by Nancy Skopin
“Yeah, okay, he can stay in my house. But the fact that he’s a hero doesn’t make him a nice guy.”
“Thank you.”
I called J.V. and got his voicemail.
“J.V., it’s Nikki Hunter. My friend has a house here in Redwood City that he isn’t using on the weekends, so you’re welcome to stay there while you’re in town. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
I hung up the phone and wondered if it was too soon to tell Scott his uncle was coming. I didn’t want him to be taken by surprise, but I also didn’t want him to get his hopes up, in case things didn’t work out.
I looked at Buddy. “He has a dog,” I said. At the word dog Buddy’s head came up from the floor, his eyes shining with recognition. “Anyone who loves dogs is okay, right?” He tilted his head to the side. Clearly he agreed with me.
Buddy and I locked up the office and ran through the rain to the parking lot. We drove to the local Radio Shack and I bought a prepaid cell before we went to Burlingame.
We arrived early and sat in the school parking lot waiting for Scott to come out. At 12:28 I popped open my umbrella and got out of the car, standing where he would be able to see me from either door. At 12:31 he came out the side exit and hurried down the steps. Buddy had his head out the car window and he whined softly when he scented Scott. My dog was getting attached to this kid. Hell, I was getting attached to him.
We got into the car and I dug the new prepaid cell phone and charger out of my purse while Scott reached back to pet Buddy and then fastened his seatbelt.
“Here’s your new phone and charger, and this is your new cell phone number.” I handed him a slip of paper on which I’d written the number of the prepaid phone.
He tucked everything into his backpack and handed me my smartphone, then turned in his seat so he could pet Buddy some more on the way to McDonald’s. We ordered two Quarter Pounders with cheese, fries, milkshakes, and an apple pie.
“So how’s the new school?” I asked.
“It’s okay.”
“What about the foster home?”
“Everybody’s nice, but it’s weird. Some of the kids don’t talk. It’s like they’re afraid to say anything. But they have two cats.”
“Cats are good.”
“Yeah.”
“Listen, Scott, I talked to your great uncle today. His name is J.V. Trusty and he lives in Seattle. Do you know where that is?”
“Washington, right?”
“Right. He’s a PI, like me.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. So, I asked him if he’d fly down here to meet you. I hope that’s okay.”
“Why?”
“Because you can’t go back with your aunt and I didn’t think you’d want to stay in a foster home. If you and your uncle like each other maybe you could live with him.”
“In Washington?”
“It’s not that far away. He has a dog. A bull terrier. And he’s a war hero. He was awarded the Medal of Honor.”
“That’s pretty cool.” He’d stopped eating.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I was thinking maybe I could live with you and Buddy.”
He spoke in a whisper, but his words hit me like a fist.
“I think you’re great, Scott. But I’d make a terrible parent. It’s all I can do to take care of myself and Buddy. Besides, I live on a boat. There isn’t a lot of room.”
“I wouldn’t take up much space.”
He looked so forlorn that I almost cried, but I pushed my feelings aside and said, “Your uncle’s flying down from Seattle tomorrow morning. I thought the three of us could take Buddy to the park and get to know each other.”
“Okay.”
“If you give me the phone number of your foster parents, I’ll call them to make sure it’s all right with them.”
He pulled a black nylon wallet out of his pants pocket and took out a slip of paper. He read me the names of his foster parents along with their address and phone number, and I copied everything down.
We both fed Buddy French fries and bites of burger, and when our time was up I drove him back to school. He hugged Buddy and silently climbed out of the car, leaving me with an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach, in spite of the Quarter Pounder.
Chapter 13
On Saturday morning I left Buddy onboard with Bill and drove to the airport. I parked in the arrivals lot and hiked to the United terminal to check the monitors. J.V.’s flight was on schedule, due to arrive at 9:53. It was only 9:10, so I found a gift shop and browsed through the books. I purchased the latest Lois Greiman mystery, found a vacant seat opposite the United counter, and started reading, periodically checking the monitor to make sure the flight was still on time.
At 9:50 I tucked the book in my purse and walked down to baggage claim. I didn’t know if J.V. had checked any luggage, but it had seemed like a convenient place to meet. While I was standing there I remembered I hadn’t told him what I looked like. Then I remembered he was a PI. He’d probably found the newspaper articles with my photo from four months ago, when I’d been charged with murder.
I watched the escalator and recognized J.V. Trusty as soon as he came into view. He was wearing the trench coat I’d seen on his website, without the fedora. His eyes were magnified by a pair of aviator-style glasses, and he was five-seven at the most, with a halo of gray hair. He scanned the area and when his gaze locked onto mine he smiled and his blue eyes lit up.
I stepped forward and offered my hand. His grip was firm, his stare appraising. I liked him instantly.
“You have any luggage?” I asked.
“Just this,” he said, hoisting a carry-on bag.
“Why don’t we get you settled at the house before we go to meet Scott?”
