Sweat dripped down the back of my neck and I scanned the grass. Didn’t look like I’d missed any spots.

“And I know I’m not dreaming this, Joe,” he continued. “You and I have been friends for way too long for me to think otherwise. We’ve been through a boatload together and I like to think I know you as well as I know anyone.” He stared at me for a long moment. “So I need you tell me what the problem is here, Joe. At the very least, I think you owe me that.”

I wiped at the sweat on my forehead, dried my palm on my shirt. “It’s complicated, Mike.”

“Un-complicate it for me, then.”

“Not that easy.”

He stuck his hands in his pockets, rocked back on his heels. “I got a call from Bazer last night.”

I raised an eyebrow, tried to act disinterested. “Oh yeah?”

He nodded. “Oh yeah. That guy hasn’t called me that late at home in probably five years. And all he wanted to talk about was you.”

I wiped at the sweat again. “Me?”

He nodded again. “You.”

“What about me?”

He rocked on his heels again. “Wondering if I knew you were still digging in Elizabeth’s case. Wondering if I was helping. But you know what was weird?”

I didn’t say anything.

“He didn’t warn me away,” he said. “Was like he wanted to be helpful and shit, which we both know isn’t him. He didn’t make any ultimatums, he didn’t tell me to block you on Facebook, he didn’t tell me to lose your number.” He shook his head. “No. He was acting like I should help you. I didn’t tell him you weren’t giving me the time of day.”

My mind immediately started turning. Why had Bazer called Mike? Was he looking for more info on the bust I’d asked about? It made no sense, especially after our conversation on the beach.

“So I wanna know what’s going on, Joe,” Mike said. “No bullshit. Because this is all starting to spook me a little bit here.”

I dried my hands on my shirt again. “You remember a bust off the I.B. pier about the same time Elizabeth was taken?”

He stared at me for a moment, his eyes like black marbles. “Gonna need more details than that. I’ve arrested guys at the pier about once a week for my entire life.”

I shook my head. “No. This was bigger. Tijuana cartel and a local gang.”

The light clicked in his eyes. “The Kings. Yeah, I remember.”

“What was it?”

He made a face like it was a hundred other cases. “I dunno. Heroin bust, I think. DEA had tapped into the cartel and they were making a delivery to a bunch of bangers. Buddy of mine in the DEA called me and asked for local backup.” He shrugged. “Went down without any problems. Got guys on both sides.”

“You remember the money involved?”

He made another face. “The exact amount? No. Was a decent chunk of cash, though. Maybe a quarter mil? I don’t recall.”

“And you took it as evidence?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. There was some jurisdictional bullshit with I.B. and DEA had some deal running with the Mexican government. I don’t remember the details because I don’t think I understood it all. Bunch of guys trying to prove who had the bigger dick. But my DEA guy brought me in so we could be department of record.” He shrugged. “So, yeah, technically it was my bust. But not really. And I never pretended it was. My guy needed a favor and I helped him out. That was it. He knew I wasn’t gonna glory hog the thing.”

I nodded. That was definitely Mike. He’d never held any ambitions to be anything other than a detective in a small police department. At least, that’s what I’d always thought.

“You remember anything funny happening with the money?” I asked.

Mike squinted at me, his entire face screwing up with confusion. “Why the hell are you asking me about some banger bust from back then? What the hell does that have anything to do with anything?”

“I don’t know that it does,” I said.

“But what? You think it does? What the hell are you talking about, Joe?”

“The money. You remember anything?”

He sighed, looked away and shook his head. Then he looked back at me. “I remember there was some confusion when it needed to be turned over from evidence. I think we thought DEA had it and they thought we had it.” He rolled his eyes. “Same shit different day. Got recorded wrong or some shit like that. Found it eventually and it went to DEA because it was theirs to deal with. End of story.”

His story completely made sense. Paperwork snafus weren’t uncommon and things got lost until they got found. Not often, but it happened. And if multiple agencies were involved, it got more confusing. So I could see that happening.

I just wasn’t sure what to believe.

“You remember IAD coming around for Bazer?” I asked.

Mike rubbed at the side of his face again, the same nervous tic from when he’d initially started talking. “Why the hell am I being interrogated?”

“You’re not.”

“The hell I’m not,” he said, anger flashing in his eyes. “The hell I’m not. I come here to ask you why you won’t talk to me about your daughter and why Bazer’s suddenly making calls to my house about you and all I get in return is a bunch of bullshit questions about a case with more dust on it than my TV stand. I have no doubt all of this is connected somehow, but you aren’t telling me shit and I don’t get why.” He stared at me. “Unless you really think I had something to do with Elizabeth. Which, for the life of me, I can’t even fathom.”

I scanned the grass again. There was a dead patch on a corner near the sidewalk. I wondered if the sprinklers were working right.

I looked at Mike again. “IAD. Bazer. You remember anything?”

Mike’s eyes zeroed in on me. I recognized the look. It was one he gave to suspects when they wouldn’t cooperate, when they screwed up their stories and he was exhausted by the crap they were feeding him. I’d seen him give it to dozens of guys over the years and it nearly always worked.

I just stared back.

He finally pulled his car keys from his pocket, walked down the driveway, got into his car and roared away from the curb.

TWENTY EIGHT

I finished the yard and went in to shower.

I wasn’t sure what to make of Mike anymore. Between my conversation with both him and Bazer, I had no clue what had gone on or who was actually on my side and who was covering their own ass. I also wondered if maybe I was just completely off base and neither of them were involved with Elizabeth’s disappearance. Maybe I was drawing connections simply because I wanted to make connections. Maybe Bazer was just an asshole and Mike was my friend.

Maybe.

I dressed when I got out of the shower and heard my phone buzzing out on the table. I saw Lasko’s name on the screen.

“Hey,” I said.

“I got a name,” he said. “The trafficking.”

I took a deep breath. “Okay. Anyone one we know?”

“No,” he said. “A guy named Mosaic Farvar.”

It was an interesting name, but not one I’d ever heard before.

“I did some cross-referencing,” Lasko explained. “Old cases, unsolved cases, missing persons, that kind of thing. His name popped on a couple of cases involving kids. Possible suspect, person of interest, general asshat that’s always in trouble.”

“Arrests?”

“Nope,” he answered. “Nothing ever stuck. I made a couple of calls on cases out of San Diego. He was tagged in a case in Yuma and then a couple out in the desert. El Centro, Blythe. People I talked to were certain that he was into it, but they couldn’t make anything to stick. General consensus was that he’s a very smart piece of shit.”

“When you say it…”

He hesitated. “The cases he popped on were missing kids. People I talked to were pretty certain he had a hand in the disappearances, but again. They couldn’t get anything solid, even after watching for awhile after the initial contact. No one seemed to think he was part of some sophisticated trafficking ring, but they didn’t think he was beneath selling kids, either.”