After Love (19 page)

For a moment he caught a flash of something that looked suspiciously like longing, but a shutter quickly dropped. However, that brief glimpse gave him hope. Maybe she wasn't as neutral as she would like him to believe.

“Well, I guess I'd better head home,” he said. “Where's Harley's leash?”

“I'll get it. As soon as he heard your truck, he shot out of the arena before I could catch him.” She glanced over at the lemonade. “Why don't you sit down and have a drink?” she suggested.

“I would, but I really do have to get back. I have an appointment to see an apartment tonight.”

She seemed genuinely disappointed, but she didn't try to change his mind. “I'll go get his leash.”

Five minutes later, Nick and Harley were in their truck, heading back to Austin. He had almost changed his mind and taken her up on her offer. Who knew what might come of it? Maybe not tonight, but gradually, he could win her back.

But the memory of Jess, sitting on Bane's lap, laughing and alive, just days before, kept Nick from turning the truck around. He'd never had trouble concentrating on his job before, and he knew he had to put Jamie out of his mind long enough to catch a killer.

After that, though, Jamie better watch out, because he would be focusing 100 percent of his attention on her and pulling out all the stops. The one thing he had discovered today was that he wasn't ready to let her go.

Nick stood next to the middle-aged woman while she unlocked the apartment door.

“I've got a renter moving in tomorrow, so don't let that dog shit or pee on the floor, or you'll get the cleanup bill….Hear me?” Her voice was loud enough to be heard on all four floors of the building.

“No worries, ma'am. He's a highly trained law-enforcement agent.”

She gave Harley a more respectful glance, then entered the small one-bedroom apartment.

“Is this how it was when the former tenant left?” Nick followed her into the apartment with Harley close by his side.

She looked around nervously, as if worried she might be overheard. She signaled for Nick to come closer before answering in a voice barely above a whisper. “Look, I stay here free if I can keep the units occupied and the maintenance costs down. I never met the guy who moved in, only his friend who paid the first month's rent and the deposit in cash. He was here for only about three weeks, then, in the middle of the night, he was gone.” Again she checked over her shoulder and peered out in the hallway before continuing. “He left this place spotless…I mean, cleaner than when my cleaning guys go through a unit. It was weird.”

Nick pulled a loosie, careful not to choose a strawberry one, out of a plastic bag. He knelt in front of Harley and allowed the dog to get a good whiff. “Seek, Harley….Go get it.”

Harley's nose lifted in the air, sucking in and cataloging all the scents. He didn't head directly to anything but inspected each room, one at a time, along the baseboards, on the counters, and in the cabinets. He even dipped his head into the toilet. Frustrated, he started over, retracing his steps again.

“What's in the bag?” the apartment manager asked.

Nick held it up for her to examine more closely. “This is a loosie…a drug-soaked cigarette with a fruit-flavored wrapper. Ever see one?”

“No. Just a lot of pot. Our tenants tend to be students and people who…spend more time high than gainfully employed. As long as they pay on time, I don't ask, and the owners don't care.”

“Any idea how he got the place so clean? Like…who the cleaners were?”

“I happened to look out my window that night and saw an unmarked van and two pretty rough-looking guys going in and out. They were gone by sunrise.”

“Hmm,
Pulp Fiction
. Did they make a lot of noise?”

“Loved that movie. No, I didn't hear anything. And there wasn't a single complaint from anyone in the adjoining apartments.”

Harley returned and sat on Nick's left shoe. He panted in exhaustion and shame that he had failed. Nick began to walk to the door and Harley rose and walked next to him, but his tail wasn't wagging. He'd not done his job, and he knew it.

Nick stopped in the doorway. “Is there anything you can remember about their van or what they looked like? What they were wearing? Anything unusual?”

She thought for a moment. “The van was painted black. Sloppy, like with a paintbrush, and all the names and trim had been ripped off. There were holes where a sign had been attached. They weren't wearing real uniforms, but they all had on black jumpsuits and black stocking caps. Oh…I don't know if this is helpful, but there was a trailer hitch on the back that had a black Texas star stuck over it.”

“A black star hitch cover plate.” Nick supplied the correct name. “That's a big help.”

Once back in his truck, Nick jotted down some notes on the back of the folder, then picked up the next one. It was too late tonight, but he could check out several tomorrow before and after class. But now he needed some alcohol therapy.

He drove back to his townhouse. As he pulled into the driveway, Harley sat erect on the seat, his tail wagging and his ears perked. He knew he was home.

