“Another damn copycat?” I mused.
“What’s that?” Lanford asked.
“Never mind,” I said. “I’ve got to do some reading.”
“And I think it’s finally time for me to take that nap,” he nodded. “Forgive me, Detective, but I’m very tired. I’m sure you understand.”
“I do,” I said. I stood up. “Thank you for your time, Detective Lanford.”
“You’re very welcome, Detective James.” He smiled at me and extended his hand, which I shook gently. His skin was dry and fragile, and it felt as if I could break the bones in his hand if I squeezed too hard. On impulse, I suddenly leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the top of his head. “Naughty girl!” he said. “You’re still not getting my money.”
“See you again?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I don’t think so, Nevada. But if you get anywhere on this before it’s too late let me know, will you? I’d like to know how it works out.”
“I will.”
“Good. Now tell Julia to get her ass in here on your way out, will you? She needs to earn her inheritance.”
“Take care of yourself, Howard. I’ll be in touch.”
Chapter 14
I was already three miles away when I realized I should have pushed harder about the lab report. If it wasn’t hydrogen peroxide they’d found in the bomb, then what was it? That residue hadn’t come from nowhere.
And how was it the FBI had ruled out the Unabomber? This kind of thing seemed right up his alley. They knew something I didn’t, obviously.
I took my phone from my jacket pocket and dialed the police switchboard. “This is Nevada James. Can you connect me to the FBI office on Vista Sorrento?” I was fairly sure they still had their San Diego office there. It had been a while since I’d been in touch with anyone from the Bureau.
There was a moment of silence, probably while the operator tried to decide whether to remind me I wasn’t a cop anymore and shouldn’t be calling this number, but then there was a click and I heard ringing. “FBI,” a woman’s voice answered almost immediately.
“Special Agent Carter, please,” I said.
“Special Agent in Charge Carter is out of the office,” the operator said. “Can I ask who’s calling?”
“Nevada James.”
The woman on the other end of the phone hesitated. “Was that you on television the other night?”
I sighed. “Could you ask Special Agent in Charge Carter to call me when he’s free? He’s got my number.” I hung up on her. In hindsight I wasn’t sure whether Carter still had my number or not, but if the FBI couldn’t figure out who it was that just called them, what use were they?
I’d just gotten back to my motel when the phone rang. I didn’t know the number on the caller ID, which meant answering it broke my unwritten rule about answering the phone if I didn’t know who was calling, but there were only so many people it was likely to be. “Hello?”
“I’ll be damned,” Llewellyn Carter said. “How the hell are you still alive, Nevada?”
“It’s a goddamn mystery,” I said. “Have you really missed seeing me on television the last few days? I’ve been told it’s pretty amusing.”
“I don’t see a lot of local news,” he said. “Are you calling about the copycat thing? It’s not really on our radar.”
“No.” I gave him a quick rundown on the Anita Collins case. “I know you guys looked at it and ruled out the Unabomber. I’m trying to figure out why. From my perspective, he’d have been a fantastic suspect. You must have had something good.”
“I’ve never heard of the case before,” he said. “I can get the file, though. But tell me why I’d do this for you?”
“Because you owe me,” I said.
“I owe you? You broke my goddamn nose, Nevada.”
I wasn’t surprised he was still mad about that. “You deserved worse than what you got,” I said. He made a grunting noise. “Do you really want to have this fight again?” I asked. “Because you’ll lose. Tell me what’s in the file and we’ll call it even.” I thought about that. “Actually, no, we won’t. You’re still going to owe me. You’ll just owe me a little less.”
He was quiet for so long that for a minute I thought he’d hung up. “Hello?” I asked.
“Are you ever going to forgive me, Nevada?” he asked quietly.
“No.”
He sighed. “I’ll pull the file and get back to you. Or did you want to meet somewhere?”
“No. Just call me. I don’t need to see photos.” Actually, I just didn’t want to see him. I might be tempted to break his nose again.
“Fine.” He hung up.
I sat on the motel bed and drank a Diet Coke. Maybe I’d been too hard on Llewellyn. He wasn’t a bad guy. I’d liked him very much once. I’d even trusted him, and trust wasn’t something I’d ever just given away. That was what had made his betrayal so painful. Llewellyn had thrown a roadblock in my path at the worst possible moment while I’d been on the Laughing Man case. He’d have said he’d done it because I’d been out of control and needed to be reined in, but people were dead because of it. I’d never be able to let it go.
It took Llewellyn two hours to call me back, just when I was getting into a Discovery Channel show about a bunch of people who lived in the middle of the forest and still somehow managed to get into all manner of shenanigans. I had no idea what it was called. It seemed like that sort of thing made up a lot of the Discovery Channel’s programming.
I picked up the phone. “What do you have?”
“We don’t even exchange pleasantries now?” he asked.
“You know what’s weird?” I asked. “A minute ago I was thinking about why I don’t like you, and it made me like you even less. Is that normal? Now stop wasting my time and tell me what you have.”
He sighed. “The bomb design was wrong for the Unabomber. Shorter pipe, wrong width, lower yield, although actually better put together, like the bomber had a better idea what he was doing but didn’t really want to hurt anyone.”
