Thread of Truth

by Jeff Shelby

  “She really is,” Alice said with a nod. “I was dubious at first. I didn't think he needed a girlfriend, but I liked her right away. And she was a good influence on him.”

  “We tried to encourage him to take it slow, but they were attached right away,” Tom continued. “I think Alice and I...I think we were looking for signs that it was a bad thing, but we just never saw them. If anything, he'd become more responsible. His homework was done early. He wasn't late for a single thing I could think of. He got a job and started putting money in the bank. They were a really good couple together.”

  “Olivia was part of our family,” Alice said. “She is part of our family.”

  I just listened.

  “When he told us she was pregnant, I immediately thought the worst,” Tom said, rubbing at his chin. “He was making mistakes again. He wasn't sticking to the plan. I was...not kind.” He winced, the memory of his words and his actions clearly painful. “And I ended up having to apologize because he made it very clear he was ready to be a father. In every way. He was sticking to the old plan and creating a new one. His grades stayed up. He was working more hours. He went to every appointment with Olivia. He was entirely focused on her and that child.” He smiled and shook his head. “I think he was more responsible than I was when Alice was pregnant with him.”

  “And the girl?” I asked. “Olivia?”

  “According to Desmond, she was a little reluctant at first,” Tom said. “Which was understandable. But I think Desmond won her over. They were planning on getting married.” He eyed me. “I know what you're thinking, Mr. Tyler. All of this sounds a little too good to be true. I certainly understand that, and I would probably share your skepticism if I were in your place. But our son was committed to Olivia and their son. He was excited.” He glanced at his wife. “That's why we don't believe he's run away. It's the exact opposite thing we would expect from him right now.”

  Tom Locker was right. I was skeptical. Not of what they thought was the truth, but of what the actual truth was. I was having a difficult time believing that an eighteen-year-old kid, who'd already been through a lot, had grown up that fast and had had such a remarkable turnaround. I didn't doubt they thought it was the truth, but I also knew that teenagers were very good at keeping secrets.

  “Thomas,” Alice said. She was saying her husband’s name but looking at me.

  “I'm sorry?” I said.

  “They named the boy Thomas,” she said. “He was born two days after Desmond disappeared. They named him after Tom.”

  Tom bit his lip and looked down at his lap.

  “Everyone's healthy?” I asked. “The baby and Olivia?”

  Alice nodded. “Yes. The only thing wrong is that Desmond is missing.” She paused. “So we're hoping you'll help us.”

  I leaned back in the sofa. “So where do you think he is, assuming he hasn't run away? And I'm not saying he has. But let's go with your beliefs. If he hadn't run away, where would he be?”

  “We honestly have no idea.” Tom’s forehead wrinkled with concern. “I didn't think anything would keep him from seeing that baby born.” He glanced nervously at his wife. “If I'm being honest, I think we're afraid that something has happened to him.”

  “When you say that, do you mean with drugs again?”

  Tom hesitated then shook his head. “No.”

  We sat in silence for a moment. My eyes drifted once again to the family portrait. The arms around each other, the happy smiles Tom and Alice wore, the goofy one stretching across Desmond’s cheeks.

  “So you believe that whatever has happened, it wasn't Desmond's choosing,” I said. “You think there's something keeping him away, against his will.”

  Tom nodded slowly. “I do. We do.” He chewed on his lip again for a just a second. “Look, I can see what's going through your mind and, like I said earlier, I don't blame you. I don’t know that I would believe any of this if I were in your shoes.”

  I gave a slight nod.

  He cleared his throat. “I don’t need for you to believe me. I’m just asking you to see if you can find him.” His jaw tightened and he dropped his gaze. When he spoke again, his voice was low. Raw. “Wherever he is, whatever's happened, we need to know. We want him home. We've tried going through the police and we didn't get the help we wanted.” He paused. “So now we're asking for your help.”

  His pain and worry—his wife’s, too—permeated the room. They were desperate to find their son. And they were desperate to believe that he was a changed person, the son he’d been before the drugs and alcohol.

  I wasn’t convinced. Desmond’s history suggested it had been his choice to disappear, and if my instincts were correct, he wouldn’t be too happy about being found.

  Because I would find him.

  “He's eighteen,” I reminded them, as gently as I could. “If I find him, I can't force him to return home. He's considered an adult and can, in theory, make his own decisions.”

  “We understand that,” Tom said quickly. “We do. So maybe rather than make it sound like we're asking you to bring him home, maybe I should clarify and say we'd just like for you to locate him.”

  I knew he was changing the vocabulary more for my sake than for theirs. I had no doubt that if I found their son, they would do their best to drag him home.

  I wasn't sure I wanted to be a party to that.

  But I needed to work, and they'd called me and hadn't batted an eye when I'd mentioned my fees.

  “Okay,” I said, looking at each of them. “I'll see if I can find him.”

  FOUR

  The Lockers had anticipated hiring me and put together what looked to me like a pretty complete file on their son. Names of his friends with contact information. His employer. His school schedule. Nearly anything that applied to Desmond Locker, they’d typed up, printed out, and stuck in a 3-ring binder. I assumed it was a way to keep themselves busy as they wondered where he was. They assured me that they would run down any other information I wanted or needed.