Once they were in the house, Harley circled it, making sure no strangers had invaded his territory while he was gone. Nick filled the dog bowls with fresh food and water, then whistled for Harley. “Let's take a walk, boy, but it's going to be quick. There's a barstool waiting for me.”

Harley recognized the word
walk
and hurried back to Nick. They took the shortest path and Harley did not disappoint. Nick grimaced as he gingerly picked up the steaming-hot chunks of poop with a plastic bag. He'd touched dead bodies and helped stop blood flow from bullet wounds. But never had he handled anything as disgusting as fresh dog shit. He dropped it in the Dumpster at his complex on his way back to his house.

“Unfortunately, you've been banned from the Jackalope, and I think it's too soon to plead your case.” Nick unclipped the leash and hung it on a hook by the front door. He took a large bone he had picked up at a butcher shop and held it out for Harley, who gave it a cautious sniff, then took it in his big jaws. Nick turned the TV on. “They're having a
COPS
marathon. Maybe you can learn some new techniques.”

Nick headed toward the front door, and Harley, the bone still in his mouth, followed, his tail wagging expectantly. Nick led him back to the big doggy bed that was next to Nick's recliner.

“Lie down, boy….I'm flying solo tonight.” Nick pointed toward the TV screen and explained, as if the dog were understanding every word, “It's called binge watching….Take notes.”

He gave the dog a final pat on the head, then left, carefully locking the door behind him.

The Jackalope was beginning to fill up for the evening when Nick walked in and made his way to his regular end stool.

A coaster landed squarely in front of Nick. “Hey.”

“How're you doing?” he asked Gina.

“I'm good. Car's back on the road, and it cost me nothing. All I had to do was sweet talk Gary into fixing it.”

“I'm sure he'll expect to be paid….” Nick's eyebrows arched suggestively. Gina understood his meaning and shrugged.

“It was worth it. I was tired of riding the bus.”

“You need to find a good guy who doesn't take advantage of you.”

“Yeah, well, I'm waiting for you.”

Nick knew she wasn't serious. Gina flirted with everyone. It was all about the tips. “I'm not a good guy. Besides, I don't know how to work on cars, and yours is a full-time job.”

“What can I get you?”

“Same as last time.”

She returned a minute later with a draft beer. Perched on the side was a juicy, ripe strawberry.

“Very funny,” Nick snorted as he picked the piece of fruit off and wiped the rim with a napkin. “Harley had to go into diversion therapy.”

“How?”

“His trainer, Jamie, has been working with him.”

Gina slid him an amused look. “I heard Jamie's been working with you too.”

“That's not true.” Nick's first response was to deny it, but he couldn't help but wonder where she'd heard about Jamie.

“Yeah it is. I know that look.” Gina smiled and turned to take care of another customer before Nick could protest. He drank in silence, keeping an eye on everyone who entered or exited the bar. He saw Emily come in with a group of girls, but she didn't see him—or acted like she didn't—and Nick didn't call out to her. He doubted she had any pleasant thoughts about their time together before the strawberry fiasco, and he wasn't in the mood to try to change her mind.

Gina returned. “Are you going to order food?”

“Nah, I had a late lunch.”

She pushed a bowl of nuts and mini pretzels in front of him. “It's fresh. I just filled this bowl.”

“Good. I don't like sloppy seconds.” He grinned innocently. “They say there are more germs in a bowl of bar chow than on a toilet seat.”

“Yuck. Don't say that too loud. Bar chow makes people thirsty.”

He took a handful of the supposedly germ-free snack and sniffed it like Harley would have before putting it in his mouth.

Gina leaned forward, her elbows on the bar. “I hear Jamie's really pretty.”

Nick choked and almost spit out the mouthful of partially chewed peanuts. He quickly took a drink to wash it down.

“Lives in a barn apartment. Kind of kooky, if you're into that sort of thing, which apparently you are,” she continued.

Nick set his mug down with a thud. “What the hell?”

Gina stepped back and waved her hands in front of her. “Just making conversation.”

“How does this shit get out, anyway? Where did you hear all that?”

“You know I can't reveal my sources.” She flashed him a sweet and very insincere smile. “Personally, I'm glad you found someone who can put up with you and your schedule.”

“Yeah, well, sorry to break your fantasy cherry, but Jamie and I are strictly business. She's still mourning her dead husband.”

“Too bad. She's missing out.”

Nick pushed his empty mug toward her. “Someone drank my beer.”

“Wow…I didn't even see it happen. Should I call the police?”

“No, thanks. I've already been arrested once this week.”

She put his mug in the sink and filled a clean one. After she placed it in front of him, he said, “Let me ask you a question.”

“Sure…Shoot.”

