“I know,” I said. “I know. I’ll call you soon.”

We hung up.

“What’s wrong?” Lauren asked, immediately on guard.

“Nothing,” I said. “Just more with Bazer.”

She frowned. “What about him?”

“Nothing,” I said. “Just him being himself. Worried about himself.” I pointed at the hospital. “Let me go talk to this guy and then we’ll start making phone calls, okay? This won’t take long.”

“Alright.”

We found Rodney’s room on the ninth floor and Isabel was with him.

She smiled when we entered. “Hey.”

“Hey,” I said. “Isabel this is Lauren. Lauren this is Isabel. She’s been helping me here.”

They shook hands. I never knew how to introduce Lauren. Identifying her as my ex-wife seemed to carry such a negative connotation and that wasn’t how I viewed her. So I usually just said her name and hope that sufficed. I knew I had spoken about her with Isabel, so she’d know who she was.

“And this is Rodney,” I said, stepping toward the bed. “Rodney, this is Lauren. Elizabeth’s mother.”

He scooted himself up in the bed and smiled at her. “A pleasure.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Lauren said, returning the smile.

“How are you?” I asked him.

“Can’t feel much on my left side, but I’m not at death’s door,” he said, holding the smile. “I’m alright.” He glanced at Lauren. “If you’re here in town, I’m assuming you’ve made some progress?”

“We have,” I said and told him where we were at.

He listened intently, nodding occasionally. “That’s good, Joe. Very good. But you shouldn’t be here with me then. You should be out there, finding her.”

“I know and we’re only here for a bit,” I said. “But Isabel indicated you were asking for me and I didn’t want to leave until we came by.”

Lauren touched my elbow. “I’m going to go find some coffee. I’ll be outside.”

I nodded.

“Do you mind if I come with you?” Isabel asked.

“Of course,” Lauren said.

She held the door open and they both stepped out.

“She must’ve been thrilled to get your call,” he said.

“I think so. I was pretty thrilled to make it.”

“You need to go find your daughter,” he said. “You’re close.”

“Why did you want to see me?” I asked.

He cleared his throat. “As you know, my memory, it’s not as sharp as it used to be.”

I didn’t say anything.

“Things get away from me,” he said. “They come and go.”

I nodded.

“It’s frustrating,” he said. “But there was something I wanted to ask you when we met that first time. I got carried away talking with you and then later that night I forgot. I assume I know the answer, but I wanted to ask anyway.”

“What’s that?”

“Did you ever receive the photo I sent?”

“Photo? After we spoke?”

He shook his head. “No, no. A photo that I sent to your department in San Diego a number of years ago.” He paused. “A photo of your daughter here in Minneapolis.”

FIFTY

“You sent that picture?” I asked. “To my department?”

“So you did get it?” he said, smiling.

“Yes. I got it,” I said. “But you were the one that sent it?”

He nodded. “Yes. I can’t recall exactly when I ran across it, but I sent it to your department.”

“Recently?” I frowned.

“Oh, no,” he answered. “This was a number of years ago. Again, I’m sorry. I can’t remember exactly when I sent it. That was why I thought it was odd that you were showing up here now. So many years after I’d forwarded it.”

“It was what brought me here,” I said. “That’s the lead I got that I mentioned. At the diner. There was a picture and an address.”

Rodney’s eyes lit up. “Yes! I sent the address, too.”

“Where did you find it?” I asked, my mind racing, confused.

He adjusted the blanket over his hospital gown. “There was a case here that ended up not being a case. When caseloads would get heavy, they would farm some things out to me on a consultant basis and I’d do some grunt work. Make phone calls, read through files. Just to help out. Anyway, a young girl was caught in a custody case. I believe it was just a stock photo of that girl.”

“Detwiler?” I asked. “Bailey Detwiler.”

He considered for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, that sounds correct. The father had originally reported her missing, but it turned out he was lying and just arguing with his former wife.”

“So then what?” I asked. “You recognized Elizabeth and sent it to me?”

“Not to you,” he said. “I didn’t have an address for you and quite honestly, I wasn’t sure it was the best thing to send to you at the time without any context or knowing if it was relevant. So, I made a couple of phone calls and sent it to your department. In Chicago.”

“Coronado, you mean,” I said.

He winced. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry. Coronado.”

A machine next to his bed beeped. “Do you remember who you sent it to?”

He thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No. I don’t.”

“Do you remember who you spoke to when you called?”

He hesitated, his mouth set in a flat line.

“Lieutenant Bazer?” I asked.

His mouth stayed flat and he shook his head. “Maybe.”

Something cold formed in my gut. “What about a Detective Lorenzo?”

There was a brief flicker of recognition. “That sounds familiar.”

The cold feeling in my gut went jagged and sharp.

“But I may have read their names in reading up on you. I can’t place them.” He shook his head. “I spoke to several people, I’m afraid. And names…escape me.” He frowned. “I’m sorry, Joe.”

“It’s okay,” I said, even though it was anything but. “You said you can’t recall when you sent it to Coronado. That it was a number of years ago. Like two or three?”

“Oh goodness, no,” he said, shaking his head. “It had to be at least five years ago. At minimum. That I’m sure of.”

And that’s when my mind when into overdrive.

Five years.

The picture had languished for five years, somewhere in the department.

Why?

Carelessness? Mix-up?

Maybe.

But the hair that was standing at attention on my arms was telling me something different.

And I no longer trusted anyone.

“So, I just wanted to know if you’d received it,” Rodney said, smiling faintly. “And it’s clear you did.”

I nodded, distracted. “Yeah.”

It never felt right to me that Elizabeth would’ve gone with someone she didn’t know. Not without making a sound or putting up a fight, a fight I would’ve heard with an open front door.

So, maybe she hadn’t.

Maybe she had gone with someone she’d known.

And maybe the same person had decided to hide that photo from me.

“Joe?” Rodney asked. “Are you alright?”

I hesitated. “Yeah. I am. But I need to go.”

He held out his bony hand. “Good luck.”

We shook. “Thank you. For all of your help.”

I strode to the door.

“Joe?”

I turned to him.

“Let me know how it turns out, okay?” he asked, a thin gray eyebrow raised. “I’d like to know if I helped in any way.”

“I will,” I promised him. “I will.”

FIFTY-ONE

Isabel and Lauren were standing just outside the door, talking quietly.

Lauren looked at me. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” I said, knowing I wasn’t. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look okay,” she said.

“We should go,” I said. I turned to Isabel. “Thank you. For everything.”

Isabel stepped forward and hugged me. “Thank you. For Marc.”

She stepped back, hesitated, then hugged Lauren. “I hope you find her. Soon.”

“We will,” I said, taking Lauren by the hand. “Very soon.”

“What is wrong with you?” she asked when we stepped into the elevator. “You look like you saw a ghost. Or, like, nine of them.”

I pushed the button to take us to the first floor and the doors closed. “I think I’ve been an idiot.”

“How?”

“In too many ways,” I said, shutting my eyes and shaking my head. “In too many ways.”