Little Girl Gone (8 page)

“You weren’t planting some kind of device to burn the place down?”

“No. I had never heard of Aaron Hughes until yesterday. Last night was the first time I’d even been to his place. I was only doing a favor for a friend. One that did not include burning down a house.”

“Who, exactly, is this friend?”

Logan didn’t know how many times they went through everything—three? four?—before Detective Baker finally let him call his father. As they were going through things for yet again, an officer came in and whispered something in Detective Baker’s ear. The detective then excused himself and left the room. Logan assumed that the WAMO splinter group had arrived.

His concern now was that Tooney would say something that didn’t back up his story, but it turned out the reason the detective had left the room had nothing to do with Tooney or his dad at all.

Baker walked back in with several pieces of paper that looked fresh from the printer. He took his chair again, placing the papers face down on the table between them.

“Mr. Harper, you have a bit of a history.”

Outwardly, Logan remained calm, but inside his guard went up tenfold.

“Mind telling me about it?” the detective asked.

“My
history
is none of your business. It has nothing to do with what happened at the house, because I have nothing to do with what happened at the house.”

The detective turned the papers over, but held them up so that Logan couldn’t see what was on them. “Seems you had some problems with the Pentagon.”

“I never had any problems with the Pentagon.”

“That’s not what it says here.”

“Then whatever you’re looking at isn’t correct.”

Detective Baker’s gaze moved back and forth across the page. “Hmmm, I guess you’re right. Your problem wasn’t officially with the Pentagon. It was with a company called Forbus Systems International. Looks like you were charged with embezzlement. Oh, and there was talk of a manslaughter charge.”

“‘A,’ there was no manslaughter charge,” Logan said, fighting hard to keep his cool. “And, ‘B,’ the embezzlement accusation was false. That’s why the case got dropped before it ever went anywhere. Again, none of this has anything to do with your fire.”

“Did you know your file’s flagged?” he asked.

Logan didn’t know he
had
a file, at least not one that could be accessed by the LAPD. He remained silent.

“Says if your name comes up in connection with any unlawful activities, a Special Agent James Hall is supposed to be contacted. Are you familiar with him?”

Logan was pretty sure his blank expression cracked just a little bit. He was familiar with Special Agent Hall all right, but it had been a while since he’d heard the name. Again, he said nothing.

“Naturally, I had to give him a call. He says you’re a sneaky bastard. Says the only reason you weren’t brought up on manslaughter charges was because they were unable to locate some key evidence. I asked him if he thought you’d be capable of burning down a house. Know what he said?”

Logan continued to stare at the detective.

“He said, yes, you’d be capable, but that you’d need a really good reason to do it. And that you wouldn’t be so sloppy as to return to check things out the next morning.”

That was a surprise. Special Agent Hall was far from Logan’s favorite person on the planet, and Logan was far from his. Hall had been the man in charge of the investigation after accusations that Logan might have been responsible for Carl’s death began circulating. Hall had made it very clear he thought that Logan was guilty, to hell with the fact there was no evidence and, therefore, never even a trial. For the first six months after Logan had begun his self-imposed exile in Cambria, Hall would call each week to let him know he was still out there, and to remind Logan that if he made a mistake, Hall would be all over him.

Logan had been sure the agent had forgotten him by now. Apparently not.

But Hall saying something that might make the police believe Logan? Definitely a surprise.

Detective Baker leafed through the papers, then looked at Logan again. “One of my colleagues also had a conversation with your friend Mr. Myat. He showed up with a man who says he’s your father about twenty minutes ago. Lucky for you, he confirmed what you told me. But that still doesn’t give you a solid alibi for around the time the fire started. And if you think for one moment I’m going to blindly believe what some FBI agent says about you, you’re mistaken.”

The detective’s frustration was showing. At first he must have thought he’d hit the jackpot, and had reeled in the arsonist without having to do any legwork. But then it turned out that Logan wasn’t as golden a suspect as he had at the start. A few seconds later the detective said, “I need you to stay in town until I tell you it’s all right to leave.”

