Angels (Nevada James #3) (Nevada James Mysteries) (5 page)

A
hallway that probably led to bedrooms was nearby. I put my back to the wall and
looked down it as best I could. “Krystal? You in here?” There was still no
answer. I looked across the way toward the kitchen. At least the windows let
light in there to see by; I wasn’t going any deeper into the house than that
without a flashlight. I probably had one in my car with the emergency roadside
repair kit, but I didn’t want to go out yet. The kitchen was close enough to
check first.

And
that’s where I found Krystal. She was on the floor, lying on her back. She’d
never looked great back in the days when I’d known her. Meth screwed with your
teeth and skin and made you forget to do things like bathe and change clothes.
The years had been rough on her; she looked much worse than I remembered. She
wore ratty jeans and a denim jacket that had probably gone through half a dozen
owners before her. Her hair was stringy, both unwashed and unbrushed, and may
have been slightly matted on one side. It had probably been a long time since
she’d done anything to take care of it.

There
was also the matter of the two bullet holes in her chest. When I saw them I
made a noise that was somewhere between a moan and a sigh. I wouldn’t have had
a word to describe it.

I knelt
down to check her pulse, but I already knew I wouldn’t find one. Death had a
way of setting up shop in a person’s eyes, and he’d already unpacked. Krystal
was gone.

I stood
up and looked around. There was nobody else in the kitchen, and I still
couldn’t hear any other movement in the house. Odds were I was alone in here.
That made the likely killer the woman the homeless man had seen leaving
earlier. I was going to have to track him down and question him, but I doubted
he was going to be able to give me much of a description. Then again, he’d
picked out .32 caliber gunshots from outside. Maybe he knew guns and maybe he
didn’t, but he’d been right about
my
gun.

I set
myself to listening again. In another neighborhood I might have expected to
hear sirens, but there were none in the distance. The police weren’t coming, or
at least they weren’t hurrying. There probably had been no neighbors home to
hear the gunfire and call them. It was in the middle of the day and there
hadn’t been any other people around outside, either. From inside the house the
noise wouldn’t have carried very far. Even if it had, gunfire probably wasn’t
an unusual or exceptional occurrence around here.

I needed
to get my flashlight and search the house, but I’d also told Dan I’d try to be
a little less like…well,
myself
. I got my cell phone and dialed 911.
“This is Nevada James,” I said when they answered. “My badge number is…” I
stopped. Saying that was a reflex I still hadn’t managed to get rid of. “I
don’t have a badge. You recognize my name?”

“I know
your name, Detective,” the operator said. He sounded like he might have been in
his early twenties, but his voice was taut and anxious. “I’ll dispatch SWAT to
your location immediately.”

I
blinked. “What? No, I don’t need SWAT.” Why did I think Dan Evans had been in
the call center to have a talk with the dispatchers? Because that’s exactly
what he’d probably done. They probably had my photo up on the wall there. “And
I’m not a detective anymore,” I continued. “I’ve got a dead body at…whatever
this address is.” I’d forgotten it.

I heard
typing. “Detective, I can’t get a fix on your position,” the dispatcher said.
“Are you underground?”

Of
course he couldn’t get a fix on my cell phone. The modifications I’d had made
had seen to that. I went outside, Glock in one hand and phone in the other, and
read the numbers off the side of the house. “I need a couple uniforms to lock
the scene down, and notify Homicide. They’ll need to get someone out here,
too.” I looked back inside the house. “And maybe some kind of Hazmat crew. I
don’t know. This place really isn’t fit for humans.”

“Sending
units now,” the operator said. He paused. “Detective, if you don’t mind my
asking…is it the Laughing Man?”

“No,” I
said. “It was a mistake I made.” Then I hung up on him.

