“I’m Vanessa,” she said. “Why don’t you have a seat. Would you like a coffee? We just got a Keurig machine and it has something like eight flavors. I don’t remember them all, but I’m sure there’s something you’ll like.”
I’d been hoping she’d recognize my name. Things went so much easier when that happened. “No,” I said. “I don’t need any…”
“It does hot cocoa, too. And chai, I think. Or maybe you’d like a soda?”
“No,” I said. “Well, I guess I’d take a Diet Coke, if you have one.”
She got up from her desk. “I’ll be right back.” I watched as she disappeared through a nearby door, probably heading for a kitchen or break room. Why the hell had I asked for a soda? Maybe she’d seemed so eager to do something nice I’d felt the need to oblige her?
Vanessa was back two minutes later with a clear plastic cup she’d filled with ice and soda. She handed it to me and I regretted not asking for the can. I was way too paranoid to drink something I hadn’t prepared myself. “Thanks,” I said, and started to put the cup down on the desk between us. She snatched a coaster from somewhere near her telephone and put it in place before it was halfway there.
“No problem.” She smiled. “So like I said, if you can just wait a few minutes.” She nodded eagerly at a nearby chair.
I decided to cut to the chase. “Like I was saying, I’m Nevada James.”
She nodded. “I remember.”
“I’m looking into a murder.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh,” she said. I noticed she’d put her hair back in a bun so perfect not even one strand seemed out of place. That was more than I’d ever been capable of. My hair generally looked like I’d walked through a tornado.
I took my phone out of my jacket and pulled up Krystal’s photo. I turned the phone so she could see it. “Have you ever seen this woman before?”
Vanessa looked at the photo and shook her head. “No,” she said.
At least that was an answer. “You sure?”
“Pretty sure,” she said. She looked at me. “I mean, we’re usually pretty busy. A lot of people come in here. You know how it is.”
I looked around. The waiting room was empty. “I’m not sure I do,” I said.
“This is the quietest it’s been all day,” Vanessa said. “I’m usually afraid to use the restroom because I might miss someone who needs help. And we’re actually full up right now, which is why I said I could probably have someone with you in ten minutes before.”
She had said that. “Okay,” I said. “Fair enough. Is there maybe another receptionist who might remember her?”
“I’m the only one,” she said. “Someone else will sit up here when I go to lunch, but that’s just for an hour.”
“Could I talk to one of those people?”
Vanessa squinted at me. “What makes you so sure she came here, if you don’t mind my asking?”
I scratched at the stitches in my cheek. The itching came and went, and as much as the scratching sent shards of pain racing across my face, it was better than doing nothing. “I’m not exactly sure she did,” I said. “I know she was referred over here at some point, though. It’s kind of a longshot.”
“Well, I’m not sure we could tell you anything, anyway,” Vanessa said. “There are laws about confidentiality.” She gave me a sympathetic look. “I don’t even understand them all, honestly, but I’m not going to risk getting our license revoked.”
It probably wouldn’t have taken much to browbeat Vanessa into showing my phone around, but I really didn’t want to be that person. I’d done too much of being that person in the past. “Do you think you could just ask? If nobody can help me, I’ll understand.”
“Maybe in about ten minutes,” Vanessa said. “You understand I don’t want to interrupt anyone who’s with a client now.” She nodded toward the waiting room. “You could have a seat, if you like.”
I considered it for a moment, and then went and had a seat near the door. Vanessa turned her attention back to her computer and I turned mine to a television mounted on the wall across from me. It was showing something from HGTV, which I wasn’t familiar with, but I was guessing the H and G stood for home and garden, as the show seemed to be dealing with both of those things. The host was showing a couple how to grow tomatoes in their backyard. I thought about growing tomatoes in my backyard. Then I remembered I rarely cooked, and what was I going to do with tomatoes, anyway? Make a bunch of salads? I didn’t eat salads.
