Текст книги "Thread of Hope"

Автор книги: Jeff Shelby

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

TWENTY-FIVE

Nine beers and a couple of tequila shots.

Those were my thoughts as I pried open my eyelids and squinted into the sunshine that seemed to be burning a hole through my hotel window. That’s what I remembered drinking at the hotel bar. I was pretty sure I'd put away more than that, but those were the numbers that stuck before the rest of the night went hazy.

I pushed myself out of bed and stumbled toward the window. I pulled the curtain closed, shutting out the bright light that threatened to scorch my retinas. The floor wobbled beneath me and I teetered back into the bed before it spun me out of control. I placed my hands flat against the sheets, bracing myself, and looked at the clock. It was ten in the morning. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d slept that late. Couldn’t recall the last time I’d had that much to drink, either.

A nice, rhythmic pounding started in my temples and the aroma of stale beer cloaked the dark room. I rolled out of the bed, stumbled to the shower and turned the water on.

Cold. Full blast.

I stood under the icy water for a minute, letting the low temperature shock me back to life before turning the water up to a more tolerable degree of warmth. Slowly, the pounding subsided, my tongue shrunk from the size of a rug to its normal size and I got out, feeling almost normal.

I stood at the mirror, the towel wrapped around my waist, my hands on the cold marble counter and wondered how angry Lauren was with me now.

“Not a good idea,” I’d said when she brought up spending the night together.

She'd blinked several times and pulled her hand away from mine. “Why not?”

“Come on, Lauren.”

“What?” she asked, anger sweeping across her face. “You think someone’s gonna find her while we’re fucking and you’ll miss the call?”

I held up a hand. “Don’t do this.”

The anger intensified and her eyes lit up. “Do what? Admit that our relationship didn’t end for me just because you left? That it didn’t end for me because someone took our daughter?” Her mouth puckered up in disgust. “Sorry, Joe. I guess I just didn’t love her like you did.”

“Whatever, Lauren,” I said. “I’m not having this conversation.”

I stood and walked out of the cafe.

She came out on my heels. She grabbed me by the arm, her nails digging into my skin. “The hell you aren’t. You owe me at least that.”

“I don’t owe you anything.”

Her eyes widened. “Are you serious? You seriously believe that?” She gripped my arm harder. “You were half a day away when you called me to tell me you weren’t coming back. And you don’t think you owe me anything?”

People walking past were giving us a wider berth.

I yanked her hand off my arm. “Our marriage was over, Lauren. We both knew it.”

“You knew it,” she said. “You knew it and by default, it was over for me. And you ran away like a scared little kid. You think it didn’t hurt me to see her empty room every day?” She hiccuped on sobs as she spoke. “You think you were the only one torn apart by that? My God! I told you that I still sometimes blame you. But even with that, I wasn’t ready to give up our marriage. You didn’t come back, so I had to.” The anger melted from her face and her mouth opened. Her eyes were unfocused, like she was trying to come up with an answer she didn’t have. “I mean, how did you just stop loving me? How did it change overnight? How did…”

“I saw her,” I said, cutting her off.

Her expression froze.

“Every time I looked at you,” I explained, the words coming out of my mouth like they contained jagged edges. “I saw Elizabeth.”

She took that in, started to say something, then stopped. Then she pivoted and walked off in a rush.

I didn’t go after her, just stood there as still as if I was standing in front of the mirror after a shower. I'd told her the truth. It had become too much to look at my wife every day and see my daughter. I held no illusions that that was my problem and no one else’s. But I hadn’t figured out a way to fix it and that was one of the reasons why I had stayed away from Coronado for so many years.

Seeing Lauren at the hospital, at dinner and in the cafe, I knew that nothing had changed for me.

Every time I looked at her, I saw my daughter who wasn’t there.

TWENTY-SIX

I dressed and went downstairs. I found a deli counter, bought the last bagel they had and drove back to the island so I could push Lauren out of my head and focus on Chuck.

I had purposely avoided looking into Chuck’s assault because I knew that was going to take me to the Coronado Police Department. If my old home was number one on the list of places I did not want to visit, CPD was number one-and-a-half. But if I was truly going to help Chuck, there was no way I could get out of it.

I’d been an officer in Coronado for nine years when Elizabeth had disappeared. It was my dream job. I’d gotten my degree in criminal justice from USD and then gone right into the academy with no intention of working anywhere else. I’d grown up on the island and it was a small enough place that the police officers were actually a part of the community rather than people who passed through it.

It was a tough post to pull because if you wanted to be a cop in San Diego, there was no more idyllic place. The residents were happy to see you, the department was well-funded and you rarely had to deal with more than drunks on the beach. But it was a small department and the open spots were limited and much coveted.

