Thread of Betrayal

by Jeff Shelby

  She didn’t say anything. Lauren’s head was thrown back against the head rest, her bottom lip tucked into her mouth, her body shaking as she cried.

  “This is…it’s too much,” Elizabeth said.

  “Elizabeth, if…”

  “My name’s Ellie,” she said, and for the first time I heard anger.

  But I couldn’t call her that. It wasn’t the name I’d given her. It had been given to her by people who had ripped her out of our lives. I couldn’t get it to come out of my mouth.

  “Just tell us where you are,” I said. “We can take you back to Minneapolis if you want. Whatever you want. But you can’t be out here alone. Let us help you. Please.”

  “No,” she said. “No.”

  The line went dead.

  THIRTY-ONE

  “We didn’t get an exact location,” Anchor said.

  Lauren and I were sitting there, neither of us moving, both of us still in different stages of shock. At least I was. I couldn’t say for certain for Lauren, but looking at her, her eyes staring straight ahead, her shoulders slumped over, a numb expression on her face, told me we were in similar spots.

  Having her hang up might have been the most excruciating moment I’d experienced since the actual day she’d been taken. Like she’d been given back to me, then taken away again. I’d expected her to be confused and wary, but I think that I was convinced I could persuade her to let us come to her. As if there’d be some magical connection between us that would allow her to trust me and all would go back to normal.

  Not so much.

  “The signal is coming from an area about an hour south of us,” Anchor said, glancing back at his phone. “Sixty miles or so. South Orange County, maybe moving toward San Diego.”

  I nodded, if for no other reason than to acknowledge that I hear him.

  “You call back, she might answer,” he said.

  “She won’t.”

  “You don’t wanna try?”

  I picked my phone up off my thigh and hit redial. It immediately went to voicemail. I dialed it again and it did the same thing.

  I laid it back down on my thigh. “She won’t answer.”

  Anchor nodded. “What do you want to do?”

  What did I want to do? Quit. Give up. She was never coming back to me. I didn’t want to have my heart ripped out again. She didn’t want to see us. She didn’t believe us. It had all been for naught and maybe doing anything else was just going to make it worse.

  But I’d vowed to not quit until I found her, one way or another, and while having her hang up on us was brutal, I didn’t want that to be my last memory of her or the last time I heard her voice. If she really didn’t want anything to do with me, she could tell me to my face.

  “Let’s go,” I said. “To wherever the signal is. We’ll just keep following.”

  Anchor nodded and started to say something, but Kitting reached over and tapped his arm. Anchor looked at him and Kitting held his phone out. Anchor took it from him and studied the screen for a moment.

  Anchor turned and offered Kitting’s phone to me over the seat. “You should see this.”

  I stared at him blankly.

  He gestured with the phone.

  I took it from him.

  The screen was open to a news alert. An AMBER Alert.

  For Ellie Corzine aka Elizabeth Tyler.

  I squeezed the phone tighter.

  The alert gave skeleton details on her initial disappearance years ago and focused on the fact that she had been spotted in Los Angeles, specifically LAX. It was active in every Southern California county. Her old photo was attached, along with a more recent photograph, one of her in front of a Christmas tree. My stomach clenched. Anyone spotting her or having information was encouraged to contact the Coronado Police Department, the reporting agency.

  “What?” Lauren asked.

  “Bazer,” I said through gritted teeth. I handed her the phone.

  She stared at it, then looked at me. “Maybe this is good. Maybe this is what we should’ve done before. More eyes and more resources.”

  I shook my head and turned to the window. “No.”

  “Why not?” she asked. “She hung up on us. We might as well be four states away.”

  I laughed and shook my head. “No.”

  “Joe? Why not?”

  “Because every goddamn law enforcement agency, every goddamn loser home watching TV tonight, every single goddamn person that sees or hears this is now looking for her. And guess what?” I said, looking around the car at each of them. “They aren’t fucking calling us. They’re calling Bazer.”

  Anchor and Kitting were stoic in the front seat, showing nothing in their expressions.

  Lauren just looked at me like she had no idea what I was talking about. “Yeah. More eyes. More help. We know she’s here. This helps, doesn’t it?”

  My phone rang.

  I looked down at my leg.

  Mike Lorenzo.

  I laughed again. Perfect. Just perfect.

  I held the phone up for her. “It’s Mike.”

  She looked at me like I was crazy. “So? Answer it?”

  “Don’t you get it?” I said, my voice rising. “She’s in more danger now. More than ever.”

  The phone continued to ring, sounding louder than normal in the interior of the car.

