The Night Shift(54)

So this was the prosecution’s working theory: that Jesse killed the employees at the Dairy Creamery, then pretended to be one of the victims, like in the Washington, D.C., attack. She’d taken all the victims’ phones with her to cover up her previous dispute with one of the girls, hidden them in the hospital room, but inadvertently left one behind when she checked out.

Is Jesse Duvall capable of such a ghastly crime? Could any teenager concoct such an elaborate scheme? He recalls their meeting with the seventeen-year-old. She’s a cool customer. An old soul for sure. But a murderer?

Chris’s phone chimes again. He expects another text from Julia, but it’s a notification that a new travel vlog has posted.

Chris takes a deep breath, then lets it out slowly, excitement chasing away his fatigue.

Nirvana awaits …




YOUTUBE EXCERPT



Mr. Nirvana, the Anonymous Travel Vlogger

(18K views)

“The Ship Graveyard”

EXT. DAYTIME—ARTHUR KILL SHIP GRAVEYARD

MR. NIRVANA stands on the hull of a steel freighter that has turned scarlet from rust and is consumed by decay. It’s partially submerged in murky, brown water.

MR. NIRVANA (O.S.)

When I was a kid, I’d come to this ship graveyard, which is on this tidal strait that divides New Jersey and Staten Island. We’d maneuver rowboats around these corroded hulks at night and party in battered old ships. I used to camp at a spot not far from here, and I might stay there tonight.



The camera spans the area, where the ghostly remnants of vessels litter the waterway.

MR. NIRVANA (O.S.)

But you couldn’t appreciate it at night, so I’d come out here by myself in the daylight, like now. It’s so peaceful and it has this ethereal beauty. Back then, it helped me escape some stuff I was dealing with. But I can’t show you this properly on my own, so today I’m going to do something new.



The video switches to another camera, one affixed to a drone. Aerial shots of the dead fleet appear on-screen.

MR. NIRVANA (O.S.)

Look there, on top of the mast, a bird’s nest.



The camera floats over a ruined old ferry. Seagulls squawk in the distance.

MR. NIRVANA (O.S.)

It used to be a junkyard for ships, and it had about four hundred vessels, some predating World War One, but most have been used for scrap now or sunk to the bottom. It’s an accidental marine museum.



The drone captures small boats closer to the shore that are splattered with graffiti, then drifts farther out, hovering over old tugboats, a warship. Piles of tires and splintered wood and debris cover the vessels.

MR. NIRVANA (O.S.)

This is where ships go to die. There are worse places for your final resting place, trust me on that.



FADE TO BLACK





CHAPTER 49


ELLA





Ella is parked outside the boarded-up building again. She needs to stop this. Lurking outside the old Blockbuster store is weird; it’s unhealthy. It’s past eleven. She considers heading into the city, meeting someone, taking him back to her tired hotel, having tired sex. But she needs to stop this.

She eyes the book on the passenger seat, A Farewell to Arms. The photo booth strip she used as a bookmark sticks out from the top. Why hasn’t she thrown it away? Torn it up?

Her mind wanders to the movie from earlier, Before Sunrise. And her thoughts trip to a cold afternoon from before.



* * *



“Where’s Katie?” the boy asks Ella. He’s standing in front of the Cyclone, the old wooden roller-coaster, their designated meeting place. His hair pushes in the cool breeze, his cheeks rosy from the cold. Ella’s never been to Coney Island. It’s not somewhere her mother would ever dream of taking her, much less in December.

“Katie’s parents found out and she can’t make it. She asked me to come and tell you so you didn’t think she stood you up.”

He thinks on this.

The boardwalk is empty. The beach vacant. The rides all shuttered for the season. It’s oddly beautiful.

“Want me to show you around?” he asks.

Ella rams her hands in her pockets. “I should probably get going.”

He nods.

She studies him another beat. He has high cheekbones and tender eyes. She’s taken the long train ride all the way there, she might as well.

“Actually, I have a little time,” Ella says.

He smiles, gestures for her to follow. He walks for a while, his breath pluming in the cold.

“My mom grew up in Little Odessa.” He points a finger down the long boardwalk. “When I was little, we’d come here most summer days while she was at work. My grandmother lived in Brighton.”

“I’ve actually never been to Coney Island,” Ella says.

He stops. Looks at her. “You and Katie are the only people I’ve ever met who haven’t been to Coney.”

She shrugs.

“You haven’t lived until you’ve been on top of the Wonder Wheel on a hot summer night.” He glances to the Ferris wheel, which is locked down.

Ella imagines the scene—not the ghost town it is now, but on a muggy night, crowded with teens, the smell of fried food and cotton candy in the air.