So I worked harder at the academy than I’d ever worked at anything else and graduated at the top of my class. Along the way, I made sure that the CPD brass noticed me. It was the only job I wanted, the only job I interviewed for and the only job I held as a cop.

It just hadn’t ended the way I’d envisioned.

I parked the car across the street from the CPD offices and paused on the sidewalk, taking in the building.

It looked nothing like a police headquarters. Single story, open archways, smothered in towering palm trees. It resembled a rec center more than a government building and blended into the rest of the architecture of the island. I used to love going into that building every morning, ready for the tight camaraderie of a small department.

As I crossed the street and opened the glass door, I knew that I’d still feel the tight camaraderie.

I just wouldn’t be a part of it.

I didn’t recognize the desk sergeant, a guy in his early thirties with close-cut brown hair, squared-off shoulders and a friendly smile. “Morning, sir. How can we help you?”

“Detective Lorenzo in?”

He glanced down at the desk log, then shook his head. “No, I’m sorry, he’s out this morning. But maybe I can help?”

He was pleasant, eager, happy to be of service, the same way I had been trained to treat the island’s citizens. The department wanted the residents to feel comfortable around the police officers and it had been drilled over and over into us that we served the community and our jobs were to help them in any way possible.

I realized I was tapping my foot to a silent beat and I pressed my foot to the floor to make it stop. “Is Lieutenant Bazer in?”

The sergeant hesitated for a moment, probably sizing me up more closely now. “I can certainly check. May I have your name, sir?”

“Joe Tyler.”

He did an excellent job of trying to hide his recognition. He nodded like it was a normal request, punched in an extension on the phone pad and told whoever was on the other line that I was inquiring as to whether or not Bazer was available. But he tried to sneak in a quick glance at me, as if he wanted to make sure he wasn’t seeing a ghost, and I knew he knew who I was.

He averted my eyes and waited for a moment, the phone still to his ear. Then he raised an eyebrow, said “Okay” and hung up.

A tight smile emerged on his face. “The lieutenant will be with you in just a moment.”

“Thanks.”

I turned away from him, not eager to watch him continue to steal glances at me. I stared out through the glass doors, the palm trees bouncing softly in the breeze. The last time I’d been in the station, I’d tossed my badge and gun on Bazer’s desk and dropped every profane word and phrase I knew on him. I never anticipated being back inside, needing to speak to him again. I thought I was through with him that day when I’d pushed through those glass doors.

Just one more thing I’d been wrong about.

“Joe?”

The voice paralyzed me for a moment, my breath catching like someone had a hand around my throat, my heart stuck in mid-beat. I waited for a long second until my heart fired again and the invisible hand released my throat, letting me breathe. I turned around slowly.

Lieutenant Thomas Bazer hadn’t aged much in the years since I’d last seen him. Tiny threads of gray had invaded his razor-cut chestnut hair, a wrinkle or two had worked its way into his forehead, but otherwise he looked just like the guy I’d told to fuck off seven years before. Eyes that were aware of everything in the room no matter where he looked, a physique that belonged more to a college wrestler than a sixty-year-old cop and wearing a uniform that looked as if it had been pressed onto his body.

He extended his hand. “Nice to see you.”

I kept my hands in my pockets. “You got a minute?”

If he took offense, he didn’t show it. He motioned for me to follow him back to his office. The desk sergeant snuck one more look at me as I went past him down the hallway.

Flashes of old conversations ricocheted through my head as I followed Bazer. The Coronado Police Department was the only place I’d worked as an adult and as much as I wanted to shut out the memories of having worked there, they forced their way into my mind like morning sunlight through the blinds. There was an ache in my gut and I couldn’t tell if it was because I hated the place or because I missed it.

Bazer’s office was a small, square room, devoid of any personality. Metal cabinets, a desk that housed a computer, a wire basket and not much else. The smell of Lysol permeated the room. He didn’t motion for me to sit in one of the two chairs opposite his desk, but I did so anyway.

Bazer shifted the papers on top of his desk. “How are you, Joe?”

“I’m okay.”

“Have to say I’m surprised to see you. Heard you were back but didn’t expect to hear from you.”

“I’m back just temporarily.”

He nodded like he understood that and I wondered why I’d felt compelled to say it.

“I’m helping out Chuck Winslow,” I said.

Bazer kept his hands on the papers, creating a neatened stack. “He seems to be in need of help. On a couple of things.”

I couldn’t tell whether it was a dig at Chuck or a statement of fact. “I’m trying to help on both.”

