by Jeff Shelby
On paper, it seemed like an easy decision. Find a job, have regular hours, deposit paycheck. But I wondered if that would be enough for me. I wasn't going to go back to being a cop. That ship had both sailed and sunk. So I wasn't sure what exactly I would look for.
But as I sipped my coffee and paged through the emails sent to me by people looking for their kids, I realized there was a certain pull. I was good at helping people. I could find their kids, even if the end result wasn't always pretty. I could give them closure. I'd learned how to do it and do it well. I knew the tricks, I knew the questions to answer, I knew where to look. And by looking at the emails, I knew how desperate people were.
A ten year old boy in North Dakota.
A seventeen year old girl in New York.
A forty year old father in Florida.
A twelve year old girl in Kentucky.
Each of the emails was heartfelt, genuine, wrenching. Sent by people who'd had their lives shredded, just like mine. They didn't have any answers and they felt helpless. They'd found my name because I'd helped others and they now clung to the hope that I'd be the one to get them the answers they needed and wanted.
I closed the laptop. I knew that I wouldn't commit to traveling the country again. The only reason I'd done that in the first place was because being in San Diego was too painful and I'd taken to following tips about supposed clues to Elizabeth's whereabouts. But, now, with her home, there was no way I was going to take off and leave her. That I was certain about.
But it was hard to think about saying no to people that needed help, too.
I drained the coffee pot and decided that, in lieu of running, I'd do yard work instead. Running into Bazer the previous day had tainted my run and I hadn't gotten rid of the taste of that yet. So I started with pulling weeds in the de- covered yard and, when I saw cars pulling out of neighboring garages, I decided it was late enough that I could start making a racket with the lawn mower.
Almost an hour later, the grass was cut and I was wheeling it back into the garage. I'd just grabbed the edger when a familiar car pulled up to the curb. Mike Lorenzo got out of the driver's side and came up the walk.
“Working pretty hard,” he said. “Your face looks like a tomato.”
I inspected the piece of equipment in my hands, giving it a once over. “Been awhile since I've done this stuff,” I answered. “I'm out of shape.”
He glanced around the yard. “You seem to remember how to do it. Maybe a landscaping business is in your future.”
“Maybe,” I said.
His hair was still damp from what I assumed was a shower and he wore dress slacks and a polo shirt, tucked neatly into the waist. His face was clean-shaven, but his eyes gave him away. They looked exhausted, bloodshot and ringed with circles.
I knew the feeling.
“I don't want to stop the momentum you've got going here, but I wanted to talk to you,” he said. “You give me a minute?”
I laid the edger down on the grass. “Sure.”
He rubbed at the side of his face for a moment, like he was trying to gather what he wanted to say. “I don't know what's going on here, Joe, but it doesn't feel right.”
I wasn't sure how to respond to that, so I didn't say anything.
“I know we were good before you got to Minnesota,” he continued. “It was the same old, same old for us. Then something changed. I don't know what it was but it changed.” He paused and tugged at his earlobe, staring at the grass, waiting for me to answer. When I didn't, he said., “Let me start by asking you this: did I something to offend you?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Something that pissed you off?”
“No.”
“Say something inappropriate to you?”
“No.”
He took all that in and nodded slowly. “See, I didn't think I had, but I'm just trying to clear the bases here. Because I can't figure out what I've done that has put me on the outs with you.”
Sweat dripped down the back of my neck and I scanned the grass. Didn't look like I'd missed any spots.
“And I know I'm not dreaming this, Joe,” he continued. “You and I have been friends for way too long for me to think otherwise. We've been through a boatload together and I like to think I know you as well as I know anyone.” He stared at me for a long moment. “So I need you tell me what the problem is here, Joe. At the very least, I think you owe me that.”
I wiped at the sweat on my forehead, dried my palm on my shirt. “It's complicated, Mike.”
“Un-complicate it for me, then.”
“Not that easy.”
He stuck his hands in his pockets, rocked back on his heels. “I got a call from Bazer last night.”
I raised an eyebrow, tried to act disinterested. “Oh yeah?”
He nodded. “Oh yeah. That guy hasn't called me that late at home in probably five years. And all he wanted to talk about was you.”
I wiped at the sweat again. “Me?”
He nodded again. “You.”
“What about me?”
He rocked on his heels again. “Wondering if I knew you were still digging in Elizabeth's case. Wondering if I was helping. But you know what was weird?”
I didn't say anything.
“He didn't warn me away,” he said. “Was like he wanted to be helpful and shit, which we both know isn't him. He didn't make any ultimatums, he didn't tell me to block you on Facebook, he didn't tell me to lose your number.” He shook his head. “No. He was acting like I should help you. I didn't tell him you weren't giving me the time of day.”
My mind immediately started turning. Why had Bazer called Mike? Was he looking for more info on the bust I'd asked about? It made no sense, especially after our conversation on the beach.
“So I wanna know what's going on, Joe,” Mike said. “No bullshit. Because this is all starting to spook me a little bit here.”
