Thread of Betrayal (11 page)

TWENTY-FOUR

“I have the number,” I said to Anchor.

I’d sat with Lauren for a few moments, then dialed Anchor.

“Can you give it to me?” he asked.

I read the number off the paper.

“Okay,” he said. “I’m on my way back to you now. I’ll go to work on this as I drive. I’ll pick you and Ms. Tyler up in front of the hotel in twenty-five minutes.”

We hung up.

“He’s on his way,” I said. “He wants us to meet him downstairs in a little bit.”

“Let’s go down now,” she said, standing from the bed. “It feels claustrophobic up here.”

We went back downstairs and sat down on a bench outside the front entrance. The air had cooled a little, a breeze blowing in from the ocean, and I breathed in the salty air. Jet fuel drifted in the air from the planes, and, even at that late hour, cars traveled quickly up and down the airport road, either trying to get to, or away, from LAX.

“Where are we going when he gets here?” Lauren asked.

“He didn’t say.”

“Where was he?”

“He didn’t say.”

“Lovely.

“I feel like I should call the Corzines,” I said. “See if anyone’s made contact with them.”

“You mean Mike?”

“Or anyone else. At least we’d know if there was anyone on our heels.”

“We’re this close,” Lauren said. “I’m not sure anyone could beat us to her at this point.”

“But if she finds her way to Coronado…”

“…we can get there, too.”

“I suppose,” I said. “I’d just like to know.”

We sat there for a few minutes, watching the late-night traffic. A hotel shuttle pulled up and a couple with a little girl stepped off. They looked weary, jet-lagged, but the mother still offered a small smile as they walked past us on their way toward the entrance to the hotel’s lobby. I couldn’t take my eyes off the girl. She looked liked Elizabeth.

She disappeared through the double doors of the hotel, trailing a Disney suitcase behind her. I felt my stomach clench. We’d never gone anywhere on a plane as a family. We’d stayed close to San Diego. She’d never been on a late-night adventure, exhausted and excited like the little girl I’d just seen. I shook my head. One more memory that had been robbed from us before we could even make it.

“What’s wrong?” Lauren asked.

“Nothing,” I said.

A dark red sedan pulled into the lot and crawled slowly through the registration area and I was grateful for the distraction.

“This might be Anchor,” I said.

The tinted windows didn’t allow us to see inside.

The car pulled to a halt in front of us.

We both stood.

The driver’s side door opened.

And my blood ran cold.

“Joe, Lauren,” Lieutenant Leonard Bazer said. “Nice to see you.”

TWENTY-FIVE

Even at that late hour, Bazer was in uniform. The joke around the station was that he didn’t own anything else to wear, as no one had ever seen him in anything but the uniform of the Coronado Police Department. His pale gray eyes surveyed us, no expression on his face. Tall, still not an ounce of fat on him, and a clean shaven head. He hadn’t aged a day in the decade since I’d last told him to go to hell.

He held out his hand to me. “Joe.”

I kept my hands at my sides. “Hey, Len.”

He cracked a smile, but I knew he didn’t think it was funny. He didn’t like to be addressed as anything other than Lieutenant. But he was no longer my lieutenant. He hadn’t been since the day he’d hung me out to dry and fed me to the media as a suspect in my own daughter’s disappearance.

“Lauren,” he said, turning to her. “It’s been awhile.”

She nodded, but didn’t say anything.

He dropped his unwanted hand. “You two look well.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I asked, unable to contain my anger at seeing him again. My antennae were up, on guard. Forget the fact that I hated his guts. I was more concerned as to how he’d found us.

And what he wanted.

“I saw the report,” Bazer said. “About Elizabeth.”

“Did you?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yes. This morning.”

“And then you just magically found us?” I asked. “Showed up here at the curb?”

His mouth set in a flat line. “No, no magic. I saw the report. I made some calls. Heard you had some trouble in Denver. Made a few more calls. Led me here.”