As we walked to the lot where I was parked I asked how his flight had been.
“It was fine,” he said. “I’m not crazy about flying, so I always go first class.”
“Must be nice.”
We stowed J.V.’s bag in the trunk of the 2002 and motored around to the exit, where I paid for my parking.
During the drive to Redwood City, J.V. asked about two of my recent cases. In July I’d almost been killed by a multiple murderer I was trying to track down, and in August I’d taken the life of a serial killer, in self-defense. J.V. wanted details.
I told him abbreviated versions of both stories and when I finished he said, “You ever decide to move up north, give me a call. I could use somebody like you.”
I was flattered, but I didn’t want to work for someone else.
“So, the Medal of Honor,” I said. “Impressive.”
“I don’t like to talk about that time in my life,” he said. “The war really messed me up. When I got home I wasn’t right for a long time.”
I let that sit between us for a few minutes before saying, “So you like dogs?”
J.V. looked at me. “You checked out my website?” I nodded. “Her name is Merla. Two years old. She’s my fourth bull terrier.”
“Scott loves dogs,” I offered. “I spoke with his foster parents last night and they’re expecting us at noon. I thought we could pick up some fast food and go to the park. I’d like to bring my dog Buddy along, if that’s okay with you. He and Scott are crazy about each other.”
“Fine with me,” he said.
We arrived at Bill’s house and I unlocked the door, then handed J.V. the key.
“Aren’t you coming in?” he asked.
“Sure.”
I gave J.V. a tour of the house and escorted him to the back bedroom where he’d be sleeping. I’d changed the sheets the night before, and stocked the fridge with bottled water, eggs, bacon, vegetables, and a couple of organic chicken breast
s.
“I didn’t know what you liked to eat or drink,” I said, opening the refrigerator.
“I’m not picky,” he said.
“I have some restaurant and bar surveys to do tonight,” I went on. “I’d love some company, if you feel like coming along.”
“Sounds good.”
J.V. was watching me as I spoke and I realized that he was doing exactly what I do when I’m analyzing a subject. He was studying me, observing my body language, posture, eye contact, and tone of voice.
“You ever study psychology?” I asked.
“My whole life has been a study of psychology, but no, I never took a class.”
I really liked this guy.
“So, tell me about my nephew’s case,” he said.
I thought for a moment about the confidentiality issue. I didn’t have Scott’s permission to discuss the investigation, but J.V. had a right to know what kind of emotional baggage the kid was carrying.
“I’m pretty sure Gloria, Scott’s mom, was killed by someone targeting child molesters,” I began. “I don’t think Scott was ever molested, but his mom used to spank him a lot and there was a scene at the Mervyn’s store where she was killed, right before it happened. She was in the fitting room with Scott, yelling at him. From what I hear, she was pretty harsh. She went to get him another pair of jeans and never came back. By the time he went looking for her, she was already dead. What connects her death to three other local homicides is the weapon. It was a long narrow knife, coated with garlic. Two of the other victims were registered sex offenders. The third never went to trial, but he was accused and charged.”
“Garlic huh? So the blood can’t clot. That’s an old Sicilian trick. You think this killer overheard Scott’s mom yelling at him and decided to add her to his list?”
“Or her list, yeah.”
“So what are you doing?”
“I spent a couple of hours reading registered sex offender files online. I started with Redwood City because Gloria was killed here and so was the first victim that we know about. There are a hundred and fifteen individuals registered. I narrowed the list by concentrating on those convicted of habitual sexual abuse of children. I have photos and home addresses. I thought I’d stake them out.”
“Because they’re potential targets for the killer,” he said. “How many are there?”
“Five.”
“You’ll need help.”
“Are you volunteering?”
“Maybe.”
J.V. and I drove to the marina and I walked him down to the boat. Buddy was sitting in the pilothouse, having heard my car enter the lot, and he started growling when he saw that I was with a stranger. J.V. slowly held out his right hand, palm down, and Buddy crept forward sniffing the air. He wagged his tail and covered the remaining distance between them, then poked his nose into J.V.’s coat pocket. J.V. laughed and pulled out a small dog biscuit.
We descended the companionway into the galley and I introduced J.V. to Bill. They shook hands, sizing each other up.
I hooked Buddy’s leash to his collar, told Bill I’d be back around 3:30, and kissed him on the cheek.
During the drive to Burlingame Buddy spent a lot of time licking the back of J.V.’s ears. J.V. would occasionally reach back and scratch his neck or rub the top of his head, but he never once complained about all the slobber. I hoped he was as good with kids as he was with dogs.
We arrived at the address Scott had given me and found a two-story white clapboard with a small front yard filled with bicycles. There was a Toyota SUV in the driveway and toys cluttered the front porch.
We left Buddy in the car and approached the house. Before we could knock, Scott threw open the door and looked up at J.V. I watched the two of them checking each other out. It reminded me of the way Scott had stood in my office doorway on Monday, looking me over before saying a word.
