by Tyler Dilts
“Could we talk inside?” he asked.
She led him into the living room and they sat on opposite ends of the sofa. Her name was Amanda, and she was renting the house with her wife. They had sublet the spare bedroom to Grace for a few months, from the beginning of June until just before she moved into the studio behind his house.
“Did she tell you why she was leaving?” Ben asked.
“She said she wanted to be closer to work. But I think she wanted more privacy, too. I mean, who wouldn’t rather have their own place, right?”
“Right.” Ben thought about Rob’s note about a possible boyfriend, the one he’d abbreviated with only K. “Did Kevin spend any time here?”
Amanda looked puzzled. “Kevin?”
Ben said, “Her boyfriend? I thought it was Kevin.” He thumbed back the pages in his notebook and pretended to search for the name.
“Oh, you mean Kyle?”
“Yes, that’s it. I got the K right, at least.”
She gave him what he thought was a courtesy laugh. “A few times, but they both seemed really self-conscious about it. I think that ended before she moved, though.”
“Did she tell you that?”
“I asked her about it once, after he hadn’t been here for a while. She said she’d rather not talk about it, so I let it go.”
“Did you tell the other detectives about Kyle?”
“Just the first one, with the mustache.”
“Was Grace a good roommate?”
“Oh, yeah. Clean. Quiet. Always on time with the rent.”
That sounded like her. If someone had asked Ben if she was a good tenant, he probably would have said the same thing.
“Thanks, Amanda,” he said. “You’ve been a big help.”
She looked at him as if trying to decide if she wanted to say something that was on her mind. “I hope you find her.”
“We will.” Ben smiled reassuringly. Something felt familiar. It took him a few seconds to realize he was using what he used to think of as his detective smile, the one he’d practiced to perfection. Smiling with the mouth, but with concern and a touch of sadness in the eyes. Hadn’t used it in years, and he nailed it on the first try.
“No. I mean you specifically. You really care about her. I can tell. Those other two guys were assholes.”
Driving home, he felt a fresh pang of loss and something shifting in his head. Somehow, when Rob had told him the bits and pieces of Grace’s story, he’d thought of a clear-cut before and after, a bright dividing line between who she used to be and who she was now. Like he had, before and after he’d been shot. Like his father had, before and after his first surgery.
He had assumed that line for her was when she moved into the studio. But that was wrong. After talking to people who’d known her in that window of time between when she left the Inland Empire and when Ben met her, she had been the same woman he’d met a few months later. Was she the same woman she’d been before she ever got involved with Rob and the cop he was investigating?
Ben knew he wasn’t the same man he used to be. He’d never chosen to be someone else. That had been completely out of his hands. What was it like for her? Did she feel the same way? Like her life had been broken in two?
She had a new name, a new job, a new home, but maybe she was still the same person she always had been. If so, then this wasn’t just about finding her. If she still had that, Ben realized, he’d do anything to help her keep it.
Ben’s hands tingled on the steering wheel as he drove the Volvo up Redondo toward home. An electric buzz coursed through his body. It was the same sensation he used to feel when he caught a big break on a case, the rush of new information, new leads, new possibilities. How many years had it been since he’d felt like this?
Admittedly, he wasn’t sure he was any closer to finding Grace, but he’d learned more about her, about who she was, and that felt significant. And he did have one solid new lead—Grace had been involved with someone named Kyle. If Ben could find him, he would likely be of help, not necessarily in finding Grace, but certainly in filling in more of her story.
He knew he should turn everything over to Becerra and let him run with it. It was important, and with the resources of Long Beach PD behind him, he could do much more with the information than Ben could himself. Rob knew what Ben knew, but where was he? And who was the other cop who’d talked to Amanda? Of all the new information, that was the most troubling. Could it be the dirty cop Rob was investigating? It had to be. There was no way someone else from San Bernardino would come all the way to Long Beach.
Rob was the key. Ben needed to talk to him and get him to open up about everything he knew. But he still hadn’t replied to that last text. He had to be on to something big. That was the only thing that made any sense. Or was it? Ben thought of that last note he’d copied from the photos. Talk to B, don’t let him get too close. Rob might have just been ignoring him.
At the north end of Redondo, where it dead-ended at the airport, waiting in the left-turn lane, Ben checked the rearview mirror and caught his reflection. For a moment, he thought he was looking at someone else. Then the car behind him honked and he made the left turn.
FIFTEEN
“I know she’s gone,” Peter said. He’d been sitting in the Adirondack chair in the backyard, staring at the door to the studio, when Ben got home.
“Of course you do.” Ben could tell his father was upset. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was connected to what had happened earlier in the day, or maybe it was something new. With the two interviews today, Peter had been home by himself for more than four hours. Ben had come home in between them, but the amount of time he’d been gone was surely the longest since Peter’s last surgery.
“It’s because of me.”
“What do you mean, Dad?”
“I did something bad.”
“No, you didn’t,” Ben said. “You never do bad things.”
