ wasn’t babbling about how he needed money. Not even close.

  “They asked me to talk to you, okay? Because we go way back. And your energy is just frantic, man,” PJ was saying.

  It was the in-between time and they were alone in the kitchen; the lunch crowd had died down and it would be another two hours before the dinner patrons started arriving. PJ was chopping onions with lightning speed, and Matt had to admit the guy was a natural. Unlike himself, his friend had never been to culinary school, but he had good instincts, which was the reason Matt had hired him to run his first food truck seven years ago.

  “You’re freaking out the staff,” PJ continued, reaching for another onion. “You’re like, impossible to approach. We don’t feel like you’re listening to our concerns. You’re like a Nazi these days. Everybody is walking on eggshells around here. You explode over little things.”

  “That’s what this is about?” Matt stifled a sigh and stuck a hand into his pocket, feeling around for his cigarette pack. He didn’t find it . . . because he’d quit smoking five years ago. Goddammit. “Do any of you think we got to where we are—”

  “It’s not about that, man. I’m not trying to start an argument.” The frustration in PJ’s voice was palpable, even thicker than the scent of the onion between them. He put his knife down and rested both hands on the wood chopping block. “We all know how good we’re doing, okay? And we’re really proud of that. We’re getting great press, everyone is excited about the Fresh Network thing, it’s all fantastic and we’re happy to be a part of it. It’s just . . . it’s you. You’re different.”

  Matt opened his mouth to respond, but the kitchen door opened and two of his prep cooks walked in. They stopped, saw the expression on Matt’s face, and turned to leave.

  “No, you guys stay. Get the sinigang going and we’re low on lumpia wrappers, so make three hundred more.” Matt looked at PJ and jerked his head in the direction of the back door. “We’ll finish this outside.”

  “But the empanadas—”

  “You just said I wasn’t listening to your concerns, didn’t you? Well, I’m listening now.”

  Sighing, PJ wiped his hands on his chef’s coat and followed Matt outside. The air was damp and cool, and there was a light, steady rain. The odor of the overflowing dumpster a few feet away in the alleyway was pungent. It hadn’t been easy securing a location for the restaurant in small, hipsterish Fremont, but the location couldn’t be beat.

  “So talk.” Matt allowed the door to close behind him.

  “I already said what I had to say.”

  “PJ, right now we’re not friends, okay?” Matt said. What he wouldn’t give for a cigarette. “Right now I’m the owner of this restaurant and you work for me, and you have concerns. So talk. What are the staff saying about me?”

  PJ dropped his chin slightly and stuck his hands in his pockets. “It’s like, nothing really bad, it’s just they feel like the environment hasn’t been fun lately. Obviously you’re stressed, and you seem to be mad when nobody else is. Nobody can relax around you, man. And it’s not healthy. Like last week, with the car accident, you were pretty hard on me. That was out of my control, man. I mean, that’s why they call it an accident. I was shook up, I couldn’t find my phone right away, and you didn’t even . . .”

  �
��Didn’t even what?”

  PJ rubbed his hair again, and it stood up in short black spikes. “You weren’t even concerned. You didn’t ask if I was okay. I work for you, I get that, and I know you sign my paychecks. But to yell at me because I got sideswiped by some kid who had his license for maybe two minutes? That was uncool. And then yesterday, with Lauryn? She was crying, man. Did you know her ex beat her? It took forever for her to leave him, and she’s living with her mom right now, and she’s trying to get her kid back—it’s not a good situation, and you were a jackass. You weren’t even listening to her; you just chewed her out for being late.

  “We’re people, okay? We’re not robots. When we’re here, we give a hundred percent, but we have lives outside of work. There isn’t one person who works here who doesn’t work their ass off for you. We love this place, and we absolutely feel a sense of ownership over what we do and over the success of the restaurant. But if things don’t change . . .”

  “If things don’t change, what?” Matt’s jaw was tight. “Finish it. You’ve come this far. Don’t stop now.”

  PJ took a deep breath, then looked directly at Matt. “If things don’t change, you’ll lose people. Good people. People who helped you get Adobo to where it is. You didn’t do this by yourself, okay, man? You didn’t get here on your own.”

  Matt laughed. He couldn’t help it, because it was just so absurd, the things that were coming out of little PJ Wu’s mouth. He stepped forward, moving into PJ’s personal space, causing the smaller man to shrink back a little.

  “I can hardly believe what I’m hearing. Are you seriously telling me how to run my restaurant? You all don’t think I know how to run a business? You think the pressure of this is easy?” The need to laugh subsided, and Matt felt the heat rising in his cheeks, his heart rate accelerating with every word. “You’re worried about Lauryn? Do you know what she makes? I pay her extremely well, my friend, and I pay her extremely well that so that she’ll do her fucking job extremely well. I pay her to help me manage this restaurant, not hear her excuses. And I definitely don’t pay you as well as I do—which is pretty goddamned well for a guy with no formal training—to come in late to work on a Saturday night crying like a little girl over a fender bender. The restaurant is where it is because of me, because I run a tight ship, and because I know what the fuck I’m doing.”