by Jeff Shelby
Thread of Truth
By Jeff Shelby
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Thread of Truth
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019
Cover design by Alchemy Book Covers and Design
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the expressed written consent of the author.
Books by Jeff Shelby
The Joe Tyler Novels
THREAD OF HOPE
THREAD OF SUSPICION
THREAD OF BETRAYAL
THREAD OF INNOCENCE
THREAD OF FEAR
THREAD OF REVENGE
THREAD OF DANGER
THREAD OF DOUBT
THREAD OF TRUTH
The Noah Braddock Novels
KILLER SWELL
WICKED BREAK
LIQUID SMOKE
DRIFT AWAY
LOCKED IN
IMPACT ZONE
WIPE OUT
The Moose River Mysteries
THE MURDER PIT
LAST RESORT
ALIBI HIGH
FOUL PLAY
YOU'VE GOT BLACKMAIL
ASSISTED MURDER
DEATH AT THE DINER
SCHOOL OF MURDER
DEAD IN THE WATER
The Rainy Day Mysteries
BOUGHT THE FARM
WHEN THE ROOSTER KILLS
CRACK OF DEATH
PLANTING EVIDENCE
ONE BAD EGG
BALE OUT
LAST STRAW
CUT AND DIED
SOUR GRAPES
TYING THE KNOT
The Capitol Cases Mysteries
DEAD ON ARRIVAL
NATIONAL MAUL
DARK HORSE
The Sunny Springfield Mysteries
DEAD BY DINNER TIME
BEAUTY AND THE THIEF
CUTTING TIES
The Elizabeth Tyler Mysteries
WHAT SHE LOST
WHAT SHE FOUND
WHAT SHE KNOWS
The Deuce Winters Novels (Under the pseudonym Jeffrey Allen)
STAY AT HOME DEAD
POPPED OFF
FATHERS KNOWS DEATH
Novel for Young Adults
PLAYING THE GAME
Short Story Collections
OUT OF TIME
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ONE
“We don't believe our son is missing,” Tom Locker said.
I shifted on the couch in Tom and Alice Locker's living room. They lived in a modest two-story home in Del Mar Heights, just on the east side of Camino Del Mar, which most people called Pacific Coast Highway. Alice made coffee, but none of us had touched the mugs sitting on the table.
“You don't think he's missing,” I said. “So why am I here?”
They exchanged a look. They were both in their late forties, with the tan complexions of people who had the money to live near the beach and the time to actually enjoy it. Tom wore a black golf shirt and tan shorts that were several shades lighter than his skin. Alice’s silver sundress matched the color of her nail polish and the threads of gray just beginning to appear on her hairline.
“Because you find people,” Tom said. “That's what we've been told and that's what I read about you. Isn't that true?”
“I've found some people, yes.” I glanced at the untouched coffee. The mugs were ceramic, each of them a different shade of blue. “But there are never any guarantees.”
“But it's what you do,” Tom said. “Isn’t it?”
He was right about that. I'd given up my newfound teaching job after only a couple of years and was back to doing what I'd learned to do when my own daughter had gone missing: find people. I had yet to be convinced I could make a living at it, but it was the only environment I felt comfortable in.
“Mr. Tyler,” Alice said, forcing a tight smile. Her eyes crinkled at the corners. “We just want to know where Desmond is.”
I nodded. “I understand that. But why don't you think he's missing?”
Tom leaned back in the sofa across from me. The furnishings were sparse but tasteful, the colors neutral. Both couches were chocolate brown, the coffee table and matching end tables made of a blond wood. The artwork on the wall reflected the views outside: landscapes complete with palm trees and long stretches of beach. Apart from the family portrait hanging above one couch and the scattering of candids tucked into a bookcase in the corner of the room, I could have just as easily been sitting in a hotel lounge.
He thought for a moment before responding. “I guess I phrased that incorrectly. We don't think he's run away.”
Alice affirmed that with a shake of her head.
“Okay,” I said. “Where do you think he is?”
“We don't know that.” Tom rubbed at the day-old stubble on his chin. “But, right now, most people would tell you that he's run off.” He paused. “Desmond isn't a perfect kid. He's had his issues.”
Alice's eyes drifted downward.
“What kind of issues?” I asked.
Tom folded his arms across his broad chest. “I could tell you that he fell in with the wrong crowd and that he made some poor choices in friends, and those things are true. But, ultimately, they were Desmond's choices. No one else's. He used drugs. He was arrested.” He pursed his lips for a moment. “The difference with Desmond, though, is that he got scared.”
“Scared?”
Tom nodded. “Most definitely. He spent some time in custody and in juvenile detention.” A sad smile spread across his lips. “He would never say exactly what happened, but it was pretty clear that it scared the crap out of him. He was out of his element there. If he'd harbored any illusions of a life as a tough guy, that place scared it right out of him.”
“Not a bad thing then,” I said.
