“I should have it by the time we get to the depot,” Anchor said. “We can take a look at it there.”

I nodded.

“And I’ve made some initial inquiries about your former colleagues and what we talked about,” he said. “I’ll know more in a bit.”

“Do you ever sleep?” I asked.

Anchor chuckled. “Mr. Codaselli pays me extremely well to not sleep.”

“How long have you worked for him?”

“As long as I can remember,” he answered. He nodded at Kitting. “Ellis, too. People tend not to leave Mr. Codaselli’s employ.” He turned in the seat to face me and adjusted his glasses. “And that isn’t sordid in anyway. Mr. Codaselli is generous and looks out for the people who are loyal to him. We’re treated incredibly well and it would be difficult to match his employment elsewhere.”

Kitting nodded in agreement behind the wheel.

“Mr. Codaselli has a long memory,” Anchor continued. “If you do a good job for him, he doesn’t forget. And he believes in rewarding people who do well for him. Not just large things, either. Whatever your job is, if you do it well, he recognizes that.” He paused. “It’s why I’m here. It’s why Ellis is here. What you did for Mr. Codaselli? He won’t forget that.” He smiled. “Ever.”

The neon lights above the store flickered.

“You said his health was alright,” I asked. “How’s he really doing?”

“He’s managing,” Anchor said. “He’s a very tough old man.”

“Cancer is usually tougher than most.”

Anchor nodded. “Certainly. But he’s probably already lasted longer than he should have. He tends to will his way through life.”

He made it sound like Codaselli was some sort of noble benefactor who was the world’s greatest employer. While I was grateful for the help he was providing, I knew better. Codaselli may have been generous to those in his favor, but he was probably ruthless to those who were not.

I was glad I was in his favor.

Lauren emerged from the store, looking a little more awake and wide-eyed. She climbed back into the car.

“Where’s the medicine?” I asked, noticing her empty hands.

She looked at her hands. “Oh. I took it in there. Just got one of those travel packages for a buck.” She looked at me. “Just some stuff to settle my stomach.”

“You alright?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

Kitting caught my eye in the rearview mirror. “We good?”

I nodded and he directed the car out of the parking lot and back down the freeway. We took the Mission Avenue exit and headed west toward the Pacific.

The transit center was a couple blocks from the ocean, in a redeveloped part of Oceanside. The city had long been the ugly stepsister of San Diego, known for not much more than housing Camp Pendleton and gangs. But the city had attempted to clean itself up and revitalized the areas closer to the beach, hoping to draw tourists to the shore and condos along the water. The transit center was a part of that revitalization, a hub to connect visitors with San Diego and make it easier to travel back and forth and avoid the snarl of standstill traffic that had become Interstate 5.

The center was a stark white building with Spanish accents and arched walkways, paying homage both to the area’s heritage and the fact that what was old was new again. Save for a couple of homeless guys on the curb passing a paper bag back and forth, the lot was empty. Kitting pulled into a slot right near the tracks.

“You talk to them,” Anchor said to Kitting. “Mr. Tyler and I will walk the building.”

“And Ms. Tyler,” Lauren said, annoyed.

“Apologies, Ms. Tyler,” he said quickly. “Wasn’t sure how you were feeling.”

“I’m fine,” Lauren said, getting out.

Kitting headed toward the homeless guys. The three of us walked the perimeter of the building. Like always, I half-expected to see Elizabeth sitting right there, waiting for us, wondering what took so long. But, like always, she wasn’t. There was no trace of her.

Five minutes of walking around the building and peering in the windows gave us nothing else.

But Kitting was walking back toward us with one of the homeless guys.

The man was somewhere between forty and sixty, an overgrown gray beard hiding brown, wrinkled skin. A black knit watchman’s cap covered his head, long gray tresses spilling out of the sides. His jeans were dirty and torn and he had a brown field coat over several layers of shirts. His work boots were covered in sand.

He stood up straight next to Kitting, eyeing each of us.

“This is Ben,” Kitting said to Anchor. “He might be able to help us.”

“Ben, my name is John,” Anchor said, then gestured at Lauren and me. “These two people are looking for their daughter. We think she may have been here. Might you have seen her?”

Ben looked us over, then cleared his throat. “I might have.”

“Might have,” Anchor repeated. “Can you elaborate?”

Ben tugged on his coat, pulled it tighter around him. “Probably could, yes sir.”

Anchor reached into his pocket, pulled out a wad of bills and peeled two off. Twenties. He handed them to Ben. “I’d like to do this without the dance, Ben. If you’re able to help us, we’ll be happy to compensate you accordingly.”

Ben took the twenties and deposited them into a coat pocket. He glanced at Kitting. “The girl he described. Think I saw her a few hours ago. Not sure when cause I don’t wear a watch. But woulda been a few hours ago.

That would’ve made sense if she’d ridden down from Capistrano. The timing worked.

“She was alone?” I asked.

“At first, yeah,” Ben said, nodding, then clearing his throat again. “She was inside the station. Only reason I noticed was cuz of me and Jesse.” He nodded back toward his friend on the curb who was watching us intently. “Me and Jesse kinda keep an eye on things around here.”

“How do you mean?” I asked.

“We been around awhile,” he said, shrugging. “Try not to bother nobody, but it’s kind of our home. So we look out for folks, I guess. Sometimes some folks show up who oughta not be here. Bangers sometimes. Kids looking to take advantage of tourists.” He shrugged again. “So we keep an eye on things. Anybody looks like they got a bad idea, we let ‘em know it’s not the place. We can handle ourselves.”

I nodded, letting him continue.

“So if a teenage girl who looks a little lost shows up, we notice,” Ben said. “Didn’t try to talk to her or nothin’ because we probably woulda just scared her. But we saw her—think Jesse saw her first—and we kept an eye on her to make sure she was alright. Made sure no one took a run at her or nothin’.”

“What was she wearing?” Lauren asked.

Ben eyed her for a moment, then cleared his throat. “I know what you’re getting at ma’am and I don’t blame you. But I’m not so drunk that I’m making up the only teenage girl to come through here tonight.” He fished the money out of his pocket and held it out to her. “I ain’t doin’ this just for the money. She was here and if I can help you, I will.” He shook his head. “Little girl shouldn’t be riding trains by herself.”

Lauren hesitated. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…I’m sorry.”

He put the money back in his pocket. “Had a daughter once. No idea where she is now, but I hope she’s doin’ better than me. And I hope she’s safe.”

Lauren nodded, clearly wishing she hadn’t said anything.

“Anyway,” Ben said, looking back to me. “She was here alone and the station was kinda empty last night. It was late. Not much goin’ on. So she was alone for most of the time.”

“Most of the time?” I asked.

He made a face. “Couple of local girls got with her after a bit. But they didn’t hassle her or nothin’. Seemed like they were just talkin’ her up. Or maybe she was askin’ them for directions. I dunno.”

It was strange seeing Elizabeth through someone else’s lens. I was trying to picture her sitting at the station, how she sat, what her voice sounded like in person, what she would’ve talked to those girls about. It was like watching a movie that wasn’t in focus. I could make out pieces of it, but not the whole.