“Scott, this is your uncle, J.V. Trusty,” I said.
J.V. reached out to shake hands. “How ya doin’, Scott?”
Scott took his hand, looking very mature for his nine years, and said, “I’m fine, sir.”
I said, “Buddy’s in the car. You wanna pick up some burgers and go to the park?”
Scott looked at me and then turned to the car. It was drizzling, but I’d left the rear vent window open and Buddy was straining to squeeze his head through.
“I need to tell the Brewsters I’m leaving,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
Scott was gone only a moment before a blonde woman in her thirties appeared in the doorway, drying her hands on a dishtowel. “You must be Nikki,” she said. “Scottie’s very fond of you. I’m Ilene Brewster.” She held out a damp hand and I shook it. Gentle grip, slightly calloused palm.
“He’s a great kid,” I said. “This is his Uncle J.V. We’re planning to go to McDonald’s and then spend some time at Bayside Park. We’ll probably be back around three.”
“That’s fine,” she said.
Scott came outside, slipping into a jacket. As he passed Ilene she tousled his hair. She watched us from the doorway as we all piled into the car. Scott climbed in the backseat with Buddy and was smothered with canine kisses as he tried to fasten his seatbelt. As I pulled away from the curb Ilene closed the front door.
“Nice lady,” I said to Scott.
“She’s okay.”
Scott spent the drive to McDonald’s getting reacquainted with Buddy.
We all ordered Quarter Pounders with cheese and I got a large order of fries for everyone to share. J.V. ordered lemonade, I ordered iced tea, and Scott opted for a chocolate shake. I passed the bags over to J.V., and Buddy leaned between the seats trying to get closer to the food.
By the time we arrived at the park it had stopped raining. We found a vacant picnic table and I threw the beach towel I keep in my trunk across the bench seat to soak up the water. We ate in silence while Scott and J.V. eyed each other furtively. Buddy made out like a bandit with bites of burger and fries.
After lunch I handed Scott the leash. “You want to walk Buddy around?”
“Sure,” he said, beaming as he slipped his small hand through the loop.
I followed a short distance behind Scott, J.V., and Buddy, hoping to give them the illusion of privacy. But I stayed close enough to catch most of their conversation.
J.V. said, “I was sorry to hear about your mom,” followed by, “I lost my mamma when I was nine and a half. They let me in to see her at the hospital the night she passed. I guess they knew she was going soon, because kids weren’t allowed to visit patients in the hospital back then.”
“That’s too bad,” Scott commented. “Nikki says you’re a PI.”
J.V. nodded. “Yep.”
“You like it?”
“I do. You get to poke around in other people’s business and you get to help people. I like helping people.”
“You have a dog?”
“I have a bull terrier named Merla. She’s two.”
“What’s a bull terrier look like?”
“Well, she’s white with black spots and a long pointy nose, and her head’s as hard as a bowling ball.”
He pulled a photo out of his wallet and showed it to Scott, who smiled appreciatively before handing it back.
“You play any musical instruments?” J.V. asked.
“I wanted to learn the guitar, but my mom said it was too expensive. Do you?”
“Before I became a PI I used to be in a band. I play stand-up bass, trombone, and drums. Me and a couple friends get together and jam once in a while.”
After a few minutes of this kind of back and forth Buddy stopped to lift his leg on a shrub and Scott looked up at J.V. “What’s Seattle like?”
I felt my gut clench. I knew w
hat was coming.
“It’s nice. It rains a lot, but the air is fresh and everything is green. Good people.”
“You think I’d like it there?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Are you going to adopt me?”
There it was. No beating around the bush with this kid. His heart had to be pounding as he waited for his uncle to respond.
“I’ll tell you something, Scott. I’ve learned over the years that other people are the most important thing in my life. So if you think you could stand to live with an old geezer like me, then I think we should give it a try.”
Scott looked into J.V.’s face for a long moment, then nodded once and said, “Okay,” and we started walking again.
I felt the tension in my solar plexus move up into my heart and clog my throat.
After we’d dropped Scott off at the Brewster’s and were on our way back to Redwood City J.V. said, “I guess I’ll extend my stay another day. Get the paperwork started. You know anything about this kind of adoption?”
“Not a clue, but I’m sure social services will be happy to walk you through the process. You’re a good man, J.V.”
He nodded, looking uncomfortable, and said, “I’m just doing what anyone would do under the circumstances.”
I wasn’t so sure about that, but I kept my opinion to myself.
Chapter 14
Joshua Crafford finished his last set of bench presses and toweled the sweat from his face as he walked to the locker room. Working out always made him horny. He was planning a trip to the zoo that afternoon, hoping to find an unguarded boy to play with. He fantasized about it as he lathered his genitals in the shower. He was slowly stroking his soapy cock when the shower curtain was pulled aside.