“Nothing is more important than this,” she said. I heard her take a deep breath. “Tell me.”
Traffic was light heading back into San Diego, but I put her on speaker so I could keep my hands on the wheel. “His name is Conrad Meyers. He was getting his Ph.D. when he became aware of your husband’s work.”
“I’ve heard the name. As I remember…he was the one my donor brought to me. He developed that treatment for malaria everyone was raving about.”
“Yeah.”
She snorted. “Was that supposed to be some kind of joke? Coming to me like that after he’d killed my family?”
“No,” I said. “It was supposed to be penance.”
“I see. Penance.” She was silent again. I waited. I didn’t imagine this was easy to hear. “Explain it to me.”
“Your husband worked in artificial intelligence. Meyers was an anti-technology…I guess zealot is the word I’m looking for, but that hardly jibes with the guy I just met. Anyway, he believed, or at least he believed at the time, that computers were going to lead to the breakdown of human society. It was the beginning of the Internet age. The world was changing. He thought computers doing our thinking for us was going to be the beginning of the end.”
Anita snorted. “Was he twelve years old? What kind of stupid…” She stopped for a moment. “And he thought my husband deserved to die for this?”
“No. The bomb…it wasn’t supposed to do what it did. He’d been working with, and forgive me if I don’t get all of this right, oxide chains, or something about oxide chains and peroxide bonds…I probably should have written this down. Anyway, he thought the bomb was going to make a big bang and smoke like crazy. After the note he left, he thought that would be frightening enough to make your husband give up his work. Meyers said he had no idea the explosion would be as powerful as it was. Nobody was supposed to get hurt.”
“And yet my husband and child are dead, and I look like...” She stopped. “All that for nothing.”
I opened my mouth but realized I was about to defend Meyers, which wasn’t what I meant to do at all. Maybe all the crying had gotten to me. Sitting in his living room while he cried on his couch, and then his wife cried, and when they called their son at his college to tell him what was happening…it had been a long, unpleasant morning. I didn’t care to repeat the experience anytime soon. The next time someone asked me to look at a cold case, I was going to tell them to get stuffed.
“What happens now?” Anita asked. “Where is he?”
“I gave him a day to put his house in order,” I said. “He’s turning himself in tomorrow. They’ll charge him with whatever they decide is appropriate.”
“You let him go?”
“He’s not going to run. In his mind he’s been running for twenty years. I think part of him was relieved to finally be caught.”
“How nice for him.”
“Anyway, that’s where we stand. I figured you’d want to know. I’m done with this now.”
Now I was fairly certain I could hear a string quartet playing somewhere near Anita. It sounded like I was missing quite a party. Well, it probably wasn’t the kind of party I’d be interested in, except for the free food. Although I wasn’t hungry. I doubted I would be again for a while. The whole experience with Meyers had left me feeling nauseous.
“I’m sorry,” Anita said. “I should sound grateful, and I am. It’s just…”
“I wasn’t offended. I’m not going to say I know what you’re going through, but I’m sure it’s not easy.”
“It’s not,” she said. “But after all this time, I’m grateful it’s almost over. The truth is I didn’t expect you to be successful. Come by the house later and we’ll talk about your compensation.”
“Nah,” I said. “I don’t really care. All things considered it wasn’t much work, and I still have Alan Davies’s money burning a hole in my pocket.”
“I have to give you something.”
“I’ll call you in a few days,” I said. “Right now I think I need a vacation.”
Chapter 23
I didn’t take a vacation. I probably should have, but sitting on a beach by myself didn’t sound all that appealing. Besides, if I wanted to sit on the beach, it was only a ten minute drive away from anywhere in the city. San Diego was good that way.
A week passed with no sign of Brad Ellis. I doubted he was still in California. Mexico seemed more and more likely. These days it was harder and harder to get around in the U.S. without a camera getting a shot of your face. If facial recognition didn’t get him, someone would notice him sooner or later. He’d been the biggest story on the nightly news since the night he’d revealed himself. There had even been national coverage. I doubted he’d have wanted to stick around.
The second biggest story in San Diego had been Conrad Meyers, who had been true to his word and walked into SDPD headquarters with his wife and his lawyer the day after I’d visited him. There was a great deal of talk about the Unabomber and how the crimes had been similar, some even speculating that Meyers had hoped the other man’s modus operandi had been close enough that his attack would be confused for the Unabomber’s work. They were right about that. Meyers had told me so himself. He had been a copycat, after all.
I called Harold Lanford’s house a few hours after Meyers turned himself in. Julia answered the phone. “It’s Nevada James here,” I said. “Is Detective Lanford up?”
Julia sniffed. “Detective James,” she said. From her voice I could tell she’d been crying. “Howard…Detective Lanford…” She didn’t need to finish the sentence. My heart sank.
“Damn it,” I said. “I’m too late.”
Julia started crying again. I was starting to get sick of people crying every time I opened my mouth. “I’m sorry,” I said.
“No,” she said. “It meant a lot to him that you came to talk to him. He said it made him feel useful again.”
“That’s nice to hear. He helped me a lot. I wish I could have told him.”
