Thread of Innocence (Joe Tyler Mystery #4) (13 page)

TWENTY SIX

I showered when I got home, then tried to eat a sandwich, but my stomach was in knots after seeing Bazer.

It felt to me like he was insinuating that Mike had done something wrong, but based on what I knew, that could've been anything. It could've been taking the money or it could've been going over his head with the DEA. And even if that was the insinuation he was making, it didn't mean that any of that was tied to Elizabeth. It could've been coincidental. It didn't give me any direct connection to whomever took Elizabeth or why.

I laid down on the sofa. The ceiling fan above me spun lazily and I fixated on the blades. I hated not knowing about Mike. Every time I thought I could rule him out, something else would show up that would point the compass in his direction again. And I hated that it was Bazer who was pointing the compass this time. I was far more comfortable being angry at Bazer and thinking Mike was still my friend. I didn't want to consider having those roles reversed.

My cell buzzed on the coffee table and I was grateful for the distraction when I saw Lauren's name. “Hey.”

“
Hey,” she said. “Sorry we didn't call this morning. Day got moving and got away from me.”

“
That's okay,” I said, thinking I could tell her the same thing about my day. “How was it today?”

“
Different,” she said.

“
What does that mean?”

“
Well, it started off pretty good, actually,” she said. “She woke up in a better mood and we had a fine breakfast. No arguments, no stare downs. We were watching the news and just talking. Normally.”

“
That's good.”

“
It was. Then we went to meet the Corzines again.”

“
Where?”

“
At their house,” she answered. “Which was fine. We'd talked about it yesterday and I was okay with it. She wanted to go over and get into her room and that kind of stuff.”

“
Cool,” I said, glad that Lauren was at least able to see that Elizabeth needed some time there.

“
Yeah, well, it went not cool in a hurry,” Lauren said.

I shifted on the couch. “How?”

“I'm not sure how we got into it,” she explained. “The family, they were actually...they were actually very nice. They understood about yesterday. They understood why I didn't want her staying there and they were supportive of that.”

“
That's a good thing.”

“
I thought so,” she said. “But then the conversation turned to them wanting an ongoing relationship with her. Elizabeth was in her room, doing whatever. And they started asking about visiting her in San Diego and when we thought we might allow her to come back and visit them.”

A small knot formed in my gut.

“I told them we were nowhere near that point and I wasn't sure if we ever would be,” she continued. “I explained that we were there for closure for Elizabeth, not to figure out what the future held.”

“
How'd that go over?”

“
Not good,” she said. “The guy started getting agitated and shitty with me, telling me they'd raised her and had a right to have some sort of relationship with her. I told him he didn't have shit for rights and they were lucky we were even there, letting them see her again.”

“
And Elizabeth wasn't there for any of that?” I asked.

“
No, but she heard some of it,” Lauren said. “Our voices got loud and we talked about it later on.”

“
What was their response to you at that point?”

“
He was still going off about their rights and I finally told him there'd be no relationship and if he pursued it any further, we'd be far more aggressive in asking the FBI to pursue a case against them.” She paused. “He clammed up after that, at the suggestion of his wife.”

I pushed myself up into a sitting position. “Wow. Okay.”

“Yeah,” Lauren said and I could picture her frowning. “So then we left and Elizabeth asked about it. If she was going to have a relationship with them. I said no. And she went ballistic.”

I sighed. “How?”

“Just telling me how unfair it was, that she should have a say in it, that she thought it was crap that we're telling her everything she has to do,” Lauren said.

“
And you said?”

“
Nothing really. I let her get it out. She finally ran out of gas and hasn't spoken to me since. She's in the shower again.”

I leaned back in the sofa. Maybe I'd been wrong in encouraging them to go to Minnesota. It didn't seem to be doing anyone any good. “I'm sorry.”

“I just don't know what to do with her, Joe,” she said, obviously frustrated. “I feel like everything I'm doing is wrong and I'm just making it worse.”

“
What were her reasons for wanting a relationship with them?”

She sighed. “That she liked them. She said she doesn't think it's their fault. They didn't know about someone taking her, they just wanted a child. That she had a good life until she found out she was supposedly adopted.” She paused. “She loves them, Joe. I despise saying that, but she does.”

