Thread of Betrayal (15 page)

THIRTY-THREE

“Sixty miles south of here puts us where?” Lauren asked.

Kitting was navigating the car out of Redondo and back toward the interstate.

“San Clemente, maybe?” I said. “Capistrano?”

Anchor nodded in front of us. “I’m seeing Capistrano on my map.”

“How’d she get there?” Lauren asked, then shook her head. “Stupid question. How’d she get anywhere?”

I nodded, laid my head back against the headrest and turned my eyes to the window. The sun was rising out to the east, the city just coming to life. Cars appeared on the road, early commuters hoping to beat the rush in to work.

And all I could picture was Elizabeth walking by herself in the early morning hours, unsure of where to go or what to do.

I was second guessing the decision to have Morgan’s calls forwarded to my phone. If Elizabeth had gotten to talk to Morgan, maybe her friend could’ve gotten more information from her. Found out where she was, where she planned to stay for the night. Her friend could’ve at the very least comforted her. But I’d given her nothing and probably only scared her more than she already was. An unfamiliar voice looking to shake up her world in one more way.

I’d failed her again.

Lauren shifted in the seat next to me and I turned to her. Her eyes were closed, her mouth slightly open. She’d dozed off. Not surprising. We were close to running on empty.

Kitting found the onramp to the interstate and propelled us south. The sky was a dusky pink as we made our way onto the freeway. The refineries in Carson shone brightly in the early morning sun, the gray smoke snaking upward into the air. Planes descended into Long Beach airport, gliding over the freeway; and the gray retaining walls grew higher the further south we went, protecting the neighboring cities from the noise of the nearly ever present traffic.

We hit Orange County, signs written in Vietnamese greeting us, a testament to the immigrant-heavy populations in Westminster and Garden Grove. Orange County started to look more like the Orange County that was portrayed on TV as we entered Costa Mesa and then Irvine: sterile buildings and homes that spoke of money, but no personality, a soulless area nearly devoid of everything but dollar signs. There was no defining characteristic that told you you’d entered Irvine—you were just there and it just existed.

Irvine gave way to the rolling hills and canyons of Laguna and Mission Viejo, homes perched on the hillsides, thumbing their noses at fires and mudslides. The traffic thickened as the 405 rounded the bend into Mission Viejo, brake lights lighting up as people hit their brakes to slow. Northbound traffic was at a virtual standstill and I was glad we were at least moving.

We crested the hill at the south end of Mission Viejo and Kitting took the exit at Ortega Highway before we hit the curve that would drop us into Dana Point. San Juan Capistrano was a small beach community sandwiched between Mission Viejo and San Clemente. I’d only been there once as a kid, when my mother had taken us to visit the mission. I couldn’t recall much else about it, other than I’d passed through it about a hundred times.

Kitting turned right at the stoplight at the bottom of the off ramp and then pulled to the curb, the engine idling softly.

Anchor turned around. “I don’t have an exact location. The signal was somewhere in this area. That’s about all we have to go on right now.”

I nodded. “Okay. Maybe we just drive around, see what we see then.”

Anchor nodded in agreement. “It’s a small area. We should be able to navigate it pretty efficiently.”

He turned to Kitting and whispered something I couldn’t hear, then made a hand motion that looked like he was telling him to move back and forth. My guess was he wanted to cover the streets in a grid so that we didn’t miss anything.

We were on the west side of the freeway and we drove up and down the narrow streets lined with small box homes and local restaurants. It was a sleepy beach town that had refused to give in to the urban sprawl that had smothered so much of Southern California. I thought it probably didn’t look that much different from the way it had fifty years before.

The sidewalks were mostly empty, but the streets were filling up with traffic as we moved up and down, covering each street, unsure of what we were looking for. I don’t think we expected to see a teenage girl, sitting and waiting for us on the curb, but that almost felt like what we were doing. I’d done the same thing many times before, looking for other kids, not knowing exactly what I was looking for, but hoping I’d know it when I saw it.

And, like many times before, I did.

“There,” I said, tapping Anchor on the shoulder. “To the right. Sign says it’s a block away.”

