Thread of Innocence (Joe Tyler Mystery #4)

by Jeff Shelby

  I pulled to the curb and cut the engine. I stared at the house through the passenger window and wondered if Elizabeth had been brought to the house or if she'd been to Arizona at all. My gut started churning all over again, the same feeling I'd lived with for so long when I'd had no clue where she was.

  I stepped out of the car and no sooner had I closed my door that two college-aged young men emerged from the house. Both wore baggy athletic shorts and sleeveless T-shirts advertising a mixed martial arts company. They seemed close in age. One was a little taller than me, one slightly shorter. They both had their hair cut close to the scalp, but the shorter one had left a trail down the middle, some sort of pseudo mohawk. Neither looked terribly friendly.

  “Help you?” the taller one asked, stopping on the sidewalk.

  “I'm looking for Janine,” I said.

  “She's not available,” he said, rolling his shoulders, flexing his biceps.

  “I'd like to speak with her, please,” I said.

  “He just told you no,” the shorter one snarled. “Are you deaf?”

  “No,” I said. “I just repeated what I wanted.”

  His brow furrowed on his tan forehead and he glanced at the taller one. “He's a dick, Landon.”

  “Easy,” Landon said to him. To me, he repeated “She's not available right now.”

  “When will she be?” I asked.

  He shrugged, flexing the biceps again.

  “You both live here with her?” I asked.

  Landon didn't move, but the shorter one nodded.

  “She your mother?” I asked.

  The shorter one nodded again. This time, though, Landon saw him and frowned at him.

  “Why don't you go back in and tell her Joe Tyler would like to speak to her about Elizabeth Tyler?” I said. “Either one of you will be fine.”

  “Mister, I don't care who you are,” Landon said, stepping off the curb onto the street. “She's not coming to speak to you.”

  “I thought she wasn't available.”

  He smiled, exposing crooked teeth. “Call it what you want.”

  “I think I'm gonna go knock,” I said.

  The shorter one stepped into the street next to Landon. “Try it.”

  I looked from him to Landon. “Sure you don't wanna tell her I'm here? Before we do this? Because there's a good chance you won't be able to speak when we're done and then I'll probably just walk inside.”

  Landon smiled and shook his head, wiggled his hands at his sides. “Mister, I don't know...”

  I hit him with a hard right cross, then jammed my foot into his knee, pushing the joint in the direction it wasn't meant to go. He screamed and crumpled to the street. The shorter one jumped at me, but I already had my arm up, waiting on him. I caught him by the throat and shoved him. He stumbled to the side and I did the same thing to his knee that I'd done to Landon's. He fell backwards to the asphalt. Both were clutching their knees, rolling around like turtles on their shells.

  I went to step past Landon and he reached for my ankle. I shook his hand loose, pivoted and kicked him in the jaw, my instep coming up right under his chin. His head snapped back and he went over like a bag of sand.

  “I told you you might not be able to talk,” I said, then looked at the shorter one. “You gonna try something stupid?”

  He was still clutching his knee, tears streaming from his eyes, but he managed to shake his head.

  “Probably the ACL and the MCL,” I said, pointing at the knee. “You'll need surgery. You get up off the ground and I guarantee you you'll need surgery on both of your knees.”

  I left them there writhing in the street.

  TWENTY

  The front door was askew and I knocked on the doorframe as I took a step inside. The floor was covered in white tile and the white-washed walls were peppered with what looked to me like expensive artwork. There was a small table in the entry way and I could see into the living room off to my right. Two small leather sofas, a flat screen TV and a square glass coffee table. Everything was neat and orderly and expensive looking.

  A small, compact woman entered from the other side of the living room. Long dark hair swept up in a neat bundle on top of her head, wearing faded jeans and a purple T-shirt, her feet bare. She wore little makeup and was free of the fake tan the two I'd left in the street sported. She was maybe ten years older than me and she immediately looked wary.

  “Can I help you?” she asked, stopping short of the glass table, keeping all of the furniture in between us.

  “Are you Janine Bandencoop?” I asked.

  She didn't answer immediately, as if she was weighing her options. But then too much time passed and we both knew she was Janine Bandencoop and she couldn't deny it.

  “Yes,” she said. “You are?”

  “Joe Tyler,” I said, then gestured back toward the front door. “Whomever the two were that met me out front are lying in the street. Both will need a doctor.”

  Concern settled on her face and she took a step toward the table. “What? My sons?”

  “I guess,” I said. “I asked if you were home. They lied and said you weren't. It went downhill after that.”

  “I'm calling the police,” she said.

  “Please do,” I said. “I'm guessing we'll need them eventually, anyway.”

  She didn't move for a phone. “Who are you?”

  “I told you,” I said. “I want to know if you were involved in my daughter's abduction from Coronado Island in San Diego.”

  Her thin eyebrows attempted to furrow together in concern but it took her a fraction too long. “I don't know who you are or what you're talking about. I want you out of my home right now.”

  I didn't move, just stared at her, my expression impassive.

  “And I want to see my sons,” she said.