“Because I’m not a real person anymore.”
“I don’t understand,” Ben said. “Of course you’re a real person.”
Peter shook his head. “You should put me someplace else so I don’t ruin it all.”
“Where else could you go?”
“There’s places for people like me.”
“No, there aren’t,” Ben lied. He knew all about the places for people like his father, because he’d visited half a dozen of them. Even the nice ones, the ones where selling the house would only pay for two or three years, left him feeling hollowed out, empty of everything except his own guilt for even considering them. “At least not any good ones.”
“It doesn’t have to be good. Just get rid of me.”
Ben put a hand on his father’s shoulder. “What’s wrong, Dad? Why are you so upset?”
“She left because of me and now you are, too.”
“You think I’m leaving?” Ben felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. He squatted down in front of Peter and took both of his father’s hands in his own. “I’m not leaving you. I promise. Not ever.”
“You got dressed up and didn’t come back.” The anger in his voice was slipping away.
“I’m sorry, Dad. I wasn’t leaving. I’m trying to find Grace.”
“Because I made her leave?”
“You didn’t make her leave, I promise. She had to go, but it wasn’t because of you.”
“It wasn’t?”
“No way. I think she wants to come back now and I’m trying to help her. We want her to come back, right?”
As Peter nodded, he leaned forward and his expression shifted from darkness to light. “I want to help, too. Can I help?”
“Absolutely.”
There was no rain in the forecast for that evening, so Ben asked his father if he’d like to go for a walk. They’d missed the last few days. Ben blamed the weather, but he knew that wasn’t the only reason. Peter was reluctant. His mood had improved, but he still wasn’t quite himself.
“You sure you don’t wa
nt to go?”
“Can we go tomorrow?”
“It’s supposed to rain, so we might not be able to.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Okay,” Ben said. “Think about it for a little while. We still have some time before it gets dark if you change your mind.”
Ben went back into the office and had no sooner sat down and tapped the spacebar to wake up the computer when he saw Peter at the door holding his floppy beige hat.
“Is it too late to walk?” he asked.
They were halfway around the block when Peter stopped and looked toward the sound of the first plane to take off since they’d started out.
Ben knew from the sound it wasn’t one of the big jets, but rather a small prop plane. He didn’t think his father could tell the difference anymore. They saw it as it emerged from behind a big tree. It began to bank around to the north, and as Peter watched it curve through the sky and wobble, its wings leveling out in front of him, he kept his hand up and waving the whole time. Ben realized it was one of the training flights that would take off, do a big loop around the airport, and approach from the opposite direction, landing in the same spot from which it had just taken off. They’d repeat the pattern five or six times over about an hour and a half. Sometimes he’d sit with his father on the patio long enough to see the whole cycle.
When they were almost home, Peter spotted a man with a dog up the block, maybe twenty yards ahead of them. His face lit up and he pointed.
“That’s not Bernie, Dad.” He was surprised at his father’s mistake and worried about his eyes. Dusk was coming, but it still seemed too light out for that kind of error. For the last couple of years, Peter had been getting injections in his eyes to treat his macular degeneration. Sometimes, at the end of the six-week window between treatments, his vision would start to decline. But it wasn’t—
Had they missed the appointment with Dr. Boswell? Ben suddenly remembered the day last week when Peter got up early and got ready for the appointment and it turned out to be the wrong day. One day too early. But they didn’t go the next day. They had missed the appointment. Ben had fucked up.
“Shit.”
Peter had still been watching the dog, but as soon as he heard the muttered profanity, he turned and asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I forgot about your eye appointment. We missed it.”
“That’s not your fault.”
“Yeah, actually it is.”
There was no point in calling the doctor’s office on Sunday to reschedule, so Ben wrote a big note with a Sharpie on a yellow pad and taped it to the refrigerator. It wasn’t more than ten inches away from the other note for the appointment he’d missed, but he was counting on its size and color to catch his attention in the morning.
Peter had gotten over what was bothering him. Either he’d forgotten, or Ben’s self-flagellation over missing the appointment had softened his mood and reengaged his usual sympathies.
He made it through his first two pills with his customary “Quod” and “Erat,” but when the Double Jeopardy round came on, he held the plastic cup and his Donepezil tablet up in front of himself with a nervous confusion in his eyes.
Ben saw his hesitation and said, “What’s wrong?”
“I’m supposed to say something.”
“Demonstrandum, Dad. Demonstrandum.”
“Demon— demon—” He cut himself off in frustration.
As he tried to say the word, Ben remembered. Peter hadn’t used the Latin for months. Maybe even a year. “It’s okay, Dad. It’s okay. Try one more time. Repeat it after me.”
Peter nodded.
He spoke clearly and slowly. “Demonstration.”
“Demonstration,” he said.
Ben saw a wave of relief wash over him as he sat up straight, put the pill in his mouth, and washed it down.
“Little sips, now?”
“That’s right. Little sips.”
After his father was in bed, Ben sat down in the living room and took out his notebook.
