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  “I would think so,” Swanson said, then shook her head. “I'm sorry. I said I'd shut up and then I did the exact opposite.”

  I smiled. She meant well.

  “It's okay,” I said. “It's part of our lives now. Can't change that.”

  She looked away for a moment, thinking something over.

  “What?”

  She turned back to me. “What what?”

  “You're thinking about asking me something,” I said. “Just ask.”

  “How do you know that?”

  I shrugged. “I don't know. Was I wrong?”

  “No,” she said. “But it's freaky. Like you got in my head.”

  “Just a lot of experience reading people, I guess.”

  She shook her head. “Wow.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Oh, please,” she said. “Don't apologize. Not your fault you're psychic.”

  I laughed. “Trust me, I'm not.”

  She chuckled. “Okay. Here's what I was going to ask.” She swung the backpack around and unzipped the front pocket. She pulled out a small card and held it out to me. “I've always had an interest in missing persons. It's the thing I care most about. It's why I got into police work and worked my way to detective. If you would ever consider talking to me about some of your experiences, I would love to sit down with you.”

  I didn’t reach for the card right away. “I don't know.”

  “I don't just mean about your daughter,” she said quickly. She extended it further, practically thrusting it into my hand. “About any of your experiences looking for people and finding them. I would love to pick your brain. Any time. Coffee, lunch, dinner, whenever.”

  I held the card up for a moment then slid it into my pocket. “Okay. I'll think about it.”

  “That'd be great,” she said. “Thank you.” She nodded toward the building. “I need to get inside. Sorry to have held you up.”

  “You didn't,” I said. “It was nice talking to you, Detective.”

  “It's Sutton,” she said, heading toward the building.

  “Sutton?” I repeated. “I thought it was Swanson?”

  “Swanson's my last name,” she said. “Sutton's my first.”

  “Sutton Swanson? Really?”

  “Call me and I'll tell you all about it,” she said, grinning.

  FOURTEEN

  I left the Northern Division offices and headed to Olivia Cousins's home. I wasn't sure if Desmond's parents had spoken with her family yet, but I thought she should know. Plus, I had a few more questions to ask her and her family.

  Olivia answered the door and her tear-stained, swollen eyes told me she'd heard the news. She opened the door without saying a word and led me to the living room.

  Her mother was on the couch, holding the baby. She forced a smile when she saw me. “Mr. Tyler. Hello.”

  “I'm sorry to stop by without calling,” I said. “I wanted to make sure you'd heard about Desmond.” I looked at Olivia. “I'm very, very sorry.”

  Olivia sat down on the couch next to her mother and her son. She looked deflated, her body empty of all energy.

  “We got a call earlier this morning,” Sharon Cousins said. “From Alice. She said you were the one that found him.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do they know what happened?”

  “Hit and run,” I told her, thinking back to my conversation with both Detective Swanson and Ed Carr. “They don't know who hit him, but I spoke with the investigators this morning and they're working to see if they can figure out who it was and exactly what happened.”

  She adjusted the baby on her lap. “Just terrible,” she murmured.

  “I was wondering if I could ask Olivia a few more questions,” I said, glancing at the girl. “Only if you're up to it.”

  Olivia said nothing.

  “Are you still working for Tom and Alice?” Sharon asked.

  “For now,” I told her. “I think they really need some closure and I'm just trying to help fill in the picture for them.”

  “Sharon! I can't find—” Bill Cousins shouted as he entered the living room. He stopped abruptly when he saw me. “What are you doing here?”

  “Bill,” Sharon said, frowning.

  Bill winced. “Sorry. That sounded worse than I meant it.”

  “No, it's my fault,” I told him. “I apologized to your wife and daughter for coming by without calling. I was in the area and wanted to make sure you'd heard about Desmond.”

  “Oh,” Bill said. “Yes. We got a call this morning.”

  The silence was awkward for a moment.

  “I was just explaining to your wife that I was hoping to ask Olivia a few questions if she's up for it,” I said.

  “Questions? For what?”

  “The Lockers have just asked if I could fill in a few holes in regards to Desmond's life,” I said. “That's all.”

  “I'm not sure how Olivia can help with that,” he said. His folded arms and jutted chin were a classic defensive pose.

  “I'm not sure anyone was closer to him,” I countered. “I promise. Nothing too invasive.” I turned back to Olivia. “If she's up for it.”

  Olivia rubbed at her eyes and took a deep breath. “I'm fine. I can answer your questions.”

  “Olivia, I don't think—” her father started.

  “I'm fine,” she said, her voice a fraction louder.

  Her father scowled and shook his head, but he didn’t argue with her.

  I decided to press ahead. “I'm trying to figure out what was going on with him before the accident,” I said. “Just to get a sense of what he was like, if he was upset about anything, things like that.”

  Sharon looked at me. “Why would that matter?”

  “I'd like to get a sense of how he was feeling about everything,” I explained. “Might help us learn as to whether or not he made a mistake riding his bike. Was he distracted? Was he upset? Anything like that would help us fill in the picture.”

  Sharon wrinkled her nose, but the baby stirred in her lap, and her attention reverted to him.