Bazer leaned back in his chair. “We’ve got it covered, Joe.”

“Who jumped him on the beach?”

The lieutenant studied me for a long time. “What are you doing here, Joe?”

“I told you. I’m trying to help Chuck.”

“And we’ve got guys on it.”

“I’m an investigator. His attorney hired me to help.”

“I know Jane hired you,” he said, his tone measured. “I’m aware of that. But it doesn’t mean we’re going to include you in our investigation. You wanna work around the edges, I’ll let you do that.”

“I don’t need your permission.”

Bazer took a long, deep breath and leaned forward, placing his hands flat on the desk. “Are you here to fight with me, Joe? Because if you are, it would save us both a lot of time if you would just say so.”

“I’m here to help a friend,” I said, telling him half the truth. I probably did want to fight with him, but I wasn’t going to admit it. “I was hired as an investigator…”

“And since you used to work for this department, you should have no trouble recalling our policy in working with investigators,” Bazer said, his calm demeanor cracking a bit as he pointed at me. “So you should also know I’m willing to cut you a break to let you work around the edges. Because if you were anybody else, I’d tell you to get off my island. I don’t want anyone near my cases except my officers.”

“That your way of making things up to me?” I asked.

A humorless smile took residence on his face and he chuckled quietly, tapping his fingers on the desk. “So you did come to fight with me.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

Elizabeth had been gone for exactly twenty days the last time I’d been in Bazer’s office.

I dropped a newspaper on his desk. “What the fuck is this?”

Bazer ignored the paper and stared at me. “Sit down, Joe. You look exhausted.”

I was beyond exhausted. I’d slept maybe twenty hours in the twenty days since Elizabeth had disappeared. I’d barely been able to stomach food. Showering had become a near impossible task. I was fried and I knew it.

But that morning’s paper had lit a brand new fire under me.

I sat, my hands shaking. “What the fuck is going on, Lieutenant?”

He scanned the newspaper and his mouth set in a firm line. “I can’t control the media, Joe.”

“You didn’t deny that I’m a suspect in my daughter’s disappearance.” My voice cracked on the accusation, my throat dry and raw. “You told me I wasn’t. Did you lie to me?”

Bazer set the paper down and folded it in half, as if hiding the article would make it go away. He could have set it on fire and eaten the ashes and I knew that I’d never forget that paper for the rest of my life.

Lauren and I had agreed-we wanted media coverage of Elizabeth’s disappearance. We felt that the more people were talking about her, the more times her face was seen, the better the chance that we would see her again. We also knew that doing so would open us up to scrutiny, but we were prepared for that. We hadn’t done anything wrong and we just wanted our daughter back.

But that morning’s story had rattled me.

“I told you,” Bazer said. “You are not a suspect. We know that you didn’t have anything to do with Elizabeth’s disappearance.”

I stood, slamming my fist on his desk so hard the floor rattled. “Then why didn’t you say that?”

The paper had quoted Bazer as saying in direct response to a reporter’s question regarding my status: “The investigation is ongoing and no one has been ruled out as a suspect.” The article reiterated that I was an officer in the Coronado PD and that Bazer, when pressed, declined further comment.

“You know how it works,” Bazer said, nudging the paper in my direction.

“Yeah, I do know how it works,” I said. “And you didn’t clear me when you had the chance. So what the hell is going on?”

Bazer rubbed at his chin, eyeing me. “Sit down, Joe.”

“No.”

“That’s an order, Officer Tyler,” he said, his face icing over. “Sit.”

I did.

“Have you given any more thought to what we talked about a couple of days ago?” he asked.

My mind was like a blender, a million things running through it at once and I couldn’t sort any of them. “Any more thought to what?”

“To stepping down while we look for Elizabeth.”

“No.”

“I need you to think about it, Joe, because…”

“I meant, no, I’m not taking a leave of absence, Lieutenant.” I was adamant.

He’d approached me a week earlier, suggesting that I take some time off. I’d immediately rejected the idea. I’d gone ten straight days without working from the moment Elizabeth disappeared and I quickly learned that every free moment was an invitation to drag a razor across my wrists. I’d flooded my mind with theories, second thoughts and nightmares and the last thing I needed was more idle time.

“Joe, I really think…”

“I’m fine, Lieutenant. I don’t want time off. I’m fine.”

“You know that I can make the decision myself, don’t you?” Bazer said, tilting his head, squinting at me like I was difficult to see. “I can send you home right now and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”

“I’m fine.” I knew I sounded like a broken record.

“If I suspend you, do you know what that will look like?” Bazer continued. “Do you understand how that will look for you?”