Chapter 5

It took
the first patrol car twenty minutes to arrive, which gave me plenty of time to
search Krystal’s house. I got the flashlight out of my trunk and tore the place
apart as best I could, which was mainly an exercise in looking through garbage.
There wasn’t much to see that looked like evidence. Searching Krystal’s body
was grim work, but I’d been around plenty of dead bodies before. Usually when
they were still warm. It still bothered me. My brain already had a nice catalog
of nightmares to give me when I tried to sleep; this was just adding one more
to it.

That
search yielded a disposable cell phone in her back pocket. It was much like one
of mine; she’d probably picked it up in a convenience store the same way I did.
Hers had a password I didn’t bother trying to guess. I stuck it in my jacket,
instead. I’d eventually give it to the detectives assigned to the case, telling
them I’d been overwhelmed with everything that was going on and had forgotten
about it, but I wanted to have someone I knew look at it first.

Krystal
appeared to have been getting what she’d had for groceries from a local food
bank. There were several empty boxes with its name printed on the side. I
snapped a picture of one with my cell phone. I didn’t see anything perishable
in the kitchen; she’d apparently been living off of canned chili and assorted
vegetables that she must have been eating cold. As near as I could tell she
hadn’t been stealing power from the neighbors and she didn’t have so much as a
hot plate to cook on. The thought of it depressed me more than I’d thought
possible. She’d fallen a long way since her gang days. If I’d known about this
when she’d been alive…I’m not sure what I would have done, to be honest. I’m
not sure what I
could
have done. But I’d have tried to do something.

Was that
guilt I was feeling? My old friend who had been haunting me for the last few
years? Yes. It was.

Lastly I
took a photo of Krystal’s face. I closed her eyes first. The lighting was poor
enough in here that just seeing her face, you might have thought she was only
sleeping. Taking her photo seemed almost obscene, but I’d need one to show
people and it wasn’t like I had any others. Krystal and I had never posed for
photos together back when she’d been my informant.

The two
uniformed cops who finally arrived look young enough to be my children. One of
them started gagging when he stepped inside the house; I’d gotten so used to
the smell I’d nearly forgotten how rank it was. I let them secure the scene and
went outside to wait for Homicide.

The
detectives weren’t far behind the uniformed cops, which was nice. I had things
to do now. This part was a formality and I wanted it to be over as quickly as
possible. “Afternoon, boys,” I said.

One of
the detectives I’d never seen before. He was tall and had a moustache that
would have looked great, if he was an actor in a 1970’s porn movie. The other
one had been a patrol cop back when I’d worked Homicide. I’d met him once or
twice, but couldn’t remember his name. He was smaller than his partner, wiry,
and had an athletic build. He seemed young, too. Everyone seemed young to me
these days. Was it because I was getting old? Or was I just tired?

“Nevada
James,” the detective I kind-of knew said. “It’s been forever.” I took a long
look at him, still trying to remember his name. I didn’t have any luck. I
noticed that his jacket definitely hadn’t come off the rack, but the bulge from
the gun he wore under it was visible. I wondered if he liked it that way. It
was too rookie a mistake for a cop that had made it to Detective to make. Any
experienced cop would have had their jacket tailored to conceal it.

I shook
his hand. “You’re going to have to remind me,” I admitted.

“John
Fulton,” he said. “Don’t worry about it. I’m not sure we ever actually met.” He
nodded at the guy with the porn moustache. “That’s my partner, Detective
Harrison.”

“What’s
up, Harrison?” I said to the other man. Harrison nodded at me. Apparently he
was the silent type.

Fulton
took a look at my stitches. “Jesus,” he said. “I heard you went through a
window. Was it really on the second story?”

“More or
less,” I said. “I’ll have to remember to take the stairs next time.”

He
nodded. “Dan already told us this was one of your old informants and that she’d
been asking for you. Can you fill in the rest for us?”

I broke
down the scene for them, somehow failing to mention Krystal’s cell phone in my
jacket pocket. Harrison took notes. Fulton covered his nose with an embroidered
handkerchief the entire time he was in the house. It was hard to blame him. If
he was going to be spending any significant amount of time in here, he might
want to buy a gas mask.

