Scars (Nevada James #2) (Nevada James Mysteries)

by Matthew Storm

  “I wasn’t that busy,” I said. I looked at the woman. “Nevada James.”

  She extended a hand and I shook it. “I’m Anita Collins. It’s so nice to meet you.” She had a warm, singsong-y voice that made her sound like someone’s grandmother in a Disney movie.

  “Collins…” I said. “Have we met before? Your name sounds familiar.”

  “You’re probably thinking of the Collins Foundation,” she smiled. “I’m the Collins.” She had such a joyful lilt in her voice I nearly checked the window to see if any birds were going to come sing us a song while we ate. None had appeared so far. It was still early, though.

  If I’d been in the habit of admitting things, I’d have had to admit I was surprised that this was who Jason had wanted me to meet. The Collins Foundation was the parent group of a dozen or more charities in San Diego County. They funded everything from women’s shelters to hospital expenses for sick children. Their name was printed on the jerseys of a local high school soccer team, if I remembered correctly. They’d funded the program after budget cuts had nearly eliminated it. I’d never met Anita, but it was no surprise I recognized her name. Half the population of San Diego had probably heard it at one time or another.

  “Why don’t we sit down?” Jason asked. “I ordered you a Diet Coke.”

  I didn’t bother looking at the menu; I wasn’t all that hungry yet after my breakfast. The soda was more than I’d need. Anita sipped a glass of iced tea and regarded me for a moment. “You look healthier than I expected, dear.”

  I nodded. “You thought I’d look half dead? I used to. You should have seen me three months ago.”

  “She looked like she’d crawled out of a grave,” Jason said to her.

  “It would be closer to say I was crawling into a grave,” I said. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  Anita smiled at me. “I hope I didn’t offend you, dear. I’m just so pleased that you’re better.”

  That was the second time she’d called me dear. If she hadn’t sounded like she was going to whip out a magic wand and start granting wishes I’d probably have thrown something at her. “You didn’t offend me. I saw the papers after the Laughing Man came to my house. Nothing about how they described me wasn’t true.”

  “The Gazette called you a degenerate alcoholic,” Jason said.

  “See?” I asked Anita. “Who says you can’t believe everything you read.”

  She smiled just a bit. “You’re very frank,” she said.

  “That’s because I don’t care. Life’s too short to go around pretending I’m not a complete fuck up.” Jason’s eyes widened a bit. “Sorry,” I said. “I mean, a complete screw up. I’m not really used to making polite conversation.” I shrugged. “So why am I here?”

  Anita glanced at Jason, who nodded. “You know who I am, obviously. You know who my husband was, then?”

  The waiter came by to take our orders. Jason ordered pasta. Anita ordered a side salad. I decided against eating. When the waiter was out of earshot I said, “Adam Collins, if I remember right?” She nodded. “Half your charities have his name in them, or…”

  “Stephen Collins is the other name. My son.”

  I let my brain roll that over a few times. “This would probably ring more of a bell for me if I hadn’t spent the last three years trying to kill my brain with booze. Remind me?”

  “You would have been very young when they were murdered.”

  I paused with my glass of Diet Coke halfway to my mouth and then sat it back down. “I do remember this, I think. A car bomb? Early 90’s. It was some Unabomber shit. Stuff, I mean. Stuff.”

  Anita nodded. “It wasn’t the Unabomber, but you have the right idea. My husband was a researcher at SDSU. He was a pioneer in artificial intelligence. And then someone put a bomb underneath our car in 1993.”

  “I know I must have read about that,” I said. “I don’t really remember, though.”

  “It was in the news quite a bit at the time. It fit the modus operandi of the Unabomber, and there had even been a warning note, but the FBI ruled him out.” She looked away for a moment. “My husband and son died in the explosion. I survived, but…” she motioned at the burned portion of her face. “I’m sure you were wondering how this happened.”

  “I wasn’t going to ask.”

  “I don’t mind, dear. Like you, I am also very frank.”