1/15 9:15 pm
Quetiapine
Escitalopram
Donepezil
Dad forgot last part of QED—Slipping?
He couldn’t remember the last note he’d made other than the meds for Peter and himself, so he flipped back through the pages to go over them. To his surprise, he discovered he hadn’t written anything at all other than the dates and times of his father’s medications for the last three days. He hadn’t even been keeping track of his own. Had he even been taking them? He must have taken them. But he couldn’t remember actually dumping the pills out of their bottles into his hand and swallowing them.
Ben went into the bathroom, took his own meds, and made a point of recording it in the notebook. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that he hadn’t missed any of his medications.
It had been a good day. For a few hours, he felt better than he could remember feeling for a long time. He’d made some real progress and genuinely believed he might actually be able to find Grace. This was the first time since she’d disappeared that he’d felt optimistic at all.
It was nine thirty when he went to bed, and only five minutes later he was asleep.
Ben woke early and had a plan for the morning in place before the coffee had even finished brewing. If he got Peter up a little early, he could be at the Marriott by eight. He didn’t think it likely that Rob would be out earlier than that. Of course, Ben had no idea what had happened there after he left or what he’d find when he got there. But Rob was still his best shot at putting the pieces together. Ben didn’t care anymore about what Rob wanted or who he was worried about getting “too close.” If Rob didn’t like it, Ben would tell him he was going to the LBPD.
He wasn’t quite ready to do that yet, though he wouldn’t tell Rob. There were a few more things he wanted to check on himself before he went to Becerra. He needed to talk to Amy again and ask about Kyle. She hadn’t said anything about Grace being involved with anyone, but even if she didn’t have any direct knowledge of him, she might know something she didn’t realize could be useful.
In all likelihood, Kyle was just someone Grace had been briefly involved with before moving on. But he was a loose thread. “You pull on a loose thread,” he remembered saying to Jennifer years ago, “and it either comes off in your fingers, or everything starts to unravel.”
Ben would go to Becerra, but not until he’d pulled every thread he could find.
As soon as he had Peter set up with breakfast, he showered, shaved, and put on his khakis and his only other dress shirt. He’d need to do a load of laundry if he was going to dress for work the next day. He folded the tie and put it in the pocket of the sport coat. It would be too much if Rob answered the door when he knocked. Without the tie, though, he could just say he had an appointment or something, if Rob asked why he was dressed up. But he wanted to be able to put the tie on in case he needed to use the shield with the front-desk or cleaning staff.
“You look nice,” Peter said. He was just finishing his coffee. “You have to go somewhere?”
“I do, Dad. I’ll be gone for an hour or two. Will you be okay?”
Peter nodded.
“How’s your stomach?”
“Not too bad.” He rubbed his belly as if he weren’t quite sure that was true.
Ben took Peter’s cup and refilled it with coffee, sugar, and Boost. Then he covered the cup with a folded paper towel and put it down on the corner of Peter’s place mat on the counter. “This is for later, okay?”
On the way to the Marriott, Ben felt like he was finally on the right track. The pieces of the puzzle weren’t exactly all fitting together yet, but he was beginning to see them. It was almost as if Grace was a corner and he had just found the first matching piece.
As he drove east on Spring and emerged from the tunnel under the airport, Ben got the first inkling that something was off as an LBPD black-and-white sped past him. Stopped at the signal at Lak
ewood Boulevard, he couldn’t get a good look at the Marriott parking lot across the street, but there was already a twisting tightness in his stomach. The light changed and he crossed the intersection to see at least a dozen LBPD cruisers crowding the front of the hotel.
The entrance to the parking lot wasn’t on Spring, but rather on a connecting road. As Ben turned right onto Airport Plaza Drive, he saw there was also a mobile-command trailer and a coroner’s-department van in the crowd of vehicles.
Someone was dead.
Ben turned the Volvo around in the Auto Club parking lot and headed back home.
“Is something wrong?” Peter said through the closed bathroom door.
“No, everything’s okay,” Ben said, hoping his father wouldn’t be able to hear the lie in his voice. “I just need a few more minutes.”
He took another lorazepam and washed his face.
“Breathe,” he whispered to his reflection in the mirror. “Breathe.”
“Can I ask you something?” she says.
You fight the overwhelming urge to cringe, because you know what’s coming. “Of course,” you say. “Anything.”
It’s late. You’re pretty sure the two of you have never had a conversation this late at night before. Peter had already been in bed for a couple of hours when you heard the soft tapping on the patio door. You were surprised to see her, but happy to help when she told you that she’d locked herself out of the studio. She’d been planning to meet some friends for a late dinner, but realized she’d left her keys inside when she tried to get into her car. You opened the door for her and they were right there on the counter in the kitchenette. Instead of picking them up, she put her bag down and kicked off her shoes. She’d been outside for half an hour trying to figure out another way to get inside so she wouldn’t have to bother you, and now she was too late to meet her friends. She’d already texted them to say she wouldn’t be able to make it after all.