“Ever see a black van with a black star of Texas on the trailer hitch?”

Gina laughed. “You do know you're in Texas? Black vehicles with stars on their trailer hitches are as common as naked chrome girls on mud flaps or rubber testicles hanging from the bumper.”

Nick nodded. “Yeah, you're probably right.”

Gina gave him a curious look. “What's with the trailer hitch? You moving out of that dump you're in?”

“Why does everyone ask me that? My house is nice. Crappy neighbor, but the complex is okay.”

“Sorry, I've just heard…Never mind.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “Am I all they can talk about?”

“Let's just say that you're trending right now.”

“I'm not moving. The van is connected to a case I'm working on.”

“Sorry I can't help.”

“Me too.” Nick finished his beer and set the mug on the bar and pushed it toward Gina. “Call me if you see one. Maybe I'll get lucky.”

Just as he parked in his driveway, Nick's cellphone rang and Jamie's name popped up on the screen.

“Hey, how's it going?” he asked, working to keep his voice neutral.

“I'm good. Thought I'd check in on Harley….I've got to get his number and stop bothering you.”

“I just got home from the Jackalope.”

“Oh my God…back to the scene of the crime?”

“Why not?”

“You're nuts, Nick. What if he did it again? You know I'm not through with his training.”

Nick smiled at her concern. “Harley stayed home. He wanted to catch up on his favorite TV show.”

“Just be careful.”

“Aww…it sounds like you care.”

“I'm just worried about Harley.” She paused. “He's special. Night.”

The call went dead. Nick wasn't sure whether he should be excited that she had called or annoyed that she seemed to care only about Harley. That reminded him that someone knew more about their relationship than he did…and they were blabbing about it all over town. If Jamie got wind of that, she'd run away so fast there would be a trail of dust behind her like the Road Runner. In his spare time Nick resolved to track down that blabbermouth and shut him up.

Nick and Harley checked out five more apartments before class, all with the same result. Clean as a whistle and smelling fresh as a daisy. Those landlords who'd witnessed anything had all reported the same nondescript black van. One person had even noticed that the license plates were from Colorado, but they didn't remember any of the numbers or letters. Nick wasn't too excited about that clue because license plates were too easily stolen and replaced. He suspected the cleaners used different plates for every job…and none that were legally registered to the van.

It was such a nice day, Nick decided not to eat in his truck like he usually did. He picked up a Subway BMT and found a bench under a large live oak tree in a park near the Capitol. It was just after noon, and there were lots of people walking around, going to lunch or heading back to the office with takeout bags. With each bite he took, he tore off a chunk for Harley, until the sandwich was gone.

“All gone,” he told Harley, and held out his hands to show there was nothing left but the wrapper. Harley sniffed the paper, then was distracted by a squirrel chattering overhead.

Nick picked up his phone and scrolled through his contacts. The apartment plan was a dead end, but he had another idea. He had brought a retractable leash so Harley could feel free to check out all the tantalizing smells while still being under control. Ever since that disaster in the Jackalope, Nick kept a tight hold on the leash or clipped it to a belt loop with a carabiner. You never knew when someone eating a strawberry might walk past with catastrophic results.

Nick selected a contact and hit the “call” button. He held the phone to his ear. It was an old friend he had worked undercover with several years ago. Their paths rarely crossed, but when either of them needed some inside information, they'd make a call. “Hey, Jerry…it's Nick. Did you get my message?”

“Hi, Nick. I hear you've been having some trouble with your new partner.”

“Holy shit, is there anyone who hasn't heard?”

“Probably not. You know how juicy news travels.”

“I'll be glad when someone else fucks up. Did you find what I asked about?” Nick pulled a small spiral notebook out of his pocket, along with a pen. Everyone else in the department had graduated to iPads, but he preferred old-fashioned handwritten notes. No batteries and no extension cords required.

“Of course. You knew I'd come through for you.” Jerry chuckled. “This guy is one of my deepest CIs. Everyone calls him Veritably. I don't know if he's the guy you're looking for, but he's got a crew that does emergency cleanups…no questions asked. I'll text you his number. Use my name….He owes me.”

“Veritably?”

“Mr. Clean. Everybody knows that. The company held a contest and gave away a house or something as first prize for naming Mr. Clean, and they picked
Veritably
.”

“Are you shitting me?” Nick new some obscure shit, but he'd never heard that story before.

“No, it's real. Look it up.”

“That's okay. I trust you.”

“And Nick? He's bald. He's in one of those over-fifty dating clubs, so he sometimes wears a wig. Whatever you do, don't laugh at him.” Jerry's voice was dead serious with the warning.