Maybe fifteen minutes passed. Vanessa smiled at me sympathetically from behind her desk. “I’m sure it won’t be long,” she said. I nodded at her.
Five minutes later a woman in a denim jacket walked through the door. She looked around furtively. It was hard to miss the fact that someone had punched her in the face recently. Bruising was already setting in around her left eye, and there was probably going to be more of it soon. My hand moved instinctively for my gun, but I caught myself and made it go back to my lap.
“Ma’am? I can help you,” Vanessa called. The bruised woman made a beeline for her. I watched as Vanessa came around her desk, put an arm around the woman, and escorted her through a door into what I assumed was the main office where the counselors were. It was difficult to tell without seeing it, but it was the only thing that made sense.
I waited another five minutes, but Vanessa didn’t return and my mood had turned dark. I wanted to find whoever had hurt that woman and put a bullet in their knee. Maybe both knees. I wasn’t going to get anywhere like this. I knew myself pretty well by now. I was no good when I was grumpy. I’d wind up lashing out at someone.
I stood up and left. There wasn’t anything for me to do here right now. Unfortunately, unless Sarah or Abercrombie came up with something, I was officially out of leads.
Chapter 11
I spent a few minutes in my car trying to figure out what to do next. Getting food and going home was about all I could come up with. I had nothing else to investigate.
I didn’t really want to go home, though. I had nothing to do there and it seemed like I’d run through Netflix’s entire catalog. I’d just wind up staring at the ceiling and obsessing over the bottle of vodka in my cabinet. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t touch it, but you could never be too sure about that kind of thing.
It was nearly 5:30, which meant the A.A. meeting I occasionally went to was starting soon. I hadn’t been there in quite a while. It wouldn’t kill me to spend an hour commiserating with the drunks. It would at least be something to do.
The meeting was in a side room at a small Lutheran church downtown, a few blocks from SDPD headquarters. Only cops knew about it, and hence only cops attended. A.A. was open to anyone, but there were certain private groups for people who couldn’t afford to have their identities made public in case someone got too chatty. Airline pilots were one example. Cops were another. If you got pulled over for drunk driving and recognized the officer who was arresting you from your meeting, you could bet that was going to come up in court.
I reached the church a few minutes late. The chairs had already been put in a circle and Miranda Callies, a cop I knew from the gang unit, was asking the group if anyone had anything pressing they wanted to discuss. She looked surprised to see me, and my appearance raised a few eyebrows. I wasn’t sure if that was because I hadn’t been here in a while, or whether the marks on my face were raising questions. It could easily have been both.
I poured coffee into a Styrofoam cup and sat down. Most of the cops here I knew. Jason London from Narcotics pointed at his face and mouthed a question as he looked at mine. Yeah, the stitches were going to be a thing. I should have known.
Paul Wilkins wasn’t in the room, which surprised me. He was a retired cop who had been the training officer for Sarah Winters and enough other cops that everyone knew him. A.A. didn’t have leaders in any traditional sense, but he generally ran things. I couldn’t remember him ever missing a meeting.
“Well,” Miranda said afte
r I’d taken a seat. “Maybe we should start by asking if anyone has any anniversaries for special days they’re celebrating today.” She looked at me pointedly.
At first I wasn’t sure what she meant. Then it occurred to me. She had a calendar, didn’t she? “I’m Nevada,” I said. “I’m an alcoholic.”
“Hi, Nevada,” everyone said. It was the standard A.A. call-and-response. I’d heard it a hundred times before. There was something almost comforting about the routine.
“I guess I really haven’t been here in a while,” I said. “I...I guess I got a year a while back. I just haven’t been in to tell you guys about it yet.”
Everyone clapped. “Did you get a coin?” Miranda asked.
“No,” I said. She went over to a cabinet and took out a plastic box that looked like it had been meant to carry fishing lures. It held the various coins people received for varying lengths of sobriety. There was one for 24 hours, then coins for one through eleven months, and then they went up by year. I’d seen them for as many as 22 years and I was sure they made them for longer amounts of time, but I couldn’t imagine those got handed out very often.