“Not at all,” Tom agreed. “Not at all. When he got out, he was ready to clean up his act. And he did, in every way possible.”
“As far as we know,” Alice added.
Annoyance flashed through her husband's eyes, but it passed quickly. “Of course. We can't be completely certain that something wasn't going on behind the scenes with him, but as far as we know, he'd truly gotten himself turned around. It showed.”
“Has he left home before?” I asked.
They looked at one another, exchanging a look that already gave me the answer.
“Yeah,” Tom said. “One time before, was about two years ago. But that was when he was in the thick of it. He was gone for two nights and even though we contacted the police, we were pretty sure we knew where he was. He eventually came home.”
“Is that when things got better?”
Alice folded her hands in her lap.
“No,” Tom answered. “It was still pretty bad.” He paused. “I don't want to give you some rosy picture that isn't true. We had a rough road with Desmond for quite some time.” He glanced at his wife. “But we stuck it out. We didn't give up. And he didn't, either.” He looked at me. “That's why we don't think he's run away. He's not perfect, but he was in a good place.”
“Lots of people in good places sometimes find reasons to run away,” I said. “I don't mean to sound jaded, but it's the truth.”
Tom nodded. “I appreciate that. I really do. But we know our son.”
It seemed clear I wouldn't be able to persuade him otherwise, even if I wasn't as certain.
“I assume you've spoken with the po
lice,” I said.
Tom nodded again. “Yes. I don't want to say they don't care—”
“They don't,” Alice snapped. “They made it very clear that they don't believe us, and because he's an adult, it's not terribly high on their priority list.”
“He's eighteen?” I asked.
They both nodded.
“And you were able to file a report?”
“We were and we did,” Tom said. “We didn't have much to go on. We did get a call back, but it really felt like it was a call to tell us we were out of luck.”
“How so?”
Tom thought for a moment. Alice put her hand on his forearm. Their interactions with each other seemed genuine, not forced. They were troubled by whatever was going on with their son.
“They pointed out the obvious,” Tom said. “That he was a legal adult, so that gave him some leeway to do as he pleases. But multiple times, they came back to his record, as if that somehow proved something.” He took a deep breath. “They think he's gone of his own choosing and made it pretty clear that's how they'd be treating our report.” He flashed a quick smile in my direction. “I ended the conversation with something profane and hung up.”
I nodded. “Understandable. Tough when it feels like people aren't listening.”
“Very much so.”
“You said they kept coming back to his record,” I said. “That sounds like there was more than an incident or two.”
Tom pursed his lips again, considering his answer. “I just want to reiterate. Desmond isn't perfect.”
“None of us are,” I said.
“There's a lot of good in him,” he said.
Alice's hand tightened on his forearm.
“But there was also some bad,” he said.
I looked at Alice first, then Tom. The tension in the room was palpable.
“Tell me about the bad.”
TWO
Tom finally picked up his coffee, taking a long drink before setting the mug back down. “He started with alcohol and marijuana. He was smoking and drinking when he went to the park with friends. He did a good job of hiding it from us and truth be told, we had no reason to be on the lookout for it. He was a good student and had never been in any kind of trouble.”
“He was student body president of his middle school,” Alice said proudly.
“He was playing sports and his grades were good,” Tom said, nodding. “He was just a good kid and hadn't given us any reason to worry. Then he came home late one afternoon. I don't remember the details, but I remember he came home way late and hadn't called us. It was unlike him. And as soon as he walked into the kitchen, I smelled it on him. The booze and the marijuana.”
“Did you call him on it?” I asked.
“I did,” he said. “I asked him if he'd been drinking or smoking and he said he had. Didn't even try to lie.” He let out a slow breath. “That was a long night.”
Alice shifted and laid her hands flat on her thighs. “It was. We sat down right here with him. He said he'd gotten both from a friend, that he was just curious. He admitted he'd had alcohol and smoked a couple of times before that day. We asked him about using other drugs and he said he'd never used anything else.” She glanced at her husband. “He told us he wouldn't do it again and we believed him.”
“But he did,” I said.
She looked at her husband.
“Yeah,” Tom admitted. “I'm still not sure how often, but I think he was a pretty frequent user. He just got better at hiding it from us. He washed his own clothes. He made sure we were at work if he was coming home after he used.” He shrugged. “Pretty standard behavior for a kid who was using drugs. We just weren't prepared and probably too naive.”
I appreciated his honesty. Too many parents took the easy way out when they discovered things about their own kids, deflecting and making excuses. He was acknowledging that they weren't ready for what came their way and had no idea how to deal with it.
“I think it was two months after we first caught him that he was arrested,” Tom said.
Alice nodded.
“He tried to sell to an undercover officer,” Tom explained. “And he had quite a bit of the drug on him, so he was charged with both possession and intent to sell.”
“When was this?”