It was an ominous end to the call. The phone went dead, and a moment later a text with the phone number came through. Nick immediately dialed it.

“Yeah?”

“Veritably?”

“Who wants to know?”

“I'm a friend of Jerry at APD. He gave me your number and said you might be able to help me.”

“Jerry! Shit, he hasn't called me in months. I was beginning to think he'd gotten taken down.”

“Nah, he's fine.”

“How do you know Jerry? You work for APD too?”

“DEA.”

“Hey, dude, I don't do meth labs anymore. Too dangerous for my crew. I've gone legit.”

“This ain't meth. You available to meet with me?”

“Uh…I guess. I'm here cleaning out my museum today.”

His museum? Nick was growing more curious by the moment. “Can I come by this afternoon?”

“I'll text you the address.” The phone went dead.

Nick stood and clapped his hands. “Harley…time to go!” Harley dropped a large stick he'd been gnawing on and raced full steam toward Nick. They loaded back into Nick's truck and set off to check out Mr. Clean's museum.

Forty-five minutes later, Nick pulled off the two-lane county road east of Pflugerville, Texas. A mailbox with no name was rusted shut and tilted at a right angle. If it hadn't been for a small wooden sign with the word
MUSEUM
and an arrow hand-painted on it, Nick wouldn't have been sure this was the right place. He slowed to a crawl to get down a rough limestone driveway that was pocked with weeds and small trees. The underbrush on each side was so thick that no buildings were visible from the road, but when he reached a cleared area, he saw a large, weathered barn that dwarfed the trailer house next to it.

Most important, a black van was parked in front of the barn. And the towing receiver had a black star of Texas.

Nick lowered the window. The barn seemed the most likely place to find a living person, so he decided to try it first. Frankly, he didn't want to go inside the trailer house without making sure his vaccinations were up-to-date. Nick pressed the doorbell, triggering the loud clanging of an old-fashioned fire bell inside, and waited patiently for the master cleaner to open the door.

A panel, head high, slid open violently. “Nick?”

Nick held up his ID card. “This is my partner, Harley.”

The man's eyes studied the card, then shifted right and left, looking for the mystery partner. Nick nodded downward, and the man shifted his gaze to Harley's level.

There was a loud clanging noise of a latch being opened on the inside of the metal door, and then it swung open. “Gotta get this lock fixed before the grand opening.”

“Grand opening?” He guessed by the man's bald head and take-charge attitude that this was the infamous Veritably. If the man had had an earring and been a foot taller with fifty more pounds of muscle, he'd have been the spitting image of Mr. Clean.

“Yeah…welcome to Crimes “R” Us Museum. It opens in two months,
if
I can get the driveway redone and a parking lot cleared. I'm expecting big crowds.”

“Really?” It seemed like a shot in the dark to Nick. But sometimes these niche ideas had enthusiastic audiences.

“Who wouldn't want to see photos, real brains, bloodstained wallboard and carpet…all that stuff we haul off from crime scenes. Throw in some newspaper headlines, police reports, and intimate details from my friends on the force, and I'll have mystery writers and wannabe cops all over the place.”

Nick winced at the smell of the air inside the future museum. Even Harley's eyes were tearing up, and he rubbed his paw over his nose as if trying to clear the cloying odor from his sensitive nasal passages.

Veritably shrugged. “I've breathed in the cleanser fumes and all the bodily juices for so long, I've almost lost my sense of smell.”

“Crime scenes are a downer….Listen—” Nick began, but was interrupted.

“You're a cop…sort of. Come with me.” Veritably had taken off and was halfway down the hallway, leaving Nick no option but to follow him into a room with one whole wall covered by a map of the Hill Country. Colored strings stretched from points on the map to numbers. A legend on the adjoining wall had a list of names, addresses, and details corresponding to the numbers. “This map shows where all the most famous crimes happened in a one-hundred-mile radius. I'll be selling a map that they can take out on a self-guided tour after they leave here.”

“Like a map to the movie stars' houses.”

The quirky little man squinted at Nick, then slowly smiled. “Sick…but I like it. Anyway, I have a room set aside for each one of these crime scenes. I have ten acres, so I have room to add on when I need to. You know how it is with crimes: there will always be more, and each one is bigger and better.”

“So, you have enough real estate to cover hundreds of suicides and murders for years to come. Interesting business plan.”

“Exactly!” He smiled. “Twenty-five years in the business, you collect a lot of specimens…and make a lot of friends.”

Harley tugged at his leash, leaning toward the first room on the museum tour. His nose was in the air, clearly following a scent. He headed for some buckets with rags in them that were sitting by an exit door.

