Текст книги "Thread of Suspicion"

Автор книги: Jeff Shelby

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SIXTEEN

It was too late in the day to do anything with the school. I wouldn’t be able to find anyone in the office or at a district office. I tried not to feel frustrated. Just because finding Elizabeth was my singular focus didn’t mean it was anyone else’s. There was no sense of urgency on anyone’s part but mine. There were other things going on, other things that took precedence.

So I had to wait.

I drove back to the apartment complex and got out of my car just as Isabel was pulling up. I walked toward her car and she glanced at me, still irritated.

“I need something to do,” I said.

“What?” she said. “You need to be entertained?”

“No,” I said. “I’ve done all I can do today on Elizabeth. I’m yours now.”

She stopped and brushed the snow from her face. “You have anything warmer to wear?”

“This is all I brought.”

She shook her head. “Follow me.”

I did and we went into the rental office. We walked passed the desk and down a back hall. She pulled out a set of keys and led me to a door at the end of the hall. She opened it.

“This is another apartment?” I asked, stepping in behind her.

“No,” she said. “It’s my apartment. Thirty-two steps from the front desk.”

I nodded and she disappeared down another hall. Her apartment was neat, well-kept. A small blue sofa and a rectangular coffee table occupied the living room. A small piano sat against one wall, a TV on top of a bookshelf on the other. A few Impressionist prints hung on the walls, their frames slightly askew. A small kitchen was tucked around the corner, a pine table set with lace placemats. The faint smell of lavender hung in the air.

She came back holding a heavier jacket and gloves. “Try these.”

I took off my coat and put on hers. It was a little big, but provided significantly more warmth. She handed me the gloves and I pulled them on.

“It’s going to be cold tonight,” she said. “I’ve got hand warmers, too, but I’ll wait to give you those later. You need a hat, too.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“Spoken by someone who’s never been out late at night in a Minnesota winter,” she said, going over to a closet. She opened the door, rummaged for a moment, then tossed a red knit hat at me. “Wear it. You can thank me later.”

I pulled it on. She looked at me for a moment, then came over to me. She reached up and pulled it down a little lower.

“It’s your ears we’re looking to protect here,” she said. She stepped back. “That’ll work.”

“Are we going skiing or something?”

She snorted. “Hardly. We gotta go hand out blankets. And food. And clothes.”

“To who?”

She waved me back out the door. She closed it behind us and locked it. She turned back to me.

“To whoever we find,” she said.

SEVENTEEN

Our first stop was a storage shed about a mile from the complex.

“I keep everything I get in here,” Isabel said. “I tried to keep it at home, but it kept growing, so I had to find another spot.”

The snow was falling faster now as the sun began to dip. The air felt different. Crisper. Cleaner. Colder. It stung my eyes, burned my nostrils.

“Does it ever stop snowing here?” I asked.

She smiled. “Yes. In May.”

She rolled up the metal door on the shed and we stepped inside. It was a heated unit and the warmth escaped in a rush of steam, wrapping around me.

It was three-quarters full. Blankets of all colors and materials were stacked eye-high along one wall. Several rolling racks housed jackets and long sleeve shirts. There were maybe two dozen boxes of gloves, scarves and hats. Cases of bottled water took up another wall, along with crates full of snacks: bags of chips, cookies and granola bars, fruit snacks and packages of nuts.

“It’s all donated,” she said. “I beg and sometimes people give.”

“Wow,” I said. “You must be good at begging.”

“I’ve gotten better at it,” she said. “More persuasive. I’ve graduated from asking people I know to local businesses and grocery stores. People are generous. You just have to ask.”

“So what do we take?”

“A little of everything,” she said. “You get the water and food. I’ll grab the clothes.”

Twenty minutes later, the back of her SUV was full and the storage shed was half-empty. We got back in the car and we were on the slick, slow-moving highway before either of us spoke again.

“So,” I said. “Tell me about Marc.”

“I told you about him before,” she said glancing in the rearview mirror.

“Here’s a tip. If you actually want help, you’ll need to share details.”

She hit her blinker and slowly changed lanes. “I know that.”

“Then why all of the secrecy?”

“Because I need to know that I can trust you.”