  An alarm bell went off in my head. Was she pointing that out to try to make me identify with her? Or was it just that I was a remarkably paranoid person? I certainly was that, but… My hands were folded on the table in front of me. Hers were, as well. I spread my hands and put the right one on my lap, shifting my weight back in my seat. Two seconds later she did the same with her right hand and moved slightly back in her chair. I wasn’t paranoid. She was mimicking me. It was an old body-language technique to build rapport with someone. She was clever. Maybe she wasn’t such a kindly old grandmother, after all.

  I thought about the case. “It was never solved, was it?”

  “It was not,” Anita said. “Which is why I asked Jason to introduce us.”

  I smirked. “Why do I think you’re about to ask me to go look for the bomber?”

  She smiled back. “Because your intuition serves you well. That’s precisely what I’m asking.”

  I looked from Anita to Jason. He looked slightly embarrassed with himself. “Okay,” I said. “I give up. Why are you asking me?”

  “Because I saw you on television last night,” Anita said. “It reminded me that you are a person who does not give up on things easily. You did have a reputation for being a rather dogged investigator. And also, I have been told that sometimes you are willing to work for people…how shall I say this…in something of an unofficial capacity?”

  There were only so many places Anita could have found out what I’d done for Alan Davies. I shot Jason a nasty look and he suddenly found the table’s salt shaker worthy of his undivided attention. “Imagine that,” I said. “It’s almost like someone here doesn’t know what we talk about in group is supposed to stay in group.”

  “Jason didn’t tell me where you met, but one doesn’t have to be a detective to work that out. I do have eyes.”

  “That’s not really the point,” I said. Jason now seemed to find the pepper shaker very interesting. “What I said there never should have been repeated outside that room.”

  “Sorry,” Jason murmured.

  “He was only trying to help me,” Anita said soothingly. “Please don’t be angry with him.”

  I sighed. “Look, this is a twenty-year-old cold case.” I rapped my knuckles on the table until Jason finally looked up at me. “When was the last time anyone reviewed it?”

  “It’s been inactive since 1995,” Jason said. “It probably gets looked at once a year or so.”

  I nodded. He was probably being generous if he thought someone was actually looking at a case that had been dead that long once a year. “I’m sorry, but there’s virtually no chance it’s going to be solved now. It’s been too long. There’s no crime scene to investigate. I’m not going to discover any new evidence somebody else missed. Unless somebody just comes out of the woodwork and confesses, I wouldn’t even know where to start with it.”

  “I think you said something similar about working a kidnapping,” Anita noted. “And yet you managed to work that out.”

  I glared at Jason, who looked away again. “I got lucky.”

  “Maybe you’ll get lucky again,” Anita said. “I’m a very rich woman, Detective. I can pay you a great deal for your time.”

  “I’m not a detective anymore,” I said. “I’m just someone who used to be one. And I have my own money.”

  “Will you at least think about it, Nevada?” Jason asked. “It’s not like you have anything else to do.”

  “What I have to do is kick your ass the next time we’re not in a restaurant full of witnesses.”

  “Fair enough,” he said.

  “L
ook, Mrs. Collins…” I started.

  “Please call me Anita. I hope you’ll let me call you Nevada?”

  She did know how to use her charm. “Fine. The thing is, I’m all wrong for this. You should hire a private investigator. I could probably recommend someone if I thought about it for a while.”

  “I have hired private investigators. Nothing has ever panned out. I’d like to try someone new.”

  “Then you should look somewhere else. Me, I’m not what you want.”

  Anita tilted her head to the side. “Maybe I can decide for myself what I want. But I can only ask you to consider it. Would you do that? Consider it for a day or two? Is that too much for an old woman to ask?”

  She was very good. Even though I knew I was being manipulated, her affect was enough to make me want to help her. When grandma tells you her back hurts because she’s been working over a hot stove all day, you wind up eating her cookies even if she switched the sugar for salt. “I’ll consider it, but that’s going to be my answer tomorrow.”

  “We’ll see,” she said. She dug into her purse and came out with a small leather case from which she removed a business card. “There’s my personal number.” She offered me the card.

  Against my better judgment, I took it. “I’m only saying I’ll consider it, you understand?”