I despised hearing it, but if there was a silver lining in place, it was that they'd obviously been decent parents to Elizabeth while she lived with them. I still doubted that you could just walk into a hotel room and pay for a child and not know that something was wrong with the set up, but I'd met families desperate enough to find their own children that they could talk themselves into anything, even if the rest of the world rolled its eyes.

“
Maybe we need to reconsider then,” I said.

“
Excuse me?”

“
Not anything major,” I explained. “But maybe saying she can't have a relationship with them isn't...realistic.”

“
So, what? She spends half the year with us and half with them?”

“
Stop. You know that's not what I mean.”

“
Well, what exactly do you mean?” she said, and I could picture her pacing around the hotel room, her anger finding fuel. “These people had no right to keep Elizabeth. None. And I don't give a shit if they fed and clothed her and drove her wherever she needed to go. Because that was supposed to be
my
job. But I got cheated out of it because she somehow landed with them. I was dead serious when I threatened them with the FBI. I'll make their lives miserable.” She paused. “There is no way I'm giving them another minute with her. I want my time.”

“
It's not just about us,” I said.

“
I don't give a shit, Joe,” she said. “I really don't. They aren't her parents. They aren't her relatives. They don't deserve anything and I'm not sacrificing my time with our daughter to give them any more time with her. They don't get to play step-parents or aunts and uncles or whatever they've got in their heads that they think they're entitled to. They can go to hell for all I care.”

I waited a moment, hoping she might cool off. “Okay. But what about what Elizabeth wants?”

“She doesn't know what she wants, Joe,” she said, pleading with me to understand, to come over to her side. “She's confused and I get that. Her life's been turned upside down. But giving her permission to spend time with these people is like letting her pick and choose a family down the block as her new family.”

“
No, it's not, Lauren,” I said, frowning. “It's the exact opposite of that. Until about a week ago, she thought they were her parents. She was attached to them. And she thought we were dead.”

“
She'll let it go,” Lauren said, her voice dropping. “It'll just take time. When she's able to shake the trauma off, she'll remember us as her parents. Before all this happened.”

“
Maybe. But you don't know that. And even if she does come to terms with that, it doesn't mean she won't want some connection with the Corzines. I mean, she'll be eighteen soon enough and then it won't matter what we want.”

The line buzzed.

I waited.

“
Well, until then, I'm saying no,” Lauren said.

She hung up before I could respond.

TWENTY SEVEN

I tried calling back once, but it went to voicemail and I knew Lauren was done with me for the night. That was probably a good thing because I didn't see us getting on the same page any time soon and it was just going to create more animosity between us, which wasn't going to be good for anyone.

As I lay awake, unable to sleep because I couldn't turn my brain off, I couldn't decide what was right. I believed what I'd told Lauren about Elizabeth's connection to the Corzine family. She had clearly been treated well by them and, at some point, she'd accepted that she was their daughter. Lauren and I may not have been comfortable hearing that but it was the truth and, until she'd found the phony adoption papers, she'd believed that to be the truth. They'd wanted a child, gotten one and treated her like their own daughter.

But it was the way they'd gotten her that was still biting at me. No matter how they'd treated Elizabeth, they'd still flown to another city, paid an exorbitant sum and picked up their adopted daughter in a hotel room with no other adults around. No one in their right mind would find that acceptable' every rational adult I knew would question the circumstances behind it. And no matter how long they'd had Elizabeth, they had to have always been worrying that someone was going to come knocking on their door. Desperation will make people do funny things, but it doesn't change the concept of right and wrong. The Corzines had to have known that something wasn't right and I wasn't okay with the fact that they'd lived with the lie for so long.

I wrestled with those thoughts for most of the night, unable to convince myself that one outweighed the other, and all I ended up with for all my thinking was a sleepless night.

I pushed myself out of bed at daybreak, brewed a full pot of coffee and forced myself to think about other things as I opened my computer. I had money in my accounts, a product of a nomadic decade and having lived so sparsely in the years since I'd left Coronado. I'd never charged exorbitant fees for my services as a private investigator, but my clients paid me well. And I lived well below my means. But it wasn't going to last me forever. At some point, I was going to have to make a decision as to what I wanted to do. Did I want to continue the investigating and become official? Or did I want to find something that offered some stability, a regular paycheck and wouldn't chew my guts up?