“Bullshit,” I said, shaking my head. “A couple of phone calls doesn’t get you right here.”

The corners of his mouth twitched. “I was able to obtain Elizabeth’s name. I was able to check the flight manifests. I figured if she was here in Los Angeles, you weren’t far behind.”

“And then you called every neighboring hotel near LAX?” Lauren asked. “Really?”

“Took us nine hotels to find you,” he said, a grin spreading across his face. “I was a detective once, Lauren. I still remember how to do the work.”

It wasn’t the how that bothered me. It was the why.

“So why are you here?” I said. “Because I know you aren’t here to just check on our well-being. You don’t have that in you.”

He licked his lips, stuck his hands on his hips. “I thought you might need help.”

I stared at him for a long moment, then turned to Lauren. “I don’t know whether to laugh or kick his ass.”

She was still staring at Bazer. “He’d arrest you before your fist got near his mouth. He doesn’t play fair, remember?”

A bored expression crossed Bazer’s face. “Alright. You wanna take your shots at me, let’s get them out of the way. Say everything you’ve ever wanted to say to me.”

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” I said. “Not worth my time.”

“Then let’s end the standoff here, alright?” he said, his voice colder now. “I’m here to help you find your daughter.”

“We don’t want your help,” I said. “Not now. Not ever.”

He stared at me for a long time, the gray eyes icing over. His famous stare. He used it to intimidate suspects and subordinates and politicians. Once upon a time, it had worked on me. But it lost it’s heat when I saw him for what he really was—a guy who cared more about his own reputation than solving a crime.

“Elizabeth’s disappearance is still an open case,” he said.

“Yeah. An open federal case,” I said. “Over which you have no authority. Zero.”

“Happened on my watch,” he said. “It’ll always be my case.”

The bile in my stomach threatened to rise up. “Happened on your watch and all you cared about was making sure your department looked clean, which meant tossing me to the wolves and hanging suspicion on me. Fucking up my entire life.” I stepped closer to him, his breath hot on my face. “So fuck you and fuck your help.”

He stood his ground and stared me down.

I stared back.

“I can help, Joe,” he said. “You may hate me, but I can help. I have resources you don’t have access to.”

“Why?” I growled. “Why do you want to help now? You were happy to wash it out of Coronado, let it go away. And now all of a sudden you care?” I shook my head. “What’s in it for you?”

“I just want to find your daughter,” he said. “Happened on my watch.”

“Or maybe you played a part,” I said, watching for a reaction.

He frowned. “What?”

“Maybe you need to find her before we do,” I said. My eyes locked with his. “Maybe there’s a reason you drove your ass up here in the middle of the night. As soon as you found out she was back in California. Maybe you played a part.”

Bazer stood there for a moment, silent. Then he took a step back, turned, and walked around the front of his car. He paused at the driver’s door and looked across the roof at me.

“If you’re insinuating that I had something to do with your daughter’s disappearance, you are wrong,” he said. “Wrong. I can understand how you might say something like that because of what you believe I did to you. But I came up here to help. To find your daughter.”

“And to make sure you look like some goddamn hero,” Lauren spat. “You are a joke.” She pulled on my arm. “Let’s go.”

I followed her gaze and saw Anchor standing near a white Escalade on the other side of the lot. He watched our exchange with Bazer, his arms folded loosely across his chest. I knew if we signaled in any way, he’d come. We started walking that way.

“Where are you going?” Bazer asked.

“To a resource you don’t have access to,” I said, leaving him there at his car.

He was still standing there when we drove out of the lot with Anchor, staring at us as we drove past.

TWENTY-SIX

“Not a friend?” Anchor asked.

Lauren and I were in the backseat of the new Escalade. Kitting was driving and Anchor was in the passenger seat. I had no clue as to what had happened to the black Escalade from earlier.

“No,” I said. “Definitely not a friend. My former boss.”

Anchor twisted his head to the side. “A police officer?”

