“And to make sure you look like some goddamn hero,” Lauren spat. “You are a joke.” She pulled on my arm. “Let’s go.”

I followed her gaze and saw Anchor standing near a white Escalade on the other side of the lot. He watched our exchange with Bazer, his arms folded loosely across his chest. I knew if we signaled in any way, he’d come. We started walking that way.

“Where are you going?” Bazer asked.

“To a resource you don’t have access to,” I said, leaving him there at his car.

He was still standing there when we drove out of the lot with Anchor, staring at us as we drove past.

TWENTY-SIX

“Not a friend?” Anchor asked.

Lauren and I were in the backseat of the new Escalade. Kitting was driving and Anchor was in the passenger seat. I had no clue as to what had happened to the black Escalade from earlier.

“No,” I said. “Definitely not a friend. My former boss.”

Anchor twisted his head to the side. “A police officer?”

“From San Diego,” I said, staring out the window as the buildings blurred past.

“What was he doing here?”

“I have no idea.”

Anchor tilted his head. “Interesting.”

I thought seeing Elizabeth pull up to the curb would’ve surprised me less than seeing Bazer. And it heightened my suspicion. I didn’t believe for a second that he was there to help find Elizabeth out of the goodness of his heart. He didn’t have a heart. He cared about one person and one person only. Himself.

But I wasn’t sold on the idea that he’d go through the trouble of tracking us down just to clear his name. Yes, that was definitely all he cared about. He’d go to great lengths to keep the department’s reputation clean, even if that meant burning bridges. Because that meant his reputation remained sparkling. But I was having a hard time believing that he’d kept his finger on the pulse of Elizabeth’s disappearance and as soon as he saw the television report, he’d leapt into action. The sad fact was that most people had forgotten about her disappearance. It wasn’t like it was hanging over the department or anyone else. People weren’t clamoring for the case to be solved. So I wasn’t buying his story.

It didn’t feel right and the more I thought about it, the more I started to believe that he absolutely had something to do with Elizabeth’s disappearance.

“Joe?”

I turned toward Lauren’s voice. Her hand was on my arm. “Yeah?”

“He was talking to you.”

I looked over the seat at Anchor. “Sorry. What?”

“I was asking about the girl in Colorado,” Anchor said. “How cooperative would she be?”

“What do you mean?”

“If we could get her to work with us, we should be able to get you on the phone with your daughter.”

I rolled my shoulders, trying to shake some of the tension. “How?”

“If we could use her mobile number for a bit, we could forward her calls to your phone,” he said. “It would require accessing the girl’s account, but it would be simple to do and would eliminate a middle person.”

I wondered what hearing my daughter’s voice would do to me. And I wondered what it might do to her. I wasn’t sure either of us was ready for that. But eliminating Morgan might get us to Elizabeth quicker.

“I think we could get her to cooperate,” I said. “You want me to call her now?”

“No,” Anchor answered. “I’ll need a few minutes to set it up and we are nearly at the taxi company now.” He turned to Kitting. “You’ll start the process while we are interviewing inside?”

Kitting nodded.

We were on the east side of I-5, somewhere in Inglewood. Strip malls were plentiful, filled with check-cashing joints, pawn shops and restaurants that appeared to be on their last legs. We passed the old fabulous Forum which looked anything but fabulous and then the area went industrial—large parking lots and buildings behind chain-link fences, giving the illusion of security.

Kitting turned the SUV into one of the lots, pulling to a stop at a guard house and yellow gates. A guy leaned out of the house, looked at Kitting, then nodded at him and the gate rose up. We parked in a slot near a long, low-slung building with ugly metal siding.

The dark lot was filled with white and green taxis of all makes and models—minivans, sedans, even a pick-up truck. Most of the cars were newer, but there were a few that looked like they had seen better days.

We followed Anchor toward the building while Kitting stayed in the car. Anchor opened the door and let us in ahead of him.

The yellow tinted lights made the room seem dingy. Two dispatchers sat behind a long counter, wearing headphones and talking into handheld receivers. Several old battered chairs lined the wall.

One dispatcher, a woman with gray hair and too much makeup, held up a finger to Anchor as he leaned on the counter. She mumbled into the handheld, shook her head, then mumbled again. Her thumb pressed a button on the receiver and she looked at Anchor. “You’re the one here for Ernie?”

Anchor nodded.

“Hang on,” she said and went back to mumbling into the receiver.

I wasn’t entirely sure why we were there. It seemed to me that we could get any of the information we wanted over the phone. I was also starting to get antsy. It felt like we’d been doing too much standing around and not enough looking. I knew that things took time and that sometimes there was nothing to do but wait for information, but standing around wasn’t comfortable, especially when we thought Elizabeth was close.

A short, squat man waddled out behind the counter. Thinning black hair, a bushy mustache and a shirt unbuttoned at the collar exposing a nest of chest hair. He frowned at Lauren and me, then looked at Anchor. “You’re the guy?”

“I’m the guy,” Anchor replied, more amused than anything else.

“He’s back here,” he said, then motioned for us to follow him.

We walked through a couple of swinging doors next to the counter and followed him around the corner and down a hallway with cheap artwork and dirty carpeting. He stopped and held out his arm, directing us into a room off the hallway. “All yours.”

The room looked like a small classroom, with several tables pushed together to form one big square table and white boards on the walls. Someone had attempted to clean the boards, but faint lines in multiple colors were still visible.

A young man, maybe late twenties, was sitting on the opposite side of the square, flipping through a magazine, turning the pages out of boredom more than interest. He glanced up when we entered, big tired eyes peering up at us. He wore a gray long-sleeve T-shirt and his curly dark hair looked like it needed to be cut.

Our escort motioned at him. “Tell them whatever they wanna know, got it?”

The man glanced at his watch. “Hey, Ernie, I gotta get to my other job…”

“Answer them quick then, D.J., and we’ll get you out of here,” Ernie said, cutting him off. He looked at Anchor. “All yours.” He exited.

Anchor smiled at D.J. “I promise, we’ll be brief and get you off to wherever you need to be.”

D.J. looked annoyed, but nodded.

Anchor looked at me.

“You picked up a girl earlier today at LAX,” I said.

He shrugged. “Okay.”

“Do you remember?”

“I haven’t slept in two days, man,” he said. “I’m trying to make sure I grab enough fares to cover winter tuition. I go to UCLA. So I’m a little foggy.”

“I hear you,” I said. “But can you think for a minute. Girl, sixteen years old. Long brown hair.”

“I rarely pick up anywhere else,” he said. “People don’t use cabs out here unless they’re leaving the airport and I don’t go over to Hollywood because it’s too dicey. Never know who wants a ride.”

“Sure,” I said and slid the black-and-white still Anchor had given me in front of him. “The girl. She would’ve been alone, I think. And no bags. Maybe a little rattled.”

He looked down at the picture, blinked several times. “Oh, yeah. She had no idea where she wanted to go. She was crying a little, too.”