Nelson Bush had driven since the first light if dawn, setting out in the bulky rented stretch limo. He was nervous, wired- and he absolutely loved it.
He xhew up the miles in a steady, purposeful daze, crossing the bay bridge and continuing east on 80. He finally broke free of the morning traffic near Vallejo and maintained a vigilant sixty on the speedometer as he headed east.
He didn't want to be stopped.
the papers called him a monster. psychotic, sociopathic. Experts witnesses on TV analyzed his motives, his past, his future murders.
they know nothing. they are all wrong. they will find what I want them to find. they only see what I want them to see.
from the Nevada border it was a short drive down into Reno, which he considered a vulgar, aging cowboy town. Stayed on the highway,
