Scars (Nevada James #2) (Nevada James Mysteries) (10 page)

“The
bomb? Because of the hydrogen peroxide that turned up in the analysis?”

“No,
that was a lab mistake. There was never any hydrogen peroxide. The weird thing
was that the bomb should never have been able to do as much damage as it did.”

“I don’t
know a lot about pipe bombs, but it was hard for me to imagine one taking out a
car.”

“Oh,
they can. Pipe bombs are what terrorists use to blow up convoys in Iraq. But
those are big ones filled with shit you make in a lab. This one was small, and
it was maybe half full of gunpowder. It was going to go
bang
, of course.
But take out a car and burn that way? That hot? No. That never sat right with
me. There were times I thought that thing was never supposed to explode the way
it did.”

“Who
sets a bomb and
doesn’t
want to blow something up?” I asked.

“I never
figured it out,” Lanford said. “You like riddles, Detective?”

“No.”

“Well,
here’s one anyway. When is a bomb not a bomb?”

I
thought it over. If it wasn’t supposed to blow up, what else was a bomb good
for? “When it’s a message?”

“Good,”
Lanford nodded. “Or when it’s a warning, I would think.”

“And
what’s the message?”

He
shrugged weakly. “I have a bomb?”

Or maybe
the message had been about the smart computers the note Anita had found warned
of. The note the bomber had left obviously hadn’t stopped Collins from
continuing his work, so maybe the bomb had been meant as a second, more serious
warning. My mind wandered back to the Unabomber case. Kaczynski had railed
against what he called the “industrial-technological” system when he wrote his
manifesto. If I remembered correctly, he’d called for a revolution against
technology. The Collins bombing fit that profile almost perfectly. But the FBI
had ruled Kaczynski out as a suspect. They wouldn’t be wrong about that.

“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, Llewellyn?” 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 with 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?”

“I think
that would be best, Leonard.”

“Okay.”
He thought about it for a minute. “You know oxygen bonds are highly unstable
when they’re chained together, right?”

“No.”

“Well,
they are. They’re almost…I’ll put it like this. You ever heard of high-test
peroxide?”

“It’s
possible I’m going to need the
really
easy version of this, Leonard,” I
said.

He
sighed. “Okay. High-test peroxide used to be used as rocket fuel, but basically
it’s just concentrated hydrogen peroxide. Most people wouldn’t get near the
stuff. You could try to synthesize some in any modern lab, but you so much as
look at it wrong and it’s going to blow you away.”

I
nodded. “I get it. So someone got their hands on rocket fuel and used it to
make a bomb.”

Leonard
looked at me like I’d suggested unicorns had been behind the bombing. “No. Of
course not. I was just using the example so you’d understand that oxygen bonds
are unstable. This isn’t high-test peroxide, but it’s
a
peroxide.”

“I don’t
mean to be rude here,” I said, “but I think I’d also like the
short
version of this story.”

Leonard
crossed his arms in front of him and smirked at me. “Fine. You want to know
what this is, Detective?” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “It’s malaria
medicine.”

I
crossed my arms to mimic him and smirked back. “I can also have them
take
away
your commissary, Leonard.”

“I’m
serious.”

“Explain
it to me like I’m an idiot, then, because I clearly am.”

“Artemisinin
is a drug. It’s used as a treatment for malaria.” He tapped the paper. “This is
a variant form of it. I might not have recognized it, but the peroxide bridge
gives it away. That’s where this oxygen bond,” he pointed and then frowned at
me, “forget it. I can tell by its structure. If it’s not unique, it’s damn
close. I’d bet you anything whoever came up with this was working with
artemisinin in a lab. They were probably trying to come up with a new delivery
system. How that would have worked I don’t know. That part’s beyond my
expertise.”

“Artemisinin.
So…it’s medicine that makes people explode. I guess that would take care of the
malaria part of the problem.” I glared at him. “This is some Bugs Bunny shit,
Leonard.”

“Well,
it’s not exactly artemisinin, anyway, but even the real stuff I wouldn’t light
on fire if I had it in its pure form. But nobody takes it in its pure form.
Once it’s in a larger molecule with water or whatever they use, it’s more
stable. So you can put it in a syringe or a pill. The real stuff actually comes
from a plant they found in China a while back. You ever seen a plant explode?”

I
thought about it. “No.”

“Same
thing. But you refine and refine and refine, you might come up with something
you weren’t expecting. Whoever made this probably wasn’t looking to make a
bomb. They just noticed they had something that went bang if you hit it right.
But if you made a mistake with your formula, or you used too much, it’s a whole
different thing.”

“Okay,”
I nodded. “So I’m looking for a scientist.” Michael Lewis, the only suspect
Howard Lanford had ever taken seriously, had been a chemistry professor. He was
dead now, but I still had a lead. If I could tie him to the bombing, I’d be
able to put this thing to bed.

Leonard
smiled. “I did good, right? You sure you don’t want to show me your tits,
Detective? I think I might have earned it.”

“I’ll
send you a
Playboy
,” I said.

“They
don’t let us have porn in here, either.”

“Really?”
I asked. “What do you guys do in here all day?”

“You
want me to tell you?” he shrugged.

“No,” I
said. “I don’t think I do. Anything else you can think to tell me?”

“If you
find the guy who did this, tell him to look me up. I want to talk to him when I
get out.”

“I don’t
think I’m going to do that.” I stood up and collected my papers. “Thank you,
Leonard. Really. I’ll load up your commissary on the way out.”

“I
appreciate it.”

“If you
think of anything else, make a call to the police switchboard and have them
transfer you to me. They’ll know how to get in touch.” I gave him a serious
look. “That’d be worth something to me, Leonard. You understand?”

“You
could just give me your number, Detective.”

“I could
also start working as a phone sex operator, but that’s not really likely,
either.” I nodded at him. “Take care of yourself, Leonard. Try not to blow
anything up in here.”

“I’m not
going to blow anything up anytime soon.” He smirked. “Not for 17 months,
anyway.”