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.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Elizabeth had been gone for exactly twenty days the last time I’d been in Bazer’s office.
I dropped a newspaper on his desk. “What the fuck is this?”
Bazer ignored the paper and stared at me. “Sit down, Joe. You look exhausted.”
I was beyond exhausted. I’d slept maybe twenty hours in the twenty days since Elizabeth had disappeared. I’d barely been able to stomach food. Showering had become a near impossible task. I was fried and I knew it.
But that morning’s paper had lit a brand new fire under me.
I sat, my hands shaking. “What the fuck is going on, Lieutenant?”
He scanned the newspaper and his mouth set in a firm line. “I can’t control the media, Joe.”
“You didn’t deny that I’m a suspect in my daughter’s disappearance.” My voice cracked on the accusation, my throat dry and raw. “You told me I wasn’t. Did you lie to me?”
Bazer set the paper down and folded it in half, as if hiding the article would make it go away. He could have set it on fire and eaten the ashes and I knew that I’d never forget that paper for the rest of my life.
Lauren and I had agreed-we wanted media coverage of Elizabeth’s disappearance. We felt that the more people were talking about her, the more times her face was seen, the better the chance that we would see her again. We also knew that doing so would open us up to scrutiny, but we were prepared for that. We hadn’t done anything wrong and we just wanted our daughter back.
But that morning’s story had rattled me.
“I told you,” Bazer said. “You are not a suspect. We know that you didn’t have anything to do with Elizabeth’s disappearance.”
I stood, slamming my fist on his desk so hard the floor rattled. “Then why didn’t you say that?”
The paper had quoted Bazer as saying in direct response to a reporter’s question regarding my status: “The investigation is ongoing and no one has been ruled out as a suspect.” The article reiterated that I was an officer in the Coronado PD and that Bazer, when pressed, declined further comment.
“You know how it works,” Bazer said, nudging the paper in my direction.
“Yeah, I do know how it works,” I said. “And you didn’t clear me when you had the chance. So what the hell is going on?”
Bazer rubbed at his chin, eyeing me. “Sit down, Joe.”
“No.”
“That’s an order, Officer Tyler,” he said, his face icing over. “Sit.”
I did.
“Have you given any more thought to what we talked about a couple of days ago?” he asked.
My mind was like a blender, a million things running through it at once and I couldn’t sort any of them. “Any more thought to what?”
“To stepping down while we look for Elizabeth.”