Thread of Suspicion (Joe Tyler Mystery #2) Page 2

  “I might be able to put you in touch with some people,” Isabel said. “Might help, might not. But I could at least get you to them.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your daughter,” she said. “I know a little bit about what happened with Jacob and his family. No promises, but at the very least, I can probably get you to someone who knows where his sister is. Maybe a little about her history when she was here.”

  “And in exchange, you want me to help you,” I said. “With Marc.”

  She didn’t say anything.

  But she didn’t have to. I’d gotten used to it. People meant well. I believed that. They wanted to help. But the world of missing kids was like one big giant swap meet. I’ll help you if you’ll help me. There was no fear of leveraging what you had to offer when it came to finding a missing child.

  And I was the first one to leverage when I could.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll help you.”

  FIVE

  The two men standing near Isabel’s car did not look friendly.

  I paid for the coffee and we walked out into the snow and dimming, gray sky. She ducked against the wind and then stopped cold when she saw them.

  “You know them?” I asked.

  “Yeah.”

  They stared at us, the taller of the two mumbling something to his buddy, his eyes not leaving us. He was skinnier than the other, even bundled up in a field jacket. Scar across the bridge of a pointed nose, gray eyes and a small mouth. His partner wore a thick hooded sweatshirt over what looked like several lumpy layers. Small, close-set eyes, a pug nose and a frown. He was twitchy, jumpy, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Both looked like they were in their early twenties.

  “It’s okay,” Isabel said. “It’s fine.”

  Seemed like she was saying it to reassure herself more than me.

  They ambled in our direction and the taller one nodded at Isabel. “Hey, Isabel.”

  “Stevie.” She glanced at the short one. “Boyd.”

  Stevie looked at me with the gray eyes. “Hey.”

  “Hi.”

  Boyd stared at me, looking me up and down, then shrugged, apparently not impressed.

  “Have you seen him?” Stevie asked Isabel.

  She hesitated, then shook her head.

  His mouth curled into a small smile. “You sure about that?”

  “I haven’t heard from him,” she said.

  “Not sure I believe you.”

  “Don’t know what to tell you then.”

  “She’s lying, Stevie,” Boyd said, sneering into the falling snow. “You know she is. She always protects Marc.”

  I glanced at her at the mention of Marc’s name. She didn’t look at me.

  “You didn’t return my call,” Stevie said, ignoring Boyd. “Makes me think you’re avoiding me.”

  “I’m not,” she said, shuffling her feet on the slick sidewalk. “But I don’t have any news for you and I’ve been busy.”

  Boyd snorted. “Sure you have. What? With your new boyfriend here?” He glanced at me again, his eyes glistening. “That who you are?”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “If I hear from Marc,” Isabel said to Stevie. “I’ll let you know. I told you that.”

  “What are you?” Boyd asked, stepping in a little closer to me, tilting his head, mocking. “A mute or something?”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “Don’t be an idiot, Boyd,” Isabel said.

  She glanced at Stevie. He just watched Boyd with an amused expression.

  Boyd’s mouth cracked into a sneer again. “Or maybe you’re just really stupid and don’t know how to talk.”

  It always surprised me that bullies couldn’t sense when they were around someone they wouldn’t be able to handle. Boyd knew nothing about me. He knew nothing about the anger inside me, the rage that stayed at bay inside me most days.

  Unless provoked.

  Boyd stepped in closer so that we were almost nose to nose. The stench of stale beer and cigarettes assaulted my nostrils. “Talk. Come on. You can do it.”

  “Let’s go, Joe,” Isabel said, tugging at the sleeve of my jacket.

  Boyd knocked her arm away. “Not until he…”

  My open palm slammed into the side of his face, and he swallowed his words. He stumbled to the side, off the sidewalk and into the street. I followed him, put my hands on his chest and shoved hard. He fell backward onto the trunk of a sedan parked at the curb.

  His eyes were wide, probably surprised that a guy of average size could push so hard.

  He had no idea.

  “If you get off that car, I’ll break your arm,” I said. “The one you touched her with. I’ll snap it in half, right between your wrist and your elbow.”

  Snow speckled his face, his cheeks bright pink, his breath coming out of his mouth in bursts of cold fog. A fat, red welt was forming at the corner of his mouth where I’d struck him. His eyes moved from me to his friend.

  “Sounds like he means it, Boyd,” Stevie said behind me. “I’d stay there until he tells you to get up.”

  “Joe, let’s go,” Isabel said. “Please.”

  I stared hard at Boyd. I didn’t like that he’d touched her. I didn’t need to make any of it my business, but there was something about the way he’d swiped at her arm that bothered me. And it seemed as if I didn’t need much of a push anymore to cut my anger loose.

  I stepped back onto the sidewalk.

  Boyd stayed on the car.

  I moved my eyes to Stevie.

  He held his hands up, like he wanted nothing to do with me. He wasn’t scared, just didn’t want to tangle at that moment. “Hey, man. We’re cool.”

  “Get your friend and go,” I said.

  He helped Boyd up and whispered something to him that I couldn’t make out. They headed down the sidewalk away from us, Boyd glancing over his shoulder at me.