Nick noticed and nodded toward them. “Is that from one of your cleanup jobs?”

Veritably shrugged, apparently not willing to answer specific questions.

“Heel, Harley,” Nick commanded, and Harley reluctantly obeyed.

“Cadaver dog?”

“Nah. Drugs.”

“Listen, I told you I don't do meth labs anymore. Besides, they don't provide any exhibits for my museum.”

“What about apartment cleaning?”

The man didn't respond immediately. “Crime scenes are my specialty.”

“You're licensed, bonded, and insured, right?”

Veritably nodded, but his expression showed disgust. “Those yuppies in Austin make it so hard. Every two years they meet and create more fuckin' regulations, more fines, more fees, and even more limits on what chemicals we can use. They've taken all the fun and profit out.”

Nick was having difficulty working up any sympathy for this guy, but he tried to play along to earn his trust. “You've put a lot of money into this museum, haven't you?”

“I have…and five years of my life to get it this far along.”

“But you probably make pretty big bucks cleaning up crime scenes. It's a dirty job,” Nick said, actually agreeing with that statement. He'd seen enough crime scenes to know that brains and blood splattered like watermelons, going everywhere and staining everything they touched.

“The shittiest. That's why it pays so good.”

“Ever take care of a loosie lab in the middle of the night?” Nick waited carefully for Veritably's reaction. People could lie with their mouths, but their eyes usually gave them away.

The man hesitated, trying to decide how much he wanted to tell this stranger. But his respect for Jerry must have won out. “I got a guy,” he admitted.

“What's his name…this guy?”

“No idea. He sends me a text from a burner phone with an address. I go there the next night, and we clean it up. He always leaves a pile of cash to pay for it.”

Nick tried not to show his excitement at that news. “Next time he contacts you, I need you to send me the address.”

Veritably shifted nervously, obviously regretting this whole conversation. “You trying to run me out of business?”

“Me? No. You can still have the job. I'm just trying to find the guy who's killing kids. I could see about getting a reward for you, if we catch him.”

“Reward?” Veritably visibly perked up.

“All I need is for you to forward the address to me the minute you receive it.”

There was a moment of silence. “Do you think if I had some of those large glass pickle jars with body parts on display with bullet wounds to show the damage, that people would like that? I could use animal parts because I know it would be complicated to get real human parts. I've heard pig hearts are similar to ours.”

“What?” Nick gave himself a mental shake. Was this guy even listening…or was he blowing Nick off?

“Do you think the public would want to see that…something cool to tell their friends? Plus, it's great research for writers or crime fans. There are a lot of those out there. I checked. There are even crime workshops for mystery writers. I could do that too. Good idea, huh?”

“I'm around this stuff all the time, so I'm not a good one to ask.” Nick was completely convinced this guy was bat-shit crazy, but he didn't want to blow Jerry's connection.

Veritably didn't seem discouraged by Nick's answer.

“So? You'll send me the address as soon as you get it?” Nick persisted.

“Sure. Just don't let anyone know where you got it.”

“Thanks…You'll be saving some kids from a gruesome death. This guy is making poison in a stick.”

“That's shitty. Kids have enough things to worry about.”

Nick handed Veritably his card. “Staple it to your arm.” Nick turned to leave, but Harley really wanted to check out the rest of the museum. Nick was tempted, but the last thing he needed was to find some illegal drugs. Jerry would never forgive him for taking his best confidential informant off the street.

Nick gave Harley's leash a sharp tug. “Harley, heel.” Reluctantly Harley moved to Nick's left side and followed his master out into the sunshine. In spite of the dust lifting off the limestone driveway, Nick left the windows down as they headed back toward the county road that would take them to I-35 and back to Austin. He glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Harley panting and filling his nostrils with the fresh air, sneezing repeatedly as he tried to clear his long nose of the museum's nasty odors. “I'm with you, boy,” Nick told him. “They'll never get repeat customers.”

Nick barely made it to class on time. He didn't have time to take Harley home, so the dog happily accompanied him to a new building full of strange and exciting smells. Professor Hutchens showed the first half of
Citizen Kane,
stopping often to discuss plot points and act breaks. Nick struggled to stay awake. Harley didn't even try and stretched out next to Nick's chair. A couple times deep snores issued from that side of the room, and Nick wasn't sure if they came from him or his dog.

“Late night?” Sam asked as she fell into step with him after class.

Nick tried to shrug it off. “You know how it is….”

“Yeah, I don't get enough sleep either. My roommate had company last night, and they were fucking noisy.” She giggled. “Get it? Their fucking was fucking noisy.”