I shifted in the chair, placing my hands on my thighs, willing them to stop shaking. “I am fine, Lieutenant.”

“I’m trying to help you, Joe.”

I didn’t want to keep repeating myself, so I didn’t say anything.

Bazer blinked several times and rubbed harder at his chin. “I saw you arguing with Elizabeth.”

The ticking clock on the wall suddenly intensified, sounding like a jackhammer. “What?”

“Two weeks before she disappeared,” he said, watching me. “At the beach. I was driving by. Early evening.”

I thought hard, mentally flipping through recent images of Elizabeth like there was a rolodex in my head. I stopped on one and the muscles in my stomach clenched.

She and I had gone down to the beach for a walk, waiting for Lauren to get home for dinner. Elizabeth had run ahead of me, a little further than normal, then detoured into the surf. I didn’t mind her stepping into the water, even in the colder months. Like me, she loved the water and had a high tolerance for low temperatures.

What I did mind was that she went out further than she was allowed and had been immediately taken off her feet by a strong rip current.

I sprinted down the beach, bounded into the water and fished her out before the current yanked her out into the bay. I carried her up the sand to the sidewalk. She was a shivering, crying mess and I should’ve waited to reprimand her. But seeing her go down in the water had scared the shit out of me. My adrenaline was up and I was mad at her for being so reckless.

I stood her up on the sidewalk and unloaded my anger, the water and her tears forming a puddle on the concrete.

One more moment that I wished I could have back.

I pulled myself back to the present. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Papers get hold of that,” he said slowly. “It’ll spin the focus toward you and the department and it’ll take the focus off of finding Elizabeth.”

My fingertips tingled and my body felt light, like I might float out of the chair. “What the hell are you saying?”

“I’m saying I want you to take some time off. It’ll be good for everyone.”

The ticking clock became a jet engine as I replayed our conversation in my head. Then, the lightbulb went off. “This isn’t about me, is it? It’s about the department.”

He hesitated. “I didn’t say that.”

“Yeah, you did,” I said, nodding. “You don’t like the attention my daughter’s disappearance is bringing to your department.”

Bazer stayed quiet.

“And you tried to leverage me into stepping away by pointedly not clearing me as a suspect.” My gut rolled and my fingers dug into thighs. “And now you’re threatening me, not even fucking around. I don’t leave, you tell some reporter that ‘an anonymous’ source saw me having it out with Elizabeth shortly before she disappeared. Maybe spice it up a little, too? Maybe I hit her? Maybe throw that out there?”

If Bazer was moved by anything I’d said, he didn’t show it. Just knotted his hands on top of his desk. “I think a leave would be good for everyone.”

I unclipped the badge from my shirt and dropped it on the desk. I unbuckled my belt and let it and my weapon fall to the floor. “Fuck you, Lieutenant.”

I walked out of his office.

And the story about me screaming at my daughter before she vanished showed up in the next morning’s paper, anyway.

TWENTY-EIGHT

Bazer was right.

I probably had come to fight, the anger that I’d had toward him only building over the years since I’d dropped my badge and gun in his office. Seeing him in person was like adding gasoline to the fire.

But if I wanted to truly help Chuck, I needed to smother the flames.

“Chuck was jumped on the beach?”

Bazer nodded. “Far as we can tell.”

“You’re connecting it to the Jordan case?”

“Not yet. Keeping them separate as for right now.”

“They’re connected.”

Bazer shrugged. “We’ll see. We’ll do the legwork and we’ll see.”

Do the legwork. It was an expression he used often. He was methodical and he expected his department to be. It was something I learned from him. It was part of the reason I was a good cop and why I had become a good investigator.

But now the words sounded hollow and fake.

“Can I see your case files?” I asked, choking down my anger.

Bazer studied me for a long moment, his eyes hard and still. “Where are you staying?”

I told him.

“I’ll have both files sent over this afternoon.”

There was no reason he couldn’t just photocopy and give them to me right then, but he was letting me know he would control what came my way. And he could deny that he was paying me back in some minimal way for hanging me out to dry, but I knew better. There was absolutely zero chance he would’ve let me near those case files unless some part of him still felt guilty for what he’d done.

“Fine,” I said and stood.

“Stay out of the way, Joe,” Bazer warned. “I mean it. You aren’t a cop here anymore. Don’t try acting like one.”

A smile that nearly hurt curled my lips. “So I shouldn’t tell bullshit lies to reporters? Isn’t that what cops around here do?”

He stiffened but didn’t say anything.

“That was out of line,” I said, holding up a hand. “That’s not what cops around here do.” I stared at him, the smile falling away from my face. “That’s just what you do.”