  I took the binder and told them I'd be in touch soon.

  I drove back to Coronado, the late afternoon traffic bringing the drive to a crawl as I moved past Mission Bay, Sea World, and then the airport. The sun seemed especially bright and I reached out to adjust the car visor on the passenger side, hoping to block the glare. Traffic slowed even more as the highway curved toward downtown. It seemed as if the sheer number of people now on the roads in San Diego was growing by the day. Even though it was May, there had already been an influx of early summer arrivals, trying to get a head start on the beaches and to take advantage of the pre-season rental rates. I appreciated that people loved San Diego as a vacation destination but I had long ago reached the point where I wished they would start visiting the other coast.

  Elizabeth's car was in the driveway when I finally made it to the house and that fact made the long drive home worth it. I pushed open the front door with one hand, the binder from the Lockers in the other. The smell of barbecued meat made my mouth water.

  Elizabeth craned her head through the door that led to the back patio. “I found the steaks in the fridge and I was hungry.”

  “You read my mind,” I said, tossing the binder and my keys on the couch.

  I joined her out on the patio. My gaze drifted to the meat sizzling on the open grill. She’d already flipped the steaks.

  “I didn't look for anything else in the fridge,” she said. “That'll be your job.”

  “I'll make a salad,” I told her, dropping into the chair across from the grill. “And there's broccoli in the fridge.”

  She pointed the tongs at me. “You look tired.”

  She did not. Her long blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail, her cheeks pink from the heat of the grill. The loose t-shirt and gym shorts she was wearing did nothing to hide the fact that she was lean and youthful and fit.

  “When don't I?” I asked.

  “Fair point,” she said with a smirk. “You are old.”

&
nbsp; “I was going to say it was nice to see you, but I'm rethinking it.”

  She chuckled and turned back to tend to the meat.

  My daughter had returned from her long road trip a different person. To me, it seemed as if she could finally see the path in front of her. She’d seemed to make peace with her long, difficult past, and it had provided her with the clarity she needed to move forward. She'd gone back to running for UCSD and had a pretty good outdoor track season. She was finally graduating in two weeks. She hadn't decided on a career path yet, but it wasn't stressing her out. I usually only saw her on the weekends, if I saw her at all. She'd moved into a new apartment near school and was living with a roommate who was a good friend, as well. So it was a pleasant surprise to find her in the backyard.

  “Where were you?” she asked. She used metal tongs to gently lift one of the steaks, inspecting her grillwork. If she was anything like me, she would be a master.

  “Meeting with a client,” I told her.

  She turned to me with raised eyebrows. “A client?”

  “Son is missing, but it's sort of weird.”

  “Weird how?”

  I told her about my meeting with the Lockers.

  “That is kind of weird,” she said when I'd finished. “Do you believe them?”

  “I believe them in that they think he's turned his life around,” I said. “I'm just not sure they're being honest with themselves. Seems like a quick turnaround for a kid who seemed to be headed in the wrong direction.”

  “Maybe he hadn't gone too far in the wrong direction.”

  “Maybe.”

  Elizabeth poked at the meat with her tongs, as if doing so might indicate it was done. “Though I'm not sure having a baby would normally be considered a sign of turning one's life around, especially at eighteen.”

  “Yeah, I thought so, too,” I said, clasping my hands behind my head. “I thought they were trying to frame it as a good thing, but I kept thinking maybe he hadn't righted the ship as much as they believed he had. Or wanted to believe he had.”

  She nodded, her blonde ponytail bobbing behind her. “Right. So are you going to look for him?”

  A couple of gulls flew overhead, squawking. Sirens wailed in the distance, a soft sound that eventually faded.

  “I said I would.”

  She nodded again. “Good.”

  She'd been the one who'd really pushed me to cut the cord on teaching and treat investigating as a career. When she returned from Minnesota, she'd really pushed me to quit. She knew I wasn't happy and she knew it had become drudgery for me. Up to that point, she'd been subtle in suggesting I leave and return to investigating. When she came back, she'd been direct and I'd listened. She helped me put up a barebones website and design some simple business cards. She played heavily on the news articles that had been written after I'd found her and used those to give the website – and me – credibility. It made me a little uncomfortable, but I'd started getting inquiries and that had eventually led to a steady stream of business. I wasn't licensed and always had to make that clear, but that hadn't deterred too many folks. The Lockers, though, were the first people to ask me to take a look at something that was a bit more complicated.

  “Anything I need to do for graduation?” I asked, switching subjects. “I feel like I've done...nothing.”

  “It's not high school,” she reminded me. “I had to fill out some paperwork and pay for the cap and gown. That's pretty much it.”

  “Do I need a ticket or something?”

  “No. Not for either of them.”

  “Either of them? There’s more than one?”

  She looked at me and grinned. “There’s the All-College Commencement and then the one for my specific school. That’s the one where they’ll call my name and I’ll walk across the stage.”

  “But there’s two?” I asked. “You have two? And I don’t need a ticket?”

  She chuckled and shook her head. “Trust me. You’re good to go. As long as you show up, you’ll get a seat.”

