Thread of Hope (The Joe Tyler Series, #1) (7 page)

Jordan sat, then folded his hands into a tight knot and laid them on his desk.  “Most people who show up at my home unannounced leave in an ambulance.”

There were two chairs in front of the desk, but he made no motion for me to take one.  Probably thought I’d be more uncomfortable standing.

“Guess I’m lucky then.”

“You’re lucky I let Gina handle things the way she does.”  His folded hands tightened.  “If I’d come out to meet you, there wouldn’t have been enough left of you for the medical folks to haul away.”

I was accustomed to people making threats.  Most did so because they felt compelled.  They wanted to appear strong, brave, defiant.  But most didn’t come across as being able to back it up.

Jordan wasn’t a big guy and he wasn’t posturing.  Something in his voice, though, convinced me he meant what he was saying and I wasn’t going to get anywhere by being antagonistic.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” I said.  “And I apologize for any inconvenience.”

He pushed back from the desk and crossed his legs, eyeing me from the side.  “And do you apologize for the beating your friend handed out to my daughter?”

“My friend didn’t hurt your daughter,” I said.

Anger radiated from his face.  “She says differently.”

“I know that.  I’m trying to figure out why.”

The corner of his mouth curled up.  “So now my daughter’s lying.”  It wasn’t a question.  Just a statement meant to make me realize I’d insulted his daughter.

“I don’t know your daughter,” I said.  “But I know my friend.  He wouldn’t hurt a teenage girl.  Ever.”

Jordan shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, then let out a snort like I was the court jester that had failed to entertain him.  Then something else moved through his expression, something darker.

“You know your friend?”

“I do.”

He stared intently at me across his desk.  “I’d think it would be tough to know someone you haven’t seen in a very long time.”  He paused and squinted.  “Tough to still know the people in your life when you run away from them.”

A shiver prickled the back of my neck.

“Disgraced cop, missing daughter, divorced,” Jordan continued.  “That’s a lot of shit.  Maybe I would’ve taken off, too.”

The shiver turned to icicles but I managed to hold his gaze.  I hated myself for not being able to find the words to fight back.

“Must be hell for you,” Jordan said, watching me.  “Having to live with it.”

The muscles in my throat constricted and the floor beneath me felt unsteady.

“Not knowing,” Jordan said.  “It must be hell.”

My hands curled into fists.  He was playing a game with me, trying to establish an upper hand.  Blowing up or going across the desk to rip his head off wouldn’t have done Chuck or me any good.  But I was done trying to be polite.  I took a deep breath, exhaled and unclenched my fists.

“What did it cost you?” I asked.

“What did what cost me?”

“Getting someone to kick the shit out of Chuck,” I said.  “You just keep someone on retainer or was this a new venture?”

Nothing in his expression changed.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure.  Just more bad luck for Chuck, I guess.”

“I guess.”

We stared at each other for a moment.

“He didn’t hurt your daughter,” I said.

“Have you seen the case file?” 

“Yeah.”

“You think my daughter just fell down?  Tripped?  Banged her entire face on a wall?”  A cold smile forced its way onto his mouth.  “Maybe that’s what happened to Mr. Winslow.  Maybe he tripped.”

It was as much of an admission as I would get from him.  But it was enough.

“No,” I said.  “It’s clear something happened to your daughter.  But Chuck Winslow isn’t responsible.”

He looked away, an incredulous expression on his face, like he was explaining simple addition to an adult.

“So, what?” he asked.  “You just want to talk to Meredith?  Find out the real story?”

“I would like to speak to her, yes.”

He shook his head slowly and pushed himself out of his chair, like it was the toughest physical task he’d ever performed.

“I don’t really give a shit who you think you are or how well you think you know your friend,” Jon Jordan said.  “But I saw my daughter come home beaten up, barely able to walk, barely able to speak.  And the first words out of her mouth were that your friend–someone she thought was her friend, too–had kicked the shit out of her.”  He paused.  “My daughter’s not a liar.  So you can stand there all you want and defend him.  I couldn’t care less.  But if you think I’m going to let you talk to my daughter...”

I was getting nowhere in a hurry.  I needed to move away from the subject of his daughter.

“Robert Stricker told me that you recommended Chuck,” I said.

His cheeks sucked in a bit and they started to flush.  “I did a favor for someone by making that call.  I’ve never actually met Mr. Winslow.  And at this point, that’s lucky for him.”

None of this made sense and it was starting to irritate me.

“You’re big on the threats,” I said.  “But yet you let me walk away last night, then have me escorted here today.  To you.  Why?  Why not just send me on my way last night?”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and chuckled.  “Gina made a recommendation.  I followed it.  It allowed me to check up on you, understand why you were here. My courtesy has now expired.”  His smile dimmed.  “I’m done with you.”