I dried my hands on my shirt again. “You remember a bust off the I.B. pier about the same time Elizabeth was taken?”
He stared at me for a moment, his eyes like black marbles. “Gonna need more details than that. I've arrested guys at the pier about once a week for my entire life.”
I shook my head. “No. This was bigger. Tijuana cartel and a local gang.”
The light clicked in his eyes. “The Kings. Yeah, I remember.”
“What was it?”
He made a face like it was a hundred other cases. “I dunno. Heroin bust, I think. DEA had tapped into the cartel and they were making a delivery to a bunch of bangers. Buddy of mine in the DEA called me and asked for local backup.” He shrugged. “Went down without any problems. Got guys on both sides.”
“You remember the money involved?”
He made another face. “The exact amount? No. Was a decent chunk of cash, though. Maybe a quarter mil? I don't recall.”
“And you took it as evidence?”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. There was some jurisdictional bullshit with I.B. and DEA had some deal running with the Mexican government. I don't remember the details because I don't think I understood it all. Bunch of guys trying to prove who had the bigger dick. But my DEA guy brought me in so we could be department of record.” He shrugged. “So, yeah, technically it was my bust. But not really. And I never pretended it was. My guy needed a favor and I helped him out. That was it. He knew I wasn't gonna glory hog the thing.”
I nodded. That was definitely Mike. He'd never held any ambitions to be anything other than a detective in a small police department. At least, that's what I'd always thought.
“You remember anything funny happening with the money?” I asked.
Mike squinted at me, his entire face screwing up with confusion. “Why the hell are you asking me about some banger bust from back then? What the hell does that have anything to do with anything?”
“I don't know that it does,” I said.
“But what? You think it does? What the hell are you talking about, Jo
e?”
“The money. You remember anything?”
He sighed, looked away and shook his head. Then he looked back at me. “I remember there was some confusion when it needed to be turned over from evidence. I think we thought DEA had it and they thought we had it.” He rolled his eyes. “Same shit different day. Got recorded wrong or some shit like that. Found it eventually and it went to DEA because it was theirs to deal with. End of story.”
His story completely made sense. Paperwork snafus weren't uncommon and things got lost until they got found. Not often, but it happened. And if multiple agencies were involved, it got more confusing. So I could see that happening.
I just wasn't sure what to believe.
“You remember IAD coming around for Bazer?” I asked.
Mike rubbed at the side of his face again, the same nervous tic from when he'd initially started talking. “Why the hell am I being interrogated?”
“You're not.”
“The hell I'm not,” he said, anger flashing in his eyes. “The hell I'm not. I come here to ask you why you won't talk to me about your daughter and why Bazer's suddenly making calls to my house about you and all I get in return is a bunch of bullshit questions about a case with more dust on it than my TV stand. I have no doubt all of this is connected somehow, but you aren't telling me shit and I don't get why.” He stared at me. “Unless you really think I had something to do with Elizabeth. Which, for the life of me, I can't even fathom.”
I scanned the grass again. There was a dead patch on a corner near the sidewalk. I wondered if the sprinklers were working right.
I looked at Mike again. “IAD. Bazer. You remember anything?”
Mike's eyes zeroed in on me. I recognized the look. It was one he gave to suspects when they wouldn't cooperate, when they screwed up their stories and he was exhausted by the crap they were feeding him. I'd seen him give it to dozens of guys over the years and it nearly always worked.
I just stared back.
He finally pulled his car keys from his pocket, walked down the driveway, got into his car and roared away from the curb.
TWENTY EIGHT
I finished the yard and went in to shower.
I wasn't sure what to make of Mike anymore. Between my conversation with both him and Bazer, I had no clue what had gone on or who was actually on my side and who was covering their own ass. I also wondered if maybe I was just completely off-base and neither of them were involved with Elizabeth's disappearance. Maybe I was drawing connections simply because I wanted to make connections. Maybe Bazer was just an asshole and Mike was my friend.
Maybe.
I dressed when I got out of the shower and heard my phone buzzing out on the table. I saw Lasko's name on the screen.
“Hey,” I said.
“I got a name,” he said. “The trafficking.”
I took a deep breath. “Okay. Anyone one we know?”
“No,” he said. “A guy named Mosaic Farvar.”
It was an interesting name, but not one I'd ever heard before.
“I did some cross-referencing,” Lasko explained. “Old cases, unsolved cases, missing persons, that kind of thing. His name popped on a couple of cases involving kids. Possible suspect, person of interest, general asshat that's always in trouble.”
“Arrests?”
“Nope,” he answered. “Nothing ever stuck. I made a couple of calls on cases out of San Diego. He was tagged in a case in Yuma and then a couple out in the desert. El Centro, Blythe. People I talked to were certain that he was into it, but they couldn't make anything to stick. General consensus was that he's a very smart piece of shit.”
“When you say it...”