Fifteen minutes later, Logan walked into the lobby, and found his father pacing back and forth near the front desk. The moment Harp saw his son he rushed over.

“You all right?” he asked as if Logan had been locked up in a KGB torture cell for the past month.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Logan looked around. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Outside. Tooney wanted some air.”

“Let’s go, then. I need to talk to both of you.”

Instead of moving, his dad stared at Logan’s face. “Did they hurt you?”

“No, of course not.”

“But…” He reached up and pointed at Logan’s cheek. “What’s that?”

Having no idea what he was talking about, Logan raised his hand and touched the spot. It was rough, and stung slightly when his finger brushed against it. “Just a scrape, Dad.”

“They did this to you?”

“Technically,” Logan said, remembering being knocked to the ground on the boardwalk. “But it wasn’t on purpose.”

“Wasn’t on purpose? When we get home, the first call we make is to Lloyd Falon.” Lloyd was his father’s lawyer.

“We’re not calling anyone. Now come on.”

13

After retrieving the El Camino, Logan, the members of WAMO, and their auxiliary Marine arm drove over to a café on Main Street in Santa Monica, and found a couple of tables in the back, away from the other guests.

The moment the waitress had taken their orders—coffees all around and fries for Jerry—Logan looked at Tooney, and said, “If you really want me to help, you need to tell me everything. I’ve just lied to the police for you, and nearly went to jail. That man I was running after? We both know who he was. So don’t tell me what happened yesterday’s got nothing to do with your granddaughter.”

Tooney stared at the table, his head bowed. “I am sorry, Logan. I should have never let your father talk me into involving you. It was a mistake. It’s better to just leave things alone.”

“Are you serious? Someone tried to
kill
you yesterday. And it’s pretty clear you were right about Elyse being missing, too. Those aren’t the kind of things that just go away if you ignore them.”

“You misunderstand me,” he said. “It’s not that I don’t want to do something. I think it may be too late.”

 “You think she might already be dead?” Logan asked, not quite sure what Tooney meant.

“No,” Tooney said quickly, shaking his head. “She is not dead. She would be no use to them dead.”

Logan leaned across the table, and asked in a very low, steady voice, “Do you know who has her?”

Tooney pressed his lips together and looked away.

Harp touched his son’s arm. “Can we…?” He nodded sideways toward the front door.

Logan glared at him, not moving.

“Please,” his father said.

Logan remained motionless for a few more seconds, then pushed himself up, and walked outside.

There was a little patio area in front for customers who wanted to eat al fresco. Currently it was empty, so Logan took a seat at the table farthest from the door. His father exited a moment later, and joined him.

Before Harp could open his mouth, Logan said, “I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I do know that Toony’s making a huge mistake. For God’s sake, his granddaughter is
missing!
If it was your grandchild, you’d do anything you could to find her.” He paused. “We both know how I feel about the FBI, but Tooney needs to call them
now
. You need to convince him of that.”

His dad looked resigned as he shook his head. “He’ll never call them.”

“Then
you
need to do it.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I…I promised him.”

“So the hell what? This is a girl’s life we’re talking about.” Logan leaned back. “Dammit, I’ll call them myself, then.”

“You can’t, either.”

“Sure I can.”

“No. I also promised him you wouldn’t.”

“I don’t care.
I
didn’t promise.” Logan pushed up from his chair.

“Logan, sit back down.”

Logan looked at his father, but remained standing.

Harp sighed. “If the people who have her get even a hint that the FBI, or the police, or any other organization for that matter is looking for them, they will kill her for sure.”

“Do you know what’s going on, Dad? Did he tell you?”

“Most of it.”

“Then tell me.”

“It’s not my place.”

“Then I have no choice.”

Logan pulled out his phone, and punched in the number for information. Once the connection was made, he hit the speaker button so his father could hear how serious he was. The first automated prompt asked him for the city. “Los Angeles.” Then the name. “Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

Harp pleaded with his eyes for his son to hang up.

