Thread of Truth Page 7

I stared at him. “Bill Cousins was right.”

  “Her dad?” A look of confusion crossed his face. “About what?”

  “About you being a first-class prick.”

  He glowered at me and made a big show of coming around the bike. He walked slowly toward me. I wasn't sure if he thought I was going to turn and run or what, but I stood there and waited on him.

  “You wanna say that again?” he said. He looked like a peacock strutting toward me.

  “He said you were a first-class prick and I agree,” I told him. “Are you also hard of hearing?”

  His cheeks flushed pink. “Look, pal—”

  “Just stop,” I interrupted him. “Stop. Take a second and think.”

  His brow furrowed.

  “I just showed up here, unannounced,” I said. “I told you why I'm here. And I didn't go running down your driveway when you came toward me. That should tell you two things. One, I'm not afraid of you. Two, you should probably be afraid of me.” I shook my head. “Don't embarrass yourself.”

  He looked less sure of himself, but still pissed off. “Look, man, I don't care what—”

  “You got a record?” I asked, interrupting him again.

  His mouth was still open in mid-sentence.

  “You do, right?” I said. “It just seems to fit you. So before you attempt to do anything stupid with me, think about that. If you're on probation or you need to stay clean, just think about that.”

  He closed his mouth and swallowed. He looked away for a moment. “What do you want?”

  “Well, now I want to know what's on your record.”

  “You a cop?”

  “Used to be. Still have friends that are cops. Can call them if you want.”

  He sighed. “I got in a fight.”

  “Shocking.”

  “Assault and battery,” he said. “Just finished probation. I'm good now.”

  “So keep it that way then and let's not get stupid here.”

  “What the fuck do you want?”

  “You were still pursuing Olivia after she dumped you,” I told him. “Why?”

  “Because Des-moron was a waste of space,” he answered. “Because she needed to come to her senses. He had her fooled like crazy and I wanted her to see that.”

  “How did he have her fooled?”

  His chest puffed out again, as if he was regaining some of the confidence I'd aired out of him. “Did you know him?”

  I shook my head.

  “That dude was a fraud,” he said. “Total fraud. And she was too dumb to see it.”

  “Were you friends with him?”

  He frowned at me, insulted by the possibility. “Fuck no. But I knew him from school.”

  “So why all the animosity toward him?”

  “Because he was all wrong for her and I wanted her to see that.”

  “And maybe you were mad that she dumped you for him,” I said.

  “Oh, yeah,” he said, nodding. “I was. I'm not gonna lie. I thought about kicking his ass, but I knew that would just make Olivia mad at me. So I didn't say shit to him. Not once. I haven't seen the kid in months.” He paused. “And I'm not sorry I won't see him again.” He shrugged. “Not my friend.”

  “Clearly.”

  “How'd he die?”

  “You don't know?”

  “Why would I know?”

  “Hit and run,” I said. “Up on Torrey Pines Road. Someone drove up over the back of him.”

  He smirked. “Dipshit was probably riding the wrong way in traffic.”

  “Just for that I'm going to pass your name on to the detectives working his case,” I told him. “They can come talk to you about where you were when it happened. How about that?”

  The confidence drained away again. “You think I did something to that kid? You're crazy.”

  “I don't know what you did or didn't do,” I said. “But I don't care. A kid died and you're happy about it. I'm happy to make your life a little miserable.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Whatever, man. Maybe do yourself a favor. Maybe take a better look at your buddy Des-moron's life. Maybe ask around a bit more than just his girlfriend. Because that dude was no angel.” He made a dismissive wave. “Fuck off outta here, old man.”

  “Who exactly should I ask?”

  He stepped in closer to me, trying to look mean. “I told you to fuck off.”

  I held my ground. “It's easy to see why she dumped you. Even dead, I'll bet Desmond looks better to her than you.”

