Thread of Hope

TWENTY-SIX

I dressed and went downstairs. I found a deli counter, bought the last bagel they had and drove back to the island so I could push Lauren out of my head and focus on Chuck.

I had purposely avoided looking into Chuck’s assault because I knew that was going to take me to the Coronado Police Department. If my old home was number one on the list of places I did not want to visit, CPD was number one-and-a-half. But if I was truly going to help Chuck, there was no way I could get out of it.

I’d been an officer in Coronado for nine years when Elizabeth had disappeared. It was my dream job. I’d gotten my degree in criminal justice from USD and then gone right into the academy with no intention of working anywhere else. I’d grown up on the island and it was a small enough place that the police officers were actually a part of the community rather than people who passed through it.

It was a tough post to pull because if you wanted to be a cop in San Diego, there was no more idyllic place. The residents were happy to see you, the department was well-funded and you rarely had to deal with more than drunks on the beach. But it was a small department and the open spots were limited and much coveted.

So I worked harder at the academy than I’d ever worked at anything else and graduated at the top of my class. Along the way, I made sure that the CPD brass noticed me. It was the only job I wanted, the only job I interviewed for and the only job I held as a cop.

It just hadn’t ended the way I’d envisioned.

I parked the car across the street from the CPD offices and paused on the sidewalk, taking in the building.

It looked nothing like a police headquarters. Single story, open archways, smothered in towering palm trees. It resembled a rec center more than a government building and blended into the rest of the architecture of the island. I used to love going into that building every morning, ready for the tight camaraderie of a small department.

As I crossed the street and opened the glass door, I knew that I’d still feel the tight camaraderie.

I just wouldn’t be a part of it.

I didn’t recognize the desk sergeant, a guy in his early thirties with close-cut brown hair, squared-off shoulders and a friendly smile. “Morning, sir. How can we help you?”

“Detective Lorenzo in?”

He glanced down at the desk log, then shook his head. “No, I’m sorry, he’s out this morning. But maybe I can help?”

He was pleasant, eager, happy to be of service, the same way I had been trained to treat the island’s citizens. The department wanted the residents to feel comfortable around the police officers and it had been drilled over and over into us that we served the community and our jobs were to help them in any way possible.

I realized I was tapping my foot to a silent beat and I pressed my foot to the floor to make it stop. “Is Lieutenant Bazer in?”

The sergeant hesitated for a moment, probably sizing me up more closely now. “I can certainly check. May I have your name, sir?”

“Joe Tyler.”

He did an excellent job of trying to hide his recognition. He nodded like it was a normal request, punched in an extension on the phone pad and told whoever was on the other line that I was inquiring as to whether or not Bazer was available. But he tried to sneak in a quick glance at me, as if he wanted to make sure he wasn’t seeing a ghost, and I knew he knew who I was.

He averted my eyes and waited for a moment, the phone still to his ear. Then he raised an eyebrow, said “Okay” and hung up.

A tight smile emerged on his face. “The lieutenant will be with you in just a moment.”

“Thanks.”

I turned away from him, not eager to watch him continue to steal glances at me. I stared out through the glass doors, the palm trees bouncing softly in the breeze. The last time I’d been in the station, I’d tossed my badge and gun on Bazer’s desk and dropped every profane word and phrase I knew on him. I never anticipated being back inside, needing to speak to him again. I thought I was through with him that day when I’d pushed through those glass doors.

Just one more thing I’d been wrong about.

“Joe?”

The voice paralyzed me for a moment, my breath catching like someone had a hand around my throat, my heart stuck in mid-beat. I waited for a long second until my heart fired again and the invisible hand released my throat, letting me breathe. I turned around slowly.

Lieutenant Thomas Bazer hadn’t aged much in the years since I’d last seen him. Tiny threads of gray had invaded his razor-cut chestnut hair, a wrinkle or two had worked its way into his forehead, but otherwise he looked just like the guy I’d told to fuck off seven years before. Eyes that were aware of everything in the room no matter where he looked, a physique that belonged more to a college wrestler than a sixty-year-old cop and wearing a uniform that looked as if it had been pressed onto his body.

He extended his hand. “Nice to see you.”

I kept my hands in my pockets. “You got a minute?”

If he took offense, he didn’t show it. He motioned for me to follow him back to his office. The desk sergeant snuck one more look at me as I went past him down the hallway.

Flashes of old conversations ricocheted through my head as I followed Bazer. The Coronado Police Department was the only place I’d worked as an adult and as much as I wanted to shut out the memories of having worked there, they forced their way into my mind like morning sunlight through the blinds. There was an ache in my gut and I couldn’t tell if it was because I hated the place or because I missed it.

Bazer’s office was a small, square room, devoid of any personality. Metal cabinets, a desk that housed a computer, a wire basket and not much else. The smell of Lysol permeated the room. He didn’t motion for me to sit in one of the two chairs opposite his desk, but I did so anyway.

Bazer shifted the papers on top of his desk. “How are you, Joe?”

“I’m okay.”

“Have to say I’m surprised to see you. Heard you were back but didn’t expect to hear from you.”

“I’m back just temporarily.”

He nodded like he understood that and I wondered why I’d felt compelled to say it.

“I’m helping out Chuck Winslow,” I said.

Bazer kept his hands on the papers, creating a neatened stack. “He seems to be in need of help. On a couple of things.”

I couldn’t tell whether it was a dig at Chuck or a statement of fact. “I’m trying to help on both.”

Bazer leaned back in his chair. “We’ve got it covered, Joe.”

“Who jumped him on the beach?”

The lieutenant studied me for a long time. “What are you doing here, Joe?”

“I told you. I’m trying to help Chuck.”

“And we’ve got guys on it.”

“I’m an investigator. His attorney hired me to help.”

“I know Jane hired you,” he said, his tone measured. “I’m aware of that. But it doesn’t mean we’re going to include you in our investigation. You wanna work around the edges, I’ll let you do that.”

“I don’t need your permission.”

Bazer took a long, deep breath and leaned forward, placing his hands flat on the desk. “Are you here to fight with me, Joe? Because if you are, it would save us both a lot of time if you would just say so.”

“I’m here to help a friend,” I said, telling him half the truth. I probably did want to fight with him, but I wasn’t going to admit it. “I was hired as an investigator…”

“And since you used to work for this department, you should have no trouble recalling our policy in working with investigators,” Bazer said, his calm demeanor cracking a bit as he pointed at me. “So you should also know I’m willing to cut you a break to let you work around the edges. Because if you were anybody else, I’d tell you to get off my island. I don’t want anyone near my cases except my officers.”

“That your way of making things up to me?” I asked.

A humorless smile took residence on his face and he chuckled quietly, tapping his fingers on the desk. “So you did come to fight with me.”