  As they walked away, I had no doubt that we were anything but cool.

  SIX

  “What’s your cell number?” Isabel asked, opening the door to her car.

  I told her.

  She fished her phone from the console in her car, punched some numbers on it, then looked at me. “I just sent you a contact.”

  My phone vibrated in my pocket.

  “She works at DCFS,” she said. “If she can’t get you information on Bailey, she’ll know who can. Call her tomorrow morning. I’ll call her tonight and give her a heads-up that you’ll be contacting her.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Thanks.”

  “And maybe we could meet up at some point tomorrow?” she said. “Talk a little bit more about Marc?”

  I lifted my chin in the direction we’d just come from. “Maybe tell me about those guys?”

  She played with the zipper on the jacket. “Don’t worry about them. But thanks. For what you did. You didn’t need to, though.”

  She was clearly uncomfortable talking about them and I didn’t want to push her. It was none of my business. But there was more to it than she was willing to tell me.

  “Sure. Tomorrow,” I said.

  “And I’m guessing you need a place to stay,” she said.

  “I’ll find a place.”

  She reached into her bag and fumbled around a bit, the pulled out a key and card. “Here.”

  “I can find a place.”

  She frowned. “My little endeavor doesn’t exactly pay the bills, so I’m a property manager for a small complex. Over in Linden Hills. It’s not far from here. We’ve always got empties.” She thrust the key at me. “If you feel like you have to pay me, we can work it out later. But you’ll have more space than in a hotel room and you’ll have a kitchen. It’s not furnished, but I should be able to get my hands on some furniture and other things tomorrow.”

  I hesitated, then took the key and the card. “Okay. Thanks.”

  She nodded. “Address is on the card. Call me if you have trouble finding it. Otherwise, I’ll call you
tomorrow.”

  She got into her car and drove off.

  I stood there at the curb for awhile, letting the snow fall around me, watching cars crawl up and down the street as the sky moved from gray to black.

  I wasn’t sure where to go, what to do. I’d come to Minneapolis because of a picture and an address. The address, thus far, had led to nothing. Yeah, I’d found Jacob Detwiler, but that hadn’t done me much good. Maybe it would, but I wasn’t very good at being patient. I wanted something immediately.

  I pulled the picture out of my pocket, unfolded it.

  I traced Elizabeth’s face.

  For the millionth time, I wondered where exactly she was.

  SEVEN

  Linden Hills was about a twenty-five minute drive from downtown, out to the west, near an area called Chain of Lakes. The drive was wet and messy and crowded, but the road crews were already out in force, sanding and salting the streets in preparation for the overnight temperatures.

  In a lot of ways, Linden Hills reminded me of Coronado. It was a small, walkable area, with tiny Mom and Pop shops surrounded by funky old homes and buildings that had been turned into apartments. In the summer, I imagined people in their twenties zipping around on bicycles and filling the outdoor patios on the streets, sipping coffee and eating ice cream. Suburbia, with a whole lot of urban.

  I found Isabel’s complex atop one of the rolling hills, a rectangular brick building that housed about twenty units. The key was stamped with a “188” and I found the unit at the end of a hallway on the first floor.

  It was a one bedroom with a small kitchen and bathroom and not a single piece of furniture. But it was clean and smelled of fresh paint and new carpeting. I opened the slider off the living room and stepped out onto the patio that looked back and down toward the small, downtown area, the snow having tapered off against the black sky. The streets were wet with slush and the few souls out walking huddled under the collars of their coats, moving between the light of the streetlamps.

  I took a deep breath and watched the air from my lungs billow out like a small cloud.

  Isabel had been nice to set me up and it was more space than I needed. I knew I could be comfortable here for as long as I needed to be.

  As comfortable as I could be, anyway.

  A bus roared down the avenue, spewing dirty slush from the street onto the sidewalk.

  I knew I would help her try to find Marc. She probably knew it, too. Probably knew she was locking me in as soon as I took the key from her hand. Again, you leveraged what and when you could.

  I didn’t mind. I knew I couldn’t focus entirely on Elizabeth. I needed distractions when there was nothing to do but wait. Helping Isabel locate Marc would provide those distractions.

  The snow started to fall again, small, white dots cascading from the dark sky.

  I stood there awhile longer, hoping Elizabeth was warm, wherever she was.

  EIGHT

  I slept decently on the new carpeting, using my jacket as a pillow. Sunshine poured in through the window and I squinted into the morning light. I washed my face in the bathroom sink, ran a hand through my hair and went outside.

  The icy air stung my lungs and the sun was brilliant against the snow-coated sidewalks. I knocked as much snow off of the rental car as I could and navigated my way out of the parking lot, the wheels spinning a few extra times against the asphalt before they caught.

  Patience had never been a strength of mine and after Elizabeth disappeared, it was almost as if every ounce I’d had was surgically removed from my body. Isabel asked me to call her friend before going to see her, but I didn’t want to wait until mid-day. If I had to wait once I got there, that would still be better than pacing and waiting to leave.

