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, Joe?”
“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.”