Thread of Innocence (Joe Tyler Mystery #4) (19 page)

“
I don't even remember...” he said, trying to sit up.

I took half a step back and leveled the gun at his face. “I'll bet you do, Mosaic. I'll bet you do remember. Every single kid you've ripped away from their family. I'll bet you remember.”

He squirmed some more.

“
Tell me you remember the name,” I said.

“
Man, I don't...”

I leveled the gun again.

He swallowed hard.

“
Tell me,” I said.

He swallowed again. Then said the same name Valdez spoke into the phone.

Confirmed.

“
You send me a couple of emails earlier this week? Supposed to try and scare me a little? Someone tell you to do that, too?”

He swallowed hard, then managed to nod.

I didn't move the gun.

“
Man, come on,” he said, almost on the verge of tears, trying to scoot away from me on his butt. “Come on. I gave you the name. I'll tell you whatever else you want. I won't hurt anyone again. I'll stop. I won't do it again.”

“
You're right,” I said, taking a deep breath, then exhaling slowly. “You won't.”

I pulled the trigger.

FORTY

The highway was darker on the way back to San Diego.

The evening had closed in on itself, traffic disappearing and homes turning out their lights for the night. The desert looked like a big, black ocean out to my left as we made our way home.

I'd taken a few minutes to wipe down the front door in order to ensure my fingerprints wouldn't be found. The cul-de-sac was still quiet when I'd left and I'd shut off the television before I'd walked out, leaving Farvar's body on his living room floor. I reached the car and got in. I nodded at Chuck and he nodded back.

We didn't say a word.

I wasn't worried about being traced back to Farvar's body because I knew what would happen when police or whomever finally showed up. They'd see the dead body, they'd identify him and the guy working the case would pull Farvar's history. He'd see what a piece of crap he was and figure it was pay back for something Farvar had done in the past. The cop would run through the basics—question neighbors, check recent phone calls, run prints found at the scene—but nothing would come from those things. And then someone who didn't deserve to die would die and that same cop would get called to that case and he'd be far more invested in finding out what happened with that person than what had happened to Farvar. Farvar would drop quickly down the to-do list and would be classified as unsolved. A better classification would be ignored and forgotten.

I re-gripped the wheel. I was calm, my hands steady. There was no regret, no remorse in what I'd just done. Maybe it was all the years of thinking in my head what I'd do to the person who'd taken my daughter, working over all of the scenarios and knowing I'd do it, knowing I had the anger and hate burning inside me. Putting the gun on Farvar felt almost familiar, like I'd been there before. Was there any pleasure in killing someone? No. But I had no doubt that if I hadn't taken care of Farvar, he'd have continued doing what he'd been doing. He would've done to some other family what he'd done to mine.

Now? He couldn't.

I could live with that.

And now that I had a name, I knew I was coming down the homestretch. I knew everything was in reach. Closure. Moving forward. Living a real life again. I'd still have to deal with Anchor down the road and maybe even Valdez might come calling. I'd made a deal with the devil and he'd eventually want to collect. But I'd made the deal to get to this point, to get to the point where closure was a reality.

I changed lanes, the only light on the highway the small yellow road reflectors under the beams of my headlights. I could only see black in both directions.

“You okay?” Chuck asked.

“
Yeah.”

“
Not a single car came down that road. No one.”

“
Good.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out my cell. “I gotta make a couple calls.”

He nodded, settled into his seat and closed his eyes.

I thumbed through the contacts until I found the name I wanted.

I stared ahead at the road. I could see dim headlights approaching from the opposite direction.

I tapped the screen and listened as the phone dialed first, connected and then started ringing.

The headlights grew in the distance, coming at me, probably driving as fast as I was.

A voice on the other end of the line answered.

“
I think I've got it figured out,” I said. “Can you help me?”

“
Yes.”

“
Tonight?” I asked.

“
Yes.”