  “Of course.” The waiter came by with Jason’s pasta and her salad. “Are you sure you don’t want something to eat, Nevada?”

  I stood up. “No. I have to get going. You’ll hear from me.”

  “I’m looking forward to it,” she smiled.

  That made one of us.

  Chapter 4

  I drove in a loop of the freeways around San Diego after lunch, not really sure what to do with myself next. I kind of wanted to head north on I-5 and not turn back. I could do with some time out of the city. It was times like this I wished I had more friends.

  After half an hour on the road I stopped at a Carl’s Jr. and picked up a hamburger, but then wound up tossing it in the trash. I still wasn’t hungry. The meeting with Jason and Anita hadn’t sat right with me. Jason didn’t need to be talking out of school the way he obviously had been, and as for Anita…there was something strange about her. It was hard to put my finger on, but I didn’t like it.

  I thought about heading back to my motel and kicking back for a while, but I didn’t really have anything to do other than watch television or try and get Netflix working on my laptop over the motel’s crappy Wi-Fi connection. I could hit Molly Malone’s dojo for a workout, but I didn’t really feel like sweating, either. For a minute I thought about buying plane tickets to Hawaii. I could sit on the beach and watch sunsets for a few days. What was stopping me? For that matter, what was stopping me from leaving this place and never coming back? I could start a new life somewhere else. I had the money for it. I could probably get myself a new identity, if I wanted to. I had enough contacts in the underworld to make that happen.

  Thoughts like that tended to lead to me sitting on my bed holding my gun, though. It wasn’t anything I wanted to dwell on today. In the end I just drove to a 7-11 to pick up snacks and some more Diet Coke. When I got back to my motel I saw Brad Ellis leaning up against his car in the parking lot. He walked over to me as I parked.

  “Detective James,” he nodded as I got out of the car.

  “I’m not a detective anymore,” I said. “You can just call me Nevada. Or Ms. James, if you like it better. I don’t really care.” I squinted at him. “How did you know where to find me?”

  “Every cop in San Diego knows where to find you,” Ellis said. “The captain has someone out here eyeballing the parking lot more nights than not.”

  That shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but I was a little taken aback. Dan was going too far with that. I’d have to talk to him about it. “Oh,” I said. “How about that.”

  “I wanted to apologize about last night,” Ellis said. “We really didn’t get off on the right foot.”

  I looked around the parking lot. “And you drove all the way over here to tell me that?”

  He shrugged. “This place is literally five minutes away from the station.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Forget about it. I probably didn’t have to act like such a smartass, but…no, actually I did. Being a smartass is kind of my whole thing. Sorry.”

  He smiled. “Forget it.”

  “Anyway, I bought some chips. I have to go inside and eat them before they go bad.”

  Ellis looked as if he couldn’t tell whether I was making a joke or not. “Yeah, okay.”

  He stood there as I swiped my keycard in the motel door’s lock. I wondered if he thought I was going to invite him in. I wasn’t, but just turning my back on him seemed awkward. “Was there something else you needed?” I asked.

  Ellis looked like he was trying to do complex math in his head and for a minute I was afraid he was trying to work up the courage to ask me out. That wasn’t going to end well. But instead he said, “Do you really think he’s upset?”

  “Who?”

  “The Laughing Man,” Ellis said. “About the homage. You think he’s not going to see it that way? I’m asking because you know him better than anyone.”

  I thought about that. “Even if it was an homage, he’s still going to see it as a cheap copy of his work. It’s not like a Grateful Dead tribute band. Or maybe it is. I don’t know what the Grateful Dead think about tribute bands. I’d be more inclined to think it was someone who wants to put his skills to the test, though. Not so much to honor the Laughing Man, but to compete with him.”

  “That’s an interesting theory,” Ellis said.

  “Yeah, and I could be wrong. Maybe it’s someone trying to audition. Somebody who’s looking for attention. I never heard of a serial killer taking an apprentice, but maybe that’s what your copycat is looking for. He’s saying, ‘Hey, I’m like you. Teach me.’ But whatever the intention, if some guy shows up on your doorstep and hands you a bag of trash, you probably aren’t going to be really happy about it.”

