Thread of Truth, стр. 11

UCSD and then onto Torrey Pines Road. It was a straight shot through the high-tech pharma labs that occupied the land across from the Inn at Torrey Pines and the world famous golf course. Runners and bikers alike shared the path as I drove, most of it shaded by the giant eucalyptus trees. I was sure that Elizabeth had run on the path, given how close it was to her school. I didn’t know what her class schedule was like but I imagined she was somewhere on campus, either in a classroom or at the library or grabbing a coffee with her friends. The image of her doing those things – normal thing any college kid might be doing – made me smile.

The run of pharmaceutical labs ended, giving way to brush and the Torrey pine trees that the area was named after. The road curved downward and to the left, toward the state beach and to the ocean. The open swampland created a canyon-like feeling off to the right. The path hugged the road as it descended and flattened out, the path on the right of the road, the Pacific Ocean on the left.

I drove past the beach and up the hill into Del Mar, taking the turn into Desmond's neighborhood, and then stopped in front of his house.

There were multiple office buildings along the route, but I couldn't imagine why he would've had cause to go into any of them. They also weren't places to hide. They had people coming in and out of them on a regular basis and most of them would've been tight on security. He wouldn't have been able to walk right in.

I grabbed my phone off the seat, found the number for the Inn at Torrey Pines, and dialed the number. I reached the front desk and asked for Desmond Locker's room. The man on the other end of the line told me they did not have a guest by that name registered. I thanked him and hung up.

The car idled for a moment while I thought.

Then I made a U-turn and drove the route back to Olivia's house and made another U-turn.

I'd been looking at places Desmond might've purposefully gone.

But was there anywhere he might've gone not by choice?

I drove out of Olivia's neighborhood for the second time, paying closer attention to the road and the path rather than the businesses and homes. I watched other bikers as they pedaled by, seeing if there was any part of the path that gave them trouble or if the path itself moved in any unusual direction. I passed the laboratories for a second time, noting that even most of the parking lots were gated. The likelihood of Desmond having gone into one of those labs seemed slim.

The buildings gave way again to the brush and eucalyptus trees as I started the descent down toward the state beach. The bike path curved with the road and I realized there was no guardrail on the far side of the path as the area opened up. I slowed my speed as I descended the curve. The drop-off wasn't steep down to the swamp area until the guardrail reappeared. It would've been hard to leave the path with the rail there.

I reached the bottom of the road and made another U-turn at the entrance to the state beach. I drove south on the road and went back up the hill, the cliffs of the park high above me on my right. When I reached the laboratories, I doubled back again to the north, then parked on the road after I passed the last laboratory.

The breeze was coming up the hill from the ocean and the giant eucalyptus trees swayed above me as I walked on the far right side of the path. Several bikers nodded at me as they passed in the opposite direction, and a steady stream of runners dodged me as they headed north.

According to his parents, Desmond rode the path nearly every day on his bike. He knew the route and liked it. He regularly traveled to and from Olivia's house, despite the hill he had to climb to get there. So it wasn't like the road would've been unfamiliar to him.

As I got to the first curve, the brush to my right got thicker. There was a long plateau that slanted downward, but not at an urgent angle. Eventually, you'd reach the end of it, which would've dropped down into the river valley below it, but it would've taken a long ride to reach that end.

But there was no guardrail there, and the bushes near the path were taller.

I stepped off the path and onto the dirt. The gravel and sand made walking a bit treacherous and I moved carefully through the scrub brush and bushes. I was maybe two hundred feet in when I saw the bike.

It was on its side, the back wheel with a pretty good dent it. Two of the spokes were broken and hanging loosely. The tire and inner tube had come loose from the wheel and were lying limply next to it, trapped by the frame.

Three feet in front of the bike, Desmond Locker lay on the ground. His body was twisted in an abnormal way, his face and torso facing the ground, his hips and legs twisted upward. Dried leaves littered his dark hair. A backpack was still strapped to his back.

I pulled out my phone.

I didn't need to get any closer to see that Desmond Locker was dead.

TEN

I stood by the side of the road as police worked the scene and the medical examiner worked on the body of Desmond Locker.

I'd immediately backed out of the brush, moving slowly so as to disturb as little as possible, then called 9-1-1 from the road. It had taken less than three minutes for the first officer to arrive and within 45 minutes, the area had been shut down and taped off.

I gave my statement to an officer and