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She shrugged. “Pretty much… everything. Place of birth, schools attended, that kind of thing.”
“So, it’s not just a coincidence, this name thing, with your father, is it?” He took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair a couple of times before putting it back on. “Anything else I should know, before I start wondering why a conversation with my partner sounds so damn close to a suspect interrogation, chock-full of lies?”
“No, there’s nothing else,” She swallowed hard, feeling her throat still constricted. “I think my father stole this man’s identity, and I’d like to confirm that if I can.”
Elliot crossed his arms at his chest. “Make the call and get a load off your mind, then. It won’t tell you who your father is, though.”
“Maybe it will.”
She dialed the number quickly, as if afraid she’d change her mind. A man picked up the call after a second or two. “Captain Bracero? This is Detective Kay Sharp, Franklin County Sheriff’s Office,” she said in one quick breath.
“Franklin? That’s north of Marin, right? What can I do for you, Detective?”
“Way north of Marin, Captain. About three more counties or so. I’m calling about an old case, a Gavin Sharp. You collared him for—”
“A slobberknocker in a bar? Yeah, I remember him,” he replied. “What do you need to know?”
“That’s some memory,” Kay chuckled. “How come you remember him?”
A poorly disguised groan came from the other end of the conversation. “There was something slimy about this perp. It’s like when you know, in your gut, that they’re hiding something, right? Well, this guy wasn’t hiding anything that I could find, but I was willing to bet a dime or two he’d be back behind bars pronto. Good thing I’m not a betting man… I would’ve lost. I suspected him of breaking and entering at some point, five years later, but it fell apart. I had no evidence and he lawyered up.”
“Was there anything about him that caught your attention? Something he did or said?”
A moment of silence. “Um, he was blabbering something about having his identity stolen. Kept saying that there’s another man pretending to be him out there, or something like that. I didn’t pay no mind to it. I had about half a dozen witnesses who put him in that bar, throwing punches. He sent a man to the hospital with a concussion and a deep gash across the forehead that needed a few stitches.”
“Had he filed a report prior to his arrest, about this identity issue?”
“My thoughts exactly.” Kay could hear the smile in his raspy, well-smoked voice. “I asked, and he had the nerve to say he hadn’t filed because he didn’t want to deal with no cops.”
Kay held her breath. “Did you investigate the identity fraud accusation?”
“Nah… there was no point. He was flat broke, this douche, didn’t have a penny to his name. Awaited trial in the pen ’cause he couldn’t scare up two hundred bucks for bail. Why would someone steal his identity? And do what with it, exactly?”
Kay didn’t answer. Thoughts and memories rushed from the deepest recesses of her mind to the present, clamoring and whirling, eager to come out.
“Um, some old cop I am,” the man added, his voice a lower tone, embarrassed. “I just realized, your name is Sharp also, isn’t it? Are you related?”
Kay managed to laugh and make it sound genuine. “Just a coincidence, Captain, nothing else. It’s a common name in California. Thank you for your help.”
“Anytime.” The call ended, leaving silence in the car for a while. In the distance, an older model truck had turned onto the road leading to the chairlift terminal. It was probably the owner, coming to meet them.
“There,” Elliot said. “Now you know. Does it make you feel any better?” He reached out to squeeze her hand, but she pulled away before his fingers touched her skin.
Why didn’t he understand, once and for all, that things had changed between them if he was sleeping with someone else? Why was it so damn hard?
She didn’t say anything, afraid her voice would betray her. Instead, she focused on the entire Gavin Sharp situation.
Precisely thirty-two years ago, when Gavin Sharp from San Francisco had been arrested for beating a man in a sports bar, he’d said something about another man using his identity.
That year, Kay’s father had met her mother. Months later, he’d proposed and married her in a small, modest ceremony of which only a couple of photographs remained.
About a year later, Kay had been born into a hellish childhood with an abusive, violent stranger for a father.
THIRTY-NINE
PASS
The old Chevy Silverado rattled to a stop by the chairlift terminal entrance, where Kay and Elliot waited. Jimmy Bugarin, wearing a black T-shirt with frayed hems and visible holes here and there, and a pair of khaki cargo shorts, hopped down and grinned widely, showing two rows of misaligned teeth stained by tobacco use. A tuft of hair still clung to his scalp at the top of his head, surrounded by shiny baldness. A whiff of stale cigarette smoke engulfed him like his own personal cloud.