“So, what? You give me a place to live so you can keep an eye on me?”  I shook my head. “This is why people don’t get found.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

I stared out my window at the long rows of cars crawling with us in the snow. “It means that people don’t understand what urgency really means. Because it means taking risks and sometimes failing. It means trusting people you just met, even if they end up being wrong. Because there is no other way.” I shook my head. “The longer the wait, the less chance you have of finding someone. And I’m talking minutes, alright? The more minutes you wait, the more your odds decrease.”

She stiffened in the driver’s seat.

“I get that people don’t always like me,” I continued. “Because I come off as uptight and don’t wanna make small talk. Well, guess what? You know how Rodney said he’d heard of me, that I’d had success at finding people?” I looked at her. “It’s because I’m uptight and don’t wanna make small talk. Because there is a giant ticking clock over every missing person’s head and the longer it ticks, the longer they’re away from their families and friends. And eventually the clock stops ticking.”

She switched lanes again, moving around an ancient pick-up truck that was having trouble finding traction. Headlights were coming on all around us as the winter sky moved to black.

“I wish I hadn’t stuck that cigarette in Jacob Detwiler’s face yesterday,” I said. “Didn’t make me feel very good. But I needed him to talk and I don’t waste time when it comes to my daughter. Because I don’t even know if her clock is still ticking.”

We came to a halt in the traffic and the brakes on the SUV squeaked.

“I haven’t done anything to help Marc, have I?” she finally said.

“No.”

She leaned her elbow on her door, set her head in her hand. “You already told me I should’ve gone to his home. And broke my promise to him.”

I nodded. “Because promises are irrelevant now.”

The sigh that came out of her was frustrated and angry. “Right.”

“I’ve offered to help you,” I said. “I’m not sure what else you need from me.”

“A lot of times when people offer to help, they don’t mean it,” she said. “They want something.”

“I can’t speak for other people, but I’ve been upfront with you about what I’m doing here in Minneapolis from the beginning,” I told her. “You know what I want. And it has nothing to do with you. You’ve given me the help you said you would. I’m offering to help you now. You don’t want my help? Fine. That’s more time for me to work on finding Elizabeth.”

The traffic started moving slowly again, snow fluttering against the windows.

“Okay,” she said. “Yes. I want your help. I want to find Marc.”

“The two guys,” I said. “How are they connected to Marc?”

“He owes them money,” Isabel said. “But I don’t know what for. He wouldn’t tell me.”

“How do you know them?”

“Because I’ve helped them both,” she said. “They were both homeless. I fed them. Got them clothes.”

“And now what do they do?”

“Nothing good,” she said. “Same story with a lot of kids. I can keep them warm, feed them, but I can’t always point them in the right direction.”

I knew that was true. It could be a vicious circle. They couldn’t catch a break so they didn’t think they deserved one. They didn’t think they deserved anything good, so all they looked for was the bad.

“What about the father?” I asked.

The traffic loosened and she pressed harder on the pedal. We surged forward a bit. “He’s a…different story.”

“How?”

“They don’t get along,” she said. “I don’t think it was abusive or anything like that. But from the little bit he shared with me, they couldn’t be in a room together more than five minutes without screaming at one another.”

“So what makes that so different?” I asked. “Plenty of that goes around.”

She switched lanes and pointed the SUV toward the upcoming exit. “His father is high profile.”

“How high profile?”

We exited and came to a stop at the bottom of the ramp, the snow gathering in dirty, wet piles around us.

She looked at me. “How high profile would you consider the head of a crime family?”

EIGHTEEN

Isabel guided the SUV to a street on the west side of the downtown area and parked in front a massive stone church.

“I sit here for awhile,” she explained. “Some will come to us. Then we’ll go walk for a bit.”

I nodded.

She reclined her seat a little and stretched out her legs. “Peter Codaselli. Marc’s father. Reputed leader of all organized crime in the Twin Cities.”

“He run a legit business as a front?”

“Sure,” she said. “But not what you’d think. No construction corporations or waste management companies. Finance. He runs an investment group.”

“That’s different.”

She nodded. “Yeah. He’s an interesting character. He’s big on the social scene, passes himself off as a philanthropist, tries to run in those kinds of circles.”

“Tries?”