“
Can I come to your place?” I asked. “I can be there in ninety minutes.”

“
I'll be here.”

“
Okay,” I said.

“
What did you find, Joe?”

“
When I get there,” I said and hung up.

I glanced at Chuck. His eyes were still closed, his arms folded across his chest.

Then I thumbed through my contacts and punched another number.

The person on the other end answered.

“I need you to meet me.” I rattled off the location and before any questions could be asked, I explained exactly what I was doing and when I'd be there.

“
I'll be there,” the voice responded.

I set the phone in the center console. The car in the opposite lane rushed past us, the headlights filling my windshield for a moment, then disappearing past me, leaving everything dark in front of me again.

“It's gonna be over, isn't it?” Chuck asked, his eyes staying closed. “You figured it out.”

Ninety minutes.

A lifetime and ninety minutes.

“
Yeah,” I said, my fingers clutching the wheel.

It was finally going to be over.

FORTY ONE

I drove Chuck to his house and he hesitated before opening the car door. “You sure?,” he asked, looking at me.

I nodded. “I'm doing this part by myself. I'll be fine.”

“
I'll go,” he said. “Same deal as before. You're the leader.”

I shook my head. “No. Last leg. Doing this part alone. It'll be fine. I'll call you tomorrow.”

“If you don't, I'll be knocking on your door,” he said.

“
Deal.”

I watched him walk into his house and shut the door behind him. The car idled at the curb for a moment and I took a few deep breaths. Then I shifted back into drive and pulled away.

The house was no more than six minutes from mine, over near the old golf course on Coronado that played out on the east side of the island. It looked more like it belonged in Cape Cod, with an A-frame roof and a white porch that ran the length of the front of the house. The rest of the house was painted a light gray with black shutters framing the windows on both floors. The lawn was neatly manicured and even in the dark, I could see the last remnants of water drops shining on the green blades. A small flower garden brimming with yellow day lilies grew on one side of the porch steps, a rock garden flanking the other side. An old, weathered, wooden rocker sat still on the porch, unmoving.

I stood on the walk that bisected the lawn for a moment, staring at the house. Part of me thought about just setting it aflame right then and there. But that didn't feel right. Because it wouldn't give me what I wanted.

I glanced down the street and, in the dark, I saw another car.

My other phone call.

I waited for a flash of lights or a car door opening, something to stop me, question me.

But there was nothing.

I wasn't sure whether or not I was glad about that, but I took it as a sign that it was okay for me to go forward.

I went up the steps and knocked on the door. I put my hand in my pocket, felt around for my cell, tapped the phone screen twice with my index finger, then pulled my hand out.

Two seconds later, the porch light flashed on.

The door opened.

Lieutenant Bazer pushed open the screen door. “Ninety minutes on the button.”

I nodded and stepped past him into the home. The living room was sparsely decorated. A suede sofa. A rectangular, wooden coffee table. A flat screen television on an entertainment stand. Several watercolor paintings on the walls. Original wood floor.

Bazer shut the door. He wore jeans and a gray T-shirt and wire-rimmed glasses. Both the top of his head and his face appeared to have been freshly shaven.

“
I'm surprised you called, Joe,” he said. “I didn't think you'd take me up on my offer.”

“
No?”

Bazer shook his head. “No. You've been pretty adamant that you wanted nothing to do with me.”

I nodded slowly. “Yeah. I guess I have.”

“
But I'm guessing you found something pretty significant,” he said. “Both because you called me and because it's the middle of the night.” He paused, eyed me carefully. “And I'm genuinely hoping it has nothing to do with Mike Lorenzo. After our conversation and you were asking about him, I wondered if...”

“
This isn't about Mike,” I said, cutting him off.

He didn't say anything.

“It's about Elizabeth and Mario Valdez and Mosaic Farvar,” I said, staring at him. “And you.”

He stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans, but didn't say anything.

