Promises I Made (6 page)

He insisted we order lunch, and I shoveled spicy dan dan noodles into my mouth, slowly at first in case it was an attempt to distract me while his men moved in, and then more quickly when I realized he was really alone.

“How is Parker?” I finally asked Detective Castillo.

He wiped his mouth on his napkin and took a long drink of water. “I haven't seen him since he was moved to County. No point.”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged a little, the gesture incongruous coming from such a big guy. “He wasn't going to crack. Knew that right away. I've seen grown men, hard men, who are less calm when their balls—” His cheeks reddened. “Sorry. When they're up against a wall.”

I nodded. “Not much scares Parker. But also, he didn't
really know where we were going. Neither did I.”

Detective Castillo raised his eyebrows. “Mom and Dad keep those details to themselves, huh?”

Now it was my turn to blush. A second later, anger rose behind my embarrassment. “It worked, didn't it? Parker couldn't tell you anything because he didn't know anything.”

He leaned in. “Worked for them. Parker's in jail, and you're trying to negotiate his freedom with information I don't think you have.”

I swallowed hard, my bluster gone. “I know all about them,” I said, a little desperate. “How they set things up, what they look for.”

“Do you know where they are now?” he asked.

“Cormac was in Washington State when I last saw him.”

“When was that?”

I thought about it. “A week ago?”

He nodded. “And Renee?”

I looked down, trying to ignore the sucker punch I felt to my gut every time someone mentioned the only mother I'd ever really known. I couldn't think about her, couldn't hear her name without remembering how I'd felt that day in the hotel room when Cormac and I had discovered her betrayal. I'd had five months to get past the hurt and anger. Now I was just ashamed. Ashamed of being naive enough to believe she'd really loved me.

“She left right after the Fairchild job,” I finally said. “With the gold.”

He sighed, drumming his fingers on the top of the bar.
“What can you tell us about their operation? Do you have contacts? People who gave you fake IDs, provided you with financial information, that kind of thing?”

I combed through our jobs in my mind, already knowing it was pointless. Cormac and Renee had kept Parker and me insulated from the details. They'd said it was for our own good, but I was starting to realize they were the only ones who'd benefited from the arrangement.

I finally shook my head. “They didn't tell us that kind of stuff. Cormac planned everything. He only told us what we needed to know to get the job done.” I paused. “What about the details of the Fairchild job? I could tell you about that: how we planned it, how Cormac came back from Allied with blood on his shirt . . .”

He sat up a little straighter. “Were you there when the altercation with the guard happened?”

“No, but I saw the blood, and Cormac said they did what they had to do. Or maybe that was Renee. . . .” I thought back to that final, terrifying night at the Fairchilds' when everything had come crashing down around us. “I think it was Renee.”

Detective Castillo rubbed his chin. “It's not enough. Parker was part of a major robbery—and so were you, I might add. Someone died. They could take my badge for having this conversation instead of bringing you in. I know you're the best chance we have for nailing the people responsible, and I want to help you, but if you want to help Parker, you're going to need real information: where they get their fake
documents, who's part of the underground network that supports them, where they get private data on their marks. None of those things are easy to come by. My hunch is that they have some heavy hitters on the payroll. That kind of information would be worth a trade to the prosecutor.”

“I don't know any of that stuff.” I heard the defeat in my own voice.

He sighed. “I hate to say it, but that's not our only problem.”

“What do you mean?”

“They've put another detective on the case.”

I sat up straighter. “You mean you're not even working it anymore?” I fought against a surge of hysteria. “Then what am I doing here?”

His eyes scanned the restaurant, like he was as afraid of being seen as I was, then spoke more softly. “I'm still on the case, but the chief has partnered me up with some ass—” He cleared his throat. “With another detective from LA County.”

“What does that mean for Parker? For me?” I asked.

“It means we have to hurry. Fletcher is an attack dog looking for his next piece of steak.”

I had a flash of the flinty-eyed man blocking Detective Castillo in the photograph I'd found online. Fletcher. “What are you saying exactly?”

He seemed to think about what he would say next. “Word on the street is Fletcher's not as interested in the truth as he is in his next promotion, and he's all but guaranteed one if he can bring in you or Cormac or Renee. He's been all over
the case files, reinterviewing people, rescouting the scene of the crime . . . The DA wants this case solved, Grace. His campaign contributors aren't too happy with the idea of people cozying up to their sons and daughters and then stealing from them right under their noses.”

My cheeks burned.

“Sorry,” he said.