  “Trash,” Ellis said, frowning at me.

  I sighed. “Yeah, I know. It’s a dead man and I’m a callous bitch because I can’t stop talking like that. I’ve seen more bodies than I care to remember, Detective. I’ve put six of them in the ground myself. One more body in an alley is just…I’m numb to it. I know it should bother me. I know I’m broken. There’s just not much I can do about it.”

  “I don’t know,” Ellis said. “There’s therapy.”

  “I had a therapist once. It didn’t really work out.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  “Nah, we’re still tight. She’s just not my therapist anymore. Anyway, I’m going inside now. You’ve got a copycat to catch. Good luck.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “We’ll get the guy, I’m sure.”

  “I’m sure you will. Sarah’s smart as hell, and you…well, I don’t know the first thing about you, but you seem to know what you’re doing.”

  He held out his hand and this time I shook it. He’d been nice enough. It wouldn’t kill me to be nice back to someone for a change. It wasn’t like everyone I met was just waiting for a chance to stab me in the back, even though that was how I approached almost every new person I met these days. Maybe I’d even make a new friend if I tried hard enough. And maybe pigs would fly out of my ass. That seemed a lot more likely.

  Back in my room I spent an hour watching the Food Network and wishing I had a real kitchen. My new house would, once the construction on it was finished. I’d never been much of a cook, but I could always learn. It would be something new to do. And if it turned out I sucked at it, there was always delivery. I’d gained twenty pounds since I’d stopped drinking. To be fair, I’d been damn near skeletal before that. Alcohol had been my primary source of calories and I’d always choose vodka over food when I was too broke to afford both. And even when I’d had money, sometimes I was just too drunk to remember to eat for days at a time. My raging alcoholism had d
oubled as an incredible weight-loss plan, although not one I could really write a book about and make a million dollars by going on talk shows.

  After a while I shut the television off and lay back on the bed, thinking maybe I should take a nap. I felt drained. If I did, though, I’d never sleep tonight, and I really didn’t have the option of using alcohol as a sleep aid anymore. I stared at the ceiling for a while, feeling the weight of my Glock still in its shoulder holster. My reverie was interrupted by another text from Dan Evans asking if I was all right. I texted back that I was and he could stop bothering me any time he wanted to. There was little doubt Sarah was keeping him fully apprised of whatever was happening with the copycat case. And probably whatever was happening with me, also.

  Around 4:00 pm I took Anita’s card out of my pocket and looked at the phone number. I put the card down on the bedside table. I’d said I’d give her a day or two before I turned her down. But part of me didn’t want to turn her down anymore. I was bored. I’d been waiting three months for the Laughing Man to reappear so I could finally start hunting him down. He hadn’t made a move. There was no telling when he would. To be honest, there was no telling if he would. For all I knew he’d been hit by a car while crossing the street. Or he’d had a heart attack. If something had happened to him he could already be in the ground and I’d be left waiting until I joined him.

  That left me with nothing to do. I didn’t really have any hobbies. I’d started practicing Shotokan karate again after my body had recovered from withdrawal and I could stand up without my legs shaking, but that wasn’t something I was going to do every day. Nor did I have much in the way of friends. My life consisted mostly of sitting by myself in a motel room waiting for a lunatic to murder someone so I could start looking for him. How messed up was that?

  I picked up Anita’s card again. She was a great deal sharper than she’d let on; I was sure of that much. That old lady act had probably gotten her pretty far in life. It was intriguing. What was she like when she dropped the act? I wanted to know.

  How stupid would I have to be to start investigating a twenty-year-old cold case, though? I hadn’t been lying when I’d said it was probably unsolvable. What were the odds I was going to have some kind of breakthrough that had eluded everyone else? Not very damn good. And here I’d just been thinking the Laughing Man could already be dead, and I’d seen him just three months ago. Twenty years was a much longer time. On top of that, I didn’t know of a lot of bomb makers that made it to retirement age. The guy had probably blown himself up by now.