Thread of Innocence

“This isn’t about Mike,” I said, cutting him off.

He didn’t say anything.

“It’s about Elizabeth and Mario Valdez and Mosaic Farvar,” I said, staring at him. “And you.”

He stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans, but didn’t say anything.

“We can do the song and dance,” I said. “I can tell you everything I turned up from conversations with both Valdez and Farvar. I can tell you Valdez named you as the contact in the deal that went bad in I.B. and that they demanded repayment of the money you’d taken from them. I can tell you that Farvar named you as the guy who brought him Elizabeth.” I shook my head. “But I’m not much for song and dance. Lieutenant.”

Bazer hadn’t flinched at anything I’d said. He’d just stood there and taken in my words, his hands still in his pockets, squinting at me. He had yet to move.

“So you tell me how you want to play this,” I said. “But you aren’t walking out of here.”

A sad smile crept across his face. “I know that.”

“Do you?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. I do. Because I knew when you found her that you’d find out. I actually thought you’d find out even if you never got her back. I’ve always waited for the phone call. Or for you to show up here.” He paused. “I knew when you walked in the door two minutes ago. I threw Mike’s name out there as my last hope.”

I didn’t say anything.

He stood there, his eyes staring down at the floor now. “I was going to get her back.” His voice was almost a whisper. “I was always going to get her back. Get her back to you. But it got fucked up.”

The hair was up on the back of my neck and it took every ounce of strength to stand still rather than charge at him and choke the life out of him.

“I lost Farvar,” Bazer said, his voice gravelly. “He moved and took off. I couldn’t find him. I was going to force him to tell me where he’d…taken her. I lost him and I couldn’t find him.”

“Maybe you should’ve looked a little fucking harder.”

He nodded. “Probably. But I already had IAD breathing down my neck because of the missing money. I was under scrutiny. There was only so much I could do.” He paused again. “So I let it go.”

“You let her go.”

“Yes. Her.”

My jaw hurt from clenching it shut so tightly. Sweat trickled down my back. The moment was almost surreal.

“And you turned on me,” I said. “You threw it on me so they’d look at me.”

“What’s the stat?” he asked, a half-smile forming on his lips. “About parents almost always being involved in the disappearance of their own child? I knew it would work.”

“Why?” I asked.

He cocked his head. “Because you were an easy target.”

“No. Why didn’t you have the money that Valdez paid you for coverage?” I asked. “Why couldn’t you just give it back to him?”

“It was gone.”

“How?”

He shrugged. “I owed other people. It was spent before I’d even gotten it from Valdez.”

“Owed who? For what?”

He shrugged again. “Does it matter? I had irons in the fire, things that were out of bounds, bills to pay.”

“Other under the table shit?” I asked. “Like with Valdez?”

“Some of that, yeah,” he said. “I was always in the middle of something.” He paused. “No excuses. It was one of those things I got into early in my career to add to my income and it spiraled. I started filling my pockets early on and never found a way to stop. A little here, a little there. A side deal to look the other way.” He shook his head. “It finally caught up to me. I was on the wrong side of the ledger and couldn’t get back on the right side.” He blinked. “I was the clichéd bad cop. Am the clichéd bad cop.”

I chewed on my bottom lip until I tasted blood. “And you decided that the best way to get even this time was taking my daughter? That was the best way out of it?”

He stared at me for a long moment. “Desperate times, desperate measures.”

I laughed, but felt sick to my stomach. “I guess so.”

“But I was going to get her back, Joe,” he said. “Whether or not you believe that, I was going to get her back.”

“No doubt. So you could be the hero.”

“So I could get her back to you.”

“Fuck. You.”

Bazer nodded. “Yes.”

“There’s no excuse,” I said, shaking my head. “None.”

“I agree.”

I hated him more for being so goddamned agreeable. I wanted a fight and he wasn’t going to give it to me. He probably knew me well enough to know that he’d lose.

“But I’m not going to jail, Joe,” Bazer said. His voice was calm. Firm. “I’m sorry for what I did and for what happened. But I’m not going to jail. With who I am, with my job, with the people I’ve dealt with? I’d never survive.”

“You aren’t going to jail,” I said in agreement.

The same sad smile took over his mouth. “I figured.” He shrugged. “So what? You just going to shoot me? Kill me right here?” He spread his arms slowly, his chest fully exposed. “Here I am. Take your best shot.”

I’d thought about this exact moment the entire drive. I wasn’t sure if he was going to put up a fight and I was ready for one if he wanted one. But I’d also contemplated what I’d do if he didn’t want a fight. Because there was no way I was going to make some bullshit citizen’s arrest and send him to jail. There was no closure in that for me.

The only way there was closure was to wipe him off the face of the Earth.

I withdrew my gun and aimed it at him. “Where’s your department weapon?”

He hesitated, then gestured toward the other end of the house. “Nightstand. Bedroom.”

I nodded. “We’re going to go get it. I’ll be behind you. Everything slow. Don’t turn around.”

He hesitated again, like he was thinking about disagreeing with that. Then he nodded, turned and headed toward the bedroom.

I followed him, my gun aimed at the middle of his spine.

He stopped short of a polished black nightstand. “Now?”

“Open the drawer,” I said. “Don’t reach for anything until I tell you.”

He bent and pulled the drawer open. I peered around him. I saw the weapon and the ammo.

“Pull one bullet,” I said. “Leave the gun.”

He reached in and picked up one bullet.

“Now the gun,” I said.

He picked up the gun, his index finger in the trigger guard so it was hanging upside down.

“Load it,” I said. “Slowly. Pointed away from you.”

He did as told and I saw the bullet go into the chamber, heard it lock in place.

“On your knees,” I said. “Gun pointed down at the floor.”

He knelt down and kept the barrel in his right hand pointed at the floor.

“Now, turn around,” I said, holding the gun steady on the back of his head. “Slow. Barrel down.”

He pivoted slowly on his knees until he was facing me. There was no fear in his face, no resignation. It was just blank.

“How’d you get her in the car?” I asked, centering the barrel of my gun right between his eyes.

He stared at me, not in any way u

“I told her I had a Christmas present for you,” he said. “I asked her if she’d come help me get it out of the backseat.”

The knot in my gut developed razor-like edges and pain surged through my stomach at the mental image. It was the same story Elizabeth told me. She had remembered. My gut was right. It had been someone she’d known, not just someone dressed up like a cop. And it made sense now as to why he hadn’t shown up at my home after Elizabeth had returned. He’d only come when I was alone. He’d stayed away from her, probably worried that, even with the memory loss, his face or voice might trigger something in her and it would all come flooding back.

“She cry?” I asked. The words were thick and heavy in my throat.

“I gave her something to take the edge off,” he said, shaking his head. “As far as she knew, she just fell asleep.”

The gun felt heavy in my hand, my finger heavy on the trigger.