We stopped once for food and once more for gas and by late afternoon, our highway speed dropped drastically as we became entwined in the gridlock that was Los Angeles traffic. The wide open deserts morphed into tight pockets of homes, long strip malls and not much open space. Despite having lived in San Diego for most of my life, I hadn’t spent much time in L.A. and it still felt like a foreign city to me. There was a vibe I’d never been able to identify, as if everyone else knew what it was and I was just looking around, clueless as to what I was missing out on.
“I don’t know where to go,” I said.
Lauren stretched in her seat. “I was just gonna ask.”
“We could go to the airport,” I said. “But according to Morgan, she’s already gone.”
She nodded. “She probably is.”
“So where?”
“Where would you go?” she said. “If you were her. You’d never been here before, your money is limited and transportation is probably limited to a taxi or a bus. Where would you go?”
I thought. And thought some more. I tried to think in terms of someone else, try to think about a different missing kid, to somehow distance myself and be able to come up with a rational thought, a plan of attack. But all I could think of was Elizabeth. My daughter. Alone.
“I honestly have no idea,” I finally said.
The traffic crept along slowly, marching us closer to the coast and the Pacific Ocean.
“Maybe I should call Mike back,” I said. It was the last thing I wanted to do but I was stuck. “Ask him for some help. Manpower to search, check surveillance at the airport. Rather than just take shots in the dark and drive around randomly.”
Lauren nodded hesitantly. “I guess.”
I glanced at her. “What?”
She waited a moment. “You’ve planted the seed with me. I don’t trust him. And I feel like bringing him in might jeopardize her safety. I mean, if he really was involved in taking her, there’s no incentive to find her. There’s actually incentive to make sure we don’t find her.”
“Unless he thinks finding her would completely erase any doubt there might be that he helped take her,” I countered. “Be the hero. No one looks at the hero.”
Lauren thought for a moment, then shook her head. “I don’t think so. He doesn’t know that she doesn’t apparently remember much. If you were the guy that took her, you’d operate under the idea that she would tell everyone what happened and implicate you.”
“She hasn’t thus far.”
“But seeing him might trigger it for her,” she said. “I think the person who took her would do everything in their power to keep her away from us. Anything and everything.”
That thought chilled the interior of the car even in the California sunshine. And while I was trying to play devil’s advocate, I agreed with her. Anyone involved in the abduction would be paranoid that they would be exposed. If they were cold enough to take a child and sell her, they were cold enough to do whatever it took to protect their identity.
Which was just as unsettling as not knowing where Elizabeth was.
“There has to be something to do here other than just chase our tail,” she said. “We can’t just wait for Morgan to call us with updates. We don’t even know for sure that she will anymore.”
“Right,” I said. I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel.
“There has to be someone that can help us, someone who could do some of the things Mike might be able to do,” Lauren said, leaning against the window. “Another cop you know? Another investigator?”
I thought for a moment, then reached for my phone. “Maybe there is.”
Lauren turned to look at me. “Yeah? Who?”
“Hang on,” I said.
“Great. I love suspense.”
I thumbed through the contacts on my phone until I found the name I wanted. I let my thumb hover over it for a moment, then touched the screen. I watched the number pop up on the screen as the phone dialed it. It was worth a shot.
It rang one time before it was answered.
“Mr. Tyler,” John Anchor said on the other end. “Good to hear from you.”
Several days prior in Minneapolis, I’d helped Peter Codaselli reunite with his son. Codaselli was a reputed leader of organized crime in the area and his right hand man was John Anchor, a man who dressed more like an investment banker than an assassin. They had been grateful for my help and they knew about my search for my daughter. Anchor offered up any assistance in order to return the favor of finding Codaselli’s son.
He was worth a shot.
“Yeah,” I said into the phone. “Thanks. Mr. Codaselli doing alright?”
“He is,” Anchor responded. “He and Marc have spent a significant amount of time together the last two days. It’s going well and I think it has all helped keep his illness at bay.”
Codaselli was a late-stage cancer patient, one of the many reasons he’d been in a hurry to repair his damaged relationship with his son. Anchor had intimated to me that he didn’t have much time left.
“Good,” I said. “That’s good to hear.”
“Mr. Codaselli is enormously grateful,” Anchor said. “He credits you.”
“He should credit his son.”
“Perhaps. But he knows you were influential in getting Marc home. He’s very appreciative.”
I didn’t say anything.
“And we saw the news report this morning,” he continued. “We weren’t sure what to make of it, but we were hoping it was accurate.”
“Well, yes and no,” I said. “That’s why I’m calling.”
“The offer stands, Mr. Tyler,” Anchor said, as if he was reading my mind. “If we can help in any way, we’d be happy to. It’s the least we can do.”
“You have a few minutes?” I asked. “I can lay out where I’m at and why I’m calling?”
“I have as many minutes as you need, Mr. Tyler.”
As the traffic inched along on the freeway, I detailed what had occurred since I’d said goodbye to him in Codaselli’s building. I shared everything except my concern about who might’ve had a hand in her abduction. Lauren stared straight ahead as I talked, but I knew she was listening, probably wondering who the hell I was talking to. I just figured if there was anyone I could trust right at that moment, it was Anchor. It felt strange, but as I always said, you used the resources you had.
Anchor was a resource.
“Do you have the number from the phone that was stolen?” Anchor asked. “Or the number for the phone she purchased after the initial one was stolen?”
“I know we have the original number,” I said. “But not the second one yet. We’re hoping to get that soon.”
“Could I have the original number?”
“One sec,” I said, then motioned at Lauren. “Give me the number that Morgan gave you for Elizabeth.”
“Who are you talking to?” she asked, but she had her phone in her hands and was looking.
“Tell you when I’m done.”
She recited the number and I repeated it to Anchor.
“And do you have the flight information for the flight she was on? Out of Denver, you said, correct?”
“Yeah, Denver,” I answered and gave him the flight info.
“I’ll start with these and see what I can come up with,” Anchor said. “It’ll take a bit of time, at least a few hours, but I’ll get back to you.”
“Thanks.”
“And if you obtain any other pertinent details, don’t hesitate to call me back. I’ll be available.”
“Will do. Thanks, John.”
We hung up.
Traffic started to thin and our speed picked up. I set the phone down on the console.
“So?” Lauren said.
“So the kid I found in Minneapolis?” I told her. “The son of the mob guy?”
“Right.”
“That was the mob guy’s lieutenant. Or assistant. I don’t know what you call him.”
“Okay.”
I switched lanes and I could see the highrises in downtown L.A. start to pop up on the horizon. “They owe me. I called in the favor.”
“You called in a hit man to help us find our daughter?” she asked, her mouth open in disbelief. “That was the best you could do?”
I switched lanes again so we were now in the fastest moving lane on the freeway, almost up to the speed limit, the brownish smog breaking away into high white clouds in the bright blue sky hanging over the ocean.