Miranda fished a coin out and put the box back in the cabinet. She walked over to me. “Well, stand up,” she said.
I stood. Miranda hugged me. I wasn’t a hugger. I patted her on the back twice and waited for her to let me go. Once she did she handed me the coin. “I wasn’t sure you’d make it,” she said quietly.
“Yeah,” I said. “Me neither.” I looked at the coin. A year. I had a little more time than that, but this was close enough. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do with it. Put it in a picture frame? Keep it in my pocket? Probably I’d do neither of those things.
Miranda headed back for her chair. “Speech!” Jason London called.
“Nah,” I said. I sat down. “Not today. I’m just going to listen.”
“At least tell us what happened to your face,” Jason said.
“Later.”
The meeting proceeded the way they usually did. Some people spoke when it was their turn. Some people passed. A.A. was kind of like group therapy, I supposed. I’d never actually been to group therapy, but I couldn’t imagine it went any differently than this.
We closed with the Serenity Prayer and then most of the attendees started to file out. Jason and Miranda came and sat down next to me, as I was sure they would. They were the only people I really thought of as friends here, although I was still kind of pissed at Jason. He’d been the one who had brought the Anita Collins case to me, and that had been a debacle. It wasn’t really his fault, but I’d still been pretty mad at him about it. “So,” Jason said. “Your face.”
“Jumped through a window,” I said. “Long story.” I told them about it.
Jason shook his head while Miranda chuckled. “That’s so you,” Miranda said.
“I guess it is,” I said. It wasn’t like I could argue with them. Jumping through a window wasn’t anywhere close to the most insane thing I’d ever done. I looked around. “Where’s Paul today? He never misses a meeting.”
Jason looked away. “He’s in the hospital,” Miranda said.
“Oh?” I asked. “Is everything all right?”
“It’s his liver,” Jason said. He shook his head. “Things don’t look good.”
My heart sank. “He’s been sober for twenty years,” I said. “More than that.”
“Yeah.” Miranda sighed. “The damage was done. It just took a long time to catch up with him.”
I looked at the floor. What was I supposed to say? That Paul was living through my worst fear? “I guess it gets all of us in the end,” I said.
“Some of us, anyway,” Miranda said. “He’s a candidate for a transplant, though, so there’s hope.”
“At least there’s that,” Jason said. “I have to tell you, I hope I never end up like that. Have you ever seen someone die of liver failure?”
“No,” I said. “I’m guessing it’s pretty rough, though. You?”
“My uncle.” Jason shook his head. “It took a long time. Your liver dies and then you have to wait for your body to catch up to it. It’s terrible. If it was me I think I’d just put a gun in my mouth.”
Truth be told, I’d probably do the same thing. I guessed I’d be finding out in a few years. Or whenever the hospital called with my test results. That could only be bad news, after all.
“You should go see him,” Miranda said.
“I’m not much for hospitals,” I said. Besides that, I couldn’t imagine what I’d be able to say that would have made him feel better. I was pretty damn far from a ray of sunshine, and that was on my best day. It had been a while since I’d had a best day.
“He’s in good spirits,” Jason said. “He was cracking jokes when I was in there last week.”
I nodded half-heartedly, hoping that would be taken as a sign of my acquiescence and that the conversation would be over. “Let me ask you something,” I said. “Do either of you have three unsolved murders on your desks? They might be linked, or maybe they wouldn’t, but there’s just something off about them?”
“Here we go,” Jason said. “Nevada’s back on the job again.”
“I’m just looking into something,” I said. “And I’d rather Dan Evans didn’t find out about it.”
“What are you into, Nevada?” Miranda asked.
I told them about what had happened with Krystal. It wasn’t a pleasant story, but it was a good excuse to stop talking about Paul being in the hospital. When I was done Miranda bit her lip. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ll mention this to Dan if I see him.”