  He took a step back and I saw it coming a mile away. He came around with his right arm. I stepped in closer to him, grabbed the arm, and twisted it as hard as I could. He yelped and went down on his back. I locked my hand around his wrist and twisted his arm as far as I could without tearing it off.

  “Jesus,” he gasped. “Let go. That hurts.”

  I cranked it a fraction more and his body jerked on the ground. “Who should I ask about Desmond?”

  His face contorted with pain. “Come on!”

  I uncranked his arm and his body relaxed. He was breathing heavy, his body rising up and down against the pavement.

  “School,” he said, in between gasps for air. “Just ask around at school. I'm not lying.”

  I dropped his arm and he pulled it in close to his body, hugging it.

  “You better not be,” I said. “Or I'll be back.”

  SEVENTEEN

  I called Tom Locker and asked if he could send me a list of Desmond's friends from school. He told me he'd send it as soon as we hung up. Two minutes later, I had an email from him with names and contact info.

  “But your best bet would be the skate park by the school,” he wrote. “That's where Des hung out when he wasn’t working or with Olivia, and that's where you'll find them.” He included an address for the park. I typed it into my maps app and headed in that direction.

  The park was back closer to the Locker home, nestled in the middle of a neighborhood filled with identical-looking tract homes and postage stamp lawns. The skating area was adjacent to a basketball court. There were multiple ramps and ledges and other things I didn't know the names of, and maybe half a dozen skaters using every inch of the space.

  I parked at the curb and headed over.

  The first thing I noticed was the heavy odor of marijuana in the air. The second thing was how all of the skaters stopped and watched me approach. They didn't look terribly welcoming.

  They were a crew of six but two of them took the lead, taking a couple steps toward me as I reached the edge of the concrete that the obstacles rested on.

  “Park's closed,” the tall, thin one said. He wore a black helmet with a Mickey Mouse sticker on it. The strap on the helmet was loose under his chin and didn't look like it would keep it on his head. He wore a long-sleeved gray T-shirt and khaki shorts that hung low on his hips. “Sorry.”

  “I don't think you can close a park,” I told him. “And I didn't come to skate.”

  “No shit, dude,” the stockier kid next to my initial greeter said. He had on nearly the same outfit, sans the helmet.

  “No shit I didn't come to skate or no shit you were aware you can't close a park?” I asked. “Be more specific.”

  He frowned, then turned and spit on the ground. He had his board under his left foot and he rocked it back and forth gently.

  I looked at the tall kid. “You guys know Desmond Locker?”

  Something flashed in the tall kid's eyes. “Yeah. Do you?”

  I shook my head. “Never met him. Did you know he's dead?”

  “Shit,” the stocky kid whispered.

  There was some murmuring in the group behind them.

  “Bullshit,” the tall kid said. “He's not dead.”

  “They found him on Torrey Pines Road yesterday,” I said. “Car hit him.”

  The shorter kid seemed genuinely distraught. He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. “Damn.”

  “How do you know?” the taller kid asked, still skeptical.


  “Because I found him,” I said. “I'm working for his parents. They hired me to locate him. My name's Joe.”

  “Are you a cop?” the shorter one asked, squinting at me.

  I shook my head. “Not a cop. His dad said he hung out here?”

  They all sort of looked at one another before the taller one nodded. “Yeah. He skated here.”

  I pulled out my phone and tapped the screen. “Are you...Donnie?”

  He raised his eyebrows, surprised. “Yeah. How'd you know my name?”

  “Mr. Locker gave me the names of some of his friends,” I said. “Told me I might find you here.”

  I didn't tell him that Tom had also given me a few physical descriptors to help identify everyone.

  “You guys see him recently?” I asked.

  They all shook their heads.

  “He was pretty busy,” Donnie said.

  The shorter one snickered. Donnie glared at him and poked him in the arm.

  “What's so funny?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” Donnie said. “He's just an idiot. But we hadn't seen him for a while. He was working and he and his girlfriend were having a baby. He didn't have much time to skate. Sucked.”