Anchor turned his head, then nodded. Kitting turned right without being told.

The Capistrano was a domed building, an old Spanish-styled miniature mission, housing both buses and the Metrolink train that ran the coast between Los Angeles and San Diego. The parking lot was already half-full, the tall street lamps in the parking lot still lit.

I got out quietly, letting Lauren sleep, shutting my door softly. Anchor did the same.

We crossed the parking lot, our shadows growing taller as we walked.

“I sent out several messages,” Anchor said. “We should be able to track any movement on the alert. If they get anything solid, we should get it at the same time.”

“You guys really do have people everywhere, I guess.”

Anchor nodded. “You don’t ascend to Mr. Codaselli’s position without making friends in many places.”

I wondered just what making friends meant. Coercion? Bribery? Blackmail? It didn’t really matter to me right then, I was just curious.

“I’ve also made inquiries on your associates,” Anchor said.

We came up to the depot. “My associates?”

“The officers you used to work with. The ones you no longer trust.”

I nodded. If anyone was going to be able to dig up information, it seemed like Anchor was the guy.

People milled about the outside of the station, mostly men and women in business suits, briefcases tucked under their arms, phones in their hands. The coaster trains were primarily used by commuters between San Diego, Orange County and Los Angeles. They were a too-little, too-late attempt to curb the stifling traffic on the overcrowded highways. Some people had taken to them, but many still sat in their expensive foreign cars in bumper-to-bumper traffic. Letting go of their cars and embracing mass transportation was just too much of a change in lifestyle.

I stepped inside. Several benches, a ticket counter and not much else. It was small which made sense. San Juan Capistrano wasn’t a huge pick-up or drop-off point. They didn’t need a ton of space and they probably didn’t run a full schedule.

Anchor pointed to the wall. “Schedule here.”

I joined him. A faded map of the train routes was encased in a rectangular glass window. The route times were listed on the right of the map. I put my finger on the glass and slid it downward, looking at the times.

“Last one from here was just before midnight,” I said. “And it would’ve gotten her as far as Oceanside.”

“If she got on last night,” he said.

“She did.” I didn’t know how I knew, but I did. She would have been tired of waiting, tired of being stymied by circumstance.

“You think she went south?”

“She told her friend that she was remembering some things about San Diego,” I said. “And she’s gone south since the airport. It’s just a guess. But I’m not sure what else we have to go on.”

“I could see about obtaining a passenger list,” Anchor said, eyeing the ticket counter.

I shook my head. “Don’t think it would do any good. You can buy cash tickets from the kiosks. They might’ve checked I.D. getting on, but I don’t think it would’ve been recorded for her to travel.”

He nodded. “Alright. I can check on that pretty quickly, but that makes sense.”

He made his way quickly to the ticket counter, taking his place in line behind a woman in a tailored navy blue suit. I turned around slowly, taking everything in. We didn’t have an exact location, but I couldn’t imagine where else she would’ve gone. I had no idea how she’d gotten from Redondo to Capistrano, but that almost seemed irrelevant now. We knew she’d been to Capistrano, based on the cellular signal. And I couldn’t imagine why else she would’ve gone there. She didn’t know anyone and there was no destination she was familiar with. She was flying blind.

Anchor returned. “No passenger list. Do you think she would she have drawn any attention as a teenager on the train?”

I shook my head. “I doubt it. So even trying to track down anyone who was here might be a waste of time. Not all that unusual to see a kid getting on the commuter trains.”

Anchor nodded, lines in his forehead creased, thinking.

I turned around to look at the schedule again. The train would’ve taken her as far as Oceanside, the northern most point in San Diego County. But when she got to Oceanside, she would’ve had the option to jump on another train to get further in to San Diego. But where would she have gone? She made no mention to Morgan about Coronado. But was her memory coming back? Was it being triggered by the fact that she was in Southern California now? Maybe triggered by our speaking to one another? I had no idea and like always, that was the hardest part.

I had no idea.

“I think the best thing to do is to head to San Diego,” I said. “We can stop in Oceanside and see what the train schedule is there. I don’t really have a better idea.”

Anchor nodded. “I thought of something else that I might offer to you.”