“From San Diego,” I said, staring out the window as the buildings blurred past.

“What was he doing here?”

“I have no idea.”

Anchor tilted his head. “Interesting.”

I thought seeing Elizabeth pull up to the curb would’ve surprised me less than seeing Bazer. And it heightened my suspicion. I didn’t believe for a second that he was there to help find Elizabeth out of the goodness of his heart. He didn’t have a heart. He cared about one person and one person only. Himself.

But I wasn’t sold on the idea that he’d go through the trouble of tracking us down just to clear his name. Yes, that was definitely all he cared about. He’d go to great lengths to keep the department’s reputation clean, even if that meant burning bridges. Because that meant his reputation remained sparkling. But I was having a hard time believing that he’d kept his finger on the pulse of Elizabeth’s disappearance and as soon as he saw the television report, he’d leapt into action. The sad fact was that most people had forgotten about her disappearance. It wasn’t like it was hanging over the department or anyone else. People weren’t clamoring for the case to be solved. So I wasn’t buying his story.

It didn’t feel right and the more I thought about it, the more I started to believe that he absolutely had something to do with Elizabeth’s disappearance.

“Joe?”

I turned toward Lauren’s voice. Her hand was on my arm. “Yeah?”

“He was talking to you.”

I looked over the seat at Anchor. “Sorry. What?”

“I was asking about the girl in Colorado,” Anchor said. “How cooperative would she be?”

“What do you mean?”

“If we could get her to work with us, we should be able to get you on the phone with your daughter.”

I rolled my shoulders, trying to shake some of the tension. “How?”

“If we could use her mobile number for a bit, we could forward her calls to your phone,” he said. “It would require accessing the girl’s account, but it would be simple to do and would eliminate a middle person.”

I wondered what hearing my daughter’s voice would do to me. And I wondered what it might do to her. I wasn’t sure either of us was ready for that. But eliminating Morgan might get us to Elizabeth quicker.

“I think we could get her to cooperate,” I said. “You want me to call her now?”

“No,” Anchor answered. “I’ll need a few minutes to set it up and we are nearly at the taxi company now.” He turned to Kitting. “You’ll start the process while we are interviewing inside?”

Kitting nodded.

We were on the east side of I-5, somewhere in Inglewood. Strip malls were plentiful, filled with check-cashing joints, pawn shops and restaurants that appeared to be on their last legs. We passed the old fabulous Forum which looked anything but fabulous and then the area went industrial—large parking lots and buildings behind chain-link fences, giving the illusion of security.

Kitting turned the SUV into one of the lots, pulling to a stop at a guard house and yellow gates. A guy leaned out of the house, looked at Kitting, then nodded at him and the gate rose up. We parked in a slot near a long, low-slung building with ugly metal siding.

The dark lot was filled with white and green taxis of all makes and models—minivans, sedans, even a pick-up truck. Most of the cars were newer, but there were a few that looked like they had seen better days.

We followed Anchor toward the building while Kitting stayed in the car. Anchor opened the door and let us in ahead of him.

The yellow tinted lights made the room seem dingy. Two dispatchers sat behind a long counter, wearing headphones and talking into handheld receivers. Several old battered chairs lined the wall.

One dispatcher, a woman with gray hair and too much makeup, held up a finger to Anchor as he leaned on the counter. She mumbled into the handheld, shook her head, then mumbled again. Her thumb pressed a button on the receiver and she looked at Anchor. “You’re the one here for Ernie?”

Anchor nodded.

“Hang on,” she said and went back to mumbling into the receiver.

I wasn’t entirely sure why we were there. It seemed to me that we could get any of the information we wanted over the phone. I was also starting to get antsy. It felt like we’d been doing too much standing around and not enough looking. I knew that things took time and that sometimes there was nothing to do but wait for information, but standing around wasn’t comfortable, especially when we thought Elizabeth was close.