  “You wanna see them?” I held up a finger. “Hang on.”

  I went back out the front door and they were both where I'd left them. I grabbed Landon by the foot on the leg I hadn't mangled. I looked at his brother.

  “I'm taking him inside,” I said. “You stay here. Got it?”

  He nodded, grimacing, still hugging his knee.

  I tugged on Landon's leg and he moaned, the lights still trying to come back on his head. I pulled him up over the curb and through the gravel. He started moaning louder, making whiny high pitched sounds that were unintelligible. I knew his jaw was broken and he couldn't move it. I got him to the porch, pulled him up over it and dragged him into the house until I had him right near the glass table.

  I dropped his leg and looked at Janine. “Here you go.”

  She folded her arms around herself and shivered. “Jesus,” she whispered, her eyes widened in horror.

  “His knee is spaghetti and his jaw is broken,” I said. “The other one's in the street. He's in better shape, but he's afraid to move.”

  “I don't know who you think you are,” she said, the anger beginning to rise up. “But if you think...”

  “Shut the fuck up, lady,” I said, waving my hand. “And if you feed me any bullshit here, I'll start breaking more bones in Landon's body.”

  Landon, hearing his name, whined again, sounding like a beaten dog. He tried to move on the ground, but I stepped on his damaged knee and the whine kicked into high gear.

  “Stop!” she screamed. “Stop!”

  “I want to know if you were involved in my daughter's abduction,” I said again, lifting my foot off Landon. “Not quite ten years ago. In San Diego.”

  She stayed quiet.

  I pulled my phone out of my pocket and held it out. “I've got a federal agent on speed dial. She specializes in missing children. You either start talking or I make the call. You've got three seconds to decide.”

  She chewed on her bottom lift for a moment. “Alright.”

  “Alright what?”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “I already told you. My daughter. Almost ten years ago. San Diego.”

  Sh
e closed her eyes. “It's hard for me to recall...”

  “Figure out a way to recall, Janine,” I said, my voice rising. “I'm about out of patience here.”

  She opened her eyes, licked her lips and glanced at her son on the floor. “I need more details. I'm involved in many...transactions.”

  “Let's start there,” I said. “Tell me about your transactions.”

  She took a deep breath and sat down on the edge of the sofa closest to her. “I run a private adoption agency.”

  “So you're licensed?”

  She hesitated, then shook her head. “No.”

  I didn't say anything.

  “People come to me with children that need homes,” she said. “I find them homes.”

  “Who brings them to you?”

  “Just depends,” she said. “Most times, they request anonymity.”

  “You don't run background checks? Ask for birth records? Anything?”

  “As I said. They request anonymity.”

  “So you have no idea where these kids are coming from?” I asked, incredulous. “And then you just find some family for them?” I paused. “And you must pay for them. The ones that are brought to you. Then you make it up when you sell to the loving families, correct? Maybe charge double what you paid?”

  She didn't say anything.

  I was shaking. I needed to get control of myself and my temper or I'd learn nothing. But sitting there, looking at a woman who did this, made me sick to my stomach.

  “How do they find you?” I asked. “The people who bring you children.”

  “There are channels,” she said, wringing her hands in her lap. “Just depends.”

  “Like which segment of the child trafficking world they are coming from, right?” I said, frowning. “Using big words doesn't change what you do, lady.”

  “I'm helping families who can't have their own children,” she argued. “They are families desperate for children, families that give them good homes.”

  “Or unwittingly take in abducted kids,” I said. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  She stayed quiet.

  I shook my head, trying to shake the anger out of me. I needed to stay focused, remember why I was there. I could let other people deal with the details of her operation.

  “A young girl named Elizabeth Tyler,” I said. “I don't know how or who brought her to you. But you sold her to a family in Minneapolis. The Corzines.”

  “I don't sell these children. I match them...”

  “Spare me,” I said, holding up a hand. “You buy and sell children. If you're paying for them, then you're looking for kids who need to be placed, to use your bullshit word. You may not be the one snatching them, but you're just as guilty. So fuck you.”

  She sank back into the sofa.

  “There may have been a story involving an explosion and the death of her parents,” I said. “It was bullshit. But she was then sold to the Corzines in Minnesota.”

  We sat there in silence for a minute or so. I wasn't sure if she was trying to remember or if she was trying to figure out a way out of her living room. She still hadn't confirmed anything about Elizabeth, so there was still a possibility that she wasn't involved in her disappearance. Worst case scenario was that I'd found a child trafficker and could shut her down.

  “She was at the airport,” Janine Bandencoop finally said.

  Something pinched inside my gut. “Who was?”

  “The girl you're describing,” she said. “I know she came from San Diego.”

  I stepped over Landon, who'd passed out again on the floor, and sat down on the sofa opposite her.

  She leaned back in the sofa, as if I might strike her. When she realized I wasn't going to, she took another breath. “I don't know who brought her there or how she got there.”

  “She was just left there?”

  She hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. I was instructed where to pick her up.”

  “But you had to pay for her,” I said, forcing the words out of my mouth.

