Thread of Truth: The Joe Tyler Series, #9

Books by Jeff Shelby

The Joe Tyler Novels

THREAD OF HOPE

THREAD OF SUSPICION

THREAD OF BETRAYAL

THREAD OF INNOCENCE

THREAD OF FEAR

THREAD OF REVENGE

THREAD OF DANGER

THREAD OF DOUBT

THREAD OF TRUTH

The Noah Braddock Novels

KILLER SWELL

WICKED BREAK

LIQUID SMOKE

DRIFT AWAY

LOCKED IN

IMPACT ZONE

WIPE OUT

The Moose River Mysteries

THE MURDER PIT

LAST RESORT

ALIBI HIGH

FOUL PLAY

YOU'VE GOT BLACKMAIL

ASSISTED MURDER

DEATH AT THE DINER

SCHOOL OF MURDER

DEAD IN THE WATER

The Rainy Day Mysteries

BOUGHT THE FARM

WHEN THE ROOSTER KILLS

CRACK OF DEATH

PLANTING EVIDENCE

ONE BAD EGG

BALE OUT

LAST STRAW

CUT AND DIED

SOUR GRAPES

TYING THE KNOT

The Capitol Cases Mysteries

DEAD ON ARRIVAL

NATIONAL MAUL

DARK HORSE

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The Sunny Springfield Mysteries

DEAD BY DINNER TIME

BEAUTY AND THE THIEF

CUTTING TIES

The Elizabeth Tyler Mysteries

WHAT SHE LOST

WHAT SHE FOUND

WHAT SHE KNOWS

The Deuce Winters Novels (Under the pseudonym Jeffrey Allen)

STAY AT HOME DEAD

POPPED OFF

FATHERS KNOWS DEATH

Novel for Young Adults

PLAYING THE GAME

Short Story Collections

OUT OF TIME

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ONE

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We don't believe our son is missing, Tom Locker said.

I shifted on the couch in Tom and Alice Locker's living room. They lived in a modest two-story home in Del Mar Heights, just on the east side of Camino Del Mar, which most people called Pacific Coast Highway. Alice made coffee, but none of us had touched the mugs sitting on the table.

You don't think he's missing, I said. So why am I here?

They exchanged a look. They were both in their late forties, with the tan complexions of people who had the money to live near the beach and the time to actually enjoy it. Tom wore a black golf shirt and tan shorts that were several shades lighter than his skin. Alice’s silver sundress matched the color of her nail polish and the threads of gray just beginning to appear on her hairline.

Because you find people, Tom said. That's what we've been told and that's what I read about you. Isn't that true?

I've found some people, yes. I glanced at the untouched coffee. The mugs were ceramic, each of them a different shade of blue. But there are never any guarantees.

But it's what you do, Tom said. Isn’t it?

He was right about that. I'd given up my newfound teaching job after only a couple of years and was back to doing what I'd learned to do when my own daughter had gone missing: find people. I had yet to be convinced I could make a living at it, but it was the only environment I felt comfortable in.

Mr. Tyler, Alice said, forcing a tight smile. Her eyes crinkled at the corners. We just want to know where Desmond is.

I nodded. I understand that. But why don't you think he's missing?

Tom leaned back in the sofa across from me. The furnishings were sparse but tasteful, the colors neutral. Both couches were chocolate brown, the coffee table and matching end tables made of a blond wood. The artwork on the wall reflected the views outside: landscapes complete with palm trees and long stretches of beach. Apart from the family portrait hanging above one couch and the scattering of candids tucked into a bookcase in the corner of the room, I could have just as easily been sitting in a hotel lounge.

He thought for a moment before responding. I guess I phrased that incorrectly. We don't think he's run away.

Alice affirmed that with a shake of her head.

Okay, I said. Where do you think he is?

We don't know that. Tom rubbed at the day-old stubble on his chin. But, right now, most people would tell you that he's run off. He paused. Desmond isn't a perfect kid. He's had his issues.

Alice's eyes drifted downward.

What kind of issues? I asked.

Tom folded his arms across his broad chest. I could tell you that he fell in with the wrong crowd and that he made some poor choices in friends, and those things are true. But, ultimately, they were Desmond's choices. No one else's. He used drugs. He was arrested. He pursed his lips for a moment. The difference with Desmond, though, is that he got scared.

Scared?

Tom nodded. Most definitely. He spent some time in custody and in juvenile detention. A sad smile spread across his lips. He would never say exactly what happened, but it was pretty clear that it scared the crap out of him. He was out of his element there. If he'd harbored any illusions of a life as a tough guy, that place scared it right out of him.

Not a bad thing then, I said.

Not at all, Tom agreed. Not at all. When he got out, he was ready to clean up his act. And he did, in every way possible.

As far as we know, Alice added.

Annoyance flashed through her husband's eyes, but it passed quickly. Of course. We can't be completely certain that something wasn't going on behind the scenes with him, but as far as we know, he'd truly gotten himself turned around. It showed.

Has he left home before? I asked.

They looked at one another, exchanging a look that already gave me the answer.

Yeah, Tom said. One time before, was about two years ago. But that was when he was in the thick of it. He was gone for two nights and even though we contacted the police, we were pretty sure we knew where he was. He eventually came home.

Is that when things got better?