  I wasn't making anything up, but maybe I was stretching the truth just a bit. Those things would help me get a sense of what Desmond was like when he was killed, but I was looking to get a handle on more than how he was feeling when he was run down. I wanted to know exactly what was going on in his life.

  I looked at Olivia. “You said he was excited about the baby, right?”

  “Yes,” she said. “He really was.”

  “And things were good between the two of you? I know you told me you were a little less sure about having the baby and that he sort of brought you around to it.” I paused. “But were things good with you? As a couple?”

  Olivia's eyes dipped. “We were fine. Yeah.”

  “What does fine mean?”

  Her upper lip tucked into her bottom lip for a moment. “I don't know. I mean, yeah, we were fine. We were going to have the baby. We were going to get married and move in together.” She glanced quickly at me. “It was fine.”

  Her father cleared his throat, but didn't say anything.

  Her mother was still focusing on the baby, fussing with the pale blue socks on his tiny feet.

  “You guys were on the same page?” I asked. “About getting married and moving in together?”

  Olivia shifted on the couch and she couldn't get her eyes to meet mine. “I mean, yeah. What else were we going to do? We were having a baby. So...yeah. That's what everyone wanted.”

  “Who's everyone?”

  “What?”

  “You said that's what everyone wanted,” I said. “Who do you mean by that?”

  “I don't know. Just everyone. It was fine.”

  The more she said things were fine, the less convinced I was that it was true.

  “Were you worried?” I asked.

  “About what?”

  “About everything,” I said. “Having the baby. Moving in together. Getting married. Life in general. I think it would be
natural to be worried about those things.”

  “I guess so,” she said, still looking down at the floor. “I don't know. Desmond said he was taking care of that stuff, so I wasn't really involved. I mean, not having the baby. That was me. But the other stuff was him.”

  “Did you guys fight about it?” I asked.

  She sighed. “I mean, it's not like we didn't fight. We weren't, like, some perfect couple or anything like that. But I got pregnant and...we needed to do what was best for the baby.” She glanced at the infant. “That was the best thing to do.”

  “Was it the best thing for you?” I asked.

  Bill cut in. “I'm not sure that's your concern.”

  I didn't say anything, waiting for Olivia to respond.

  “I needed to do what was best for the baby,” Olivia said. “That's what we decided.”

  “You and Desmond?”

  “Well...yeah,” she said, glancing quickly at her mother before looking away.

  “Okay,” I said. “You said it's not that you and Desmond didn't fight. What did you fight about?”

  She leaned back into the sofa. She looked considerably younger, like the weight of everything had shoved her right back into her middle school years. “I don't know. Just...stuff.”

  “Can you give me an example?”

  “I mean, for a while, things weren't great,” she said. “But I swear. They were better. They really were.”

  “I believe you.” I waited, hoping she would say more.

  “But there was just a lot of pressure,” she continued. “About everything. And it wore on both of us. I'm sure everything would've been fine. I really think that. I'm not just saying that.” She paused. “But he really hated Sal.”

  FIFTEEN

  “Who's Sal?” I asked.

  “My ex,” Olivia said, her eyes flashing with anger. “He's a total jerk. He was a jerk when we went out and he's still one.”

  Sharon raised her eyebrows quickly, as if it was an obvious thing.

  “When did you go out with him?” I asked.

  “It was like two years ago,” Olivia said. “Before Desmond. Everyone hated him.”

  I looked at Bill for confirmation.

  “The kid's an asshole,” Bill said.

  “Bill,” Sharon said, frowning.

  “Well, he is,” her husband said. “I don't know any other way to describe him.”

  I looked back to Olivia. “So what did that have to do with you and Desmond? Was he just jealous that an ex existed?”

  “That was some of it,” she said. “But he hated that he still called me. And texted me. It's not like I was telling Sal to do that. I'd told him to stop, but he wouldn't. And it really made Desmond mad.”

  “Did he think something was going on between the two of you?” I asked.

  She thought for a moment. “I don't think he really thought that was happening, but he accused me of it, yeah. He knew that I wasn't doing anything with him, but he hated seeing his name on my phone or whatever. It just always set him off. I think we argued about that more than anything else.”

  “Was there an argument about him the last time you saw him?”

  She shook her head. “No, not that day. It was maybe a few days before.”

  “And what was Sal doing?” I asked. “Was he trying to get you back? Was he just trying to be friends?”

  “He wanted me back,” she said, shifting on the couch and bringing her knees to her chest. “When he found out I was pregnant, he sort of flipped out.”

  “He did?” Bill asked. “You didn't tell us that.”

  “Why would I?” she asked. “What was the point?”

  He rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh.

  “He told me that Desmond was a loser and that I was a loser for staying with him,” Olivia explained. “He told me I shouldn't have the baby, that it would ruin my life, that Desmond was ruining my life.” She paused. “Des saw one of those texts and he totally lost it.” Her eyes teared up. “He screamed at me and told me if I didn't want to have the baby and didn't want to be with him, then I should just figure it out on my own.” She paused, wiping at her tears. “I told him that wasn't what I wanted. It was all...I didn't even know what I wanted. Everyone was telling me what to do, but no one was asking me what I wanted to do.” She shook her head. “But I didn't want anything to do with Sal and I blocked him from my phone after that.”