“Two years ago,” he said. “So he was arrested. Luckily, he was still a juvenile. We got the call and went and got him. Had to go to court and he was lucky. He got a judge who was sympathetic, given that he'd never had an issue before that. He had to pay a fine, attend a drug awareness class, and do a hundred hours of community service. All things considered, we were pretty relieved.”
“Was he?” I asked.
“Thought he was,” Tom said. He stared at the cup of coffee in his hand. “Said he was. Complained a little about all of the service hours, but we reminded him he was lucky and he said he knew that.” He paused. “If he paid the fine, completed the class, and did all of the hours, everything would be removed from his record after a year's probation.”
Neither of them said anything.
“Did he not finish the hours?” I asked.
“No, he did,” Tom said. “He was working at both a food pantry and a senior center. He completed the class, too.” He glanced at his wife. “He just didn't stay out of trouble.”
Alice sighed and leaned back into the sofa. Tom reached over and touched her shoulder. She laid her hand on top of his.
“He stole a car,” Tom said quietly. “To this day, I'm still not sure why. I'm not sure he knew why he did it. I think he got pressured into doing it by a few of his so-called friends. I'm not making excuses for him. It was his choice and it was incredibly stupid. But he's never been able to provide us with a real reason as to why he did it.”
“He kept saying it was because he was dumb,” Alice said. “He said he was just being dumb and thinking he could get away with it.”
“He was still using, too,” Tom said. “He was high when he did it. So he wasn't in a state to make smart decisions.” He paused for a moment. “They played a game at the mall. They walked the lot, sticking their hands into the wheel wells of cars, seeing if they could find one of those little magnetic boxes that holds a spare key. Desmond was the first one to find one.” He sighed, shaking his head. “So he was arrested. The car was reported stolen by the owner within fifteen minutes of him taking it from the mall. They stopped him over by UCSD. I honestly thought it was a mistake when they called us. I couldn't believe he'd done it. But he had.”
My gaze drifted to the wall behind the Lockers, back to the family portrait. They were on the beach with Desmond, all three dressed in white collared shirts and khakis. He was between his parents, their arms draped around him. It had been a breezy day judging by the way their hair blew back, away from their faces. Desmond was taller than both his parents, and he had that kind of awkward smile a teenager puts on when they have to pose for a picture with their family. But he didn't look unhappy.
“When they found out he was on probation, they took him to the juvenile detention facility,” Tom continued. “We were able to get him released that evening, but I don't think any of us said too much.”
Alice shook her head.
“He had a hearing three days later,” Tom said. “Same judge, but not nearly as sympathetic this time around. Gave him a short lecture and remanded him into custody of the juvenile facility for twenty-one days.”
“How'd that go over?” I asked.
“He was scared from the moment the judge issued the order,” Tom said. “So were we. We had no experience with that. We didn't know what it would be like for him and no matter what he'd done, he was still our son.” He looked toward his wife, who was back to staring at the couch. “But I think it really was for the best.”
Alice nodded curtly. “It was. He came out of there different from when he'd gone in. I don't know how to describe it, but we could just see it. The first thing he asked us was if he should go to rehabilitation. I think w
e were surprised by it, because from everything we'd read and learned, marijuana use wasn't addictive, and we never saw any evidence that he was an alcoholic. But he said he wanted to go to get his act together, to figure out how to not keep doing the same things. He was assigned a counselor after his release and she was in agreement about Des needing rehab.” Her voice broke a little and she cleared her throat. “The counselor recommended a place out in Indian Wells that specialized in teenagers. We had him there two days later and he was there for eight weeks.” She looked at me, offering a watery smile. “When he walked out, it was like our kid was back.”
Tom nodded in agreement. “It really was. The sense of humor was back. The sarcasm. His smile was different. He just looked different, like the kid we hadn't seen in quite some time.”
“How did he feel about rehab?” I asked.
“He said it was hard at first, then not as hard, then great,” Tom said. “Those were his words. He was playing basketball every day. Swimming. Reading. No electronics. They had their group meetings. He had a mentor there. He had a plan when he came out and he pretty much stuck to it.”
The coffee on the table still smelled good, but I was certain it had cooled to a temperature that wasn't to my liking. “What was the plan?”
“Apologize to friends he'd alienated,” Tom explained. “Let the friends he didn't want to be around know he was done. Get his grades up. Get a job. Start planning for college.” His smile was wistful. “And he did all of those things. It really was like we’d gotten our son back. It was great.”
Alice nodded.
“You said pretty much stuck to the plan,” I said. “Did something not go right?”
They exchanged nervous glances for a moment, neither of them saying anything.
I waited.
“It's the reason we don't believe he's run away,” Tom finally said. “It's the thing he was most excited about, and the thing that I think was pushing him to stay on the right path.”
“Okay. What was it?”
Tom lifted the cup of coffee he was holding, holding it halfway to his lips. “He was about to become a father.”
THREE
“He started dating Olivia probably six months after he was out of rehab,” Tom said. “Olivia Cousins. Same age as Desmond. A great girl.”