As You Look Page 3

  I tried calling Sydney to let her know, but she didn’t pick up. We had a code. If she didn’t pick up it meant she was busy. If I called right back it meant it was important, and she’d return the call as soon as she could. But I didn’t have time to call again. I wanted to know more about the desert pedophile’s profile and knew who could help.

  I dialed Sheila Robinson, a private investigator I’d partnered with a few years ago on a housing discrimination matter. We’d hit it off posing as prospective renters. Sheila was a middle-aged African American, single mother of two teenagers who had moved her family from Birmingham, Alabama to Chicago—“too cold”—then to California, thinking that less racism would mean greater opportunities for her children.

  “Just my luck, the only place I could afford turned out to be California’s version of Alabama—better weather and racism with good teeth,” she’d said as we worked a case against an apartment management company in the desert county east of Los Angeles. They’d coded applications from Black renters with smiling emojis to reject them. Sure enough, they rejected her application and accepted my nearly identical one, with an inferior credit score. Sheila answered the phone on the first ring.

  “Robinson. If you lost it, I can find it. How can I help you?”

  “Sheila, it’s me, Yolie.”

  “Child, why you been a stranger? When are you and that sweet wife of yours coming out to the desert for some good pie? Better come out before it gets too hot to bake.”

  “I’ll ask the wife. But I have an emergency and hope you can do some snooping around for me.”

  “You name it, I’ll do it.” God, I loved the woman.

  “My godson’s missing. You’ve met Carmen, his mom. She and Luis are separated now, and she thought he had Joey, but the cops picked him up and he says he doesn’t.”

  “Oh, my lord! The poor boy. And his parents. They must be going crazy with worry.”

  “I’m sure they are. I’m on my way to Carmen’s now. I didn’t mention it to her, but I thought of that kidnapper you guys have on the loose out your way. Any chance you can get a profile on him? I mean, more than what’s been in the news?”

  “Oh, my god, I hope he didn’t head your way. Let me see what I can find out and get back to you.”

  If anyone could get information out of her contacts, Sheila could. I thanked her before hanging up.

  Carmen’s home was tucked away on one of the narrow, hillside streets in Silver Lake west of downtown. Some of the young couples who lived there liked to call it the Eastside, to the irritation of actual East LA and Boyle Heights natives like my brother. Carmen’s hillside lot didn’t have the much-coveted view of the 100-acre reservoir from which the neighborhood took its name, but she was proud of her gardening and decorating skills. I never would’ve had the vision to create the warm and homey place she had in what first looked like cement cubes piled on top of each other.

  I’d helped her bring the huge clay planters from near her beach cabin in Rosarito, south of the border, and watched as she planted flowering succulents, bougainvillea, and climbing roses along balcony and staircase walls. In little over two years, the cold, industrial structure had been transformed into a cascading garden of fuchsia, white, and green. Jesse, in one of his New Age moments, had recommended burning sage, saying the positive energy she’d created wasn’t enough to overcome the negative energy he perceived in the hipster community. Carmen had laughed it off. As I approached her street now, I wondered if there might not be something to my brother’s New Age babble.

  I couldn’t turn onto Carmen’s cul-de-sac because it was already packed with police vehicles. I wound my way farther up the hill and squeezed between two huge SUVs that had never seen an unpaved road. The sight of the patrol cars made me queasy, not a feeling I’d expected. I hadn’t dealt with the LAPD much since leaving the department and I didn’t look forward to it now.

  The six-year-old memory of escalated retaliation still made my stomach turn. It had come in response to a complaint I’d made about overzealous arrests. A Valley councilman had requested a crackdown to stop drug runners from Rampart coming up to his district. My colleagues had picked up some good kids I’d been cultivating as contacts and had not appreciated my criticism at roll call. Anonymous threats started showing up on my locker. I’d miscalculated when I reported the notes to Internal Affairs. The retaliation grew beyond the occasional cold shoulder and culminated with officers ignoring my calls while I chased a wanted suspect. No one responded until I started taking fire. And even then, it was in response to calls from another patrol unit. Were it not for my Kevlar vest, I would’ve taken one in the chest. I’d been lucky to escape with an ugly bruise below my clavicle and a flesh wound on my left arm. After filing another complaint against the non-responding officers identified in the internal review, there was no going back. At Carmen and Sydney’s urging, I’d sued instead.

