Thread of Hope

TWELVE

It was not an ominous car ride out of a movie scene. They suggested I follow them in my rental. No threats, no warnings. Hanley just gave me directions and said they’d go slowly so I could follow.

Polite coercion, I suppose.

We took the bridge off the island and up the 163 north, cutting through the steep canyons that housed Balboa Park and the zoo. After snaking through the heavy traffic in Mission Valley, we took the 805 into Sorrento Valley, angling back toward the coast. I followed them off the freeway into the parking lot of one of the hundreds of identical looking office parks in San Diego’s own miniature Silicon Valley.

I got out of the car and approached Hanley and Boyle. “Where are we?”

Hanley smiled, happy to be of service. “These are the offices of Jordan Enterprises.”

“Which is?”

“Real estate development, mainly,” Hanley said. “Mr. Jordan develops corporate properties like hotels and office buildings.” He tossed a thumb over his shoulder. “All that new construction around the ballpark? When we were coming off the island? He’s involved with a lot of that.”

The city had finally gotten off its rear end and realized that the downtown area could drive tourism rather than repel it. They’d slowly developed the area around the harbor with a convention center, hotels and a baseball stadium. Everything else followed quickly and the renaissance that was going on in downtown San Diego was turning into a model for other large cities around the country.

And if Jordan had his hands in that, he was beyond wealthy. Which was why the understated office building confused me. A guy with that kind of money usually liked to show it off. But the building we were at was no different than the others in the area. It could’ve been anything.

“Mr. Jordan likes to keep things simple,” Hanley said, reading my expression. Boyle started toward the building and Hanley gestured in his direction. “Shall we?”

As we walked into the building, I couldn’t help but think I was missing something. Hanley and Boyle were as non-threatening as they could be, yet they did track me down at the high school and they had obviously been given directions to bring me back. I made a mental note to not let the friendly demeanor push down my guard.

The interior of the building was no more exciting than that of any office. Framed photos, fake plants, industrial carpeting. Jordan certainly wasn’t spending his fortune on these digs.

We took the elevator to the fourth floor. Boyle and Hanley waved at a receptionist who barely looked up from her cubicle greeting area. Boyle knocked on a door at the end of the hall and a voice beckoned us in. Boyle stepped aside and waved me past.

I recognized Jonathon Jordan as soon as I saw him. From what, I couldn’t recall, but I knew I’d seen him in a magazine or a newspaper or something. He was standing behind his desk. He was average height, maybe 5’10”, not spectacular looking, but not ugly, either. Dark brown hair, five o’clock shadow over tan skin, brown eyes, a crooked nose and a wide mouth. His shoulders were wide for a guy his size and he looked athletic. He was wearing an aquamarine long-sleeve button down and expensive looking blue jeans.

He stared me down for a long moment before looking past me. “Thanks, guys. We’re good.”

I turned to see Hanley and Boyle exiting, closing the door behind them.

Jordan sat, then folded his hands into a tight knot and laid them on his desk. “Most people who show up at my home unannounced leave in an ambulance.”

There were two chairs in front of the desk, but he made no motion for me to take one. Probably thought I’d be more uncomfortable standing.

“Guess I’m lucky then.”

“You’re lucky I let Gina handle things the way she does.” His folded hands tightened. “If I’d come out to meet you, there wouldn’t have been enough left of you for the medical folks to haul away.”

I was accustomed to people making threats. Most did so because they felt compelled. They wanted to appear strong, brave, defiant. But most didn’t come across as being able to back it up.

Jordan wasn’t a big guy and he wasn’t posturing. Something in his voice, though, convinced me he meant what he was saying and I wasn’t going to get anywhere by being antagonistic.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” I said. “And I apologize for any inconvenience.”

He pushed back from the desk and crossed his legs, eyeing me from the side. “And do you apologize for the beating your friend handed out to my daughter?”

“My friend didn’t hurt your daughter,” I said.

Anger radiated from his face. “She says differently.”

