Angels (Nevada James #3) (Nevada James Mysteries)

by Matthew Storm

“She wasn’t really my friend,” I said. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. I doubt she just hung around the front desk. She’d have talked to someone for a while. You must have records, right? Of what your people are doing? Maybe you could look through them and tell me who Krystal saw.”

  “Well, that assumes she gave us her real name,” Vanessa said. “There are plenty of people that don’t. It’s not a requirement.”

  I nodded. “That makes sense. Anonymity is an important thing. I’m a pretty big fan of it, myself. But someone here called her on the phone, so I know she gave her real phone number.” Even though it was a burner, it was still a real phone.

  “Oh,” Vanessa said. “I don’t think I can search by phone numbers, though.” She looked at her computer screen. “I mean, I don’t think that’s a searchable field.”

  I couldn’t tell if Vanessa was trying to stall me or if she was just a little slow. But stalling me didn’t make much sense. She had to have figured out I wasn’t leaving any time soon. Unless she told me to, of course. I wasn’t a cop anymore; I had no legal authority here. If she told me to leave and I didn’t, I’d be trespassing. That didn’t seem to have occurred to her, though. I’d have to hope it wouldn’t.

  “Maybe you could poke around in there a little bit?” I asked.

  Vanessa frowned. “I think I should ask for help.” She picked up her phone and pressed a button. After a moment she said, “Ma’am, can you come out front? I’ve got someone here with a few questions.” She waited. “Yes, ma’am.” She hung up the phone and looked at me. “She’ll be right out.”

  Working whoever Vanessa had just called in for backup might prove to be harder than dealing with Vanessa had been, but now I was stuck. I waited until a grey-haired woman in a dark pantsuit came through a partition and stepped into the reception area behind Vanessa. “I’m Esther Cromwell,” she said. “Can I help you…” She tilted her head at me. “Aren’t you Nevada James?”

  “I am,” I said. “And you’re Esther Cromwell.” That was a name you didn’t hear every day. “Esther. Your parents went with one of the classics.”

  Esther smiled faintly. “And I’m guessing yours were flower children.”

  “Something like that.”

  Esther looked at my face. “Well, I’m not sure what happened to you, but you certainly appear to need some help. I’m not sure what we can do for you, though. You must have the resources of the entire police department behind you.” She nodded at me. “That’s good stitching, by the way. I’ve seen much worse.”

  “I’m hoping the second time is the charm,” I said. I took my phone out and pulled up Krystal’s photo. Looking at it still bothered me. I showed it to her. “Do you recognize her? She was in here…I don’t know when, but she was in here.”

  Esther looked at the picture and nodded. “Krystal Harris.”

  “She was murdered,” Vanessa told Esther, her eyes wide.

  “Ah,” Esther said. “I’m sorry to say that doesn’t really surprise me.”

  “Oh?” I asked. “Why is that?”

  “She was an addict,” Esther said, “and she was involved with some very bad people. The first time she was in here she’d been beaten up.”

  I nodded. “I’m told that was a drug buy gone wrong.”

  “I couldn’t say,” Esther said. “She spoke with Samantha when she was here. Sam referred her to a drug treatment program and tried to get her to file a police report about the attack, but I don’t know if she ever did.”

  “I doubt it,” I said. “She wasn’t really the type. But you said that was the first time. She’d been in here more than that?”

  “Yes. I couldn’t tell you exactly how many times. Sam would know.”

  “Can I talk to her, then?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Esther said. “She’s been out sick for a few days now.”

  “She sounded awful on the phone,” Vanessa told me.

  “That’s too bad,” I said. “Is there any way I could reach her?”

  “I’m not sure what she could tell you that I can’t,” Esther said. “Is there something specific you’re looking for?”

  I wasn’t sure how much I wanted to tell them. You should never show someone your cards if you don’t know what game you’re playing. Or if you’re playing a game at all. “Krystal may have had some information about other crimes,” I said. “There’s a chance she told Samantha something about them. Knowing whatever that was might help me track down whoever killed her.”