  I thought I’d left that episode behind, but my apprehension reminded me that I hadn’t. For a moment I wondered if the feeling was related to the vertigo or anxiety in my dream, but it felt more like nerves than wooziness. I put the uneasiness out of my mind. I was there to help Carmen.

  Two patrol officers I didn’t recognize leaned against the hood of their unit when I approached on foot. They looked at me as I climbed stairs winding around the garage, but they went right back to their conversation before I got to the door. I posed no threat in my jeans, sneakers, and an untucked, white button-down.

  They were probably complaining to each other about the sergeant wanting them there only to give an appearance of “appropriate response.” If Luis didn’t have Joey, he no doubt had called his childhood buddy, Councilman Manny Martinez, who would have made calls to the department to request special treatment. It would’ve been no sweat off the politician’s back. And, after all, one never knew when, or how, such favors could be repaid. Martinez had been a Valley councilman’s chief of staff when he’d pushed for the aggressive policing that resulted in my departure from the department, so I didn’t care for the guy, but I hoped he could be helpful now.

  I let myself in without knocking, all eyes turning to me as I took in the scene. Lieutenant Lawrence Peak, whom I’d last seen at his deposition in my case, looked over expectantly. He leaned against the kitchen island at the edge of the open-concept living room, his eyes narrowing upon recognition. If he was here, someone had definitely called the brass. Carmen rushed toward me with open arms. Two other suits, a man and a woman, seemed relieved by the distraction. Carmen had obviously been badgering them with questions they couldn’t answer.

  “Yolie!” More trouble. Carmen thought I was more of a Yolanda and only called me Yolie when she was feeling emotional and vulnerable, usually after a couple of drinks. But she was quite sober. “Finally, maybe you can help me get some information that makes sense.” I hugged her and noticed Peak’s eyes narrow even more, if that was possible.

  “I’m sure they’re doing the best they can,” I said.

  “Oh, pleeeease, Yolanda.” She rolled her eyes and regained some of her customary sense of authority. I knew she was about to ask why I bothered to stand up for my former brethren, but I interjected before she could heighten the tension in the room.

  “They have to work with the FBI on this, Carmen.” I led her back to the sofa. “They’ll find him together. But let’s sit down so you can fill me in.”

  The strain on her face softened a bit as we walked to the sofa. The two suits breathed easier too. I extended my hand and introduced myself. Detective Ralph Conroy seemed pleasant enough. Detective Carrie Lan raised an eyebrow and glanced at Peak when she heard my name. I wondered which version she’d heard: the one about the dyke who went on a crusade against the department, or the ambitious Senior Lead Officer who thought she was better than her colleagues. I hoped she’d heard the one about another woman’s career derailed by men who’d forgotten that they were there to protect and to serve.

  Lan was a tall, some would say big-boned, woman. Obviously in good shape but would never be called svelte. I thought her name might be Vietnamese, but her build reminded me of Sydney’s best friend, Kevin Park, a Korean American doctor whose family still owned the corner store and upstairs apartment on the block where Sydney and Kevin grew up. Lan probably looked slightly older than her age. She was all business, but in that personable way that tall women acquire from years of putting people at ease with their height and size. She had the kind of naturally firm handshake that some try too hard to imitate.

  By contrast, Conroy had the look of a guy who’d always been thought younger than his age. He had a crescent-shaped scar on his chin that he probably thought helped him look older or tougher, but his short, sandy-blond hair and slight build made him look anywhere between twenty-five and fifty. The only indication that he was on the older side was the hint of gray at his temples. Crow’s feet appeared at the corners of his eyes only when he smiled—the kind that Sydney would say were a sign of happiness rather than aging. To me, he looked like a middle manager trying to fit into the executive suite and failing in his untailored suit.