“I know that. I’m trying to figure out why.”

The corner of his mouth curled up. “So now my daughter’s lying.” It wasn’t a question. Just a statement meant to make me realize I’d insulted his daughter.

“I don’t know your daughter,” I said. “But I know my friend. He wouldn’t hurt a teenage girl. Ever.”

Jordan shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, then let out a snort like I was the court jester that had failed to entertain him. Then something else moved through his expression, something darker.

“You know your friend?”

“I do.”

He stared intently at me across his desk. “I’d think it would be tough to know someone you haven’t seen in a very long time.” He paused and squinted. “Tough to still know the people in your life when you run away from them.”

A shiver prickled the back of my neck.

“Disgraced cop, missing daughter, divorced,” Jordan continued. “That’s a lot of shit. Maybe I would’ve taken off, too.”

The shiver turned to icicles but I managed to hold his gaze. I hated myself for not being able to find the words to fight back.

“Must be hell for you,” Jordan said, watching me. “Having to live with it.”

The muscles in my throat constricted and the floor beneath me felt unsteady.

“Not knowing,” Jordan said. “It must be hell.”

My hands curled into fists. He was playing a game with me, trying to establish an upper hand. Blowing up or going across the desk to rip his head off wouldn’t have done Chuck or me any good. But I was done trying to be polite. I took a deep breath, exhaled and unclenched my fists.

“What did it cost you?” I asked.

“What did what cost me?”

“Getting someone to kick the shit out of Chuck,” I said. “You just keep someone on retainer or was this a new venture?”

Nothing in his expression changed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure. Just more bad luck for Chuck, I guess.”

“I guess.”

We stared at each other for a moment.

“He didn’t hurt your daughter,” I said.

“Have you seen the case file?”

“Yeah.”

“You think my daughter just fell down? Tripped? Banged her entire face on a wall?” A cold smile forced its way onto his mouth. “Maybe that’s what happened to Mr. Winslow. Maybe he tripped.”

It was as much of an admission as I would get from him. But it was enough.

“No,” I said. “It’s clear something happened to your daughter. But Chuck Winslow isn’t responsible.”

He looked away, an incredulous expression on his face, like he was explaining simple addition to an adult.

“So, what?” he asked. “You just want to talk to Meredith? Find out the real story?”

“I would like to speak to her, yes.”

He shook his head slowly and pushed himself out of his chair, like it was the toughest physical task he’d ever performed.

“I don’t really give a shit who you think you are or how well you think you know your friend,” Jon Jordan said. “But I saw my daughter come home beaten up, barely able to walk, barely able to speak. And the first words out of her mouth were that your friend-someone she thought was her friend, too-had kicked the shit out of her.” He paused. “My daughter’s not a liar. So you can stand there all you want and defend him. I couldn’t care less. But if you think I’m going to let you talk to my daughter…”

I was getting nowhere in a hurry. I needed to move away from the subject of his daughter.

“Robert Stricker told me that you recommended Chuck,” I said.

His cheeks sucked in a bit and they started to flush. “I did a favor for someone by making that call. I’ve never actually met Mr. Winslow. And at this point, that’s lucky for him.”

None of this made sense and it was starting to irritate me.

“You’re big on the threats,” I said. “But yet you let me walk away last night, then have me escorted here today. To you. Why? Why not just send me on my way last night?”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and chuckled. “Gina made a recommendation. I followed it. It allowed me to check up on you, understand why you were here. My courtesy has now expired.” His smile dimmed. “I’m done with you.”

“You can kick me out of your office and off your property,” I said, heading for the door. “But you can’t kick me out of San Diego. I’ll stay here until I figure out what happened to your daughter. Until I make sure everyone knows that my friend did nothing to her.”

I’d reached the door when he said “A hearse.”

I turned around. “Excuse me?”

His eyes were so hard they seemed metallic. “You go near my daughter, they won’t take you away in an ambulance. It’ll be in a hearse.”