  Esther nodded. “That does make sense,” she said. “But you’ll have to forgive me, Ms. James. Your name used to be in the papers quite a bit, you see. My understanding was that you were no longer with the police department.”

  Busted. “I’m not,” I said. “It’s kind of a long story how I got involved with this.”

  “I see. Do you care to share that long story with us?”

  “Not really.”

  “And if I don’t miss my guess,” Esther said, “I also understood you were committed to a psychiatric hospital a few years ago.”

  “Oh, my,” Vanessa said.

  “Well, I’m not sure committed is the right word,” I said. “I was in a facility for a while, I guess.” How was I supposed to respond to that line of questioning? “I got better.”

  “Be that as it may,” Esther said, “if there are any questions to be answered, I think perhaps we’d be more comfortable dealing with actual police officers directly. I don’t mean to be rude, of course.”

  “Of course,” Vanessa repeated.

  “That’s understandable,” I said. “The captain of the homicide division owes me a favor. I’ll have him get involved directly to put your mind at ease.” That was the biggest bluff I’d tried in a while. There was no way I was getting Dan Evans involved in this. I didn’t want him to even suspect what I was doing. But neither Esther nor Vanessa knew that.

  “My goodness,” Vanessa said. She looked up at Esther. “I’m not sure we want the police walking around in here. It might make the women uncomfortable. This is supposed to be a safe space.”

  Esther considered that. “Perhaps you’re right,” she said. She looked at me. “I can’t give you Sam’s personal information, but I can ask her to give you a call when she’s feeling up to it. Would that be acceptable to you?”

  “It would,” I said. “And it would be best if she did it as soon as possible. Krystal died because she knew something she wasn’t supposed to. If she told Sam whatever that was, then Sam could also be at significant risk.”

  “Very well,” Esther said. “I have a meeting shortly, but I’ll give her a call this afternoon and let her know what’s going on. You’ll leave your number with us?”

  I hated giving out my real phone number, but this was a call I didn’t want going to voicemail. Knowing what Krystal had said could go a long way toward breaking this whole thing wide open. “No problem.”

  “Then I’m sure she’ll be in touch with you shortly, Ms. James,” Esther said.

  “She’s very conscientious about these things,” Vanessa told me. “Sam’s the best.”

  Chapter 16

  Back in my car I went through the business cards I’d gotten from the food bank again, hoping maybe I’d missed one. I hadn’t, though. Until I managed to talk to Samantha from Second Star I had nothing else to go on.

  And that left me with nothing to do but drive around in circles. Or I could go home and watch Netflix for the rest of the day. I really liked some aspects of not having a job. Not needing to be anywhere at any certain time was nice. So was not answering to anyone. I’d never done well with authority. But my days were empty, for the most part. It was my own fault for having so few friends and no social life to speak of, but I tended to get hopelessly bored. I was dangerous when I was bored. That bottle of Grey Goose in my cupboard started calling my name.

  Luckily for me, my phone rang an hour later as I was parking at a Chinese restaurant. I’d decided to actually get a table and eat inside like a
normal person, rather than getting my usual take-out. Sarah Winters was on the line. “Hey,” I said.

  “Hey,” she replied. “I have something interesting for you. Maybe.”

  “I like interesting,” I said. “What is it?”

  “Oh,” she said. “First, did you by any chance pick up a cell phone at Krystal Harris’s house? Fulton and Harrison were making some noise about it. They were surprised she didn’t have at least a burner or something.”

  “There may have been a phone,” I said. “I may have accidentally put it in my pocket.”

  “Shit, Nevada,” she said.

  “I’ll stop by and turn it in as soon as I remember it,” I said. “How silly of me.” I hoped Sarah understood from my dry tone that I didn’t give a shit. I didn’t want to have to explain it to her.

  “Do that,” she said. “Anyway, you want to hear this?”

  “Absolutely. I’m out of leads. Did you find me three murders?”

  “No,” she said. “I found you two, though. Adam Taylor and Shaw DeMarco. Both of them were white males in their twenties. They were killed six months apart. Both were by gunshot, but they weren’t the same weapon. One was a nine millimeter and the other was a .38.”