  “The payment was made before she arrived,” she said.

  “How?”

  “I was given an account,” she said, the lines at the corners of her mouth tight. “I deposited the money there.”

  “How much?”

  “I don't recall.”

  I steadied my breathing. “So you met her at the airport.”

  She hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. I'd already arranged the match with the family in Minnesota. We arranged a meeting in a hotel. It was the same day. The girl was with me for less than an hour.”

  I swallowed hard, choking down the urge to smash her head into the glass table. “So you met the Corzines then?”

  She shook her head. “No. I was already gone by the time they arrived to pick her up.”

  “I don't understand.”

  She folded her arms around herself again. “I did not have direct contact with the family. I placed her in a hotel room and then left. The family was then responsible for picking her up.”

  I stared at her. “Sounds like you've got the system down.”

  She didn't say anything.

  “So then what? You go back and make sure the room's empty? The package has been delivered?”

  She stayed quiet.

  She didn't need to answer. I knew I was close enough to getting it right. She was covering her tracks and took enough safeguards to make sure she kept her distance. It was what good criminals did.

  “What did my daughter say to you in the time you were with her?” I said, my jaw clenched, my hands balled into fists.

  She shook her head. “Nothing. Not a word. She was entirely silent.”

  “Did you try to talk to her?”

  She nodded. “Yes. But she didn't respond. She barely looked at me. She may have been giving something to calm her nerves.”

  I was being bombarded with emotions. I saw Elizabeth, sitting in the Phoenix airport, alone. Snatched from our front yard, driven across the desert, left by herself, then picked up by some woman she'd never seen before. Dropped at another hotel to be picked up by more people she didn't know. It was nearly suffocating, letting the pictures form in my head.

  I cleared my throat. “So you drove her to the hotel? Did she want to go?”

  She thought for a moment. “She seemed indifferent. She didn't speak. But she didn't resist. She did what I asked. We left the airport, got in the car and drove to the hotel. I explained to her that the family she would be going with would be taking her to Minnesota.”

  “Then what?”

  She shrugged. “We went to the hotel.”

  “But you said you didn't meet the family.”

  Her lips twitched. “Correct.”

  I didn't say anything.

  She fidgeted with her hands. “I put her in the hotel room so she could wait for the family.”

  I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “You left her alone in the room.”

  “For just a few minutes, yes.”

  I stared down at the floor for a minute. A million questions were running through my head. Why didn't Elizabeth try to get away? Why didn't she ask someone for help at the airport? Why didn't she pick up the hotel phone? I could think of a hundred ways in which she could've tried to get away. I had to remind myself, though, that she was young, she'd been told we were dead and that she was probably in shock. But it still frustrated me. And it still didn't answer the question as to who took her from the yard and what happened in between that moment and when she was told we were gone. The more things I was able to unearth, the more questions were left unanswered.

  I looked up again at Janine Bandencoop. “So then they just picked her up and that was it?”

  She nodded. “Yes. I made sure they showed up. I saw them pull up at the hotel. Then I left.”

  “How'd they get into the room?”

  “They were instructed to ask at the front desk for an envelope,” she said. “I'd left a key card to the room for them.”

  Nea
t and clean. And awful.

  I took another deep breath and stared across the table at her until she started to squirm.

  “I want the account information,” I said.

  “The what?”

  “The account information,” I repeated. “The account that you paid into to buy my daughter in order to sell her.”

  “I told you,” she said, shaking her head. “I don't have...”

  “I want the fucking account information!” I screamed at her.

  She jerked back in the sofa, clearly startled.

  “I don't give a shit what you have to do,” I said, lowering my voice again. “But you will find that account information.”

  “I never had a name,” she said, throwing her hands up. “I never had a name.”

  “I don't care,” I said. “I want the account number. I want the initial email or whatever that came to you that indicated someone had my daughter and was offering her to you.”

  “That was nearly a decade ago,” she said.

  “Yeah, I'm fucking aware of that,” I said, staring at her. “I know exactly how long she was gone.”

  She looked away from me.

  “So I want anything related to my daughter,” I said. “Emails, message board notes, bank account numbers, the dollar amounts. All of it. Everything you have.”

  I saw her teeth grinding, her jaw sliding back and forth. Her hands shook in her lap. She was scared of me. And she needed to be.

  “It'll take me some time to come up with the information,” she said. “I don't keep records. I don't keep files.”

  “You have until tomorrow,” I said.

  “Tomorrow's impossible,” she said, shaking her head. “I can't do that.”

  “You have until tomorrow,” I said. “Or I bring my federal agent friend in here and we start tracking every fucking child you've ever bought and sold. You don't believe me?” I smiled at her. “Check my name on the Internet. See how many kids I've found over the last few years. Read the rumors about what I've done to help families.” I paused. “And know that most of the rumors, especially the ones where I've hurt people to find who I was looking for, are true.” I glanced down at Landon. “You think he looks bad now?” I shook my head. “You won't believe what I'll do to him if I don't get what I want from you.” I stood. “So. Tomorrow.”