Cops
could be callous at crime scenes sometimes, but I was grateful neither of them
made any snide comments about Krystal or the state she was in. On another day
I’d probably have let it pass, but I was in a very bad mood, and I really
wanted to keep my shit together until I was well out of sight. If one of them
had started acting like an asshole I probably wouldn’t have been able to.

“There’s
a homeless guy in the area who saw the shooter,” I said. “You might get a
description if you can find him, but there’s no way he’ll be able to testify.”

Harrison
looked up from his notepad. “Why not?”

“Because
he was arguing with a shopping cart before I talked to him,” I said.

Fulton nodded.
“We’ll find him. Hopefully he’ll be able to give us something useful.”

“You
never know,” I said. “I wouldn’t count on it, though.”

“No idea
who would have had a motive for this?” Harrison asked.

I’d
already told them what Krystal had told me. “Other than the person behind those
three murders? No.”

“Drug
thing, maybe,” Fulton said.

“Or
maybe she did have information about someone dropping bodies,” I said. “You
guys have three unsolved cases that have been driving you nuts lately?”

“There’s
a murder in San Diego every day,” Fulton said. “Which three cases was she
talking about?”

There
was not even close to a murder every day in San Diego, but I assumed Fulton
hadn’t meant for me to take him literally. “You really don’t have three
unsolved cases you’re looking at?”

“A
serial?” Harrison said. “No. The only unsolved serial case is…” he hesitated to
say the name we were both thinking of. After a moment he looked away and I
decided he wasn’t going to finish the sentence.

“Someone
else may have an idea,” Fulton said. “We don’t have three on the board, though.
Not that are connected, anyway.”

“I’ll
give Sarah Winters a call later,” I said. “I imagine Dan’s keeping her pretty
busy.” Sarah had been new to Homicide back when I’d worked there. She was
smart, tough, and a better detective than these two chuckleheads combined.

“Sarah’s
on desk duty,” Fulton. “And I don’t mean to be rude, Nevada, but you really
don’t need to be doing anything more than you already have. You’re a witness,
not an investigator.”

I was
all set to show him what being rude actually meant when I realized the entirety
of what he’d just said. “What the fuck do you mean, Sarah is on desk duty?” Had
I just made my hands into fists? Yes. Yes, I had.

Harrison
raised his hands, palms out in surrender, and took a step back. Smart boy.

Fulton
sighed. “It’s the Captain’s orders, Nevada, not mine. Don’t take it out on me.
There’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Why the
fuck…” I started. “Is she being punished for something?”

“No.”
Fulton looked around to make sure nobody else was in earshot. “Look, she’s had
some trouble since…you know what happened with Ellis,” he said quietly.

I knew
it pretty well. Brad Ellis had been Sarah’s partner not too long ago. He’d also
been a budding serial killer, although not one very skilled at covering his
tracks. Sarah had caught on to him early, but not early enough to keep him from
nearly killing both of us.

I was
far from the world’s most social person. I hadn’t talked to Sarah in quite a
while. I hadn’t even known she’d been having problems. Between her and Krystal
I’d managed to completely fail two people recently. I felt like the queen of
the assholes.

Aware
that I was seething and nearly about to explode, I decided to end the
conversation before I said or did something I’d regret. “You guys need anything
else from me?”

“I don’t
think so,” Fulton said. “We might have more questions later if something comes
up, but I think we’re good here.”

“Fine,”
I said. “Dan knows how to reach me.” I turned abruptly and headed for my car.

I
managed to keep it together long enough to drive two blocks and pull over to
the side of the road. Then I pounded on my steering wheel with my fists until I
thought I’d break something.

My ankle
was throbbing now, as well. I’d been on it too much today. But I wasn’t going
to get any rest anytime soon.