  “Not a .32?”

  “No,” she said. “Why? Am I looking for a .32? You didn’t mention that before.”

  “It was just a thought,” I said. “There was one guy that heard the shot…” But that didn’t make much sense. Someone would have caught two other murders done with a .32 before now.

  “Okay.”

  “Anyway,” I said. “What connects them?”

  “This might be nothing.”

  I could tell by her audible breathing that Sarah didn’t think this was nothing. She was on the hunt. She sounded excited now, instead of bored out of her skull like she had been during our previous conversation. “Tell me anyway.”

  “They both had sexual assault charges filed against them,” Sarah said.

  I thought about that. A lot of people had sexual assault charges filed against them. “Were there convictions?”

  “No. They were both dismissed.”

  That was also fairly common. “Why?”

  “Lack of evidence. One person’s word against another’s. Neither of them even made it to trial.”

  “Christ,” I said. “You’d think rape would be easier to prove.”

  “Like I said, when it’s one person’s word against another’s, it’s tough. Plenty of prosecutors won’t even bother and a good defense lawyer is going to get it thrown out pretty quickly.”

  “Yeah,” I said. That much was true. I’d never been involved in a rape case, but I knew they had pretty dismal conviction rates. “Tell me about the murders.”

  “Sure,” Sarah said. “They both went down as muggings that ended violently. They were both outside bars in the early hours. Both victims were deeply intoxicated. Blood alcohol on Adam Taylor was .212, for god’s sake. I don’t know how he was walking around.”

  I’d walked around with my BAC that high, but that didn’t really seem relevant to this conversation. “Muggings?”

  “Yeah, but Shaw DeMarco’s wallet was found in a garbage can three blocks from the crime scene. A homeless guy turned it in. The money was still in it.”

  “That’s one conscientious homeless guy,” I said. “So at least that one wasn’t a mugging.”

  “No. We’re just supposed to think it was.”

  I nodded, and then felt silly about that because of course Sarah couldn’t see me. “Any witnesses?”

  “On the DeMarco killing, yeah. A couple frat brothers reported seeing a woman in the area, although not actually on the scene. They thought it was weird she was out by herself so late.”

  “That’s promising, then. Did they give a description?”

  “Yeah. Fuckable.”

  “Okay.” I waited. “Wait…was that it?”

  “That’s it. They were all pretty drunk and that’s the best they could come up with.”

  I sighed. “That’s really no help at all. Anything on security cameras in the area?”

  “Nope.”

  “Where’s the NSA when you need them?” I asked.

  “They’re too busy listening to your phone calls,” Sarah said.

  Well, they probably weren’t listening to my phone calls. Not unless Abercrombie had made a hell of a mistake with his encryption when he’d set my phone up. But that really wasn’t what she’d meant, anyway. “What about a third murder?”

  “I’ve got other muggings that went bad. They go back for years. But I don’t have the assault charges to link them.”

  I thought about it. “Krystal said the third murder was wrong,” I said. “I’ve been wondering about that. Do me a favor. Run the names of everyone on your muggings list, and I mean just their names, through the database. Look for assault charges being filed on anyone with those names.”

  “Anyone?” Sarah asked. “Why would…oh. You’re thinking mistaken identity here.” Sarah was a sharp one.

  “Yeah.”

  “Someone was going through a list of people who were charged and got off, but this time they got the wrong guy? I’m not sure who could even access that list,” she said. “Someone inside the department?”

  “Maybe,” I said. “But I’m thinking someone else.” Someone who would have talked to the victims, and maybe been involved in filing the initial police reports. I hadn’t talked to Samantha yet, and that was the only link I could think of between Krystal and a vigilante killer.

  “You want to tell me who?” Sarah asked.

  “Not yet. When I actually know something.”

  “Okay.”

  “What are Fulton and Harrison doing on the case, except wondering why Krystal didn’t have a phone?”

  “Nothing, honestly,” Sarah said. “It’s on the back burner. In a week nobody’s going to remember it.”

