19 Souls

by J. D. Allen

  “There is a good chance this isn’t related.” Miller said the words, but Jim knew better.

  “Sophie knows we’re getting closer. We visited her mother in Texas. Maybe her mother contacted her afterward.” Maybe she was just a sadistic bitch and wanted to hurt Jim for not following her instructions and making her job harder. Maybe she wanted to use Sandy to keep him quiet about the rape or off her tail. He clenched his fists. Who knew with her?

  “How much time did you spend with Evers?”

  Jim didn’t want to say exactly. “Just a couple client meetings, phone conversations.”

  They spun to a stop in front of the diner. Jim only took a momentary glance toward his place in the townhouse community across the way. Two uniforms were at the front of the diner and pointed them around. The back parking area was cordoned off with crime scene tape. Another uniform there. Miller logged them onto the crime scene. Two techs in white lab suits were dusting Sandy’s car.

  “You have anything?” Miller asked the tech who stood. He motioned them back a few steps.

  “Several prints, no sign of forced entry. There’s some disturbance in the gravel that appears to be a rushed departure. But gravel won’t give us tread imprints. Her keys were on the far side of the car.” He nodded in the direction as his hands were full of the powder and the brush. “And one small dog poo that looks fresh.”

  Jim carefully made his way over to the tire impressions. “You guys already shoot these?”

  “Yep. Measured and photographed.”

  “Bigger than a minivan, wider. More like a panel van or a delivery truck.”

  The tech came and glanced over Jim’s shoulder. He was a tall dude. “I thought the same thing. I’ll be able to narrow it some, so maybe the manager can point it out from some pictures. Get us a little closer.”

  “Good.”

  The dog shit was marked with a plastic yellow evidence tent. Number 7. Poo number seven. “Is the shit part of the equation or just in the scene?”

  Miller leaned in over it. “Hard to say. No sign of a dog at the last scene. I’ll have someone reread the canvass statements. You never know.”

  “Can’t imagine Sophie is the dog type.”

  “What the fuck type is she?”

  Jim said the only thing that came to mind. “Snakes?”

  Miller headed inside. Jim followed. They’d closed for the moment. The owner, Todd Haig, stood at the far end of the room, looking at his phone display. When he saw Jim, Todd brushed by Miller and grabbed Jim in a bear hug, the force almost taking them both back into the bar.

  “I saw that van and didn’t think anything of it. She’s been coming in early last couple of weeks while Bobby’s out with a bad back. Helping me get the prep work done.” He let Jim go. “What do I do?”

  “Do?” Jim ushered the tree-hugging vegan onto one of the counter stools. “You’re going to relax. Take a deep breath.” Jim went behind the counter and poured the man a glass of water.

  Miller sat beside Todd. “What was the first thing you saw when you pulled in?”

  “Her car. The van was pulling out before I got in the lot. I didn’t have to wait for it to leave the driveway, but it was close. The burger joint around the corner gets deliveries back there all the time. I saw there was no logo on the van or anything but figured it was one of their vendors. Then I saw Sandy’s car and I didn’t think any more about it.” He scratched his ear, then started thumping the inside of his palm. A tiny punishment. “The first sign anything was wrong was when I realized the kitchen door was still locked. She usually leaves it unlocked when she gets here. So I had to dig out a key. I looked back at her car. But it all seemed okay.”

  He stood and paced to the front door. “But it wasn’t okay cuz she wasn’t in here. I went back out and saw her keys out there. I knew. Called you guys.” He looked at Miller.

  Nothing really helpful. “You did everything right, Todd. Can you remember anything else about the van? Was it a man driving?”

  “I think. Maybe. You think it was those human traffickers, Jim?”

  “Doubtful, but anything’s possible. The van, was it more like a delivery truck than a minivan?”

  “Yes.” He wagged a finger. “A good-sized one cuz it took up almost the whole driveway. Or the way she was driving made it seem that way.”

  He’d said she. Not he. But Jim wouldn’t push it right this second, given he’d just answered that question. Give it time for the memory to start putting things together. He was calming a bit.

  Miller had his pad out. “And you didn’t see a plate?”

  Todd shook his head. “I was coming in, he was going out.”

  Now he again. That was no help.

  Miller handed Todd a card. “Call us if you think of anything. We’ll have your business back to you in a little while.”

  It occurred to Jim that if Sophie had snatched Sandy from the lot without leaving a body to be found, that was a good thing. It gave them some time. But the bitch had some kind of nasty agenda. Whatever it was, Jim had no intention of letting her play it out.

  44

  Jim walked home from the diner after the last of the crime scene people had left. He was exhausted. A couple hours’ restless sleep on the flight was all he’d had in two days. The heat and humidity of Texas had drained all his energy.

  If Sophie took Sandy, the possibility of an imminent attack on Dan was high. And it was clearly a message to Jim. No other reason for Sophie to target a twenty-something waitress who had nothing to do with Dan or the case. Sophie had seen him and Sandy interact at the Coffee Girl the day of the initial case meeting.