“It's okay,” I said softly. “It's the truth.”

He seemed to hesitate. “I feel obligated to tell you that you should turn yourself in, to remind you that you're a fugitive from the law and that the best thing to do is to throw yourself on the mercy of the court.”

“You don't sound convinced,” I said.

“Once you're in custody, you won't have access to any of the information that might be a bargaining chip for Parker—or for yourself. That's a fact.” He sighed again, his shoulders sagging a little. “I just hate to see you become collateral damage if there's a chance to do it another way.”

“So what should I do?”

He was drumming again, his fingertips rising and falling on the bar. “I'll tell you what—I'll call in a favor in Seattle, see if anyone can get a line on Cormac. If he's still there, the tip should give you at least a little leverage with the prosecutor.”

“And if he's not?”

“I don't know. Let me run down this lead, see where it takes me.” I gave him the alias Cormac was using and he wrote it in a notebook he pulled from his jacket pocket. “In
the meantime, you should think through everything you've done with Cormac and Renee. Every job, every detail. Did you wait in the car while one of them talked to a source? Were you ever with them when they picked up your documents? Did they let slip the name of someone feeding them financial information on your marks? Even something small could lead us to something big, so don't discount anything.” He reached into his pocket. “Let me take your number and I'll call you in a couple of days.”

I shook my head. “I'm not giving you my number. I'll get in touch with you in two days.”

There was something sad in his eyes as he nodded. “Call me any time of the day or night. And for God's sake, lay low. Fletcher's all over the place, and he's not exactly a team player. I don't always know where he's going to be from one day to the next.”

I took the business card and stood to go.

“Are you all right?” he asked me suddenly. His eyes were brown and moist, the eyes of a protective German shepherd. “Do you need money or . . . anything?”

I felt the bristle of shame. “I'm fine. I can take care of myself. I just need to get Parker out of jail, that's all.”

He didn't say anything as I rose from the bar stool.

I'd already started for the door when I turned back. “Why are you doing this?” I asked him. “Why are you helping me?”

He stared into my eyes for a long time before answering. “I have a daughter. She's a bit younger than you, but not so
young that I can't see where a few bad choices could take her.” He paused, seeming to choose his words carefully. “I don't like what they did to you. And to Parker.”

It was the first time anyone other than Parker had thought us innocent. Or, if not innocent, at least less guilty than Cormac and Renee. It didn't change anything. Not really. But I felt a loosening of the guilt that had wound its way around my heart, trailing through the rest of my body like a parasitic vine, threatening to strangle me. I wanted to thank him for seeing something in me that I couldn't see in myself, but I couldn't speak around the lump in my throat. I felt his eyes on me as I disappeared into the crowd.

I took the long way back to Torrance, getting off at the Marriott a half mile away from my hotel and sitting in the coffee shop for an hour before getting on another bus. I didn't think anyone was following me, but I knew at least part of my confidence was based on Detective Castillo and the feeling that I could trust him. I wanted to believe it was true, but there was too much at stake to take anything for granted. Especially now.

I was beat by the time I finally walked into the lobby of the Motel 6. I paid for two more nights, trying not to panic as I pulled two hundred and forty more dollars from my bag. I'd planned to approach Selena by now, beg her for a place to hide out while I figured out my next move. Now the thought made me nervous for more than one reason: I still felt sick at the idea of having to face her after what I'd done, but I had to
worry about Detective Fletcher, too. If he was digging into the case, Playa Hermosa was the last place I should stay. I decided to wait until my next call with Detective Castillo. If he managed to place Cormac in Seattle, going to Selena might not be necessary. I could broker a deal with the prosecutor and then Parker and I would be free. I headed for the elevators, promising myself that if Detective Castillo didn't find Cormac, I'd go to Selena for help. It would suck, but I wasn't exactly overflowing with other possibilities.

I spent the next two days making lists on my computer of every job Parker and I had done with Cormac and Renee, every detail, every stop we'd made. I played back conversations in my head, wishing Parker were there to contribute to the meager list of things I thought I'd heard, names I might or might not have remembered correctly, places Cormac and Renee had mentioned in passing while looking at each other in ways that in hindsight might have been meaningful.

I left only for food, bringing it back to my room, where the curtains were never open more than a crack, the bedside lamp on at all hours of the day and night, the TV muted. I worked for hours at a time, putting everything into a spreadsheet and using the VPN to google anything I wasn't sure about, hoping that something would ring a bell in my mind. When my eyes burned with exhaustion, I fell onto the rumpled bedsheets, my mind racing, the results of my online searching still seared behind my eyelids. Then I would turn up the TV and stare blankly at it until I fell into a sleep so profound, I woke up feeling drugged.