He hesitated. “The cases he popped on were missing kids. People I talked to were pretty certain he had a hand in the disappearances, but again. They couldn't get anything solid, even after watching for awhile after the initial contact. No one seemed to think he was part of some sophisticated trafficking ring, but they didn't think he was beneath selling kids, either.”
I sat down in the chair at the table. “Do we know where he is?”
“No, not yet,” he said. “I checked on a couple of last knowns, but didn't hit anything. He was pretty nomadic, but he never seemed to leave the larger area. I'm still working, but I had a minute and wanted to give you a heads up that maybe we had something.”
“Okay,” I said. “Thanks.”
“You alright?” he said. “You don't sound great.”
“I'm...I don't know what I am.”
He didn't say anything. The sign of a good investigator.
“Lorenzo came by here earlier,” I said and explained what happened.
“Seems plausible,” he said, when I was finished. “I mean, it makes sense.”
“I know,” I said. “And so does Bazer's story.”
“So maybe they aren't what you think they are.”
“Or maybe one's just a great liar.”
“Or that.”
“This isn't really getting us anywhere, is it?” I said, chuckling.
“Not really, but makes for great conversation.”
“I just have this feeling that it starts with them,” I said. “And actually its not just a feeling. The timeframe works. Bandencoop to the Corzines we know is legit. I just wanna know how she got to Bandencoop and I feel like the rest of the answers will be there.”
“Probably so,” he said. “That's the way it usually works, isn't it?”
It really was. You just needed one giant piece to see the rest of the puzzle. We were missing the giant piece.
“Let me keep going on Farvar,” he said. “Any luck, I'll have an address soon or at least someone we can talk to about him.”
“Okay.”
“And can I offer some advice?”
“Yeah.”
The line buzzed for a moment. “Until we're sure about either Bazer or Lorenzo, might be a good idea to stay away from both. If one of them is lying to you, the more you ask, the more suspicious they're gonna get. We don't need them snuffing anything out ahead of us.”
“Got it,” I said. “And I agree. I'll keep to myself.”
We hung up.
I stood in the quiet, empty house and wondered if Mosaic Farvar took my daughter.
TWENTY NINE
“I'm sorry I hung up on you,” Lauren said.
I'd spent the rest of the day answering emails, pointing the parents of these missing kids toward people who might be in a position to help them immediately, given that I wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. I'd grilled brats on the back patio for dinner and I'd just finished cleaning up when she called.
I leaned against the kitchen counter. “That's alright.”
“No, it really wasn't,” she said. “I didn't need to hang up on you or send you to voicemail when you called back.”
“It's okay.”
“I'm just tired and strung out,” she said, and I could hear both in her voice. “I'm not sleeping at all. I'm worrying and I'm just wiped out.”
“Don't forget pregnant,” I said.
“That, too.”
I wiped down the counter with the dish rag. “Mornings have been okay?”
“Not really,” she said. “Tolerable, I guess.”
“Better than awful, I guess.”
“I'm gonna give her another day or two, Joe,” she said. “Then we're going to come back.”
I turned on the faucet and rinsed out the rag, then wrung it out and draped it over the faucet. “Elizabeth okay with that?”
“I haven't told her,” Lauren said. “But there's...I don't know. There's too much stress here, Joe. At least for me and it's not good. I'm not doing her any favors and I'm sure as hell not doing myself any good. I mean, how long are we supposed to give her for closure”
“I honestly don't know,” I said. “But if you're ready to come home, then come home. I'm fine with that.”
“Are you?”
“Yeah, of course,” I said. I started to gra
b the dishes I'd washed by hand and stow them back in cupboards and drawers. “I'm not there. You are. I'm not going to judge what you think is best, Lauren. If you think it's time to go, then it's time to go.”
She sighed. “It's like being here is setting us back. I don't know how to explain it exactly. I don't feel like I'm getting any closer to her or repairing our relationship. And I know that's not what coming here was for, but we've been together all the time and we're barely speaking. Things are worse between us than when we left.”
I frowned. I knew that had to be hard. Lauren was less patient than I was and she wanted things to be fine overnight. She knew that wasn't possible, but that didn't mean she didn't want it to happen. She'd probably assumed that spending so much time together would bring her and Elizabeth closer together. Instead, she felt like the gap was growing wider.
“And maybe she needs more time. I don't know,” Lauren said. “I'm still not on board with letting her maintain a relationship with them, but I don't feel like I can make that decision with a clear head here. There's just too much going on.”
“Have you told her you're ready to go?”
“No. Not yet.”
“What has she said about the Corzines?”
Another sigh. “Not much. We honestly haven't talked that much. She doesn't have much to say to me. We went back over there today and it was a little tense. She was boxing some things up to ship back to San Diego. But she honestly hasn't said much to me about anything.”
“They have anything to say?”
“No, not really. After yesterday, I think everyone decided to keep their distance.”
I wondered how that was affecting Elizabeth, seeing Lauren at odds with them. I wondered if she was choosing a side or if she even felt like there was a side to choose. It sounded like she was stuck firmly in the middle.