“You can kick me out of your office and off your property,” I said, heading for the door.  “But you can’t kick me out of San Diego.  I’ll stay here until I figure out what happened to your daughter.  Until I make sure everyone knows that my friend did nothing to her.”

I’d reached the door when he said “A hearse.”

I turned around.  “Excuse me?”

His eyes were so hard they seemed metallic.  “You go near my daughter, they won’t take you away in an ambulance.  It’ll be in a hearse.”

THIRTEEN

I left Jordan’s office pissed off, but at least I knew where I stood.  He could make all the threats he wanted–and I’d be wary of them–but I wouldn’t walk away from helping the one person who had never walked away from me.  It was time to pay Chuck back for that kind of friendship.

I drove back to Coronado.  The high school was just letting out.  The expensive cars whizzed past me as I made my way toward the gym.  I wanted to shout a protest but I knew it would fall on deaf ears.  Teenagers live with a feeling of invincibility right up until that feeling is unexpectedly punctured.

The gym was on the west side of the campus and I found a parking spot a block away.  As I got closer to the building, I heard the squeaks of sneakers and sharp voices yelling instruction.  It took me back twenty-five years to when Chuck and I were the ones in the gym, practicing with ten other guys, getting yelled at and working our asses off.  It was when we had cemented our friendship and as I pushed through the heavy closed doors at the front of the building, a strange sense of déjà vu overwhelmed me.

And I was nearly run over by a girl in a hurry.

She bounced off me and hit the ground, her large athletic bag landing on top of her.

“Jeez, I’m sorry,” I said, bending down toward her.  “Are you alright?”

She pushed the bag off of her and sat up. 

The bruises were fading and the cut above her nose was still sewn shut with several ragged stitches.  Her hair was pulled back away from her face, hidden beneath a Coronado do-rag. 

“I’m fine.”  Meredith Jordan ignored my hand and stood.  “Sorry.”

I stared at her for a minute, contemplating.

“Meredith, my name’s Joe,” I finally said.  “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

She stepped away from me, her eyes immediately wary.  “How do you know my name?”

I couldn’t think of anything other than the truth.  “Chuck Winslow is a friend of mine.”

The fear left her face.  Now she just looked guarded.  “I have to go.”

She tried to go around me, but I stepped into her path.  “Wait.  Come on.  He was arrested and now he’s in the hospital.  He didn’t really do this to you, did he?”

She looked at me, surprised.  “Hospital?”

“He’s hurt pretty bad,” I said.  “He can’t talk right now.  But when he can, he’s gonna tell me he didn’t do anything to you.”

She hesitated again, pulling tightly on the bag on her shoulder.  Three other girls walked out from the hall behind us, chattering.  They quieted down as they approached, tried to discreetly keep an eye on us as they exited, then hurried along the outside walk.

“Look,” I said.  “Something happened to you.  No doubt.  And I can help you if you want.  But I don’t think Chuck had anything to do with it.  And it’s not right that you’re telling everyone that he did.”

She looked down at the floor and whispered something I couldn’t make out.

“What?”

She looked up at me, tears in her eyes.  “I don’t have a choice.”

“You don’t have a choice?” I asked.  “What does that mean?”

She started edging past me for the door.  “He hurt me.  I’m sorry.  I have to go.”

“Is it your dad?” I wanted to grab her and stop her, but I couldn't bring myself to do it.  “Is he the one forcing you to blame Chuck?”

She again looked surprised at what I’d said, but it was different this time.  There was something in her expression that told me I’d gotten something wrong.

She put her hand on the metal bar that ran across the door.  “I’m sorry.  I swear to God.  I’m sorry.”

Meredith pushed open the door and ran outside, vanishing up the walk.

FOURTEEN

I wanted to sprint after Meredith but good sense told me not to.  A grown man chasing a girl across a high school campus wouldn’t look good, especially when the girl had already been assaulted once.  I took several deep breaths, told myself I’d get another chance with her and walked into the gym.

A high school gym has distinct smells.  Stale popcorn, old sweat and an odor belonging only to a wood playing floor.  The new Coronado gym had none of that, as bright and shiny and new as if it had opened that morning.  All six baskets were down, the girls working in pairs at each one, doing footwork drills in the area below the basket. 

“Rotate!” a voice yelled from the far corner and the girls moved in their pairs to the next basket on their right and went to work again.

I looked to where the voice had come from.  She was about six feet tall, dirty blonde hair pulled tightly away from her face, wearing a bright white T-shirt emblazoned with “Islanders” across the front in red.  Red mesh basketball shorts and running shoes in the same colors.  She was lean and bounced with that flame-turned-to-low energy athletes have.  No whistle around her neck, but there was no doubt she was in charge as her eyes swept the gym, watching each pair of girls intently as they worked.