When I’d
calmed myself down enough to think straight I knew what my next move had to be.
I took my cell phone and opened up a web browser to Craigslist. Then I started
an advertisement in the “for sale” section.
Rotary-dial phone. Circa 1984.
$25.
I added a phone number and submitted it. The phone number’s prefix
didn’t actually exist, which meant no strangers would be getting a call about a
rotary-dial phone they didn’t have to sell. The advertisement’s purpose was to
raise a flag. It meant I needed help.

It would
take a while to get an answer back to the ad. I had to wait for the right
person to see it. In the meantime, I decided to go looking for the homeless guy
I’d seen earlier. He was the only witness I knew of that had seen Krystal’s
killer. Maybe I’d be able to get something out of him.

It took
me ten minutes of driving up and down the neighborhood streets, but I
eventually found the man I was looking for sitting on someone’s lawn maybe half
a mile away from where Krystal had been killed. Unfortunately, a patrol car had
found him first, and two uniforms were questioning him. He appeared to be
asking his shopping cart if it had seen anything it wanted him to pass along.
That probably wasn’t going to get anyone very far. I could have crashed the
party, but I was in a mood and I couldn’t imagine what good it might have done.
Besides, he’d just said it was a businesswoman. Do you know how many
businesswomen are in San Diego at any given time? Neither do I, but you can bet
it’s a lot.

I had
another call I wanted to make, but I decided to wait until the fake
advertisement I’d placed had been responded to. It would be best if I calmed
down first, anyway. I drove to the parking lot of a nearby CVS and waited. 45
minutes later my phone rang. The caller ID read
Abercrombie
. I answered
it on the first ring.

“What do
you need, Nevada?” Abercrombie asked.

Abercrombie
wasn’t his real name. Nor was Fitch the name of his partner. I didn’t know
their real names. They both worked for a somewhat retired hacker I knew named
Scott Landers. That was
his
real name. Scott’s brother had been an early
victim of the Laughing Man. Scott and his team did favors for me from time to
time. In return, I was expected to catch and kill the Laughing Man, ideally
while Scott watched. So far I hadn’t had any luck holding up my end of the
bargain.

“I have
a phone I need you to look at,” I said.

“I’m a
little busy,” Abercrombie said. “My parents are in town.”

“It’s
important.”

He
didn’t say anything for a moment. “I suppose it must be,” he finally said.
“You’re skipping our usual delightful banter. Don’t you have a sarcastic
comment to make? Nothing about my parents visiting? I don’t know…maybe you
could ask if they look like they came out of a catalog, too?”

“I
really don’t want to play right now,” I said.

“You
sound upset.”

“I
am
upset. Can you meet me or not?”

He
sighed. “Give me an hour. Parking lot of that Chinese place you like. Try not
to kill anyone before you get there.”

“Don’t
try me,” I said. I hung up the phone and put the car in gear.

I knew
exactly the place he meant. It was a Chinese restaurant in a strip mall in
Point Loma, not far from where I lived in Ocean Beach. They only had four
tables inside, but the food was good enough that there was usually a line out
the door. I went there for fried rice, mostly. Good fried rice was hard to
find. On another day I might have taken this as a good excuse to stop there to
eat, but right now food was the farthest thing from my mind.

I
arrived early, but Abercrombie was already in the parking lot when I arrived,
leaning up against his car. He and Fitch both looked like young male models,
and if either of them had been interested in women…I honestly don’t know what I
would have done. They only had eyes for each other, though. Given that I didn’t
know either of their real names I couldn’t have said I knew them well, but they
seemed happy together.

Normally
I never saw them apart, but Fitch wasn’t there today. “Where’s the handsome
one?” I asked Abercrombie.

“There’s
the banter I love so much,” Abercrombie said. He tossed his head to one side
and his long hair rolled like an ocean’s wave. He looked at my face. “My god,
Nevada. What happened to you?”

It took
me a minute to remember I still had stitches. “It’s not important,” I said.
“Completely unrelated to why I’m here.” He gave me a skeptical look. “I jumped
through a window thinking I might be chasing the Laughing Man, okay? I wasn’t.
Mistaken identity, I guess.”