Thread of Innocence (Joe Tyler Mystery #4)

by Jeff Shelby

  He snickered, then held the bottle to his lips. “Well, fucking ask me because I'm busy.”

  I planted my back foot and drove my fist right into his gut. A fine mist of beer erupted from his mouth and he dropped the bottle, the glass shattering into large, jagged pieces. He staggered back, his hands clutching at his stomach and I shoved him with both hands. He toppled over backwards and I shut the door behind me.

  I patted him down while he writhed on the floor. I pulled out a wad of cash from one of his pockets and tossed it on the floor next to him. There was nothing else on him. I glanced at the television, the only light in the otherwise darkened room. Some reality show where a guy with a beard was talking to the camera, then chuckling at his own joke.

  “What the fuck?” Farvar mumbled, his knees to his chest. “What the fuck?”

  “What the fuck is right,” I said. “Our conversation is going to go a little differently this time. You hear me?”

  “Fuck you,” Farvar snarled.

  I took a step back, then swung my foot forward as hard as I could, digging my toe deep into his side. He howled and rolled to his side.

  “Take note,” I said. “There is no cop here this time. Just me and you. And I'm prepared to do whatever I need to do to get what I want from you.”

  He was still rocking back and forth on his side, his arms wrapped around his body.

  “Have you ever taken or sold a child?” I asked.

  “Man, you can...” he started to stay.

  I feinted like I was going to kick his ribs again. He bucked, raising his head off the floor. I pivoted slightly and swung my foot into the side of his head. His head snapped away from me and his entire face screwed up in pain, his hands coming up to his head now.

  “I'm not screwing around,” I said. “And I can do this all night. No one is coming to save you.”

  He was breathing heavy, his chest heaving up and down. His left hand was clamped tightly over his left ear. He had one eye open, looking at me.

  “Have you ever taken or sold a child?” I asked again.

  He hesitated, then said “Yeah.”

  “Tell me.”

  “About which one?” he said.

  “All of them.”

  He frowned, still grabbing at his ear. “Come on. How am I gonna do that?”

  “You doing the taking or selling?”

  “Both, dude. Both. Can I sit up?”

  I nodded.

  He pushed himself slowly, rubbed one more time at his ear, then leaned back on his hands.

  “Both,” he said. “I've done both.”

  I didn't say anything.

  Farvar shrugged. “Look, man. Money's money. Somebody brings me a job, I take it. I don't give a shit who it is. If I can do it, I do it. Gotta eat, dude.”

  “Maybe try shoplifting,” I said. “You're done with kids.”

  He snorted. “Yeah. Whatever you say. And shoplifting won't pay like kids.”

  The anger was welling up inside of me. I'd been around plenty of people who had no regard for the safety and well-being of children. But Farvar was proving himself to be a special kind of asshole. The kind that continued to operate without getting caught.

  “Think back,” I said. “In Coronado. In San Diego. Were you involved with a girl there?”

  He shrugged. “I don't know.”

  I pulled the gun from my waistband and aimed it at the middle of his face. “Think hard.”

  He didn't look frightened in any way by the gun. Instead, he laughed.

  “Again? This is like deja fucking vu,” he said, frowning at me like I was stupid. “I told you last time, man. You want information it's going to cost you money.”

  “Remember that girl I told you about last time? The girl you thought you might remember?” I held the gun steady on him. “She was my daughter.”

  Something flickered through his eyes and I saw, for the first time, a fleeting moment of fear, like he'd realized that maybe he'd finally run into someone who was angry enough to do something to him.

  He was correct in that assumption.

  The flicker passed, though, replaced by the arrogance again. “Look, man. I don't know. What you said, that was a long time ago.”

  “You better think,” I said. “Or you won't walk out of here.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You'll kick my ass and I'll wish I was never alive.” He shook his head. “You don't fucking get it.”

  “Tell me what I don't get.”

  The glow of the television illuminated his ugly face in the dark. “This is what's gonna happen. Either you're gonna pay me or I'm not gonna tell you shit. You seem like you don't wanna pay, so whatever. So you're gonna beat the shit out of me. Then you'll leave. But guess what?” A smile creased his face. “I'm gonna heal up. And I'll still have the information you want. And you won't.” The smile turned into something else, something uglier, a little more evil. “And I'm gonna keep doing my thing.”

  He was trying to make me angry. It was working. But I needed him to keep talking before I kicked his teeth in.

  “Okay,” I said. “Tell me this. You've worked out of San Diego before?”

  “I'm not giving you any names, ex-cop.”

  “I'm not asking for names. Have you been involved with kids out of San Diego?”

  He thought for a moment, touching his lip with his finger, then examining the finger for blood. “Yeah. Sure.”