One more thing I’d get to regret for the rest of my life. At least this one wasn’t technically my fault.
Over the course of the week I spent a few afternoons working out in Molly Malone’s dojo, moved back into my old motel in Mission Valley, and made an effort to be somewhat social. Dan Evans came out and took another statement from me. I met Sarah Winters for coffee. She looked like shit, but she’d survive. Sarah was an almost stupidly nice person and I still thought she ought to reconsider her life choices and become a kindergarten teacher. She could be a warrior when she needed to be, though. After what had happened with Ellis, she was going to be a lot harder to fool in the future.
Part of me wondered if that was a good or a bad thing. She’d never really get over what had happened. Nobody ever did. There was something about me that had liked her continual optimism. Or was it innocence? Maybe. And maybe I’d just been underestimating her again.
I spent an hour one afternoon looking at what was quickly becoming my new house in Ocean Beach. It was coming along well. I’d probably be able to move in by the end of the month. I was looking forward to having my own place again. Nearly everything I owned was in storage, including my motorcycle. It wasn’t like I owned a huge number of things, but it would be nice to see the things I did have once in a while.
Once I was back in my old motel I thought about buying another bottle of vodka to keep nearby in case I needed to hold it, but ultimately decided against it. I wasn’t sure I needed it anymore. That might change, but for the time being I seemed to be all right without it. Progress, I guess. I even went to an A.A. meeting and told everyone about it. Half of them looked at me like I was crazy. The other half understood. A.A. was always like that.
Anita Collins did a half-hour interview on one of the morning news shows. They went to her house to film her in the room with the paintings of her family. She was in her kindly grandmother mode, smiling fondly as she recalled her husband and son. “It’s been a long wait, but justice wil
l finally be served,” she said. My name wasn’t mentioned. That was by design. As far as anyone in the media knew, I had nothing to do with any of this. The last thing I needed was a gaggle of reporters outside my motel door.
I went down to the pier at Ocean Beach one afternoon and bought a box of lobster tacos and fries. I gave about half of the fries to a group of excited seagulls while I watched the waves roll in. Later I wondered if it was okay for seagulls to eat fries. Probably. Unless seagulls were susceptible to heart disease. Then it wouldn’t be so great.
The next day I was watching The Price is Right in my motel when the news broke in. Conrad Meyers was being arraigned and was going to be making a statement to the media on the courthouse steps. I’d been told a deal was in the works; he was going to plead down to two counts of manslaughter. He was still probably going to spend the rest of his life in prison, unless he got a heck of a lot of time off for good behavior. He didn’t seem like the type who was going to be starting shit with the guards or joining a gang in prison, so that seemed like a possibility.
I went outside to get some fresh ice and two cans of Diet Coke from the motel’s vending machine. When I got back Conrad’s lawyer was speaking. I turned the volume down. I didn’t need to listen to it. Conrad stood next to the lawyer, eyes on the ground, nodding now and again. He looked a great deal weaker than when I’d seen him last. That wasn’t a surprise. I didn’t feel good about sending him to prison, but like Dan had said, it wasn’t me sending him, anyway. Two people were dead, whether he’d meant to kill them or not. There had to be an accounting for that. What it wound up being wasn’t for me to say.
After a moment Conrad’s lawyer turned to him and nodded. Conrad stepped forward and looked out at the assembled media. I didn’t need the volume to understand what he was saying. The apology he was giving was written all over his face.
There was a sudden commotion and the camera turned away from Meyers as if someone had bumped into the cameraman. When it found Meyers again Anita Collins was with him. She’d worn a black suit that looked like it belonged at a funeral. Where had she come from? Had she been asked to make a statement? If that was the case, it wouldn’t be at this press conference. Unless she was going to announce she was forgiving him, but I’d have bet good money that wasn’t going to happen.
Anita put one hand on Meyers’s chest and said something to him. She had a gentle smile on her face. Maybe she was going to forgive him, after all. Then her other hand went into her purse. I saw it emerge with the knife at the same time Meyers did, just before she drove it into his chest. Meyers staggered and the camera moved; people were panicking now, trying to get away. When it came back to the podium Anita had removed the knife and was driving it into Meyers again. She got a third stab in before a police officer managed to grab her around the waist and pull her away.
The camera lingered on Meyers’s body for a moment before the feed cut out and then switched back to the studio, where the two anchors looked like they had no idea what to do. One of them was moving his mouth but I’d never turned the volume up so I couldn’t tell what he was saying. It didn’t matter much. Meyers had taken three good hits in the chest, from what I’d seen. If he was still alive at all, he wouldn’t be for long.
I was an idiot. Anita had told me it was almost over. She’d told the press that justice would be served. I’d thought she was talking about the trial that was coming. She hadn’t been. She’d never planned for there to be a trial. If I’d listened to her back when I’d been at her house I might have realized the truth. This was always going to end in blood.
Chapter 24
I drove out to Playa del Mar a week later. I could have gone earlier, but I’d put it off until I thought I’d be able to do this and stay reasonably calm.
The security guard out front was the same guy I’d talked to before. He didn’t greet me when I stopped. He nodded once, then opened the gate without a word. He looked like someone had shot his dog.