The voice gave Logan the number, then asked if he’d like to be connected. “Yes.”

Before the phone had even began to ring, his dad said, “Logan, please.”

“Are you going to tell me?”

It took two rings before his father finally nodded.

“Federal Bureau of Investigation. How may I—”

“I’m sorry,” Logan said, cutting off the voice that answered. “Wrong number.”

He sat back down, and set the phone on the table, making sure his dad knew how easy it would be for him to pick it up and call again.

“Give me three minutes,” Harp said, then stood up. “I need to talk to Tooney. He really should be the one to tell you.”

“Dad…”

His father held up his hands to stop Logan from saying anything more. “If he doesn’t, I will. Okay?”

Logan hesitated, then nodded. “Okay.”

It took him five minutes, not three. When he returned, the whole group was with him, each carrying a cup of coffee, Jerry with an additional bowl of fries in his other hand.

Harp and Tooney were the only ones who came over to Logan’s table. Barney and Jerry grabbed a table at the other side of the patio, while the marines all remained standing, covering the edge along the street.

Logan’s dad had brought out two cups of coffee. He set one in front of Logan, then sat in the same chair he’d been in before. Reluctantly, Tooney took the chair next to him.

Instead of waiting, Logan decided to start. “I know this is difficult, but unless you convince me otherwise, I can’t just sit here and do nothing. I hope you understand.”

Tooney gave him a humorless smile. “Of course, I understand. But, please, can’t you just trust me?”

“It’s not a matter of trust. I believe you think you’re doing the right thing, but when it’s someone close to you who’s in danger, people often don’t think straight. If your granddaughter’s in trouble, we need to get help.”

“If we do that, she is as good as dead.”

“Yeah. Dad said the same thing, but you can’t know that for sure.”

Tooney’s shoulders moved up and down as he took in a deep breath. “I can.”

“How?”

Tooney gave Logan’s dad a pained look as if he were hoping there was some way he could be spared from having to say anything more.

“Tell him,” Harp said. “That can’t hurt her.”

 Tooney carefully touched his hand to his bruised face. “But what if even after I do he does call the police?”

“He won’t. I promise.”

“But what if he does?”

Harp looked at his son. “Then he’s not the man I thought he was.”

Logan let that one pass. He knew his dad was trying to guilt him into cooperating, but there was potential guilt on the other side, too, the guilt of inaction if it turned out a phone call could have saved the girl.

Tooney didn’t move for several seconds. Finally, he lifted his head, and looked Logan in the eye. “I was one of the lucky ones.”

14

“You know that I am from Burma, yes?” Tooney said.

Logan nodded.

Tooney’s gaze grew distant, lost in a memory. Finally, he looked back at Logan. “When I escaped, I was able to bring most of my family with me. Many were not so blessed. My younger sister, my brother, my wife, my two daughters, we were all together. The only ones who could not come were my father and my older sister. He too old to travel, so she stay to take care of him.” He paused again, but only briefly. “It was not easy to leave without them, but we had no choice. My wife had been…
vocal
in her concerns about the government. One day we were warned by a friend that soldiers would be coming for us that night, so we knew it was time to go.” He shook his head. “Thirty minutes after they tell us this, we gone. The only things we bring were clothes and food. Everything else we leave behind. All memories of our life.

“Friends hid us in cars and drove us into the jungle in the hills to the east. From there we walk for five days, hiding when we hear patrols, until we cross into Thailand. This was 1984. Already there were refugee camps along the border with thousands of other Burmese. We were just six more.

“Then, for a second time, we were lucky. We stayed in camp for only one year. A church in San Luis Obispo sponsored our whole family. That’s how we got out of Thailand. That’s how we come to California.”

He took another pause. This was a lot more about Tooney than Logan had ever been aware of, but by the knowing nods from his father, the story wasn’t new to him.