“We can do the song and dance,” I said. “I can tell you everything I turned up from conversations with both Valdez and Farvar. I can tell you Valdez named you as the contact in the deal that went bad in I.B. and that they demanded repayment of the money you'd taken from them. I can tell you that Farvar named you as the guy who brought him Elizabeth.” I shook my head. “But I'm not much for song and dance. Lieutenant.”

Bazer hadn't flinched at anything I'd said. He'd just stood there and taken in my words, his hands still in his pockets, squinting at me. He had yet to move.

“So you tell me how you want to play this,” I said. “But you aren't walking out of here.”

A sad smile crept across his face. “I know that.”

“Do you?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. I do. Because I knew when you found her that you'd find out. I actually thought you'd find out even if you never got her back. I've always waited for the phone call. Or for you to show up here.” He paused. “I knew when you walked in the door two minutes ago. I threw Mike's name out there as my last hope.”

I didn't say anything.

He stood there, his eyes staring down at the floor now. “I was going to get her back.” His voice was almost a whisper. “I was always going to get her back. Get her back to you. But it got fucked up.”

The hair was up on the back of my neck and it took every ounce of strength to stand still rather than charge at him and choke the life out of him.

“
I lost Farvar,” Bazer said, his voice gravelly. “He moved and took off. I couldn't find him. I was going to force him to tell me where he'd...taken her. I lost him and I couldn't find him.”

“
Maybe you should've looked a little fucking harder.”

He nodded. “Probably. But I already had IAD breathing down my neck because of the missing money. I was under scrutiny. There was only so much I could do.” He paused again. “So I let it go.”

“You let
her
go.”

“
Yes. Her.”

My jaw hurt from clenching it shut so tightly. Sweat trickled down my back. The moment was almost surreal.

“And you turned on me,” I said. “You threw it on me so they'd look at me.”

“
What's the stat?” he asked, a half-smile forming on his lips. “About parents almost always being involved in the disappearance of their own child? I knew it would work.”

“
Why?” I asked.

He cocked his head. “Because you were an easy target.”

“No. Why didn't you have the money that Valdez paid you for coverage?” I asked. “Why couldn't you just give it back to him?”

“
It was gone.”

“
How?”

He shrugged. “I owed other people. It was spent before I'd even gotten it from Valdez.”

“Owed who? For what?”

He shrugged again. “Does it matter? I had irons in the fire, things that were out of bounds, bills to pay.”

“Other under the table shit?” I asked. “Like with Valdez?”

“
Some of that, yeah,” he said. “I was always in the middle of something.” He paused. “No excuses. It was one of those things I got into early in my career to add to my income and it spiraled. I started filling my pockets early on and never found a way to stop. A little here, a little there. A side deal to look the other way.” He shook his head. “It finally caught up to me. I was on the wrong side of the ledger and couldn't get back on the right side.” He blinked. “I was the clichéd bad cop. Am the clichéd bad cop.”

I chewed on my bottom lip until I tasted blood. “And you decided that the best way to get even this time was taking my daughter? That was the best way out of it?”

He stared at me for a long moment. “Desperate times, desperate measures.”

I laughed, but felt sick to my stomach. “I guess so.”

“But I was going to get her back, Joe,” he said. “Whether or not you believe that, I was going to get her back.”

“
No doubt. So you could be the hero.”

“
So I could get her back to you.”

“
Fuck. You.”

Bazer nodded. “Yes.”

“There's no excuse,” I said, shaking my head. “None.”

“
I agree.”

I hated him more for being so goddamned agreeable. I wanted a fight and he wasn't going to give it to me. He probably knew me well enough to know that he'd lose.

“But I'm not going to jail, Joe,” Bazer said. His voice was calm. Firm. “I'm sorry for what I did and for what happened. But I'm not going to jail. With who I am, with my job, with the people I've dealt with? I'd never survive.”

“
You aren't going to jail,” I said in agreement.