  I wasn’t going to question her. “Alright then.”

  She turned the temperature down on the grill. “Is it cool if I spend the night here tonight? It's Kevin's birthday and Audrey was too polite to ask me to leave the apartment for the night, so I offered.”

  “You know you don't have to ask. Of course.”

  She shrugged. “I don't want to assume anything.”

  “It is safe to assume you will always be welcome here and never have to ask,” I told her. “Stay for five minutes or five months. I like it when you're here.”

  “Because I make dinner for you.”

  “That's just a bonus.”

  She laughed. “Just wait until I can't find a job and have to move back in for good.”

  “I keep your room ready.”

  She turned around and pointed at me with the tongs. “Dad, for real. You need to go on a date or something.”

  “How did we go from talking about you moving back in to me going on a date?”

  “Seemed like a natural progression.”

  I eyed her. “Maybe you aren't welcome here...”

  “I'm serious,” she said. “You're in this house all alone. You need some company.”

  “You're here. I'm good.”

  “That's not what I mean and you know it,” she said. A frown creased her forehead. “You need some...companionship.”

  I thought of Lauren.

  “I'm fine.”

  “No, you're not.” Elizabeth’s gaze drifted to the door that led into the kitchen. I watched as her eyes shifted to the windows upstairs. “This house is built for more than one person.”

  A small knot formed in my gut as I imagined Lauren in the house. How we’d lived there together, then drifted apart, then made our way back to each other for that brief period of time after finding Elizabeth.

  And then...

  The knot grew.

  Some days, it was easy to block the memories, to keep moving forward and not dwell on the past.

  But other days were pure hell.

  I tried to ignore the twisting in my gut and forced a smile instead. “There are two of us here right now,” I said lightly.

  “I mean, you can decide not to take me seriously, but I'm not dropping this,” she said.

  “I know a locksmith.”

  She gave me a withering look. “You aren't nearly as funny as you think.”

  I stood up. “I'll get plates.”

  “Avoidance,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “I'm totally setting you up on Tinder.”

  “I don't know what that is and even if I did, I wouldn't be interested.” I squeezed her shoulder. “I'm okay. I promise.”

  It wasn’t a lie. I did feel okay.

  Most days.

  “I didn't say you weren't,” she said. “I just don't want you to be alone forever.”

  “Well, hopefully, you won't be able to find a job and you'll have to move back in,” I said. “Then I won’t be alone.”

  “Seriously,” she said. “You aren't that funny.”

  FIVE

  We ate the steaks and had a nice evening catching up and half-heartedly watching a movie. She thankfully didn't bring up finding a companion for me again and, after a quick breakfast the next morning, she was out the door, heading back to school.

  I went for a quick run on the beach, showered, and called Olivia Cousins, Desmond’s girlfriend, to ask if I could come talk to her. The Lockers had apparently prepped her for my call because she didn't seem surprised to hear from me and agreed to meet me at ten at her home.

  Olivia's home was just south of UCSD in a cozy neighborhood adjacent to La Jolla Village Square. It was a single-story ranch home with a swing on the front porch and two small SUVs parked in the driveway. The garden under the front windows looked as if it were attended to on an hourly basis, with perfectly manicured red and yellow roses.

  I parked at the curb and a man about my size and age was waiting behind the screen do
or for me. He was in denim jeans and a long-sleeved button down that hugged his frame. His hair was like a glacier, making a slow retreat from his forehead. He stared intently at me as I made my way up the walk.

  “I'm Joe Tyler,” I said when I reached the door.

  “Bill Cousins,” he said, pushing open the screen and offering his hand. “I'm Olivia's father.”

  We shook hands and it might've been my imagination, but it felt like he hung on a fraction too hard and half a second too long. He stepped out of the way and motioned for me to come in.

  “My wife and Olivia are in the living room,” he said as I stepped past him. “Olivia, she said you were coming over.”

  “I hope that's okay,” I said. “Mr. and Mrs. Locker passed along her contact information to me.”

  “You're an investigator?” he asked, making no move to leave the small entry area.

  “I am.”

  He nodded, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening. “Have you learned anything about Desmond?”

  “I just spoke with the Lockers last night,” I told him. “Olivia was my first call.”

  “Okay.” He motioned toward the hallway. “Living room's this way.”

  He didn't seem thrilled to have me in his home, but I wouldn't have called him unwelcoming. I assumed he was worried about a man he didn't know coming to speak with his daughter. I didn't fault him for that.

  The picture-lined hallway emptied into a long room with two sofas, an easy chair, and a television mounted on the wall. A woman about Bill Cousins' age was on the sofa sitting upright and staring at a small baby cradled in the younger girl's lap. The younger girl had black hair that hung just below her shoulders. She didn’t look a day over sixteen. She wore a long-sleeved sweatshirt and bright pink sweatpants that hid her post-pregnant body well. The baby was gurgling and fussing, and it took a moment before either of the women realized we were standing there.

  The older woman stood up. “Good morning.” She crossed the room, her hand extended. “I'm Sharon Cousins.”

  “Joe Tyler.” I shook her hand.