Thread of Innocence (Joe Tyler Mystery #4)

by Jeff Shelby

  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 stopp
ed 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.”

  His right arm suddenly sprang forward and I didn't think, just reacted, firing before he got the gun more than two inches off the floor. He slumped backward, the gun falling to the floor, his head hitting the nightstand before his body slid down to the carpeting.

  The shot rang in my ears for a long time and the gun felt like an anvil in my hand. My arm fell to my side.

  I stared at Bazer on the ground.

  There was no joy. There was no relief. There was nothing good in seeing him lying there.

  But he couldn't hurt Elizabeth or Lauren or myself ever again.

  And there was something in that.

  FORTY TWO

  I walked outside and the car I'd seen earlier was now parked behind mine on the street.

  I walked over to it.

  Mike Lorenzo was sitting behind the wheel, his window down.

  The second call I'd made on the way back from Brawley had been to him. I'd told him what I'd learned, what I was planning to do, that I was going to confront Bazer and I wasn't sure what the outcome was going to be. I told him that I wanted him to listen to what went on through my phone, which was why I'd tapped the phone and dialed him from Bazer's front porch. He never voiced an objection and when he didn't stop me before I went, I took it that he was implicitly implying that he was good with what I was doing.

  “You heard it all?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  I pulled my phone out of my pocket. “It's recorded, too.”

  He waved the phone away. “I recorded it on my end, but we don't want to use that anyway. It'll bring up too many questions that will be too hard for you to explain.” He exhaled. “Okay. I need to call it in. You ready for that?”

  I nodded.

  “Should be fine,” Mike said, leaning back in the seat. “I heard it live. I can vouch. I'll say I came in at the end and saw it. He confessed. I'll tie it together. Was self-defense.” He paused. “Am I gonna find Farvar to confirm his part?”

  “The lady in Phoenix is named Janine Bandencoop,” I said, not answering the question. “She's the one who sold Elizabeth to the Corzines in Minnesota. I can get you an address, but I guarantee she's not there anymore.”

  He stared at me, chewed on his bottom lip. “Farvar's place clean?”

  I shrugged.

  Mike's mouth twisted into something ugly for a moment. “Alright. I'll cover Farvar. We can leave his name out of it, anyway. If I gotta bring it in, I know a guy out there.” He paused. “It'll be okay.”

  I didn't say anything.

  “I'm gonna have to call Blundell, too,” he said.

  “I know,” I said. “I'm ready.”

  He nodded, staring at the steering wheel. “This is good, Joe. Good for Elizabeth. She's safe now. It's completely over.” He looked up at me. “That's a good thing.”

  “I'm sorry, Mike,” I said, knowing that I'd permanently damaged our friendship. “I just didn't know. I got all fucked up. And I just didn't know. About anyone. If it's worth anything, Bazer fed me a couple of lies about you, just to throw me off. You heard him say it in there. But I know that doesn't fix things.” I grimaced. “So I'm truly sorry.”

  He turned his phone over in his hands a couple of times, his eyes focused on that. Finally, he looked at me, his eyes empty, and I couldn't read him.

  “I'm gonna call it in,” he said.

  FORTY THREE

  My knee was bouncing up and down as I sat in the airport, glancing at the screen that flashed all of the incoming flights.

  Elizabeth and Lauren would be landing in five minutes.

  I hadn't slept. I'd stayed at Bazer's house for several hours, answering questions, repeating my story over and over. I'd gone to confront Bazer. I'd called Mike, but hadn't waited for him to get there. Bazer had pulled the gun out. I'd shot him in self-defense.

  Blundell showed up and clearly didn't believe a word I'd said. She'd come at me hard with a bunch of questions, asking them in different ways.

  I didn't say more than I had to and I stuck to my story.

  Mike backed me up, noting that I'd called him prior to arriving at Bazer's home and that he'd come in at the end, heard enough to implicate Bazer and witnessed the shooting, that it was self-defense on my part.

  Blundell ended up stalking away from us, red-faced, shaking her head.

  After several hours, there were no more questions to answer. I'd held my own. There'd be follow up, but as long as Mike backed me up, I'd be fine. Because the truth was I had shot Baze
r in self-defense. I knew he wouldn't kill himself and I'd sensed as soon as I'd gotten there that he was going to give up. He wasn't going to deny anything and he'd made a half-hearted attempt on me so I'd be justified in shooting him. Maybe it was his way of apologizing, of giving me the last word. I wasn't sure. But I was glad that he was dead.

  I glanced up at the screen.

  Two minutes.

  I'd gone home from Bazer's, stripped off my clothes and stood in the shower for an hour, as if the hot water would cleanse me of everything. I knew it wouldn't but I stayed in there until the water ran cold. I'd gotten out, toweled off and laid on the bed, closing my eyes.

  Sleep was nowhere to be found.

  But I'd stayed on the bed, finally breathing normally for the first time in what seemed like a decade, until it was time to get up and get to the airport.

  The box next to their flight told me they'd landed and I stood from the chair, pacing back and forth, looking out the windows at the planes that were pulling in and out of Lindbergh Field. I watched the people streaming down the corridor from behind the secure area. I knew they weren't in the group coming out, but I looked anyway. A sea of faces that weren't familiar.

  I walked away, taking a deep breath.

  I was going to tell Lauren the truth. I wasn't going to hold anything back. I didn't know how she'd react, but I wasn't going to keep it from her. I was going to have to tell Lasko, too, if only because he'd gotten me further than I'd have ever gotten without him. I owed him the truth and I hoped he'd understand. I wasn't sure that he would. But then again, I wasn't sure I understood.

  I pivoted and walked back toward the bridge that connected the terminal to the gates. Another wave of people emerged, their eyes scanning the area, looking either for friends or baggage or ground transportation.

  And then I saw them.

  They were at the tail end of the group. Lauren was in jeans and a heavy gray sweater, her hair down, a small smile on her face, her eyes glancing at her daughter. Elizabeth wore black leggings and a white hooded sweatshirt that looked one size too big for her. Her hair was pulled back in a high ponytail and she was smiling back at her mother.

  My heart caught. For just a moment, it was like nothing had ever happened. Like Elizabeth had never been gone. Like Lauren and I had never divorced. As if they were coming back from a long weekend and I was just there to pick them up. Like I'd never missed a day.