A short, squat man waddled out behind the counter. Thinning black hair, a bushy mustache and a shirt unbuttoned at the collar exposing a nest of chest hair. He frowned at Lauren and me, then looked at Anchor. “You’re the guy?”

“I’m the guy,” Anchor replied, more amused than anything else.

“He’s back here,” he said, then motioned for us to follow him.

We walked through a couple of swinging doors next to the counter and followed him around the corner and down a hallway with cheap artwork and dirty carpeting. He stopped and held out his arm, directing us into a room off the hallway. “All yours.”

The room looked like a small classroom, with several tables pushed together to form one big square table and white boards on the walls. Someone had attempted to clean the boards, but faint lines in multiple colors were still visible.

A young man, maybe late twenties, was sitting on the opposite side of the square, flipping through a magazine, turning the pages out of boredom more than interest. He glanced up when we entered, big tired eyes peering up at us. He wore a gray long-sleeve T-shirt and his curly dark hair looked like it needed to be cut.

Our escort motioned at him. “Tell them whatever they wanna know, got it?”

The man glanced at his watch. “Hey, Ernie, I gotta get to my other job…”

“Answer them quick then, D.J., and we’ll get you out of here,” Ernie said, cutting him off. He looked at Anchor. “All yours.” He exited.

Anchor smiled at D.J. “I promise, we’ll be brief and get you off to wherever you need to be.”

D.J. looked annoyed, but nodded.

Anchor looked at me.

“You picked up a girl earlier today at LAX,” I said.

He shrugged. “Okay.”

“Do you remember?”

“I haven’t slept in two days, man,” he said. “I’m trying to make sure I grab enough fares to cover winter tuition. I go to UCLA. So I’m a little foggy.”

“I hear you,” I said. “But can you think for a minute. Girl, sixteen years old. Long brown hair.”

“I rarely pick up anywhere else,” he said. “People don’t use cabs out here unless they're leaving the airport and I don’t go over to Hollywood because it’s too dicey. Never know who wants a ride.”

“Sure,” I said and slid the black-and-white still Anchor had given me in front of him. “The girl. She would’ve been alone, I think. And no bags. Maybe a little rattled.”

He looked down at the picture, blinked several times. “Oh, yeah. She had no idea where she wanted to go. She was crying a little, too.”

I glanced at Lauren. She was standing against the wall, her arms folded across her chest, her eyes on D.J.

“I asked her what was wrong,” he said. “But she didn’t want to talk. So I asked where she needed to go. And she said she didn’t know.”

I nodded.

“I told her it was gonna be hard for me to take her anywhere then,” he continued. “And I told her she either needed to pick a place or get out because I couldn’t just sit in the taxi line at the airport.”

A muscle worked in my jaw. “And?”

“And she said she didn’t know where she needed to go,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Then she asked how far San Diego was. I told her too far.”

“So where did you take her?” I asked, frustrated and running out of patience.

“She asked me to take her in the direction of San Diego,” he said. “I said I’d go twenty minutes max. That was it.”

“Where did you take her?” Anchor asked, sensing my frustration. “Specifically.”

“We went PCH,” D.J. said. “405 was jammed and we wouldn’t have gone anywhere. So we got to Redondo.”

“And then what?” I asked. “You dropped her at the beach? A mall? What?”

“Hotel,” he said. “She picked out a couple of crappy ones, but I told her they weren’t good ideas.”

Anchor had his phone out, poking at the screen and scrolling.

“So I dropped her at the Crowne Plaza,” he said.

“Did you wait on her?” I asked. “Make sure she got in?”

He shook his head. “No. I needed to get back for my next fare. I ran a bunch more before I got called here. And I still don’t get why. Are you gonna tell me?”

“She’d be under Corzine, correct?” Anchor asked, putting the phone to his ear.

“Yeah,” Lauren said, heading for the door. “Ellie Corzine.”

They walked out together and I followed them.

“So no one’s gonna tell me?” D.J. yelled. “That’s it?”

That was it.