  “I will,” I said.

  “Well, yeah. I didn’t mean you, Nevada. Anything else you need?”

  I thought about it. I’d been a shitty friend to Sarah. Maybe I could at least make an effort to act like a human being. You know, with actual feelings. “Um…so how are you holding up, Sarah?”

  “Goodbye, Nevada.” She hung up on me.

  Chapter 17

  The next morning I had a text waiting from Sarah. She’d sent over the names of the two women who had filed sexual assault charges against Adam Taylor and Shaw DeMarco. I wrote them down on a note pad I had handy and thought about what to do with them. Sarah had probably sent the names over thinking I could contact the women and see what they’d done after their attacks. It would be useful to know if either of them had visited Second Star. Barring that, maybe I could find some other connection between them. Contacting them to ask was an option, but not one I wanted to pursue yet. It would mean asking those women to relive an experience I was sure they would just as soon forget. I wanted to know, but I wasn’t going to cross that line.

  Thinking about how to proceed drove me nuts for the better part of an hour. I hadn’t gotten a call from Samantha from Second Star yet, and I wasn’t sure I would. If she was the person I was looking for, there was no way she was just going to get in touch with me. I’d have to track her down.

  Vanessa had told me Samantha was out sick. Was that true? The only way I could think of to find out was to go back to Second Star and see if she was there. I’d been there yesterday, though. If I came on too strong, it could lead to trouble for me. I didn’t think Esther Cromwell was the type to put up with my nonsense. Or maybe I just found her name intimidating. Esther Cromwell didn’t sound like the name of someone who took prisoners.

  Instead I went to my computer and opened up a program that connected me to an encrypted proxy server in Bulgaria. That would make it very difficult to trace what I was about to do back to me. Then I logged into a webmail account I used for this purpose. I started a new message but left the recipient field blank. In the body I typed find me
an address for a Samantha, works at Second Star Women’s Help Center here in SD. I saved the message to my drafts. It would never be sent. Abercrombie also had access to this account. He would eventually see the message, read it, and erase it. But if I was lucky he’d get me an address. Visiting Samantha at home might be risky, but then again, it might get me some answers.

  Two days passed. I had lunch with Molly Malone. I thought about visiting Paul Wilkins at the hospital, but didn’t do it. I thought about painting my fingernails black to match my mood, but in the end I didn’t do that, either.

  It was about noon on a Wednesday that I got a text from a blocked number. Sorry. Busy. Samantha Connors. 8401 Hilmer Ct., La Mesa. Abercrombie had come through with an address. I didn’t know it, but Hilmer Street was right off I-8, about fifteen minutes away from downtown San Diego. Hilmer Court would be easy enough to find.

  Half an hour later I was in La Mesa. Samantha’s house was a small California ranch in what would probably be described as a bedroom community. There was little I could see in the way of businesses, but the suburbs were large and sprawling. This part of La Mesa was relatively upscale. Not wealthy, but certainly middle-class. I’d known plenty of people who lived out here because the housing was a great deal cheaper than in San Diego proper.

  There was no car in Samantha’s driveway, but there was a garage and I assumed it could be in there if she was home. My Glock was tucked into its shoulder holster and as I stepped out of my car I unsnapped it so the gun would be a little easier to get into action. I doubted I was going to need it, but if she turned out to be the person I was looking for, it was hard to say what might happen.

  I looked around as I walked up to Samantha’s front door. There was nobody around, and it was so quiet here you might be able to hear a pin drop from across the street. It probably wouldn’t have been a bad area to retire to, if you wanted to live in Mayberry.

  Nobody answered when I rang the doorbell. I waited thirty seconds and rang it again. Then I knocked. There was still no answer. I stepped back and watched the windows. The blinds were down so I couldn’t see inside, and there was no telltale movement that would indicate someone in there was peeking out to see who was at the door. I waited, and then rang the bell a third time. Then I went back to knocking. It occurred to me that I should have asked Abercrombie to find a phone number. If I called and there was an answer…but it was too late for that now.