He swallowed hard, then managed to nod.

I didn’t move the gun.

“Man, come on,” he said, almost on the verge of tears, trying to scoot away from me on his butt. “Come on. I gave you the name. I’ll tell you whatever else you want. I won’t hurt anyone again. I’ll stop. I won’t do it again.”

“You’re right,” I said, taking a deep breath, then exhaling slowly. “You won’t.”

I pulled the trigger.

FORTY

The highway was darker on the way back to San Diego.

The evening had closed in on itself, traffic disappearing and homes turning out their lights for the night. The desert looked like a big, black ocean out to my left as we made our way home.

I’d taken a few minutes to wipe down the front door in order to ensure my fingerprints wouldn’t be found. The cul-de-sac was still quiet when I’d left and I’d shut off the television before I’d walked out, leaving Farvar’s body on his living room floor. I reached the car and got in. I nodded at Chuck and he nodded back.

We didn’t say a word.

I wasn’t worried about being traced back to Farvar’s body because I knew what would happen when police or whomever finally showed up. They’d see the dead body, they’d identify him and the guy working the case would pull Farvar’s history. He’d see what a piece of crap he was and figure it was pay back for something Farvar had done in the past. The cop would run through the basics—question neighbors, check recent phone calls, run prints found at the scene—but nothing would come from those things. And then someone who didn’t deserve to die would die and that same cop would get called to that case and he’d be far more invested in finding out what happened with that person than what had happened to Farvar. Farvar would drop quickly down the to-do list and would be classified as unsolved. A better classification would be ignored and forgotten.

I re-gripped the wheel. I was calm, my hands steady. There was no regret, no remorse in what I’d just done. Maybe it was all the years of thinking in my head what I’d do to the person who’d taken my daughter, working over all of the scenarios and knowing I’d do it, knowing I had the anger and hate burning inside me. Putting the gun on Farvar felt almost familiar, like I’d been there before. Was there any pleasure in killing someone? No. But I had no doubt that if I hadn’t taken care of Farvar, he’d have continued doing what he’d been doing. He would’ve done to some other family what he’d done to mine.

Now? He couldn’t.

I could live with that.

And now that I had a name, I knew I was coming down the homestretch. I knew everything was in reach. Closure. Moving forward. Living a real life again. I’d still have to deal with Anchor down the road and maybe even Valdez might come calling. I’d made a deal with the devil and he’d eventually want to collect. But I’d made the deal to get to this point, to get to the point where closure was a reality.

I changed lanes, the only light on the highway the small yellow road reflectors under the beams of my headlights. I could only see black in both directions.

“You okay?” Chuck asked.

“Yeah.”

“Not a single car came down that road. No one.”

“Good.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out my cell. “I gotta make a couple calls.”

He nodded, settled into his seat and closed his eyes.

I thumbed through the contacts until I found the name I wanted.

I stared ahead at the road. I could see dim headlights approaching from the opposite direction.

I tapped the screen and listened as the phone dialed first, connected and then started ringing.

The headlights grew in the distance, coming at me, probably driving as fast as I was.

A voice on the other end of the line answered.

“I think I’ve got it figured out,” I said. “Can you help me?”

“Yes.”

“Tonight?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Can I come to your place?” I asked. “I can be there in ninety minutes.”

“I’ll be here.”

“Okay,” I said.

“What did you find, Joe?”

“When I get there,” I said and hung up.

I glanced at Chuck. His eyes were still closed, his arms folded across his chest.

Then I thumbed through my contacts and punched another number.

The person on the other end answered.

“I need you to meet me.” I rattled off the location and before any questions could be asked, I explained exactly what I was doing and when I’d be there.

“I’ll be there,” the voice responded.

I set the phone in the center console. The car in the opposite lane rushed past us, the headlights filling my windshield for a moment, then disappearing past me, leaving everything dark in front of me again.

“It’s gonna be over, isn’t it?” Chuck asked, his eyes staying closed. “You figured it out.”

Ninety minutes.

A lifetime and ninety minutes.

“Yeah,” I said, my fingers clutching the wheel.

It was finally going to be over.

FORTY ONE

I drove Chuck to his house and he hesitated before opening the car door. “You sure?” he asked, looking at me.

I nodded. “I’m doing this part by myself. I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll go,” he said. “Same deal as before. You’re the leader.”

I shook my head. “No. Last leg. Doing this part alone. It’ll be fine. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“If you don’t, I’ll be knocking on your door,” he said.

“Deal.”

I watched him walk into his house and shut the door behind him. The car idled at the curb for a moment and I took a few deep breaths. Then I shifted back into drive and pulled away.

The house was no more than six minutes from mine, over near the old golf course on Coronado that played out on the east side of the island. It looked more like it belonged in Cape Cod, with an A-frame roof and a white porch that ran the length of the front of the house. The rest of the house was painted a light gray with black shutters framing the windows on both floors. The lawn was neatly manicured and even in the dark, I could see the last remnants of water drops shining on the green blades. A small flower garden brimming with yellow day lilies grew on one side of the porch steps, a rock garden flanking the other side. An old, weathered, wooden rocker sat still on the porch, unmoving.

I stood on the walk that bisected the lawn for a moment, staring at the house. Part of me thought about just setting it aflame right then and there. But that didn’t feel right. Because it wouldn’t give me what I wanted.

I glanced down the street and, in the dark, I saw another car.

My other phone call.

I waited for a flash of lights or a car door opening, something to stop me, question me.

But there was nothing.

I wasn’t sure whether or not I was glad about that, but I took it as a sign that it was okay for me to go forward.

I went up the steps and knocked on the door. I put my hand in my pocket, felt around for my cell, tapped the phone screen twice with my index finger, then pulled my hand out.

Two seconds later, the porch light flashed on.

The door opened.

Lieutenant Bazer pushed open the screen door. “Ninety minutes on the button.”

I nodded and stepped past him into the home. The living room was sparsely decorated. A suede sofa. A rectangular, wooden coffee table. A flat screen television on an entertainment stand. Several watercolor paintings on the walls. Original wood floor.

Bazer shut the door. He wore jeans and a gray T-shirt and wire-rimmed glasses. Both the top of his head and his face appeared to have been freshly shaven.

“I’m surprised you called, Joe,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d take me up on my offer.”

“No?”

Bazer shook his head. “No. You’ve been pretty adamant that you wanted nothing to do with me.”

I nodded slowly. “Yeah. I guess I have.”

“But I’m guessing you found something pretty significant,” he said. “Both because you called me and because it’s the middle of the night.” He paused, eyed me carefully. “And I’m genuinely hoping it has nothing to do with Mike Lorenzo. After our conversation and you were asking about him, I wondered if…”