“What’s that?”

“The two men who you are not sure about?”

“Bazer. And Mike.”

Anchor nodded again. “I know that you’re concerned that they are a danger to your daughter. What if we put something in place to draw them out?”

“I’m not following.”

“If we fed them false information that let them believe we knew her whereabouts, it might…give us a more accurate picture of whom you can trust. And who has lied to you.”

“So, what? A sting?”

“For lack of a better word, yes.”

“How?”

“I’m not entirely sure yet,” Anchor said. “And I don’t want to do anything to endanger your daughter. But if you’re open to the idea, I can go about finding a way to put it together.”

I stared at the deserted train tracks. At some point, I was going to want to know which of them had played a part in her disappearance. And I would deal with them. At that moment, though, the thing I cared about most was finding Elizabeth and keeping her safe. Punishing anyone who was involved would have to wait and I didn’t want to get bogged down thinking about those things.

But I didn’t see any harm in having Anchor do a little preliminary work.

“Start working on it,” I said.

THIRTY-FOUR

“Can we stop at a drugstore or something?” Lauren asked. “I feel like crap.”

We were nearly to Oceanside, a straight shot down the interstate from San Juan Capistrano, past the power plant in San Onofre and the marine base in Camp Pendleton. To my right, the ocean hugged the coast, choppy waves crashing in to the shoreline as we flew past.

“Sick?” I asked.

She made a face. “Probably just hungry. I don’t know.”

I nodded.

“We’ll pull off at the next exit,” Anchor said from the front.

We passed the harbor and the old Holiday Inn and then took a cloverleaf exit and parked in front of a twenty-four hour drugstore.

“Be right back,” Lauren said, getting out.

“I made a phone call,” Anchor said. “No passenger lists on the commuter trains.”

I frowned. I wasn’t sure how I’d missed hearing him on the phone, unless I’d dozed a little, too. “Yeah. Figured.”

“ I think I’m getting access to video surveillance,” he said.

“What?”

“I saw cameras at the depot,” Anchor said. “Monitored ticket and boarding areas.”

“You can tap in?”

He shook his head. “No. Having recorded feeds sent to me for download. And from this Oceanside station we’re heading to. If your daughter was on there, we’ll have a good idea of where to go.”

I should’ve been surprised, but I wasn’t. Anchor had shown an incredible ability to get nearly anything we needed and was able to do it quickly. I’d stopped wondering how he was getting it and how powerful Codaselli really was and instead wished I’d run into him the day after Elizabeth had disappeared from Coronado.

“I should have it by the time we get to the depot,” Anchor said. “We can take a look at it there.”

I nodded.

“And I’ve made some initial inquiries about your former colleagues and what we talked about,” he said. “I’ll know more in a bit.”

“Do you ever sleep?” I asked.

Anchor chuckled. “Mr. Codaselli pays me extremely well to not sleep.”

“How long have you worked for him?”

“As long as I can remember,” he answered. He nodded at Kitting. “Ellis, too. People tend not to leave Mr. Codaselli’s employ.” He turned in the seat to face me and adjusted his glasses. “And that isn’t sordid in anyway. Mr. Codaselli is generous and looks out for the people who are loyal to him. We’re treated incredibly well and it would be difficult to match his employment elsewhere.”

Kitting nodded in agreement behind the wheel.

“Mr. Codaselli has a long memory,” Anchor continued. “If you do a good job for him, he doesn’t forget. And he believes in rewarding people who do well for him. Not just large things, either. Whatever your job is, if you do it well, he recognizes that.” He paused. “It’s why I’m here. It’s why Ellis is here. What you did for Mr. Codaselli? He won’t forget that.” He smiled. “Ever.”

The neon lights above the store flickered.

“You said his health was alright,” I asked. “How’s he really doing?”

“He’s managing,” Anchor said. “He’s a very tough old man.”

“Cancer is usually tougher than most.”

Anchor nodded. “Certainly. But he’s probably already lasted longer than he should have. He tends to will his way through life.”

He made it sound like Codaselli was some sort of noble benefactor who was the world’s greatest employer. While I was grateful for the help he was providing, I knew better. Codaselli may have been generous to those in his favor, but he was probably ruthless to those who were not.