  No question about it. Miller could investigate however the book told him to; Jim only had one suspect. He fumbled in his bag for the key fob to his apartment door. The beep sounded as he deactivated the automatic door lock, but he heard no latch click open. Jim edged closer and noted the door was slightly ajar.

  He pushed it open, using just his fingertips while he protected himself behind the wall, out of the line of fire. Nothing seemed out of order from that angle. He stuck his head in.

  Annie rushed out. The little black ball of fur wound between his legs. Her attention nearly tripped him as he stepped inside. Ely had dropped off the cat. Jesus. Glad that was nothing, he went in without further concern. He glanced on the office desk. There was a note from Ely.

  Thought you might like some company. Be back over as soon

  as I track down anything related to the mother’s name.

  Take a nap.

  ~Ely

  There was nothing he could do to find Sophie without Ely’s information. Maybe he should search himself? His legal databases paled to what Ely managed to find in most cases.

  He sat in the recliner. Without invitation, Annie hopped up on his lap. His girl wanted some loving.

  He leaned back, slouching in the deep chair so she could stretch out on his chest. Her purring and soft fur lulled him. The familiar leather seat, cool.

  Jim woke to searing pain in his chest. He leapt to his feet and took a defensive stance, ready to swing or kick. The house was silent. He’d dozed off rubbing Annie.

  He found two small punctures where she’d dug in her back nails as she’d jumped off. His phone was on the counter. From the angle of the sun casting weak shadows through closed blinds he guessed late evening. He needed a shower.

  He checked for messages. None. Not from Miller or Ely. Jim made his way back to the office instead. He needed to get a pad of paper out and think through this situation. Write out what he knew. There was something lingering that he hadn’t put in the right place. Something that would make Sophie’s latest move make some sense.

  Turned out there was not. There was no rhyme or reason to a psychopath like Sophie Evers.

  He slid into the worn office chair and found his reading glasses under a pile of
unfiled paperwork. He did need some help around the place. O had been on him about expanding, hiring some people, making his jack-leg operation into something respectable.

  Sometimes he wanted that, other times he was happy being able to take on the cases he wanted and walk away from the ones that seemed like too much trouble or not enough money. He’d missed the mark on this one, hadn’t he?

  His phone rang. Unknown number.

  “Jim Bean.”

  “PI Jim Bean?”

  “Yes.”

  There was a nervous pause. “This is Max.”

  Interesting. “Hello, Max. What can I do for you?”

  “I was thinking. You know, about what she’s been up to.”

  “Yes.” Jim waited, but Max didn’t say anything. He needed prompting. “About the night she attacked you?”

  “Yes and no.” A light cough. Clearing of the throat, a classic sign of trying to summon courage. Saw it in kids all the time. Jim bet the man was looking at his feet too. Maybe he’d had a drink or two before dialing the number. Maybe dialed and not connected more than once. This should be good.

  “I wasn’t exactly truthful with you and Agent Webb.”

  “No?”

  “Not sure it’s relevant but, I umm … I had … spent time with Elizabeth prior to that night.” He waited for Jim to say something.

  Jim decided to withhold comment, hoping for more information. This time it came without the prompting.

  “We had seen each other several times over several months, I reckon. The thing is, I had broken it off three days before. You see, my wife found out. She gave me an ultimatum. You know, her way or the highway kind of thing. She was right, you know. It was wrong. Well, Elizabeth took it bad.”

  “So the harassment accusation against you at work … ”

  “Revenge for me dumping her.” He paused again. “I think the … attack was to prove a point. One of the last things I remember was her saying that I shouldn’t have ignored her. I shouldn’t have treated her just like the rest.”

  Still didn’t explain why she’d done the same to Jim, but it explained why she would give up her steady job and safe home. She got mad and snapped and made a mess in her own bed. But it left Jim no closer to figuring out where she was now or what her immediate plans were.

  “Anything else?”

  “It’s all still really fuzzy. More now than then. But I remember something weird.”

  Weirder than getting raped? Jim didn’t say it aloud.

  “She said I was just practice anyway. For real life.”

  “Real life?”

  “Yeah. It didn’t make a lick of sense then, not sure it does now.”

  “Everything adds together to make a puzzle complete, Max. Let me ask you this. She ever talk about a favorite vacation spot, or someplace she wanted to retire?”

  “Not that I can think of. It wasn’t a talking, sharing kind of relationship.”

  A real personal relationship was probably way far outside of Sophie’s skill set. “You think she was practicing while having sex with you?”

  “She was real awkward at it at first. Kind of mechanical. Not to brag or anything, but she’d gotten much better. She’d learned to relax, explore some as we went.”

  “Thanks for the call, Max.”

  “Yeah.”

  That did help make sense of things. She left Texas because she’d fucked up with Max. She had to start all over. Create another life somewhere else. She was practicing on how to be a girlfriend or a wife, planning to build a life for her and Dan all this time. Too bad he wasn’t in on her delusion.

  Jim was sure Dan would decline that particular invitation. And surely Sophie knew that too. Maybe she’d been practicing with the drugs as well. How to kill versus how much to keep a man just messed up enough so he was willing and happy. Great way to build a relationship.