“Well, he has the money to move in that crowd and, being who he is, no one is going to tell him no or to get lost,” she said. “But there’s kind of a hush-hush quality to it. He’s there, but he’s not really part of the group.”

Two boys, somewhere in their teens, sidled up to the car and Isabel rolled the window down. She gave them each a bottle of water and handfuls of packaged food. “You two good on blankets tonight?”

They both nodded, their eyes moving nervously to me, scanning me, then back to Isabel.

“We got the ones from last week still,” the one kid said, a mop of brown hair escaping from a navy knit cap. “No one took ‘em.”

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll be around tonight if you need me.”

“Thanks, Iz,” the boy said and they disappeared just as quickly as they’d shown up.

“So, it’s kind of weird,” Isabel continued.

“We know for sure the crime-king thing is good?” I asked. “Not just hung on him because he’s some rich Italian guy?”

She shook her head. “No, it’s real. I checked with people in the department. There’s no doubt. And Marc confirmed it, too.”

“He did?”

“Roundabout way, yeah,” she said. “He didn’t come out directly with it, but I asked enough of the right questions and he gave me enough of the right answers to know it’s true.”

The snow pecked at the windshield. “You said he doesn’t mention mom?”

“Nope. No idea who she is.”

“They aren’t married?”

“He’s on his third next ex-wife.”

“Marc’s mom was number one?”

“Yeah, I believe so.”

The snow was beginning to cover the hood, light, white crystals gathering like sand and I thought about Marc. There were any number of ways the son of a Mafia head could disappear, most of them not by his own choosing. Someone looking to unseat his father. Someone looking to send a message. Retribution. They all sounded cliché, but they all also sounded very real.

“You have any indicators before he disappeared?” I asked. “Anything that didn’t seem right?”

She shook her head. “No. I’ve been over it each day since he’s been gone. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Maybe he just got tired of helping. Decided to go do something else.”

She nodded slowly. “Maybe. But I don’t think so. He was excited about the job. That it was real and not something being given to him as a handout.”

I shifted in the seat. “How long was he out here?”

“About six months with me,” she said. “I think almost six before that. So close to a year.”

“But he’s nineteen. So he was legal when he left.”

“Yeah,” she said, sighing. “He was. And I don’t think Codaselli was looking for him or wanted him home. Marc went to see him about a month ago. Not sure why. When he came back, he wouldn’t talk about it. But I think whatever relationship they ever had was gone.”

Any time I looked for someone, particularly a kid, I couldn’t get over the fact that parents were willing to let go of their children. Yes, my view was skewed by Elizabeth’s abduction, but I just couldn’t believe so many parents were willing to let their own kids walk away. I saw it all the time and it never got easier to believe.

More kids showed up at the car, most looking cold, tired and anxious. Isabel knew how to talk to them, treated each one differently. She spoke to them as though they were her friends, like she’d been waiting for them to show up because she’d missed them. She had a terrific way with them and it was clear to me why they trusted her.

Because she cared.

“We need to talk to the father,” I said. The last group had moved on and we were alone.

“I figured you were going to say that.”

“You were only getting a part of the picture. The part Marc wanted you to see. We need to see the other parts. Even if they aren’t pleasant.”

She leaned her forehead against the steering wheel. “I know. That’s the stuff I’m not good at, though. Asking questions, digging. I hate being invasive. It’s why the kids trust me. I’m not good at it.”

I stared at the window. The snow was coming down in sheets, clinging to everything it touched, the night more white than black now. I thought of all of the people I’d interviewed over the years, asking them tough questions, embarrassing questions, painful questions. How I’d become almost immune to any discomfort they felt in being asked things they didn’t want a stranger to know the answers to. But it was the only way to help them find what they’d lost, even if they didn’t know it in the moment. They’d yell at me, scream at me, threaten me. I would sit there, dead-faced, wishing the tables were turned and someone was asking me tough questions about Elizabeth because they were so close to finding her.

“That’s okay,” I finally said. “Because I’ve gotten pretty good at it.”

NINETEEN

I spent most of the night a few feet behind Isabel.

Around midnight, we got out of the car and started walking. Wind bit into my neck like icy razors and I pulled the collar of the jacket higher, trying to cover all of my exposed skin. I couldn’t imagine trying to spend the night sleeping in the low temperatures.