I was glad I was in his favor.

Lauren emerged from the store, looking a little more awake and wide-eyed. She climbed back into the car.

“Where’s the medicine?” I asked, noticing her empty hands.

She looked at her hands. “Oh. I took it in there. Just got one of those travel packages for a buck.” She looked at me. “Just some stuff to settle my stomach.”

“You alright?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

Kitting caught my eye in the rearview mirror. “We good?”

I nodded and he directed the car out of the parking lot and back down the freeway. We took the Mission Avenue exit and headed west toward the Pacific.

The transit center was a couple blocks from the ocean, in a redeveloped part of Oceanside. The city had long been the ugly stepsister of San Diego, known for not much more than housing Camp Pendleton and gangs. But the city had attempted to clean itself up and revitalized the areas closer to the beach, hoping to draw tourists to the shore and condos along the water. The transit center was a part of that revitalization, a hub to connect visitors with San Diego and make it easier to travel back and forth and avoid the snarl of standstill traffic that had become Interstate 5.

The center was a stark white building with Spanish accents and arched walkways, paying homage both to the area’s heritage and the fact that what was old was new again. Save for a couple of homeless guys on the curb passing a paper bag back and forth, the lot was empty. Kitting pulled into a slot right near the tracks.

“You talk to them,” Anchor said to Kitting. “Mr. Tyler and I will walk the building.”

“And Ms. Tyler,” Lauren said, annoyed.

“Apologies, Ms. Tyler,” he said quickly. “Wasn’t sure how you were feeling.”

“I’m fine,” Lauren said, getting out.

Kitting headed toward the homeless guys. The three of us walked the perimeter of the building. Like always, I half-expected to see Elizabeth sitting right there, waiting for us, wondering what took so long. But, like always, she wasn’t. There was no trace of her.

Five minutes of walking around the building and peering in the windows gave us nothing else.

But Kitting was walking back toward us with one of the homeless guys.

The man was somewhere between forty and sixty, an overgrown gray beard hiding brown, wrinkled skin. A black knit watchman’s cap covered his head, long gray tresses spilling out of the sides. His jeans were dirty and torn and he had a brown field coat over several layers of shirts. His work boots were covered in sand.

He stood up straight next to Kitting, eyeing each of us.

“This is Ben,” Kitting said to Anchor. “He might be able to help us.”

“Ben, my name is John,” Anchor said, then gestured at Lauren and me. “These two people are looking for their daughter. We think she may have been here. Might you have seen her?”

Ben looked us over, then cleared his throat. “I might have.”

“Might have,” Anchor repeated. “Can you elaborate?”

Ben tugged on his coat, pulled it tighter around him. “Probably could, yes sir.”

Anchor reached into his pocket, pulled out a wad of bills and peeled two off. Twenties. He handed them to Ben. “I’d like to do this without the dance, Ben. If you’re able to help us, we’ll be happy to compensate you accordingly.”

Ben took the twenties and deposited them into a coat pocket. He glanced at Kitting. “The girl he described. Think I saw her a few hours ago. Not sure when cause I don’t wear a watch. But woulda been a few hours ago.

That would’ve made sense if she’d ridden down from Capistrano. The timing worked.

“She was alone?” I asked.

“At first, yeah,” Ben said, nodding, then clearing his throat again. “She was inside the station. Only reason I noticed was cuz of me and Jesse.” He nodded back toward his friend on the curb who was watching us intently. “Me and Jesse kinda keep an eye on things around here.”

“How do you mean?” I asked.

“We been around awhile,” he said, shrugging. “Try not to bother nobody, but it’s kind of our home. So we look out for folks, I guess. Sometimes some folks show up who oughta not be here. Bangers sometimes. Kids looking to take advantage of tourists.” He shrugged again. “So we keep an eye on things. Anybody looks like they got a bad idea, we let ‘em know it’s not the place. We can handle ourselves.”

I nodded, letting him continue.