  Peak nodded a greeting. He looked on with an air of detachment, but I knew from experience that he didn’t miss a beat. He was a good detective in his late fifties, with the dignified air of African American men of an older generation. He’d been passed over for promotion more times than he would admit, but he hadn’t become cynical as much as simply resigned. It was tough seeing him almost give up because he’d been one of my mentors in the department.

  At the Academy, I’d thought he’d seen a bit of himself in me and had meant well when he’d told me to be more reflective and less gung-ho if I wanted to make dete
ctive—think before acting, before speaking up. It was probably good advice which I had yet to master. I still respected the man, but neither of us had overcome our disappointment in each other over what he’d called my “job action.” Still, something he’d once said had provided encouragement when I’d decided to become a private investigator.

  “Even while stuck in your car drinking cold coffee on a stakeout,” he’d said, “it’s only you and the target. Your wits against his, like a chess match where everything else disappears. There’s nothing like it, as long as the brass and civilians stay out of it.”

  I turned to him now at the memory.

  “I’m a friend of the family, Lieutenant.” I raised my palms, trying to put him at ease. He responded with a slight nod.

  Carmen and I sat on her cream-colored leather sofa. I remembered when she’d bought it. She’d made Luis take their old, black leather couch when they’d separated because she’d never liked it. The new one was beautiful and comfortable, but I thought it impractical with a kid in the house. Detective Lan brought over two bottles of water and offered them without a word. Carmen and I thanked her but held the bottles unopened as we settled in.

  “Okay, mujer,” I said. “Can we start from the beginning?”

  Conroy and Lan exhaled in unison and sat back on the matching chairs across the also impractical, glass coffee table. Peak remained impassive but leaned forward slightly. I guessed they hadn’t made much progress and would take whatever help I could provide.

  Carmen opened her water bottle, brought it to her mouth, and swallowed before taking a deep breath. “I’m so glad you’re here.” I squeezed her knee, encouraging her to go on.

  “Luis had Joey for the week. I was supposed to get him back for my week today. You know the arrangement.” I nodded in acknowledgment, and Carmen continued, “Well, when I went to pick him up at school, he wasn’t there. Luis and I fought on the phone a couple days ago. He wanted to keep Joey for his birthday this weekend. But there’s no way I was going to start giving in on that shit. He’s kept him for other weekends since we separated, just to get back at me, but he always has Joey call and tell me that he wants to go to the beach house in Rosarito, or Luis’s cabin in Big Bear, or Disneyland, or some other bribe. God, I hate the way he manipulates him. The cabrón doesn’t even have the balls to tell me himself. I told Joey to get his dad on the phone and I let him have it.” By now, she was talking fast.

  “Well, this time I said, ‘¡Ya basta!’” Carmen gestured with her hands in the air. “When I went to get Joey, the school told me he’d been absent today. ¿Te imaginas?”

  No, I couldn’t imagine getting that news, but said nothing so that she’d continue.

  “I tried calling Luis but I couldn’t get ahold of him. His intern told me he was going to Rosarito after a stop downtown and didn’t know if he had Joey. So, I figured he’d taken him. ¡Pero ya me tenía harta! Enough is enough! I called the police and reported a kidnapping, because that’s what it was. I wanted the cops to stop him, you know?”

  Conroy and Lan edged a little closer in their seats. I pictured Luis’s silver Jaguar. So, the Amber Alert had been about a custody dispute after all, but now it was about much more.

  “He was stopped all right, but now he says he doesn’t have him. I don’t know what to think. He has to have him. Joey’s teacher said he didn’t go to school today…” She trailed off before regaining her voice. “He has to have him!” Her anguish told me she feared the worst but didn’t want to voice the possibility.

  Conroy leaned forward. “Ma’am, have you talked to your husband at all today?”

  I could tell he was good with victims and witnesses and wondered how different he might be with suspects.

  “No. I never reached him, but you told me what he said.”

  “Where’s Luis now?” I asked, looking from Carmen to Conroy and back. The detective responded.

  “He’s downtown. They held him for questioning at Headquarters after stopping him coming out of the City Hall garage about an hour ago.”