  “If I’m right,” I said. “If I’m right about Mike and or Bazer? If they were involved in taking her? Then guess what? They’re looking for her, too. And if they find her first?” I held up the phone and thrust it in her face. “Then she’s in more danger now than ever before.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  “Answer it,” Anchor said. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

  “What?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “I already know what I'm dealing with.”

  “Just answer,” he said. “Let’s figure out the what-ifs afterward.”

  I shook my head, doubtful that I’d ever see my daughter again.

  “Just do it, Joe,” Lauren said.

  The ringing pierced the air.

  I stabbed my finger at the phone screen and kept it on speaker. “Hi, Mike.”

  “Joe, what the hell is going on?” Mike Lorenzo asked. “Bazer had an AMBER Alert issued, claiming Elizabeth’s here in California. What the hell?”

  I considered everything for a moment. I’d purposely avoided him for several days, ever since we’d found her. I didn’t trust him anymore, the one person other than Lauren I’d always trusted. I felt like I was talking to a stranger. I’d been purposely vague during our one conversation since we'd left Minneapolis. But I wasn’t sure that there was anything left to protect. If he was involved, then he was just playing me for more information. At that moment, I didn’t have any more than he probably did. If he wasn’t, then he might be able to help us.

  “She’s here,” I said. “And so am I.”

  “Where? In San Diego? What the hell is going on, Joe?”

  “Here’s what I know,” I said.

  I told him about tracking her to Denver and then to Los Angeles. I told him where we’d been and who we’d talked to in L.A. I told him about Bazer showing up out of the blue. I told him about talking to her. I told him about having just seen the AMBER Alert.

  I hoped I wouldn’t regret it.

  “Wow,” he said when I finished. “That’s incredible. Okay.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say so I didn’t say anything.

  “What can I do?” he asked. “How can I help?”

  “I don’t really know,” I said. “Look for her, I guess.”

  “Well, of course, Joe,” he said. “I guess I just wanted to know if you needed anything. If I can help you.”

  “No. Don’t think so.”

  “You don’t sound right, Joe.”

  “I don’t?”

  “No.”

  “Oh.”

  The line crackled.

  “Was it Bazer showing up?” he asked.

  “Didn�
�t help,” I replied. “Didn’t feel right having him show up out of the blue.”

  “I wish he’d told me,” Mike said. “I would’ve come up, too. Run interference.”

  “He didn’t call you? At all?”

  “Joe, first thing I heard of any of this was when the alert just hit. I did a double-take, read it a third time, then called you. I haven’t heard a word from him.”

  I stared out the window. If Mike was telling me the truth, it was Bazer. I wanted to trust him. I really did. But there was still the picture from the file that set this all in motion and I couldn’t get past that.

  “That’s odd,” I said.

  “Yeah. But I’m gonna call him. Now. See what the hell he knows. Then I’ll get back to you. That okay?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  It was quiet for a moment.

  “I know you’re worried, Joe,” Mike finally said. “But if she’s here, we’ll find her. We’ll get her back to both you and Lauren.”

  I said thanks and hung up.

  Anchor turned around and set his eyes on me. “You trust him?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “It’s Mike,” Lauren said, shaking her head. “I still refuse to believe he had anything to do with this. I trust him. I know you don’t, but I do. I don’t think he’d ever do anything like this.”

  I didn’t say anything. She was right. It was still hard to think that Mike could have had any involvement in her disappearance, but I wasn’t willing to give anyone the benefit of the doubt. Not anymore.

  Anchor nodded. “Alright. What would you like to do now?”

  “I think you need to know something.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “Whoever took our daughter,” I said. “They might’ve been in law enforcement.”

  Anchor didn’t say anything, just waited for me to elaborate.

  “The man on the phone might’ve been involved,” I continued. “The officer that found us at the hotel earlier might’ve been involved. There may be others. I’m not sure.”

  Anchor remained quiet.

  “If they get in the way before I get to my daughter or if it all comes out at once,” I said, then paused. “It might get bad. Because I don’t care who they are. If I find out they were responsible, I’ll take them out. And I mean that exactly the way it sounds.” I paused again. “I’m not sure that’s something you’ll want to be involved with and I understand if you don’t.”

  Anchor stared at me for a long moment, then turned to Kitting. “Ellis, you have a problem taking out a police officer who kidnapped a young girl?”

  “None,” Kitting said.

  Anchor nodded, as if that was the answer he expected, then he turned back to me. “I appreciate your candor, Mr. Tyler. But neither Ellis nor myself have a problem with continuing to assist you. Mr. Codaselli has made it very clear that he wishes to repay your help in any way necessary. Whatever you need us to do in order to help you reunite with your daughter we’re happy to do. And we’ll do so to the best of our capabilities.” He smiled and there was a coldness in his eyes that made me thankful he was on our side. “And I mean that exactly the way it sounds.”

  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.