Alice folded her hands in her lap.

No, Tom answered. It was still pretty bad. He paused. I don't want to give you some rosy picture that isn't true. We had a rough road with Desmond for quite some time. He glanced at his wife. But we stuck it out. We didn't give up. And he didn't, either. He looked at me. That's why we don't think he's run away. He's not perfect, but he was in a good place.

Lots of people in good places sometimes find reasons to run away, I said. I don't mean to sound jaded, but it's the truth.

Tom nodded. I appreciate that. I really do. But we know our son.

It seemed clear I wouldn't be able to persuade him otherwise, even if I wasn't as certain.

I assume you've spoken with the police, I said.

Tom nodded again. Yes. I don't want to say they don't care—

They don't, Alice snapped. They made it very clear that they don't believe us, and because he's an adult, it's not terribly high on their priority list.

He's eighteen? I asked.

They both nodded.

And you were able to file a report?

We were and we did, Tom said. We didn't have much to go on. We did get a call back, but it really felt like it was a call to tell us we were out of luck.

How so?

Tom thought for a moment. Alice put her hand on his forearm. Their interactions with each other seemed genuine, not forced. They were troubled by whatever was going on with their son.

They pointed out the obvious, Tom said. That he was a legal adult, so that gave him some leeway to do as he pleases. But multiple times, they came back to his record, as if that somehow proved something. He took a deep breath. They think he's gone of his own choosing and made it pretty clear that's how they'd be treating our report. He flashed a quick smile in my direction. I ended the conversation with something profane and hung up.

I nodded. Understandable. Tough when it feels like people aren't listening.

Very much so.

You said they kept coming back to his record, I said. That sounds like there was more than an incident or two.

Tom pursed his lips again, considering his answer. I just want to reiterate. Desmond isn't perfect.

None of us are, I said.

There's a lot of good in him, he said.

Alice's hand tightened on his forearm.

But there was also some bad, he said.

I looked at Alice first, then Tom. The tension in the room was palpable.

Tell me about the bad.

TWO

Tom finally picked up his coffee, taking a long drink before setting the mug back down. He started with alcohol and marijuana. He was smoking and drinking when he went to the park with friends. He did a good job of hiding it from us and truth be told, we had no reason to be on the lookout for it. He was a good student and had never been in any kind of trouble.

He was student body president of his middle school, Alice said proudly.

He was playing sports and his grades were good, Tom said, nodding. He was just a good kid and hadn't given us any reason to worry. Then he came home late one afternoon. I don't remember the details, but I remember he came home way late and hadn't called us. It was unlike him. And as soon as he walked into the kitchen, I smelled it on him. The booze and the marijuana.

Did you call him on it? I asked.

I did, he said. I asked him if he'd been drinking or smoking and he said he had. Didn't even try to lie. He let out a slow breath. That was a long night.

Alice shifted and laid her hands flat on her thighs. It was. We sat down right here with him. He said he'd gotten both from a friend, that he was just curious. He admitted he'd had alcohol and smoked a couple of times before that day. We asked him about using other drugs and he said he'd never used anything else. She glanced at her husband. He told us he wouldn't do it again and we believed him.

But he did, I said.

She looked at her husband.

Yeah, Tom admitted. I'm still not sure how often, but I think he was a pretty frequent user. He just got better at hiding it from us. He washed his own clothes. He made sure we were at work if he was coming home after he used. He shrugged. Pretty standard behavior for a kid who was using drugs. We just weren't prepared and probably too naive.

I appreciated his honesty. Too many parents took the easy way out when they discovered things about their own kids, deflecting and making excuses. He was acknowledging that they weren't ready for what came their way and had no idea how to deal with it.

I think it was two months after we first caught him that he was arrested, Tom said.

Alice nodded.

He tried to sell to an undercover officer, Tom explained. And he had quite a bit of the drug on him, so he was charged with both possession and intent to sell.

When was this?

Two years ago, he said. So he was arrested. Luckily, he was still a juvenile. We got the call and went and got him. Had to go to court and he was lucky. He got a judge who was sympathetic, given that he'd never had an issue before that. He had to pay a fine, attend a drug awareness class, and do a hundred hours of community service. All things considered, we were pretty relieved.

Was he? I asked.

Thought he was, Tom said. He stared at the cup of coffee in his hand. Said he was. Complained a little about all of the service hours, but we reminded him he was lucky and he said he knew that. He paused. If he paid the fine, completed the class, and did all of the hours, everything would be removed from his record after a year's probation.

Neither of them said anything.

Did he not finish the hours? I asked.

No, he did, Tom said. He was working at both a food pantry and a senior center. He completed the class, too. He glanced at his wife. He just didn't stay out of trouble.

Alice sighed and leaned back into the sofa. Tom reached over and touched her shoulder. She laid her hand on top of his.

He stole a car, Tom said quietly. To this day, I'm still not sure why. I'm not sure he knew why he did it. I think he got pressured into doing it by a few of his so-called friends. I'm not making excuses for him. It was his choice and it was incredibly stupid. But he's never been able to provide us with a real reason as to why he did it.

He kept saying it was because he was dumb, Alice said. He said he was just being dumb and thinking he could get away with it.

He was still using, too, Tom said. "He was high when he did it. So he wasn't in a state to make smart