  Oh, great. The image Luis most wanted to portray was that of a squeaky-clean developer for the people, and the cops detained him outside of City Hall. I had to hand it to Carmen on that one. But this was not good. The Luis I knew would’ve copped to keeping the kid right away and tried to explain it all as one big misunderstanding. Anything to avoid a scene.

  “And he says he dropped Joey off at school this morning?” I turned to Peak. Again, he only nodded. I’d heard enough and turned back to Carmen.

  “Okay, Carmen. If Luis doesn’t have him, these detectives and the FBI will find him.” I tried to reassure her, rather unsuccessfully.

  “He has to have him, Yolie.”

  “We’re checking the cabin at Big Bear, Mrs. Ochoa,” Lan said.

  “The FBI is?” I asked.

  “The San Bernardino Sheriffs,” Peak said.

  I turned back to him and away from Carmen, and mouthed, “And the FBI?”

  “We’re working this case, don’t worry about it.” He sounded more annoyed now, but I didn’t want to alarm Carmen. I couldn’t believe they hadn’t called in the FBI. That’s the general protocol when a kid might be taken across state lines. A potential trip south of the border would call for them as well. And their resources would certainly help. Peak was probably writing it off as a spousal dispute. I had to get downtown where Luis could tell me more, because the straight line that Peak’s lips had disappeared into told me I wasn’t going to get more from him. But I didn’t want to leave Carmen, who now held her head in her hands.

  Just then, my dad and Jesse walked in. Jesse went right up to Carmen and knelt in front of her.

  “We’re going to find him, Carmen,” he said in that earnest way of his. “Don’t worry, we’re going to find him.”

  Carmen broke into sobs again and hugged him. Then she stood and embraced my father for a long time as he murmured “mija” into her ear. He didn’t have to say more. Carmen had always seen my dad as the father she wished she’d had. Her own father had left when we were third graders, but the family had been better off without his drinking and beatings. She’d managed the psychological trauma of the abuse by taking up Taekwondo at the Boyle Heights Recreation Center—“El Hoyo” to those of us from the neighborhood—and she’d kept it up, earning a black belt before law school.

  On the wall behind her now, she proudly displayed her white, green, brown, and red belts in a framed box my dad had made for her. It was a testament to their special bond. Carmen had asked him to give her away at her wedding and he’d been honored. Both told the story less often after Sydney and I got married, thinking that it somehow pained me to not have had my dad do the same for me. But there was no way we would’ve done the “chattel exchange,” as one of our queer activist friends called it. No, in fact, I was glad that my dad had had the experience because no way would I ever be married in a church. He loved Carmen as a daughter and now he wanted to make everything right.

  My dad looked at me over Carmen’s heaving shoulder and pointed with his chin, first to Jesse and then to the door. That signal was all I needed. Jesse saw it too, and we both walked outside and out of earshot.

  I looked at Jesse and could tell he was trying to keep himself calm with his hands in his pockets. He started tentatively. “Okay, Yolie, I know this stuff creeps you out.” I felt him willing me to listen and knew he was about to tell me he’d had some kind of psychic message that would help find Joey, but I really didn’t have time for his nonsense.

  “I need to go talk to Luis. I don’t have time for this shit. Time is everything right now. If he went missing this morning, we’re in trouble.” I kept my voice low. “But if anyone saw him later, we might have a better chance of finding him before he gets hurt.” I started to go back inside to tell Carmen that I’d be back, but Jesse reached out and grabbed my shoulders. He looked at me so intently that I had to stop.

  “Just listen to me for a sec. When you were on the phone with Carmen back at the house I got this feeling I haven’t had since that pervert grabbed me at the jamaica. You remember?” Of course, I remembered. He’d been five years old at the time of the Salesian High School carnival. He was traumatized by the attempted kidnapping, wouldn’t let go of anyone’s hand for a month after that, even though the pedophile had been caught immediately, thanks to an alert family friend who’d spotted Jesse with the stranger. I’d felt responsible because I was supposed to have been watching out for him when we went to the restroom. After that, I rarely let him out of my sight whenever we left the house. He still reminded me how annoying that was years later as a preteen.