Thread of Truth, стр. 24
I was not a serious runner.
I managed to stay just on her heels for the first lap, but labored halfway through the second and she dropped me fast. She jogged her cool down lap slower than she normally would've so I could catch up, but I told her not to wait and to keep going, I'd do the best I could.
The best I could do was four hard laps, a fifth where the wheels came off, and I barely made it around, and then walking the outside lanes so she didn't run me over as she motored through the laps.
She was a marvel to watch, and it reminded me of the first run we'd taken after I'd found her. I saw how easy it was for her, how she glided over the ground, how the movement was natural for her. I'd always liked running, but it had never been natural. It was work for me. I looked like a guy who wanted to run, but Elizabeth just looked like someone who ran.
I was sitting on the infield, wondering how much I was going to hurt the following morning, when she finished and came over to me.
“You did okay,” she said, dropping down to the grass next to me. Her face was pink and every inch of her was covered in a fine sheen of perspiration.
“I did terrible,” I said, unlacing my shoes. “But I appreciate the lie.”
She laughed. “It's a hard workout, even when you aren't running for time.”
“You made it look easy.”
She took off her shoes and started her stretching routine. “It wasn't. And I was a little slower than I should've been.”
“Couldn't tell.”
She pulled a knee to her chest. “Why were you up here anyway?”
I gave her the rundown on Desmond and what I'd been doing all day.
“That's terrible,” she said. “That he got hit, I mean.”
“Yeah, not fun.”
“Was his girlfriend pretty upset?”
I plucked a blade of grass. “I think she was mostly in shock.”
“No kidding.” She shook her head. “I can't believe someone would do that. Just hit someone and run off.”
“Me, either, but plenty of people do,” I said. “Not sure if that's just about fear or what.”
“So his parents just want you to find the person that did it?”
“I think so. They had a bad experience with the police, so they don't trust them to make it a priority.” I shrugged. “But most families who are going through a trauma don't think that the police or anyone else is doing enough. When you see people not singularly focused like you might be, then you take that as indifference or whatever. Doesn't mean it's true.”
She stretched her legs out in front of her and rolled her shoulders forward several times, then backward. “I guess. Pretty hard to find a needle in a haystack, though. There are a million cars that drive on that road every day. If no one saw anything, I think it would be hard.”
“It would be,” I said. “I don't know. The lead investigator, he seems pretty sold that it's a routine thing. I'm not sure if that means he'll work it pretty hard or let it sit. But the detective who I met at the scene, I ran into her again today and she seems sharp. So we'll see.” I paused. “Have you ever met anyone with the first name Sutton before?”
Elizabeth gave me a weird look. “Uh, no, and that's the most random thing you've asked me in awhile.”
I laughed. “The detective. Her first name is Sutton.”
“Probably a family name?” she suggested. “And first name basis with the detective? That's different.”
“She knew a lot about your case,” I said. “She recognized my name. Then she apologized today for being a little forward in asking about it. She introduced herself. Sutton Swanson. She said if I called her she'd tell me the story behind it.”
My daughter eyed me very carefully. “She told you to call her?”
“She said if I called her,” I corrected her. “And that's because she's interested in hearing more about what happened to you and what I did to find you.”
She pushed herself the grass. “You are so silly.”
I got up, my knees begging to differ. “Silly about what?”
She gathered up her bag and slung it over her shoulder. “She said she'd tell you about her name if you called her. Correct?”
“Yeah.”
She laughed and picked up her shoes. “Dad. She wants you to call her. And not because of me.”
“How do you know?”
“Because that's what you do if you want a guy to call you,” she said. “She baited the hook.”
“Baited the hook?”
“She gave you her name,” she said, as we started walking. “It was an interesting name and it sounds like you commented on that.”
I didn't say anything.
Elizabeth laughed again. “You totally did. And then she said she would explain her name to you if you called her.” She tapped me on the arm with one of her shoes. “You were flirting.”
“I was not.”
“You absolutely were,” she said, as we crossed the track. “And so was she.”
“I think that workout may have done something to your head.”
“Okay,” she said. “Tell me this. Is she attractive?”
“I don't know,” I said, even though an image of Sutton Swanson’s long dark hair immediately appeared. “She's a detective. Our interactions were about the case.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Did you have a blindfold on? No. Was she attractive?”
“I don't know,” I said. “I guess.”
“Which means she is and you noticed it,” she said. “She wants you to call her.”
“About your case.”
“If she just wanted you to call her about the case, she would've said so,” Elizabeth said. “She wouldn't have told you to call her about the story behind her name.”
“You're crazy,” I told her.
We