  She’d brought along two large duffel bags and we loaded them with food, water, clothing and blankets, and trudged out into the snow with them. After ten minutes, we encountered a trio of girls huddled under the awning of a jewelry store. We approached them and when Isabel greeted, they said nothing, eyeing me with fear.

“Gimme a minute, okay?” she said to me.

I nodded and stepped back toward the curb.

Isabel came back to me. “Sorry. They don’t know you. Scares them. And there’s usually a fourth. Abby. But she took off and they haven’t seen her, so they’re edgy right now.”

“I understand.”

“So maybe when we run into people, it would be better if you hang back?”

“Sure.”

“I don’t mean to be rude.”

“You aren’t being rude,” I said. “You’re doing what you need to do for them. They’re already uncomfortable being out here. Anything you can do to make them more comfortable, you should.” I smiled. “I’m okay standing awkwardly by myself.”

She smiled and nodded. “Okay. Good.”

“They’re worried about their friend? The other girl?”

“They don’t know whether they should be worried or not, you know?” Isabel said. “She could’ve taken off on her own for who knows what reason. Or something worse could’ve happened. But for them, it’s about normalcy. They’re used to being a foursome. Now they’re three, so it just doesn’t feel right to them. You know?”

I did.

I lost count of how many blocks we walked and how many people she stopped to talk to. As I grew tired, Isabel seemed to gain energy. She crisscrossed streets, knew where many of them would be waiting. Most seemed happy to see her. Not eager or enthusiastic, but most at least greeted her with a smile and asked for what they needed, if anything.

My fingers and toes were numb by the time we got back to her car. We sat there for a few minutes, the engine idling, the heater charging up, attempting to warm us and the car’s interior.

She rubbed her gloved hands together. “Takes a while to thaw out.”

I held my hands over the vents. “You don’t say.”

“I’m sorry if that was difficult,” she said.

“It was fine. I’ll warm up eventually.”

“I didn’t mean the temperature.”

I looked at her, not understanding.

“I watched your face,” she said, still rubbing her hands together. “You were looking for your daughter.”

I pulled my hands away from the vents.

“You were studying their faces,” she said, her voice dropping slightly. “Looking for her face in theirs. I should’ve realized you would do that. I’m sorry.”

The heat began to kick in, the first few blasts of warm air filtering into the car.

“I didn’t even realize I was doing it,” I said.

“Wasn’t overt. I could just see it in your face. Like you were disappointed.”

The windshield wipers moved back and forth in an easy rhythm. I probably did it all the time, no matter where I was or what I was doing. It had become as involuntary as breathing, scrutinizing every thing and every face.

And I’d always come away empty.

“I’m alright,” I told her.

She stared at me for a long moment, then shifted the car into drive and eased away from the curb. “I don’t think you’ve been alright for a long time, Joe.”

TWENTY

“When we get to the apartment, don’t get out of the car,” I said to Isabel.

She glanced at me. “What?”

It was almost two in the morning and we were close to Linden Hills. The drive back was slow, the streets now covered with several inches of snow. The trucks were out, salting and sanding, but the snowfall was consistent and faster than the trucks.

And someone was following us.

“Car behind us,” I said. “Been with us for about twenty minutes.”

“You’re paranoid.”

“Most of the time, yeah. But it followed us out of downtown and made every turn we made.” I glanced in the mirror. I hadn’t been able to make out anything about the car, other than its headlights were bright. “So when we get there, just stay put for a minute.”

She looked up toward her rearview mirror, but the skepticism didn’t leave her expression. “I think you’re tired.”

“Maybe.”

We turned on to the main street that ran adjacent to the apartments, then slid our way into the slushy lot. She pulled right up to the office and cut the engine.

The headlights followed us into the lot.

“Just stay right here,” I said, opening my door. “Until I tell you to get out.”

“Whatever.”

The icy air smacked me in the face as I shut the car door. The cold of the snow on the ground seeped into my shoes and my breath showed up like chimney smoke in front of my face.

The car stopped in the middle of the lot.

I walked toward it, shielding my eyes from the bright lights.

The engine cut and I waited.