“Why not?” Jason asked. “It’s not a secret that he wants you back in the department.”
“Well, I’m not going back,” I said. “And he’ll be pretty pissed if he finds out I’m running around working cases behind his back.”
“Fair enough,” Jason said. “Well, sorry, but I don’t have anything like that.”
“Me, neither,” Miranda said. “I haven’t even heard of anything that fits your description. Do you think Krystal was on the level?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I think so, but it’s hard to say for sure.”
“Could have been trying to scam you,” Jason said. He put a hand on my forearm. The violation of my personal space was duly noted. “Junkies will say pretty much anything when they get desperate. I should know. I was one.”
I shifted my arm away from Jason’s hand, doing it gently enough that it wouldn’t seem like I was reacting as if he’d dropped a spider on me. One had to maintain the appearance of a person who wasn’t totally crazy. Or had he been hitting on me? I’d never been sure with him. If he was, that story wasn’t going to have the ending he was hoping for. “She’d never lied to me before,” I said. “Maybe she was this time. It’s just a weird play, though. She calls me after all these years, out of the blue, hoping I’ll give her money for drugs? I mean, that’s a longshot.”
“At best,” Miranda nodded. “I’d guess she was on the level. I just don’t see how Homicide wouldn’t know about this.”
“The connection won’t be obvious,” I said.
“It’s too bad you can’t get a look at their files,” Jason said.
“Yeah. Too bad.” I hadn’t mentioned Sarah Winters was already doing that for me. I didn’t think either of them would slip up and tell someone they shouldn’t, but there was no reason to take the chance.
“Anyway, I should go,” I said. I stood up. “I’ve got a lot of important sitting around to do.”
“You free for dinner?” Jason asked. “We should catch up.”
An alarm went off in my head. Now I thought the hand on my arm had been deliberate. “Another time,” I said. “I scratched at my stitches. “This is really starting to bother me. I’m going to take some Advil and lie down.”
Miranda stood up and hugged me again. Why did people always feel the need to do that? “Take care of yourself,” she said. “And go see Paul. He likes the
company.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I will.” But realistically, what were the odds I was actually going to do that?
Chapter 12
I checked my mail when I got home. There was a catalog from a company I’d never shopped at, a flyer from Pizza Hut, and a green envelope roughly the correct size to hold a greeting card. It didn’t have a return address, and the writing on the front looked like it had been done by someone using their wrong hand. It probably had been. I knew who the card was going to be from. The Laughing Man was saying hello again.
I waited until I was inside and had the doors locked and the security system on before I opened it. Inside I found a cheerful card with a depiction of puppies at play on the front. The Laughing Man had written, “Thinking of you,” on the inside. And he’d drawn the face, of course. The face was on everything he’d sent me over the years. That horrible, laughing face. It was a simple drawing, but it never failed to give me chills.
I turned the card over, but he hadn’t written anything on the back. Thinking of you? That was it? He normally only sent cards on my birthdays and holidays. Maybe he’d been lonely. If that was true, I could probably expect to hear from him again soon.
After a moment I took the card to a hall closet and tossed it inside. That was where I kept all of the things he’d sent me over the years. Well, except the flowers he occasionally had delivered. I wasn’t going to store dead flowers. Technically I was supposed to turn over everything that came from him to the crime lab so they could go over it for fingerprints and traces of DNA, but I never bothered. The Laughing Man wasn’t going to lick an envelope and hope we couldn’t match his DNA to a database somewhere. To be honest, I didn’t know if the police department even had that capability, anyway. I was pretty sure the FBI did, though, and they also wanted a shot at him. That was just too bad. He was mine.
I ended up microwaving a bowl of instant noodles for dinner. I wasn’t hungry. I had a lot on my mind, and that tended to kill my appetite.
Angels (Nevada James #3) (Nevada James Mysteries) Page 8