“Better designed? Kaczynski did manage to blow up a lot of people.”
“His designs weren’t up to this level. He built his bombs out of scrap metal and garbage, basically. From what they recovered of the bomb that killed Adam Collins and his son, we could tell whoever built it had access to better equipment. I wouldn’t call it a pro job, but it’s like comparing a blunderbuss to an early modern rifle.” I snickered. “What?” he asked.
“You said blunderbuss.”
“It’s a good analogy. Also, there’s nothing to indicate he’d ever heard of Adam Collins. Collins wasn’t even well-known in San Diego back then. The academic community locally might have heard of him, but that would be it. Beyond that, we put together a timeline for Kaczynski after we caught him. He was nowhere near San Diego at the time of the bombing. It wasn’t him. Open and shut.”
I thought about it. “Okay, fine. Lower yield but better designed? What’s going on there? I’ve seen photos of their car. It was practically melted.”
“Yeah,” he said. “That’s weird. I don’t think the bomb was supposed to do much besides go bang really loud and throw up some smoke, but it blew the hell out of that car. It shouldn’t have been able to. Which sort of points at this other thing.”
“What?”
“There was a substance found that nobody could identify.”
“The stuff they thought was hydrogen peroxide?”
“But it’s not. You can’t put hydrogen peroxide in a bomb, and this isn’t it, anyway. I’ve got part of a chemical analysis but I don’t know what the hell it means. The lab at the time said it’s not something that exists on Earth.”
“Of course,” I said. “That explains everything. It was aliens. Aliens came down here and blew up Adam Collins.”
“Yeah. You’re a genius, Nevada. Well done.”
He sounded bitter, and I decided I didn’t care for his tone. “You want to try a fall with me, Llewell
yn?” I asked.
“No.”
“Because it sounds like you’re getting a little uppity with me. You’re not getting uppity with me, are you?”
“No, Nevada.” Now he just sounded glum.
“Good. I want a copy of the chemical analysis.”
“You want to meet me now?”
“No. Fax it to me at…” I got the motel’s fax number off the panel on the phone and gave it to him. “I’ll see if I can make any sense of it.”
“Fine. It’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“Good. Anything else you can tell me?”
He hesitated. “Just that…I’m sorry, Nevada. I thought I was doing the right thing.”
He wasn’t talking about the Collins case anymore. I didn’t want to talk about the thing he was talking about. Part of me wanted to tell him it was okay. I’d have been lying, but it would have been a nice gesture on my part. Maybe it would help him sleep at night. But I just couldn’t. “Honestly, Llewellyn, I don’t know if I could have gotten to those two little girls before the Laughing Man killed them. I really don’t. But I do know the time you cost me getting to them meant I never had a chance. I’m never going to get past that.”
“I know.”
“So don’t try to make it sound like I’m the asshole here.”
“I’m not, Nevada, but I don’t think I’m the asshole here, either. I just wish things had worked out differently.”
“Yeah. So do I. Fax me that stuff. I’ll talk to you…I don’t know. I was going to say later but it’s not like I’m putting it on my calendar.”
“Goodbye, Nevada.” He hung up.
I sat there with my phone in my hand for a few minutes. I wanted to call him back. I also wanted to put my phone through the window. I decided to put it in my pocket instead. That seemed like a smarter move.
I waited ten minutes and then walked over to the motel’s front office. The clerk there handed me the papers that had come without a word. He liked me. I paid my bills in cash and didn’t make any noise or throw my trash into the parking lot. I was his ideal tenant.
Back in my room I took a look at the papers Carter had sent over. The bomb residue had been analyzed; none of it was anything out of the ordinary except a substance that was classified as “unknown.” Part of a chemical structure had been diagrammed next to it. I knew enough chemistry to recognize the difference between hydrogen and oxygen atoms, but that was about it. Nor did the formula the FBI had come up with, full of O’s and H’s with numbers in superscript, mean anything to me. How that would have been used in bomb making was a mystery.
I didn’t know any chemists I could go ask about this. But it occurred to me I did know someone who knew a great deal about bombs. I’d arrested him a long time ago. Maybe it was time I paid him a visit.
Chapter 15
San Diego County had just one state prison within its borders, which sometimes surprised me given the county’s sheer size; it was the second largest in California. As a result, most of the prisoners from the area wound up being shipped to other parts of the state. The one I wanted to see had been up in Pelican Bay for a year or two, but they’d moved him down here closer to his release date.
I drove out to Donovan Correctional Facility early the next morning. The prison was in Otay Mesa, just a few miles from the Mexican border. There were around 3,000 prisoners locked up there, most of them with names nobody would recognize. Although the last I’d known, Robert Kennedy’s assassin, Sirhan Sirhan, was in custody there. Knowing that wasn’t going to get me a spot on Jeopardy!, though.
It wasn’t visiting day, but I pulled strings. My visitor’s badge identified me as an SDPD contractor, which I figured was close enough to the truth that I didn’t mind the lie. Did the SDPD employ contractors? Maybe to fix the plumbing in the men’s room, but I couldn’t imagine for much else. I’d been off the force for long enough I really couldn’t have said for sure.