Boyd and Stevie emerged from what I could now see was a newer-model Subaru wagon. Stevie’s face didn’t give away much, but the smirk I’d seen on Boyd’s face before I’d shoved him was still in place.

“You lost?” I asked.

Boyd laughed like that was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

“Just wondering if Isabel heard from Marc,” Stevie said, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his thick field coat.

“You could call.”

“I did. She didn’t answer.”

“Probably means she hasn’t heard from him then. Or just doesn’t wanna talk to you.”

Boyd stepped toward the front of the car and I could see something in his hand, held close against his right leg. Not a gun, but something, probably a club or something he thought he might hit me with.

“I’d just like to talk to her for a minute,” Stevie said.

“She’s tired,” I said, my eyes still on Boyd. “She worked all night. Not a good time. And it makes me nervous when people follow me.”

Boyd shuffled a little closer.

“And you might wanna tell your pal here that if he gets any closer to me with whatever he has in his hand, I’m going to take it from him and break his arm with it,” I said. “Like I promised to do the other day.”

Boyd froze, unsure of what to do now. He squinted at me through the snow.

“Look, man, we just wanna know where he is,” Stevie said.

“Why?”

“Not really your concern.”

“Your buddy made a feeble attempt to intimidate me,” I said. “Now you follow us home and he’s once again attempting to scare me. You’ve made it my concern, like it or not.”

Stevie pursed his lips, thinking. After a moment he said, “Our boss would like to speak with him.”

“Who’s your boss?”

“Can’t say.”

I looked at Boyd. “Maybe if I put you on your back and threaten to break your arm, you’ll be able to say.”

Boyd shuffled his feet again, setting them wider, bracing himself in case I went at him.

“Get in the car, Boyd,” Stevie said.

“I’m not afraid of him,” Boyd said.

“Get in the fucking car.”

Boyd turned to him. “Come on, Stevie. I can take him and then we can talk to her.”

“Last time I say it,” Stevie said, annoyed. “Get in the car.”

Boyd sulked back to his side of the car and climbed inside, slamming his door shut.

“Wise decision,” I said.

Stevie walked to the front of the car and sat against the hood. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I don’t? Help me out then. Why are you looking for Marc and hassling Isabel?”

“I told you why,” Stevie said. “But you don’t know what you’re getting into.”

“All I’m doing is helping out Isabel,” I said. “I know he owes you money. She told me that.”

He nodded. “He does. And you have my word. I’m not looking to hurt him or anything like that.”

“We haven’t known each other long enough for me to give a shit about your word, Stevie.”

He nodded again. “That’s fair. But I’m not.”

“Your pal seems like he’s looking to hurt someone.”

“Boyd ain’t gonna do shit unless I tell him to.”

“What does he owe you money for?”

He brushed at the snow sticking to his face. “Not important. At this point, the money isn’t even the important thing. Just need to find him.”

“We’re going in circles here.”

Stevie nodded slowly. “Yeah. We are. But it’s complicated.”

“So un-complicate it for me.”

He chewed on his lip and looked away.

“I know who you are,” Stevie said, turning back to me.

“Good for you.”

“And I know what you do,” he said.

I didn’t say anything, but my curiosity was aroused.

“If you find Marc, you need to let us know,” he said.

“Why exactly is that?”

He stared hard at me. It wasn’t the stare of some stupid street punk, like Boyd. There was more behind it, but I couldn’t tell exactly what it was.

“Joe Tyler,” he said. “Your name is Joe Tyler.”

I didn’t say anything.

“Might be able to help you with your daughter,” he said, his voice dropping slightly.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

I did. It stopped my heart. Turned my blood to a temperature closer to the slush we were standing in. Knotted up my gut.

Stevie stood from the car. “You find Marc or you hear from him, you have Isabel call me. Or do it yourself. She’s got the number. Then we can talk about your daughter.”

I stood there, paralyzed. He’d caught me off-guard and I wasn’t ready. I couldn’t move.

“You didn’t tell me,” I said, forcing the words out, trying to regain my composure. “Why she needs to let you know if she finds Marc.”

He stood at the door to the Subaru, his gloved hand on the door handle, his breath leaving his body in icy swirls. “Because I’m trying to keep him alive.”