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"You saw him leave?" she asked with surprise.
"And he saw me. I was asleep, but I heard something. I got up and went into the living room. He was halfway out the door. He paused for one second. Our eyes met. And then the door shut in my face."
"What did you do?"
"I stood there for about five minutes and then I went and opened it. His car was there, but he was gone. I didn't know what all was going on at that moment. I knew he'd been taking a lot of calls. He'd been traveling. And he'd had a big fight with my mother earlier that evening. I found out later that he'd told her he'd done some bad things and the only way to protect her and me was to leave. She'd begged him to stay, to let her help him, but he said there was nothing she could do."
"Oh, Flynn. I'm so sorry. You must have been devastated."
"He could have said something in that one second, but he didn't. He just looked at me, like he was memorizing my face. Maybe I was doing the same thing." He shook his head. "Now, I'm supposed to do what? Forgive him? Accept his help? Arrest him?"
"I don't know. What I do know is that there's a bond between you and your dad. No matter what happened, he's still your father. You still have those memories of him teaching you to surf." She paused. "It's the beach, isn't it? That's where he wants you to go. Can I at least come with you? I can be your backup."
Her eager words brought a smile to his lips. "You're amazing, Callie. But, no, I can't take you there."
"Then maybe you should take Savannah or Wyatt. If this isn't your father, if it's a trap, I don't want you to be alone."
"No. It's him. I have to go on my own. I can't put anyone else on my team in a position where they have to do something that could cost them their job. It's my risk to take."
Disappointment entered her eyes, but she gave him an agreeable nod. "All right. I get it. I can't go, but I can feed you. And I'm not letting you do this on an empty stomach, so come on." She got to her feet and moved into the kitchen.
He took one last look at the note and then took everything over to the kitchen table. As he sat down, his gaze returned to the photo of the painting. If his father knew the artist, then he knew the killer. He could provide the missing clue.
His father had baited the hook with a piece of information that Flynn desperately needed to find Arthur's killer. His dad had always been smart.
Callie brought two plates to the table and sat down. "Eat, Flynn. I think it's going to be a big day."
He set down the picture of the painting and picked up his fork. "I think you're right."
Chapter Twenty-Two
Flynn droveto Zuma Beach a little before nine on Tuesday morning, feeling as if each mile was taking him back in time. That feeling got worse after he parked in the lot. Because it was midweek, there weren't many cars. Most of the early morning surfers had already gone home, although there were two teenage boys changing out of their wetsuits next to a gray minivan.
Those boys reminded him of himself, of all the days he'd cut school or gone in late with some imaginary excuse because he'd ridden one wave too many. Of course, that had gotten worse after his father left. He'd barely been able to stand being in a classroom, too filled with rage and grief to be able to learn something.
He walked along a small cement wall that edged the parking lot, scanning the wide stretch of sand for any sign of his dad. There were a couple of surfers in the water, but he doubted his father would be one of them. His dad would want this meeting to be on land. It would be easier for him to get away.
He left the parking lot, taking a narrow path toward the fishing pier. As he came up the ramp, he saw there were two fishermen on the pier: one nearby wearing a big canvas sunhat, the other standing at the far end of the pier, wearing a baseball cap with the LA Dodgers insignia.
His gut twisted.
That was his dad. Thirty feet away, his back turned toward him, but he still knew it was him.
He had a second to leave. His father hadn't yet seen him arrive.
Or maybe he had.
From his vantage point, his father would have been able to see him drive into the lot and walk along the beach. Perhaps his dad was giving him the chance to run.
But he wasn't his father. He didn’t run. He stood his ground. He faced his problems head-on.
He walked purposefully and deliberately to the end of the pier.
His dad turned around when he was only a few feet away.
As their eyes met, he took off his sunglasses. His father did the same.
His heart pounded against his chest. Sam Beringer looked much as he had the last time Flynn had seen him. His blond hair was mostly covered by his cap, so he couldn't see if it had grayed or thinned, but his blue eyes were as sharp as ever.