The same sad smile took over his mouth. “I figured.” He shrugged. “So what? You just going to shoot me? Kill me right here?” He spread his arms slowly, his chest fully exposed. “Here I am. Take your best shot.”

I'd thought about this exact moment the entire drive. I wasn't sure if he was going to put up a fight and I was ready for one if he wanted one. But I'd also contemplated what I'd do if he didn't want a fight. Because there was no way I was going to make some bullshit citizen's arrest and send him to jail. There was no closure in that for me.

The only way there was closure was to wipe him off the face of the Earth.

I withdrew my gun and aimed it at him. “Where's your department weapon?”

He hesitated, then gestured toward the other end of the house. “Nightstand. Bedroom.”

I nodded. “We're going to go get it. I'll be behind you. Everything slow. Don't turn around.”

He hesitated again, like he was thinking about disagreeing with that. Then he nodded, turned and headed toward the bedroom.

I followed him, my gun aimed at the middle of his spine.

He stopped short of a polished black night stand. “Now?”

“Open the drawer,” I said. “Don't reach for anything until I tell you.”

He bent and pulled the drawer open. I peered around him. I saw the weapon and the ammo.

“Pull one bullet,” I said. “Leave the gun.”

He reached in and picked up one bullet.

“Now the gun,” I said.

He picked up the gun, his index finger in the trigger guard so it was hanging upside down.

“Load it,” I said. “Slowly. Pointed away from you.”

He did as told and I saw the bullet go into the chamber, heard it lock in place.

“On your knees,” I said. “Gun pointed down at the floor.”

He knelt down and kept the barrel in his right hand pointed at the floor.

“Now, turn around,” I said, holding the gun steady on the back of his head. “Slow. Barrel down.”

He pivoted slowly on his knees until he was facing me. There was no fear in his face, no resignation. It was just blank.

“How'd you get her in the car?” I asked, centering the barrel of my gun right between his eyes.

He stared at me, not in any way unnerved by being on the wrong end of gun. He blinked several times, but otherwise he was rock still.

“I told her I had a Christmas present for you,” he said. “I asked her if she'd come help me get it out of the backseat.”

The knot in my gut developed razor-like edges and pain surged through my stomach at the mental image. It was the same story Elizabeth told me. She had remembered. My gut was right. It had been someone she'd known, not just someone dressed up like a cop. And it made sense now as to why he hadn't shown up at my home after Elizabeth had returned. He'd only come when I was alone. He'd stayed away from her, probably worried that, even with the memory loss, his face or voice might trigger something in her and it would all come flooding back.

“She cry?” I asked. The words were thick and heavy in my throat.

“
I gave her something to take the edge off,” he said, shaking his head. “As far as she knew, she just fell asleep.”

The gun felt heavy in my hand, my finger heavy on the trigger.

“I'm sorry, Joe,” he said. “I really am.”

“
Put the gun to your head,” I said, my throat dry. “Barrel on your temple.”

Bazer shook his head, a sad look settling on his face. “I'm not going to do that, Joe. You know that.”

“Do it,” I said. “It's your only choice. Because I'm not taking you in.”

He blinked again. “I'm not going to put it to my head, Joe.” A slow, weird smile crept onto his face. “But there's always another choice, isn't there?”

“If the gun goes anywhere but to your head, I'll pull the trigger,” I said.

He recognized the truth in my words. “I know that, Joe. I know that.”

It stayed quiet for a moment, the silence hammering my eardrums, my heartbeat thrumming through my chest and up into my throat.

“
You have everything you need?” Bazer asked. “Before we do this?”

I was never going to have everything I needed. I'd lost a decade with Elizabeth. I'd never fully understand why Bazer chose her. I'd never understand the evil that could force a person to steal a child.

But I knew what he meant.

“
Yeah,” I said. “I've got what I need.”

Bazer nodded slowly, his eyes looking almost sleepy. “I'm sorry, Joe.”

“Go to Hell.”