Two minutes passed from when I rang the bell to when Anita opened her front door. She wore sweat pants and an old t-shirt that left the scars on her left arm fully exposed. My eyes lingered on them a second longer than they should have. I wondered what they felt like.
Anita shrugged. “Come in.” She didn’t bother with any of her grandma routine today. That was just as well. I’d have been tempted to shoot her if she pulled that shit with me.
I stepped inside and she shut the door. “I was surprised they didn’t keep you locked up,” I said.
Anita tugged on the right leg of her sweat pants and showed me the ankle monitor she was wearing. “I’m not exactly a flight risk. Even this seemed excessive, if you ask me.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you want tea? Coffee?”
“No,” I said. “I want to punch you in your fucking face.”
She nodded. “You can if you want. I don’t really care. Let’s go sit.”
Anita led me into the room full of paintings where we’d met before. It looked the same as it had last time, except she’d lit more than a dozen candles around the room. Classical music was playing from a speaker in the corner. I was fairly certain it was Vivaldi. “Is this Four Seasons?”
“Yes,” she said. “Adam liked it.” She nodded at a couch. “Sit, Nevada. We may as well get this over with.”
I sat on one of her blue couches and she sat down across from me. A half full glass of white wine sat on the table between us. She picked it up and took a sip, closing her eyes as she savored the taste. “This is a Stonestreet chardonnay,” she said. “It’s wonderful. I hope you don’t think me rude that I don’t offer you a glass. I heard you’ve got nearly four months of sobriety now.” She peered at me. “Or have you relapsed? If that’s the case…” she held up the glass.
“No,” I said. “I haven’t relapsed.”
“Congratulations, then.”
“I didn’t come here for congratulations.”
“No,” she said. “You came here to be angry with me. Fine. Be angry. I honestly don’t care, Nevada.”
Part of me wanted to grab her and shake her. “You lied to me.”
She shrugged. “I told you what you needed to hear. You were going on about the system, and if I’d told you what I was planning you would have walked out the door.” She looked at me with eyes of steel. “I was always going to kill him, Nevada. It’s all I’ve wanted for twenty years.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to her that was going to get through. “Do you think this is what your family would have wanted?”
“I don’t know.” She looked over at a portrait of her husband. “Adam was a gentle man. He would have said violence was never the answer. But he also didn’t know he and his son would die because some deluded hippie was afraid computers would take over the world.” She shrugged. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. It was what I wanted.” The corner of her mouth turned upward into a crooked smile. “I think you probably don’t want to hear a thank you, but I’ll say it anyway. Thank you, Nevada. I truly didn’t think you’d be able to find him for me. You were my last hope. And you came through.” She raised her glass in a toast. “Cheers.”
“He wasn’t…” I started. “He wasn’t a bad man. He did something stupid and it had tragic consequences, but it wasn’t an act of evil.”
“It’s strange to hear you defend him,” Anita said. “But here’s the simple truth, Nevada.” She leaned forward and looked into my eyes. “I don’t care.”
I’d never been a wine drinker but a glass of something strong didn’t sound half bad right now. “You’re going to go to prison.”
“I doubt it,” she said. “Maybe. But I also have trouble believing a jury is going to put this,” she scrunched up her face and became the kindly grandmother, “nice old lady in jail.” She relaxed and grandma was gone. “Maybe they will. But I don’t care. My life ended twenty years ago. If I spend a few years in a cell…” she looked around. “This will still be here when I get back. And if I never come back…if
I die behind bars, I’ll still have killed the man who murdered my family. I win.”
I sat on the couch, trying to think of something clever to say. The truth was I’d been outplayed. I’d seen through her old lady act, so she showed me her real face. Apparently I’d been so impressed it had made me unable to see what was really going on.
“Anyway,” she said. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit hypocritical?”
“How?”
“You’re trying to tell me I did the wrong thing, but the truth is you’re going to do exactly what I did when you catch up with the Laughing Man.” I tensed up, ready to say something nasty, but the words failed me. “You’re not going to trust your precious system to deal with him, Nevada. You told me yourself you’re going to kill him. As slowly as you can. That’s what you said. You need for it to hurt. Tell me I’m wrong, Nevada. Have you reconsidered all of that since the last time you sat in this room?”
I supposed we were past the point of lies. “No,” I said. “I haven’t.”
“Then you’ll have to forgive me for thinking I’m entitled to the same justice you are.” She smiled. “Now, if you’re not going to have a drink, I think you should leave. This conversation is getting tedious.”
I stood up and headed for the door. Just before leaving the room I turned. “Let me ask you something?”
She nodded. “You may.”
It was an awful thing to ask, but there were only so many people I could put this question to. “What did it feel like? When you killed him? After all that time?”
Anita gave me an appraising look and sipped her wine. “Because it’s you, I’ll answer that.” She looked me in the eyes. “It felt wonderful, Nevada. It felt…” she sighed. “It felt so good. The release of all that pain… It may have been the best thing I’ve ever done.”
I considered that. “Yeah,” I said. “That’s about what I thought.” Then I turned and left. I didn’t look back.
Scars (Nevada James #2) (Nevada James Mysteries) Page 15