  Olivia Cousins was clearly a kid with a lot on her plate. A boyfriend who seemed to be trying to do the right thing. Parents who, I had a feeling, had a bigger influence on her decisions than they'd put forth so far. An ex-boyfriend who was complicating all of that. Combining those things with an unexpected pregnancy and I could see how the girl was overwhelmed, both before she had the baby and right at that moment in her living room.

  “Thank you,” I told her. “I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me.”

  “Are they going to find whoever did that to Desmond?” she asked. She looked fragile, vulnerable, curled up on the couch. “Will the police find who did it?”

  I stood up. “I hope so. That's what they want to do and that's what they're trying to do.”

  She nodded.

  “I'll walk you out,” Bill Cousins said.

  I said goodbye to Olivia and Sharon and he walked me toward the front door, stepping outside onto their front porch. He pulled the door closed behind him.

  “I didn't want to say anything in front of Olivia,” he said, lowering his voice. “I guess I did, though. The Boston kid is a first class prick.”

  “Boston kid?”

  “That's his last name,” he said. “Sal Boston.” He folded his arms over his chest. “Look, I know I'm overprotective of her and I'm not going to stand here and lie to you about the last few months. They've been tough on everyone and I'm sure I've been a pretty shitty father at times. I wasn't crazy about Desmond and I sure as hell didn't think the plans they were making were the right way to go about everything. But I did respect that the kid was trying to do the right thing by Olivia. He was trying.” His mouth set in a firm line. “And he was a massive upgrade from Boston.”

  “How so?”

  “Like I said, Desmond was at least trying,” he explained. “I wasn't crazy about his past and I was still pretty skeptical, but he showed up on time. His parents seemed to have a good handle on him. He had a job. He was good to Olivia and polite to us. So, no matter how I felt about the pregnancy and them moving forward, I did appreciate that Desmond seemed like he was trying to be a good kid. Maybe I didn't always show it, but I did think that.”

  I nodded.

  “But Boston?” He shook his head. “That kid rolled in here with a puffed out chest and an attitude seven miles long. He is your stereotypical arrogant punk kid. Condescending to everyone and that included me, my wife, and Olivia.”

  “So why was she with him?” I asked.

  “I really don't know,” he answered. “He's a good-looking kid, if you can get past the attitude. I'm sure he said all the right things when he came after her at the start.” His face tightened with anger. “But, I'm telling you. That kid thinks he's the king of the world and if she hadn't broken up with him, I probably would've kept him out of our house. He lied to her. He dressed her down. He was rude to everyone I ever saw him interact with.” He took a deep breath and exhaled. “I'm well aware that I am one of those fathers that probably thinks his daughter won't ever find anyone good enough for them. I know that about myself. But I would bet you any amount of money that if you met this kid, you'd feel the same way.”

  I appreciated his candor, both about Sal Boston and about himself. I knew what he meant when he said he doubted he'd ever find anyone worthy of his daughter. I often had the same concern about Elizabeth. She hadn't had a serious boyfriend, so we hadn't crossed that bridge yet. She'd dated one kid who'd nearly gotten us killed in a canyon shootout over drugs, but even that hadn't been a serious relationship and the experience had made her wary about any r
elationship going forward. But I worried that I would be much like Bill in my assessment of anyone she brought through the door of our home in the future.

  “I'd actually like to meet him,” I said to Bill Cousins. “Can you get me his contact info?”

  SIXTEEN

  I found Sal Boston in his garage in Carmel Valley, working on a motorcycle, covered in grease, and playing every bit the part Bill Cousins warned me about.

  I'd made the drive from the Cousins home after Bill had gotten me Sal’s address and phone number. I parked at the curb and made my way up the driveway. The garage was open and Sal was hunched over the bike in a pair of shorts and an AC/DC t-shirt that was missing its sleeves, studying something beneath the seat. He glanced up at me, not bothering to hide his annoyance as I approached.

  “Whatever you're selling, I'm not buying,” he said, turning his attention back to the bike.

  “You Sal?” I asked.

  He looked up again. “Who are you?”

  “My name's Joe Tyler,” I said. “Hoping I could talk to you for a minute.”

  “About what?”

  “Olivia Cousins?”

  He straightened up and laid his rag on the bike seat. Bill's description of him puffing his chest out artificially was dead on. He was nearly leaning back in his attempt to appear physically intimidating. He was about six feet tall and his bulging biceps seemed to indicate that he lifted weights, at least enough to look impressive in a sleeveless shirt. His blond hair was overgrown, like he'd needed a haircut a month earlier, hanging too far down his forehead and over his ears.

  “The fuck you want to talk to me about that dumb bitch for?” he asked.

  “You know about her boyfriend?”

  He cracked a smile. “Des-moron? What about that little dipshit?”

  “He's dead.”

  The smile faded. “No shit?”

  “No shit.”

  He thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Oh, well. Kid was a dick.” The smile returned. “Maybe now I oughta pay a visit to Olivia, remind her what she's missing.” He made a face. “Except she's probably carrying all of that baby fat.”