On paper, it seemed like an easy decision. Find a job, have regular hours, deposit paycheck. But I wondered if that would be enough for me. I wasn't going to go back to being a cop. That ship had both sailed and sunk. So I wasn't sure what exactly I would look for.

But as I sipped my coffee and paged through the emails sent to me by people looking for their kids, I realized there was a certain pull. I was good at helping people. I could find their kids, even if the end result wasn't always pretty. I could give them closure. I'd learned how to do it and do it well. I knew the tricks, I knew the questions to answer, I knew where to look. And by looking at the emails, I knew how desperate people were.

A ten year old boy in North Dakota.

A seventeen year old girl in New York.

A forty year old father in Florida.

A twelve year old girl in Kentucky.

Each of the emails was heartfelt, genuine, wrenching. Sent by people who'd had their lives shredded, just like mine. They didn't have any answers and they felt helpless. They'd found my name because I'd helped others and they now clung to the hope that I'd be the one to get them the answers they needed and wanted.

I closed the laptop. I knew that I wouldn't commit to traveling the country again. The only reason I'd done that in the first place was because being in San Diego was too painful and I'd taken to following tips about supposed clues to Elizabeth's whereabouts. But, now, with her home, there was no way I was going to take off and leave her. That I was certain about.

But it was hard to think about saying no to people that needed help, too.

I drained the coffee pot and decided that, in lieu of running, I'd do yard work instead. Running into Bazer the previous day had tainted my run and I hadn't gotten rid of the taste of that yet. So I started with pulling weeds in the de- covered yard and, when I saw cars pulling out of neighboring garages, I decided it was late enough that I could start making a racket with the lawn mower.

Almost an hour later, the grass was cut and I was wheeling it back into the garage. I'd just grabbed the edger when a familiar car pulled up to the curb. Mike Lorenzo got out of the driver's side and came up the walk.

“
Working pretty hard,” he said. “Your face looks like a tomato.”

I inspected the piece of equipment in my hands, giving it a once over. “Been awhile since I've done this stuff,” I answered. “I'm out of shape.”

He glanced around the yard. “You seem to remember how to do it. Maybe a landscaping business is in your future.”

“
Maybe,” I said.

His hair was still damp from what I assumed was a shower and he wore dress slacks and a polo shirt, tucked neatly into the waist. His face was clean-shaven, but his eyes gave him away. They looked exhausted, bloodshot and ringed with circles.

I knew the feeling.

“
I don't want to stop the momentum you've got going here, but I wanted to talk to you,” he said. “You give me a minute?”

I laid the edger down on the grass. “Sure.”

He rubbed at the side of his face for a moment, like he was trying to gather what he wanted to say. “I don't know what's going on here, Joe, but it doesn't feel right.”

I wasn't sure how to respond to that, so I didn't say anything.

“I know we were good before you got to Minnesota,” he continued. “It was the same old, same old for us. Then something changed. I don't know what it was but it changed.” He paused and tugged at his earlobe, staring at the grass, waiting for me to answer. When I didn't, he said., “Let me start by asking you this: did I something to offend you?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Something that pissed you off?”

“
No.”

“
Say something inappropriate to you?”

“
No.”

He took all that in and nodded slowly. “See, I didn't think I had, but I'm just trying to clear the bases here. Because I can't figure out what I've done that has put me on the outs with you.”

Sweat dripped down the back of my neck and I scanned the grass. Didn't look like I'd missed any spots.

“
And I know I'm not dreaming this, Joe,” he continued. “You and I have been friends for way too long for me to think otherwise. We've been through a boatload together and I like to think I know you as well as I know anyone.” He stared at me for a long moment. “So I need you tell me what the problem is here, Joe. At the very least, I think you owe me that.”

I wiped at the sweat on my forehead, dried my palm on my shirt. “It's complicated, Mike.”

“Un-complicate it for me, then.”

“
Not that easy.”

He stuck his hands in his pockets, rocked back on his heels. “I got a call from Bazer last night.”

I raised an eyebrow, tried to act disinterested. “Oh yeah?”

He nodded. “Oh yeah. That guy hasn't called me that late at home in probably five years. And all he wanted to talk about was you.”

I wiped at the sweat again. “Me?”

He nodded again. “You.”