I sat alone in a small waiting room that looked like a condemned school cafeteria while the guards retrieved the prisoner I’d come to see. As much as I knew I was in no real danger here, leaving my Glock behind at the security desk had nearly given me a panic attack. I felt naked without it. Even sitting here alone, I could almost feel the Laughing Man’s fingers on the back of my neck. Somehow I doubted that feeling was ever really going to go away, even if I managed to put a bullet in his head before he got me first. I’d probably take that fear to the grave.
A security door opened and a prisoner in a red jumpsuit stepped through, followed closely by a guard half his size. The guard was built like a football player, but the guy I’d come to see was practically a giant. He’d have dwarfed Dan Evans if they’d been standing side-by-side. He’d started shaving his head since the last time I’d seen him, and his ebony skin glistened with sweat. It wasn’t hot in here. He’d probably been in the gym, unless he’d taken to oiling his head, which seemed unlikely.
He spotted me immediately, which was easy enough given that there was nobody else in the room. His brow wrinkled in confusion and he looked for a moment like he wanted to turn and leave, but the guard behind him prodded him forward, which looked a little to me like a sheep poking a lion. I motioned to the seat across from me at the circular table I’d been sitting at. After a moment, he crossed the room and sat down.
“Big Leonard,” I said. “It’s been a while.”
Leonard gave me a sullen look. “You know I don’t like to be called that. Every time you were on the stand it was ‘Big Leonard this’ and ‘Big Leonard that.’ Drove me nuts.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said. “It’s just…you’re so…” I looked at him and spread my hands apart like I was measuring his shoulders. “Big.”
He glanced at the two papers I’d placed on the table before he’d gotten here, then back at me. “What do you want, Detective?”
“I’m not a detective anymore,” I said. “This is a private thing.”
“You’re kidding. You went P.I.?”
“No. I’m just…shit, I don’t know. I’m looking at an old case for someone I know. There’s a formula on that paper; it’s something that was used to make a bomb back in the 90’s. Nobody knows what the hell it is.” I pushed the papers toward him.
His eyes flickered toward the papers and I knew he was struggling to keep his curiosity in check. “Why would I help you with a case?”
“Because you don’t hold a grudge that I put you in here?” I sighed. “Don’t tell me you’re holding a grudge, Leonard. It’s beneath you.”
Leonard pursed his lips. “No. I don’t hold a grudge. You were doing your job. I was doing mine. But that doesn’t mean we’re old friends and I’m going to do you a favor out of the kindness of my heart. Are you offering me time off my sentence?”
“Nope,” I said. “I have no legal authority here.”
“Then…what?” He looked at me expectantly.
“I’ll show you my tits.”
He blinked like I’d set off a flash bulb in his face. “What? Really?”
“Of course not,” I said. “These walls must be messing with your head if you thought there was a chance of that happening. What I will do is fill your commissary. You can buy yourself all the smokes you want.”
“They don’t let us smoke in here,” he said.
I shrugged. “Well, that’s probably for the best. I’ve heard it’s bad for you. Also, putting you near an ignition source would have to be the stupidest thing they could do in here.”
Leonard smirked. “You really think I can’t get my hands on an ignition source, Detective? I could blow this place off the map with the shit they keep in the kitchen, if I wanted to. I don’t want to. I have 17 months until I’m up for parole, and then I’m out of here.”
“17 months?” I frowned. “Seems like it should be longer than that.”
“I got a lot of good time.”
I nodded. “You were always polite,” I said. “And I guess in here nobody wants to start anything w
ith you. You look like you could break through the wall like the Kool-Aid Man.”
Leonard rolled his eyes as I waited for him to say something, then gave in. “Oh, yeah,” he said with mock enthusiasm, just as we’d both known I’d hoped he would. People who were willing to do impressions of the Kool-Aid Man for me couldn’t be all bad.
“Anyway, then that’s 17 months I’ll fill your commissary. If you play nice, maybe I’ll even testify for you at your first parole hearing.”
He raised his eyebrows. “That would make a difference,” he said. “Would you really do that?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Would you promise to turn over a new leaf when you get out of here? Get a job, pay your taxes, and, I don’t know, maybe never blow anybody up again?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Then I won’t help you get out. But I’m good for the money. You have my word on that.”
Leonard watched my eyes for a moment, maybe trying to run some kind of psychic lie-detector test on me, then he turned to study the papers in front of him. His brow furrowed as he thought. For two full minutes he didn’t move, and then he chuckled.
“What do you see, Leonard?”
He looked back up at me. “This was in the 90’s?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s why nobody knew what it was. It didn’t exist back then. It doesn’t exist now, at least not in this form.”
“They thought it was hydrogen peroxide for a while.”
“No. That’s just dumb.” He shrugged. “I guess I can’t blame them, but…dumb.” He pointed at the formula. “You see this? I wouldn’t have guessed what it is except for the peroxide bridge, which is…” he stopped and looked at me. “No offense, but maybe you want me to give you the easy version?”
Scars (Nevada James #2) (Nevada James Mysteries) Page 10