By Sunday morning, I had a short and meaningless list of words and names. None of it meant anything to me, and I tried to stifle the desperation that threatened to drown me on the way to the Galleria to call Detective Castillo. I probably could have called him from the hotel, but I was still being extra careful. If he hadn't found Cormac in Seattle, who's to say that he wouldn't experience a sudden reversal of his “I don't like what they did to you” routine?

I took the stairs to the top of the parking garage and dialed his cell phone number. He answered after the first ring.

“It's me,” I said.

“Grace. How are you?”

“I'm . . . fine. What did you find out about Seattle?” Nice guy or not, I didn't want to stay on the phone any longer than I had to.

“It's not good news. The woman? Miranda Mayer? Said Cormac left last week. Said they went to the theater and his daughter was gone when they got home. The next day, he was gone too. My contact in Seattle asked around, but as of now, there's been no trace of him.”

The hope that had been building inside me dissipated all at once, leaving me deflated and tired. I should have known. No way would Cormac stay put, a sitting duck, while someone who knew where he was went rogue.

“Any idea where he might have gone?” Detective Castillo asked.

“None.” The time for mincing words was over.

I heard him sigh into the phone, could almost see him run a tired hand over his face the way he'd done a couple of times in P.F. Chang's. “Did you come up with anything on your end?”

I took out the folded piece of paper where I'd written my list. “Just a bunch of stuff that doesn't make sense.”

“Like what?”

I hesitated. If I gave him what I had, ridiculous as it was, and any of it turned into a real lead, would Parker and I get credit for it? Would I still be able to use it to get him out of jail?

“I want to know what kind of deal I can get for Parker before I say anything else,” I said.

“Grace . . . I can't promise you anything. Not without something solid. Do you have something solid?”

I looked down at the piece of paper.

Raymundo (Phoenix)

Geneva (Chicago—IDs?)

Morenovich (sp?)

Jeffries (money?)

Royal (DC/Baltimore)

The names and words had been said in passing between Cormac and Renee.

Did you call Raymundo?

Morenovich should have that data by tomorrow.

I have to drive out to Geneva tonight.

But I hadn't been paying attention at the time. I'd been too firmly ensconced in my belief that I was safe, that the carefully orchestrated details of our life were in such good hands that I didn't need to worry, let alone ask about any of it.

“I wouldn't say solid,” I finally said in answer to Detective Castillo's question.

“Can you give me an idea what we're talking about here?” he asked.

“It's just . . . I don't know. Names and stuff,” I said.

“First and last names?” he asked.

I was surprised by the bitter laughter that escaped my lips. It sounded strange and foreign. “I wish.”

There was silence on the line between us. “Listen, Grace. I could tell you that I can get you a deal. And then I could take what you have and hope to get something out of it. If we do, it may or may not help Parker. But the truth is, you have a better shot if you come to the DA with something solid, especially with Fletcher on the case.”

I chewed my lip. “What would you consider solid?”

“The names and addresses of the people helping Cormac and Renee, the people giving them information they need to pull jobs like the one at the Fairchild place. And if you can get a better line on Cormac's whereabouts—or Renee's—so much the better.”

“Fat chance of that,” I muttered into the phone. Cormac was a pro. When he wanted to stay gone, he stayed gone. And Renee might as well have been a ghost. I wouldn't even know where to start looking for her.

“There is one more option,” he said.

“What is it?”

“You could turn yourself in. Throw yourself on the mercy of the prosecutor, back up Parker's allegation that the two of you were just kids following orders from the only parents you'd ever known.”

“What would happen then?” I asked.

There was a beat of silence before he spoke again. “Hard to say. You might do a little time in a juvenile correctional facility—I think we could argue that would be best given your age—and Parker might get a little less time than he would otherwise get. But there are never any guarantees.”

Parker and me in jail—Detective Castillo could call it a “juvenile correctional facility,” but everyone knew that was just another word for jail—was not what I'd had in mind when I'd come back to LA. We'd have records for life, records that would make it hard to get jobs or credit, things we would need if we were going to live straight.

“I can't risk it,” I finally said.

“Grace . . . I'm worried about you. A young girl on her own isn't a good thing in this world.”

I looked at my phone. I'd been on the line for almost three minutes. “I've been alone a long time,” I said, preparing to disconnect the call. “I just didn't know it.”