“So if a teenage girl who looks a little lost shows up, we notice,” Ben said. “Didn’t try to talk to her or nothin’ because we probably woulda just scared her. But we saw her—think Jesse saw her first—and we kept an eye on her to make sure she was alright. Made sure no one took a run at her or nothin’.”

“What was she wearing?” Lauren asked.

Ben eyed her for a moment, then cleared his throat. “I know what you’re getting at ma’am and I don’t blame you. But I’m not so drunk that I’m making up the only teenage girl to come through here tonight.” He fished the money out of his pocket and held it out to her. “I ain’t doin’ this just for the money. She was here and if I can help you, I will.” He shook his head. “Little girl shouldn’t be riding trains by herself.”

Lauren hesitated. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…I’m sorry.”

He put the money back in his pocket. “Had a daughter once. No idea where she is now, but I hope she’s doin’ better than me. And I hope she’s safe.”

Lauren nodded, clearly wishing she hadn’t said anything.

“Anyway,” Ben said, looking back to me. “She was here alone and the station was kinda empty last night. It was late. Not much goin’ on. So she was alone for most of the time.”

“Most of the time?” I asked.

He made a face. “Couple of local girls got with her after a bit. But they didn’t hassle her or nothin’. Seemed like they were just talkin’ her up. Or maybe she was askin’ them for directions. I dunno.”

It was strange seeing Elizabeth through someone else’s lens. I was trying to picture her sitting at the station, how she sat, what her voice sounded like in person, what she would’ve talked to those girls about. It was like watching a movie that wasn’t in focus. I could make out pieces of it, but not the whole.

“So we didn’t pay her much attention then,” Ben continued. “Thought she might just be settling in and waiting for a ride or something.” He frowned and brushed the greasy strands of hair away from his face. “But then Netty showed up.”

“Netty?” I asked.

Ben nodded. “Local girl. Runs with some of the bangers. Likes to try and hassle me and Jesse when she’s bored. Goes out of her way to drive through puddles if she sees us sittin’ on the curb and thinks she can soak us.” He shook his head. “Crap like that.”

“Lovely,” Anchor said.

Ben nodded again. “Yeah. Some people, they’re just like that, I guess. Anyway, Netty showed up and she knew the two girls with the girl you’re lookin’ for. And she was all friendly and everything, but I’m tellin’ you. There ain’t nothin’ friendly about Netty.”

A cloud passed in front of the sun, momentarily dimming the sky. A soft breeze blew across the lot and I shivered harder than I should have.

“Train pulls in,” he said. “Southbound. Jesse elbows me. All four of ‘em got on. They were on before we could get across the street to ‘em. If we’d been watchin’ more, we might’ve been able to get to ‘em before they got on. But we weren’t.” The lines around his mouth deepened. “I woulda liked to warn that girl that goin’ anywhere with Netty was probably a bad idea. Not sure if she woulda listened to an old man like me, but I woulda tried.” He winced and shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

Lauren sighed audibly. Kitting’s eyes scanned the area. Anchor looked at me.

“It’s okay, Ben,” I said. “Not your fault. And you’ve given us more than we would’ve had if we hadn’t talked to you. So thanks.”

He nodded. “Just sorry I didn’t know someone was lookin’ for her.”

“You know Netty’s last name?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No. Just Netty. And I only know that because one of her friends yelled at her to knock it off one time when she was trying to soak us. Locked it away so I wouldn’t forget it.” He thought for a moment. “But she’s always got all of this jewelry hanging from her ears. Feathers, hoops, you name it, she’s worn it.”

I nodded. “Okay. Thanks for your help, Ben. Appreciate it.”

Ben nodded.

Anchor offered his hand to Ben. “Thank you. To both you and Jesse.”

Ben took his hand and held on for just a moment, then pulled his hand away.

I spotted the thick fold of bills Anchor passed him before he shoved the wad in his pocket.

Ben looked at me. “I hope you find her.”

I pulled a card from my pocket and handed it to him. “Me, too. And if you ever want to find your daughter, give me a call.”

Ben studied the card for a moment, then looked at me. “You do this a lot? Look for kids?”

I smiled at Ben, truly grateful we’d run into him. “More than I’d like to, Ben. More than I’d like to.”