“I want to see it, okay?” she said.
“Of course. I just wasn’t sure if you’d…”
“I know, I know,” she said. “But if you have a picture of her. I want to see. What she looks like.”
“I’ll get it to you as soon as we hang up.”
“I know I’m going to regret even asking this, but…”
“I don’t know anything yet,” I said. “I’ve talked to a few people and they’ve given me names of more people to talk to. Nothing concrete.”
Her disappointment seeped through the phone. “Okay. You’ll let me know?”
“Of course.”
She exhaled loudly into the phone. “Okay. Well. Wasn’t expecting that.”
“Were you calling for a reason?” I asked. “Or just to…” I wasn’t sure why she’d be calling. I knew she wasn’t pleased that I’d left San Diego again. So there were a million reasons she could’ve been calling.
“Oh, right,” she said. “Sorry. You threw me for a loop.”
I waited.
“Your favorite person called,” she said. “Bazer.”
It was the second time in two days I’d heard his name. “He called you? What the hell did he want?”
“I really don’t know,” she said. “He was trying to be all friendly. I was decidedly not.”
I smiled. We may have come to the conclusion that we couldn’t stay married, but we had both remained adamant in our dislike of Bazer. There were times when I felt certain she hated him more than I did.
“He started off acting like he was just calling to see how I was,” she said. “He didn’t get the hint when I gave him one-word answers so I finally asked him why the hell he was calling me.”
I finished the coffee and pushed the paper cup away.
“He was still kind of evasive, but it was pretty clear he was digging for info. On you.”
“What kind of info?”
“I think more than anything, he wanted to know where you were,” she said. “He asked if I’d spoken to you in the last few days. I said yes, but didn’t tell him anything else. Not that I knew where you were, but I wouldn’t have told him if I did.”
I nodded to myself and switched the phone to my other hand. He was probably wondering if I was sticking around San Diego after showing up unexpectedly. Wanting to know if I was going to continue to be a thorn in his side. Part of me wished I was there, just to irritate him.
“He said something like he just wanted to make sure you were okay after everything with Chuck,” she said, not hiding her disgust. “I told him the bullshit was leaking through the phone.”
“That sounds like you.”
“I just wanted him to know I still hate him.”
“Mission accomplished.”
“I guess. He never ended up saying what he really wanted. Just kind of stumbled around and ended up hanging up. But I thought you’d want to know.”
“He talked to Mike, too,” I told her. “Same kind of crap. I think he’s a little worried I might be sticking around Coronado to bother him. Think he just wants to be clear of me. Again. But thanks for letting me know.”
There was a clicking in the line. “You won’t forget to send me the picture?”
“I’ll do it as soon as we hang up,” I said. “And if there’s anything else, I’ll call you.”
“I don’t want to get my hopes up.”
“Me either.”
“But you always do,” she said. “You always do.”
TWENTY-TWO
I walked back to the apartments and twenty minutes later, I’d scanned the photo and sent it to Lauren’s email address, using the computer in Isabel’s office. I thought about just snapping a picture of it with my phone, but I wanted Lauren to see the same clarity that I saw when I looked at Elizabeth’s face.
“You’re on good terms with your ex?” she asked, after I’d pushed back from the computer and thanked her for the use of it.
“Good as can be expected.”
“You talk. That’s more than a lot of people.”
I nodded. “Our divorce wasn’t about us, if that makes sense.”
“It does. But there’s usually still lots of raw nerve endings.”
“There are,” I said. “But we’ve somehow managed to learn how to navigate around them.”
Isabel nodded and smiled. “That’s nice. For both of you.”
I didn’t say anything because I wasn’t sure what it was. I thought that sometimes Lauren would’ve preferred to never hear from me, to never provide any sense of hope or information about Elizabeth. That’s why I’d always left it up to her to initiate contact. If she ever decided that she didn’t want to talk to me anymore, I wouldn’t push her. I’d let her have that peace if she decided she needed it.
“What are you going to do today?” Isabel asked, settling into the chair behind the desk.
“Going over to the school to start,” I said. “See where that leads.”
“School can’t release records,” she said.
“I know. I’ll need to be persuasive.”
“How?”
“Don’t know yet. Probably have to be a jerk or something.”
She shook her head, smiling. “Hang on a sec.”
“Not anxious to go back out in the cold, so okay.”
She tapped at the keyboard, stared at the screen, her lips scrunched together in concentration. She squinted for a moment. “Okay. Don’t go to the school.”
“I’m going to the school, Isabel.”
“Go to the district office,” she said, scribbling on a piece of paper and glancing at the screen. “And ask for Tim Barron.”
She slid the piece of paper to me. A number and address were scrawled beneath the name.
“And since you didn’t wait to talk to Tess like I asked, I’m emailing him now, telling him you’re coming to see him.”
“He’ll talk to me?”
“Should,” she said, tapping again at the keyboard. “He’s a pretty good guy. He’s helped me out before. He’ll have access to records that are probably more thorough than the school’s anyway.”
I folded the piece of paper and slipped it into my pocket. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, then nodded at her screen. “Email sent. He’ll know I sent you.”
“Can you get us an address for Codaselli?” I asked.
She pursed her lips, then sighed. “Yeah, probably.”
“We should talk to him. Today.”
She hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. Come back after you talk to Tim. I’ll find the address by then. And we can go.”
“You don’t sound excited.”
She shook her head. “To talk with Peter Codaselli about his missing son? No. I’m not.”
TWENTY-THREE
“Isabel’s been quiet lately,” Tim Barron said, leaning back in his chair. “She doing alright?”
The district office was an easy find with GPS. I’d asked for Tim at the front desk and he showed up in an elevator less than two minutes later. He took me up the elevator to the third floor and I followed him to his office, where everything appeared to have been organized by a professional organizer. No piles of paper, no overstuffed file drawers. It was the antithesis of what I expected to see in a public information officer’s office.
“I actually haven’t known her that long,” I said. “But she seems okay, yeah.”
He nodded. He had close-cropped orange hair and a flurry of freckles on his face. Somewhere in his thirties, he was slightly built. He wore standard office attire, his blue-striped tie loosened at his neck.
“She tries not to abuse me,” he said with a soft smile. “Which is why I like her so much. She only comes to me if she really needs me.”
“She seems sharp,” I said.
“She is,” he said. He crossed his legs and folded his hands behind his desk. “Now. She said nothing about why you’re here. What can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for my daughter,” I said.
“She’s a student in our district?”
“I believe she was at one time,” I said. “But I’m honestly not sure what name you’ll find her under.”