  “And you've done both?” I said. “You've snatched the kids and you've also had them brought to you?”

  He nodded, still looking at his finger.

  “Janine Bandencoop,” I said.

  His eyes started to move in my direction, but he caught himself before they got all the way to me, pretending like he was still trying to see if his lip was bleeding.

  But I'd seen it.

  “So you know Janine,” I said. “You probably get the kids to her. Over in Phoenix.”

  Again, there was a flash of recognition through his eyes before he could cancel it out.

  But I'd seen it.

  “She probably doesn't know you or your name,” I said. “Which is good for you. Anonymity. But sure seems like you know her.”

  He licked his lips and shrugged. “I know a lot of people.”

  “I'll bet you do,” I said. “One more question.” I paused, making sure I had his attention. “Any cops bring you kids?”

  He stared at me for a long moment and then a thin, hideous smile split the bottom half of his face.

  He raised an eyebrow. “They ain't all so good, are they?”

  I squatted down next to him and he jerked backward slightly, nervous as I took up the space in front of him.

  “I want a name,” I said. “And don't tell me you don't know. I want the name of the cop that brought my daughter to you.”

  He chewed on his bottom lip, still holding my gaze. He cleared his throat. “I think his name was...” He stopped again like he was trying to remember. Then his eyes lit up and he smiled. “I think his name was Sargent Go Fuck Yourself.”

  I brought the gun around and smashed it into his jaw. He fell to the side, not completely out, but close to it.

  I stood, my heart pounding. I was going to figure out a way to make him talk. I wasn't going to leave until I got it out of him and I didn't care how long it took.

  Or what I had to do.

  My phone vibrated in my pocket and I pulled it out as I thought about what I wanted to do.

  A blocked number flashed on the screen.

  I answered. “Hello?”

  “Mr. Tyler. This is Mario Valdez. Am I catching you at a bad time?”

  I looked down at Farvar, whose eyes were open and trying to focus. “No. Not a bad time at all.”

  “After our conversation this afternoon, I spoke with several of my colleagues about your situation,” Valdez said. “As you might imagine, they were somewhat surprised by some of the things you relayed to me.”

  I doubted they were surpri
sed by anything, but I played along. “Of course.”

  “As I said to you, we are not in the business of harming children,” Valdez said. “I want to reiterate that and tell you that my colleagues are in complete agreement with me. Children are not and have never been a part of our business.”

  “I believe you.”

  “And it is troubling to us that someone might have used your daughter in connection with a transaction or deal we had in place. Very troubling. We are not comfortable having our names attached to such a thing. Had we known, we would've dealt with it in our own way.”

  Farvar rolled onto his back, blood leaking out of his mouth, his eyes glassy, but starting to focus.

  “So after speaking to my colleagues, we have decided that your request is a fair one,” Valdez said.

  My heard hammered against the inside of my chest. I forced myself to breathe slowly.

  And Valdez said the name I'd been waiting to hear.

  I didn't respond. I focused on my breathing. On slowing my heart rate down.

  Because I finally had what I wanted.

  What I needed.

  “Mr. Tyler?” Valdez asked. “Are you still there?”

  “I'm here,” I said.

  “Does that name mean anything to you?”

  “Yes. It does.”

  “I see,” Valdez said. “Then I trust you will do with it whatever you deem necessary.”

  “Yes.”

  “And whatever is done, please understand. We will be supportive of the resolution.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You're welcome,” Valdez said and hung up.

  I shoved the phone back in my pocket and stared down at Farvar, with more clarity than I'd looked at anyone or any thing in the last decade.

  “I ain't giving you no name,” Farvar said, staring at me. “Don't matter what you do.”

  “I know,” I said. “But I have the name now.”

  Farvar looked at me, confused, his brows screwed up together. “Huh?”

  “I have what I need.”

  He looked at me like I was crazy, then smiled. “Good. Then get the fuck out of my house.”

  “So you can go back to work, right?” I asked, staring down at him, the television still illuminating his face. “Get back to business?”

  “Just get the fuck out of my house.”

  The thing with Farvar was that he would go right back to business. There was no conscience. There was no thought. He'd do what he needed to do in order to survive. And everything he would do would hurt somebody.

  I wasn't going to let that happen.

  “You sold my daughter,” I said.

  And I'm not sure what he saw in my expression, but he saw something because finally, for the first time, he looked genuinely afraid.

  “Look, man, I...”

  “You probably kept her here for a day or so,” I said, cutting him off. “Before you drove to Phoenix. She was probably crying. Scared out of her mind. And you were probably a serious dick, telling her to shut her mouth, to stop crying. Or you'd hurt her. Or maybe you did actually hurt her. And maybe that's why she can't remember anything because you terrified her.”

  “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, J
oe?”

  “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.