  “Right,” I said. “You know his girlfriend?”

  Donnie shrugged. “Sure. Olivia. She's okay. But she didn't skate much, so she wasn't here a whole lot.”

  “How about Sal Boston?”

  Donnie rolled his eyes and another murmur rippled through the group.

  “I take it you know him,” I said.

  “He's a dick,” the shorter kid said.

  “He is,” I said. “I left him rolling around in his driveway because he tried to take a swing at me.”

  The short kid laughed. “Cool.”

  “He claims Desmond might've been hiding a few things,” I said. I looked at Donnie, since he'd been the most talkative. “Know anything about that?”

  “What'd he say?” Donnie asked.

  “Just that I should ask around school,” I answered. “I assumed he meant talking to you guys, but I'm just trying to get a handle on this.”

  “Why would what was going on at school matter if he got hit by a car?”

  “I don't know that it does. I'm just trying to get a sense of what was going on in Desmond's life,” I told him. “And the way you just said that makes me think there was something going on at school.”

  Donnie hitched up his shorts. “We got nothing to tell you.”

  “Now, I'm really thinking something was going on at school.”

  “You can think whatever you want, dude,” Donnie said, smirking. “Joe. But we got nothing to say.”

  He turned and headed back to the maze of ramps and rails. The short kid spat on the ground, grinned at me, and followed Donnie. The rest of the crew fell in behind them.

  Tough crowd.

  But it really made me wonder what I was missing about Desmond and the school.

  EIGHTEEN

  Seaside Alternative School was not actually seaside.

  I left the park and drove back over to Del Mar, then up to Solana Beach where Seaside was located. It didn't look that much different from a traditional high school, save for the fact that it was smaller and had the word “alternative” on the sign at the entrance.

  The lot was nearly empty, as it appeared school had just gotten out. Tom Locker told me to check in at the counselor's office and he'd arrange for me to get any information I needed. True to his word, a very pleasant woman came to the front desk with a copy of Desmond’s schedule and a map of the school. She scanned my driver's license and gave me a visitor sticker to put on my chest. She couldn't guarantee that teachers would still be in their rooms, but I was welcome to come back to the main office and leave a message if I wanted to. She didn't ask why I was there. I wondered if that was commonplace at an alternative school.

  I struck out on my first three tries, but found a guy about my age at the fourth room I tried. He was closer to seven feet than six, had a full head of gray hair, and was staring at his whiteboard like it held the answer to all of life's questions.

  I rapped on the open door. “Hello?”

  He turned to me, startled. “Oh, hello. Sorry. Lost in thought for a moment. Can I help you?”

  “I hope so,” I said. “My name's Joe Tyler. I'm an investigator working for Desmond Locker's family?”

  He winced when I said Desmond's name, then nodded. “Yes, yes, come in. Mr. Locker emailed me and said you might be stopping in.” He strode over to me, his long legs covering the room in just a couple of steps. He offered his hand. “Phil Gentry.”

  We shook hands and he gestured toward one of the desks near the front of the room. I sat down and he maneuvered another desk around so we could face one another. Rather than trying to fit his body into it, though, he sat down on the back of it.

  “I was sorry to hear about what happened to Desmond,” he said. “I liked him very much.”

  “I've heard he was getting his act together,” I said.

  Gentry nodded and loosened the red tie that was knotted at the neck of his pale pink dress shirt. “He was. I thought he'd grown up quite a bit.”

  I pointed at the whiteboard and the phalanx of equations. “I take it you teach math?”

  “I do,” he said, nodding. “I was a financial advisor for years, but got bored with it. Went and got my teaching license, but was bored again teaching at a regular public high school. A friend suggested I look at alternative schooling.” He shrugged. “I've been here ten years now. I'm not bored.”

  I thought of my own teaching experience and how miserable I'd been. I wondered if you just had to be wired a particular way to be a teacher.