“What about me?”

He rocked on his heels again. “Wondering if I knew you were still digging in Elizabeth's case. Wondering if I was helping. But you know what was weird?”

I didn't say anything.

“
He didn't warn me away,” he said. “Was like he wanted to be helpful and shit, which we both know isn't him. He didn't make any ultimatums, he didn't tell me to block you on Facebook, he didn't tell me to lose your number.” He shook his head. “No. He was acting like I should help you. I didn't tell him you weren't giving me the time of day.”

My mind immediately started turning. Why had Bazer called Mike? Was he looking for more info on the bust I'd asked about? It made no sense, especially after our conversation on the beach.

“So I wanna know what's going on, Joe,” Mike said. “No bullshit. Because this is all starting to spook me a little bit here.”

I dried my hands on my shirt again. “You remember a bust off the I.B. pier about the same time Elizabeth was taken?”

He stared at me for a moment, his eyes like black marbles. “Gonna need more details than that. I've arrested guys at the pier about once a week for my entire life.”

I shook my head. “No. This was bigger. Tijuana cartel and a local gang.”

The light clicked in his eyes. “The Kings. Yeah, I remember.”

“
What was it?”

He made a face like it was a hundred other cases. “I dunno. Heroin bust, I think. DEA had tapped into the cartel and they were making a delivery to a bunch of bangers. Buddy of mine in the DEA called me and asked for local backup.” He shrugged. “Went down without any problems. Got guys on both sides.”

“You remember the money involved?”

He made another face. “The exact amount? No. Was a decent chunk of cash, though. Maybe a quarter mil? I don't recall.”

“And you took it as evidence?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. There was some jurisdictional bullshit with I.B. and DEA had some deal running with the Mexican government. I don't remember the details because I don't think I understood it all. Bunch of guys trying to prove who had the bigger dick. But my DEA guy brought me in so we could be department of record.” He shrugged. “So, yeah, technically it was my bust. But not really. And I never pretended it was. My guy needed a favor and I helped him out. That was it. He knew I wasn't gonna glory hog the thing.”

I nodded. That was definitely Mike. He'd never held any ambitions to be anything other than a detective in a small police department. At least, that's what I'd always thought.

“
You remember anything funny happening with the money?” I asked.

Mike squinted at me, his entire face screwing up with confusion. “Why the hell are you asking me about some banger bust from back then? What the hell does that have anything to do with anything?”

“I don't know that it does,” I said.

“
But what? You think it does? What the hell are you talking about, Joe?”

“
The money. You remember anything?”

He sighed, looked away and shook his head. Then he looked back at me. “I remember there was some confusion when it needed to be turned over from evidence. I think we thought DEA had it and they thought we had it.” He rolled his eyes. “Same shit different day. Got recorded wrong or some shit like that. Found it eventually and it went to DEA because it was theirs to deal with. End of story.”

His story completely made sense. Paperwork snafus weren't uncommon and things got lost until they got found. Not often, but it happened. And if multiple agencies were involved, it got more confusing. So I could see that happening.

I just wasn't sure what to believe.

“You remember IAD coming around for Bazer?” I asked.

Mike rubbed at the side of his face again, the same nervous tic from when he'd initially started talking. “Why the hell am I being interrogated?”

“You're not.”

“
The hell I'm not,” he said, anger flashing in his eyes. “The hell I'm not. I come here to ask you why you won't talk to me about your daughter and why Bazer's suddenly making calls to my house about you and all I get in return is a bunch of bullshit questions about a case with more dust on it than my TV stand. I have no doubt all of this is connected somehow, but you aren't telling me shit and I don't get why.” He stared at me. “Unless you really think I had something to do with Elizabeth. Which, for the life of me, I can't even fathom.”

I scanned the grass again. There was a dead patch on a corner near the sidewalk. I wondered if the sprinklers were working right.

I looked at Mike again. “IAD. Bazer. You remember anything?”

Mike's eyes zeroed in on me. I recognized the look. It was one he gave to suspects when they wouldn't cooperate, when they screwed up their stories and he was exhausted by the crap they were feeding him. I'd seen him give it to dozens of guys over the years and it nearly always worked.

I just stared back.

He finally pulled his car keys from his pocket, walked down the driveway, got into his car and roared away from the curb.