  He pulled out his laptop. There had to be at least one more alias she was using. Jim had to find it. He logged into his database.

  Mary Callas. Texas

  Two came up. One, the mother. The other too old and in jail.

  He tried a national search. Thirteen.

  He searched through those not in Texas. No one close enough to Sophie’s age or ethnicity.

  Callas Mary, backwards as Jelissa suggested. None. He searched nationally. Zero.

  He grabbed his phone. Had a hunch. It was a long shot, and she was probably still mad.

  “Special Agent Webb.”

  “Agent Webb. Heard you were looking for me.”

  “Hold on.” Her muffled voice came through the speaker like she was finishing another conversation. Maybe she hadn’t headed this way. Sounded like she was in an office.

  “Mr. Bean. You left town without so much as a goodbye. And after I bought you dinner.”

  “One that gave me food poisoning.”

  “You didn’t take one bite.”

  “I needed a night in my own bed.”

  “Uh huh.”

  No more excuses. “I have a lead. I talked to an old pro out there in Dallas. Evidently our Sophie was quite the philanthropist to the streetwalkers. Taught them how she moved up in the world. How to make their lives better.”

  He heard her let out a long breath. “So there’s more than one pimp killer?”

  “Can’t say for sure. By the way, I hope the very nice woman I met while in Texas continues to live a happy, federal agent–free life.”

  “I didn’t send in the dogs, Bean. How does this help us?”

  “Miss Jelissa also said Sophie gave her advice on how to hide her money in the bank. She told her to use her mother’s name. I’ve searched but don’t see anyone using an alias that fits our profile.”

  “Callas. Callas. Mom was Mary Callas, right? Damn. Elizabeth Stanton was a famous activist.”

  Jim leaned back, hoping the wheels in her pretty little brain were churning. He wished he could see her face. “Yeah.”

  “You have your computer in front of you?”

  “I do.”

  “Look up Maria Callas instead of Mary. I can’t remember, but that seems familiar. I bet it’s someone famous too.”

  “You’re really on it when it comes to women’s history.” Jim typed in the name.

  “Yeah. Just don’t ask me for anything about European history. Took the women’s study class to get out of that.”

  Jim scanned the screen quickly. “Maria Callas was a famous opera singer. Looks like this chick had a rough time of growing up. Managed to come out a star on the other side.” He typed in the name in his database. Twenty-two. Skimmed the basic info on the list. “Two of these have no previous address or known associates.”

  “Where are they?”

  “One is in Washington, D.C. The other is California.” He hit the expand search key on that entry. “Not much on this one. Address is a PO box in Bakersfield.”

  “I used to go skiing not far from Bakersfield with my grandfather. It’s pretty secluded, not far out of town. Not surprised to see the PO box. If she’s set up with an address, it might be more than a disposable identity.”

  “Great skiing.” Jim had no clue about skiing or the area, but said it anyway.

  “Oh, you’ve been?”

  “I have not.”

  He enjoyed the silence created as she decided how to interpret the obscure statement. “Okay.”

  “I bet all those secluded cabins make it a great place to play a creepy game of house.”

  “Hang on. I’ll be there in two minutes, we’ll finish this in person.”

  Jim stood. Glanced around his house. He hadn’t been there in days and the mess reflected that. He was still covered in the filth of Texas and traveling. “Where are you?” Why did he care?

  “At the diner. I had my guys go back through the crime scene,
just in case.”

  “You’re checking up on Miller’s investigation?”

  He could tell she was moving around.

  “Most locals like having Federal resources these days, Bean. It’s no longer the Wild West out here. Any turf wars we get are due to ego, not politics. We have big labs and big budgets.”

  “I guess.” He didn’t care one way or another if it helped find Sandy. “That girl is my first priority now, Agent Webb.” Dan was protected—two officers and Stephen were with him. “Sandy is out there. Alone with a lunatic.”

  “Understood. But let’s do this within the boundaries of the law, Bean, so when we get Evers, we’ve got her.”

  Jim didn’t immediately answer. Maybe that’s why he never moved his business into the next level. The bigger the organization, the harder it was to play by his own rules. He liked his rules.

  “I’m leaving the diner.”

  “Give me ten minutes.” He wanted to clean up.

  “Be there in five.”

  45

  An hour past sunset and it was still hotter than snot, but at least there was a decent little breeze. Perfect for her intentions this evening.

  Sophie pulled the pack of matches from her homemade attack suit. It looked like a SWAT team Halloween costume with its black cargo pants and a long-sleeved black shirt with vented underarms to keep her cool. Or at least as cool as one could be in Nevada in August.

  She’d bought a tactical vest on eBay and altered it so it fit like a second skin. The pockets and straps held all the tools she would need for this mission. As if there would be another one like this. This was the night.

  Butterflies danced in her stomach as she struck a match. The thing cost her less than a penny and it would kick off the rest of her life. She fanned the little flames of her diversion, a paper grocery bag packed with dried twigs, leaves, and some thicker sticks she’d brought from the mountains. In seconds she had a nice little flame burning under a propane tank. These silly people had left that tank a little too close to the house. Accidents happen.