  The DCFS office was in downtown Minneapolis and after thirty minutes and a few wrong turns, I located the building. I parked in a garage situated between the tall buildings and found my way to a large stone structure that looked exactly like every other government building I’d ever seen. I stepped into the waiting area where a bored-looking woman peered at me from behind thick gray eyeglasses.

  “Help you?” she asked with a tone that indicated she didn’t want to.

  “I’m looking for Tess Gorman,” I said, reciting the name Isabel gave me.

  “You have an appointment?”

  “No.”

  “You need an appointment to see her.”

  “Is she in?”

  The woman sighed, tugged at her glasses. “You need an appointment, sir.”

  “Okay. I’d like to make an appointment for right now.”

  “She’s two weeks out.”

  I glanced at the beaten chair to my right. “I have to sit in that for two weeks?”

  The woman sighed and folded her hands on her desk. “Sir, if you’d like to make an appointment, I can make one for you. It will be about two weeks from now. If you’d like to play games and mess with me, I’ll have to call security.”

  She looked like a woman who was used to calling security.

  “I’m from out of town,” I said. “Is it possible you could call her and tell her that a friend of hers sent me to see her?”

  “Who is your friend?” she asked, raising her eyebrows above the glasses. “Oprah? Madonna?

  I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I was rude. Isabel Balzone referred me.”

  A flash of recognition ran through her face. “Ms. Balzone referred you?”

  “She gave me Tess Gorman’s name, yes.”

  “Your name?”

  “Joe Tyler.”

  She stared me down for a moment, then picked up the phone. She turned away from me and her voice was muffled as she spoke. She turned back to me and hung up the phone.

  “She’ll be down in a moment,” she said. “You can have a seat.”

  I nodded and sat down.

  “How do you know Ms. Balzone?” she asked.

  “We actually just met yesterday,” I said. “I’m helping her with something. And she’s helping me.”

  “One of her lost souls?” she asked. “You helping with that?”

  “Yes.”

  “That girl never sleeps, you know,” she said, resting an elbow on the desk. “Never. Nighttime, she’s out handing out blankets and food and love. Daytime, she’s just preparing for nighttime.”

  “Sounds like it.”

  “Must be part vampire or something,” she said. “But if you’re helping her, you can’t be all bad.”

  “I like to think I’m not.”

  “A lot of people like to think that about themselves, but most people are full of crap.”

  I smiled. “That is extremely true.”

  She studied me for a long moment. “You look tired, Joe Tyler.”

  I shrugged. I always felt tired. I never felt rested, never felt like I slept or cleared my head.

  Elizabeth was always there.

  “Isabel will help you,” she said. “Tess will, too, if she can.”

  “How do you know I need help?”

  She tugged on her glasses again, readjusting them. “You got that look.”

  “What look?”

  Her eyes softened for the first time since I’d walked in. “That look that says you’re hurting, Joe Tyler.”

  NINE

  “Isabel said she asked you to wait,” Tess Gorman said to me.

  “I’m not great at waiting.”

  I was sitting across from her in a tight, cramped office on the third floor. Her desk was littered with stacks of paper and manila folders, and the bookshelf behind her was filled with the same. Two metal filing cabinets had drawers pulled half-way open and the trashcan overflowed with food wrappers and large Styrofoam cups.

  “I called her,” she said. “When Marsha called up and said you wanted to see me and that Isabel gave you my name. She said you were legit.”

  “Okay,” I said, not knowing what she was looking for from me.

  She leaned back in her chair. She had short blond hair, c
ut even with her chin, and small green eyes. Long, beaded earrings hung from her ears, almost down to the collar on her red turtleneck sweater. She was small, compact and she’d shook my hand with the grip of a middle-aged man, despite the fact that I put her somewhere in her twenties.

  “But she wouldn’t tell me what you wanted,” she said. “She said you should do that.”

  “I just met her,” I said. “She doesn’t know everything about…my situation.”

  She puffed up her cheeks and let out a long, loud sigh. She folded her arms across her chest. “Okay. Tell me why you’re here.”

  I recounted how and why I was in Minnesota. Her eyes flickered as I told her about Elizabeth’s abduction, but otherwise she remained impassive as I spoke. I told her about Jacob Detwiler and how Isabel had given me her name.

  “So, what?” she said, when I was done. “You want to know where the Detwiler girl is?”

  “That’d be a start.”

  “I can’t share info with you,” she said, shrugging. “Privacy laws.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “Anything that might’ve happened with the family would be protected unless you were a principal,” she said. “Which you clearly aren’t.”

  “I don’t care what happened,” I said. “I wanna know why Bailey Detwiler was sitting with my daughter.”

  “I’m not going to have that info.”

  “But the girl might. Bailey.”

  “She was young then,” she said. “Maybe she won’t remember.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “But I’d like to ask her. Or at least know where to look for her. Or find out anything I can about her.”

  “I’m not sure I can help you.”

  “Then why did Isabel say you could?”

  She looked away from me. I couldn’t read her. She was uncomfortable having me there, that much was clear. But I wasn’t sure why. I wasn’t asking to look at files or for privileged information. I just needed some basic info that I would probably be able to dig up on my own. It would just take me more time.