  “Did you know Desmond pretty well?” I asked.

  He thought for a moment, then nodded. “I think I did. As I said, I liked him. I like most of my students, but some are harder to get to know than others. Des wasn't.”

  “Was he doing alright in your class?”

  “He was,” he said. “I had him about a year ago, when he first transferred in. It was a bit rocky then, but it usually is.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He shifted his weight on the desk. “It's rocky for pretty much every kid that comes here. Most have been struggling wherever they were before and there's no pride in coming here. This isn't a step up. So, not only are they dealing with whatever they're dealing with, but there's an ego aspect to it as well, no matter what they'd have you believe. Most come in here a little afraid and very unsure of themselves. Des was no different.” He paused. “He didn't have much confidence, and I think he was nervous about being here. He knew he wasn't a hardcore kid like some of the other students. He knew he didn't really belong here, but the reality was that he was here. Tough spot for a teenager.”

  “I would imagine so.”

  He fidgeted with the tie again. “But he did his work and he showed up for a class. If a kid does those two things right off the bat here, that's a pretty good sign that they'll be okay. He was a little behind in math, but he caught on fairly quick. He stuck around for a couple of afternoons for tutoring, so I got to talk to him one-on-one. Like I said, I liked him. He had a good sense of humor and he wasn't feeling sorry for himself. Once he settled in here and got the lay of the land, I think he was relieved.”

  “Relieved how?” I asked.

  “Relieved that he didn't have to put on a show anymore,” Gentry answered. “Whoever he'd been running with before he landed here, I think there was pressure to keep up that front even when he didn't want to. Here, he had a built-in excuse to get the ship righted. He was pretty scared of going to jail. I think it was easy to say to the old friends that he had to do this so that he didn't get in trouble again.”

  I thought back to what Tom Locker told me about how Desmond hadn't been able to provide an excuse for why he'd stolen the car. That sort of meshed with what Gentry was telling me. He'd been doing things, but unsure of why he was doing them. He hadn't come
up with the excuse as to why he shouldn't steal the car. Maybe he'd found one at Seaside.

  “Did you know his girlfriend?” I asked. “Olivia Cousins?”

  Gentry nodded again. “I did, and I know she was pregnant.”

  “She had the baby.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Did she? How is she?”

  “Health-wise, I think everyone is good.”

  A faint smile crossed his lips. “That's good to hear. She's a nice kid, too. I think they gravitated toward one another because they knew they probably shouldn't have been here.”

  “Did he get in any trouble while he was here?” I asked.

  Gentry shook his head. “No. More the opposite, really. I felt like he grew up. His grades were solid. I know he had a job outside school. He was thinking about college, but not set on it.” He shrugged. “And that was okay by me. College isn't for every kid.”

  “Sure.”

  “He joined one of our peer panels,” Gentry said. “It's designed to give the students a voice in what goes on here at the school. I think some of the other students really saw him as a leader, and not in a suck up kind of way. I think they trusted his voice.” He shook his head. “Just rotten that he's gone.”

  It was rotten. Hearing the things Gentry had to say about him, it made me even sadder for Desmond. It really sounded like he'd gotten through the crap in his own life and was making some good headway. The fact that no one would get to see what he could've become didn't feel good.

  “Did he have a lot of friends here?” I asked.

  He thought for a moment. “I think everyone liked him. He didn't come in here with an attitude, and he didn't treat anyone differently than they treated him. That goes a long way here. If you're accepting, you're accepted. You don't see the cliques you would in normal school.”

  “I talked to a couple of other people before I came here,” I said. “A kid named Sal Boston and some kids at a skate park Desmond used to hang out at. There seemed to be some thought that maybe Desmond was putting on a show, that maybe he wasn't as good as people thought. Like he was fooling people. Any sense of that?”

  “I could see Boston saying that,” Gentry said with a wry smile. “Sounds just like something he'd say.”