by Arjay Lewis
“It also doesn’t explain how Mishan caught fire,” I said.
“No, but if Lonny perfected his technology—y’know, made something that burned Mishan and then burned up with him.”
“As well as set off everything else in the store.”
McGee nodded and looked at the file again. “I don’t know. But, anything is better than what the coroner suggested.”
“What was that?”
“Spontaneous human combustion.”
“You’re kidding!” I said. “Your ME said that?”
“To be honest, Dr. Latrell may have been making a joke at the time,” Bill said. “Then again, he didn’t have another explanation.”
“I can’t buy that.”
“Really?”
“Yes, and I actually believe in ghosts. After all, I’ve met a few. But even so…”
“I had trouble with that theory as well. But Casey found nothing on the body that could create such a powerful fire in such a short amount of time. Hell, for all I know, Lonny had a giant magnifying glass and fried Mishan like a bug.”
“Do you think that’s a reasonable theory?” I smirked.
“Probably not, but I’ll look into any idea right about now. Lonny the Match is the best lead we’ve got,” McGee said, glancing at his watch. “How’s your time?”
“I’m fine. If I can do anything else…”
“You can, Len. I have a witness coming in, the girl who worked in the jewelry store, Wendy Wallace. Could you be here, see if you get any insights?”
“Sure,” I said, and rose with my cane as McGee got up.
I followed McGee out of the large data center. We turned left up the corridor. As we walked, there was a door to the left that led to the processing area, and I could see three empty holding cells through the open doorway. We turned right and into the detective’s bull pen. The detective’s desks were against the wall on the left side of the room. Bill went to a desk in the corner near a divider that separated the other half of the room. To my right were two small rooms marked Interrogation A and Interrogation B.
Bill picked up a second file from his desk, which was covered with piles of similar cardboard binders. He led me into a third room marked Interrogation C. There was a desk, several chairs, and a large pane of glass that showed the table in Interrogation B quite easily. I decided it was a mirror in the other room that was actually one-way glass.
“Can I get you coffee, Len?”
“That would be nice.”
McGee walked through the room and out a second door, which appeared to go directly into the squad room. I sat at the table and checked my phone for any messages or alerts.
As my screen lit up in front of me, I considered the situation. Bill’s theory about Lonny and the victim made sense—good cop sense. So why did I feel like he was wrong? I’d only seen a few pictures in my head, but he said they helped. I should let him do his job while I figured out where I would be going after I was done here.
I could return to California. Dr. Kohl wanted to continue work on Scudder House, the famed haunted house we researched near San Francisco. Then in the fall, I could work with him, teaching—now that the pressure of writing my doctoral thesis was over.
But somehow, when I received my PhD, I felt that it was time to move on. Doctor Kohl was like a second father, but I wanted to go out and make my own mark. Scudder House, although considered a victory, was an upsetting experience. The idea of returning there made me uneasy.
Then again, I didn’t have a lot of offers. Good thing I was staying with the Baines’s. Until I got the check from Jon, I didn’t have money to afford a hotel.
My father the neurosurgeon was happy to pay for my college and medical school when I zoomed through my bachelor’s degree and premed at GSU in an astounding two years. Then off I went to study at Johns Hopkins for three years, where I graduated first in my class. I could’ve completed that four-year course in two instead of three.
But then I met Cathy, and my priorities changed.
Then she died, and my world fell apart.
When I told my father I was moving to California and changing majors to psychiatry, he cut me off. We weren’t speaking when, two years later, I met Doctor Kohl and shifted to parapsychology. Fortunately, I got paid as Kohl’s TA, and with odd jobs, I didn’t starve.
Once I was paid for this lecture at GSU, I’d have enough money to bum around the country for a few months. But where would I go, what did I want to do?
“Who the hell are you?” a gruff voice demanded.
I sat up, shaken out of my reverie, as I saw a balding man at the door that led to the detective’s offices. He was thin and hawkish, with beady eyes focused on any move I might make.
“I-I’m Doctor Leonard Wise,” I said, and rose from my chair. “Detective McGee called me in as a consultant.”
“Oh, really?” the man said, duly unimpressed. “Well when his highness deigns to return, tell him Sergeant Tice is sitting with his witness.”
“Oh?” I said, trying to act like I knew what to do. “You can send her back.”
“No, I can’t,” Tice said, not any happier. “All witnesses have to be escorted. And where the hell is your visitor badge?”
I patted the breast pockets of my suit as if one might mysteriously appear. But I knew I didn’t have one. McGee just brought me in a side door near the locker rooms.
At that moment, McGee walked in the opposite door with two cups of coffee.
“What’s going on, Tice?” he asked.
“Your witness is here,” Tice said, maintaining his bad disposition as McGee put the coffee on the table. “And where is his visitor ID?”
“He’s forensics, he doesn’t need it,” McGee said, leading Tice out of the detective’s bullpen. “Tice, you have to relax.”
“Why the hell didn’t he tell me, or flash his creds…” Tice said as they went down the hall. I sat back down and noticed that McGee had left the Mishan folder. With a quick glance toward the door, I picked it up and opened it.
It fell open to a page that listed information about the jewelry store, with names of employees, partners, corporations, and the like. The names were nothing more than a short laundry list, totally meaningless to me, but I felt inspired to read each one.
When I reached the Nova Corporation, an odd pain went through my head, like a migraine behind my right eye. I closed the folder and put it down, suddenly feeling warm. I loosened my tie.
“You all right?” McGee said, walking in with a pretty young woman at his side. I recognized her from my second vision of the jewelry store.
“Fine,” I said, as I stood at the table and offered my hand. “You’re Wendy?”
“Yes!” she said, taking my hand and shaking it. Then she looked at me as if to see if I was anyone famous. “You’re some kind of doctor?”
“Yes, I’m Leonard Wise. I hope you don’t mind my sitting in.”
“Anything that helps,” she said.
“I’m glad you were able to get out safely,” I said.
She nodded. “Just in time. It was terrifying.”
I sensed something that she wasn’t expressing. “Yes, it all burned so quickly.”
“Please sit down, Miss Wallace,” McGee said, the perfect host. “Can I get you anything?”
“A diet soda would be great—whatever you have,” Wendy said.
McGee nodded and strolled off.
“So,” Wendy said to me, her tone conspiratorial. “Are you like a headshrinker? Did they call you in to find out if I’m crazy?”
“Do you think you’re crazy?” I asked.
“I’ll tell you, I’m not sure. I mean, it was impossible. He was just standing there one minute, the next he’s on fire.”
Can’t tell…
A buzz tickled the back of my mind. She w
asn’t telling what she knew—in fact, she didn’t want to.
“And you’re sure you didn’t see anyone?” I said as I tried to reach out and sense what was bothering me. “Maybe someone threw something in through a window? Except for the door, the windows were shattered.”
“No. Y’see, I’m standing in the shop, like every day. Things had been pretty slow lately, the economy and all. And in comes Mr. Mishan like a bat out of hell. He’s all red and out of breath, and he says he’s got to call the police.”
“Did he tend to be excitable?” I asked.
“I’ve never seen him so upset, maybe once or twice. He has—uh—had high-blood pressure, and made it a point to stay calm.”
“Really?” I said.
Just then, McGee came back into the room with a can of diet soda and a plastic cup full of ice, which he placed in front of Miss Wallace. She poured as we all sat, and McGee slid my cup of coffee over to me. I sipped it and scowled.
“It’s not very good,” McGee said.
“No argument there,” I said.
“So, Detective, why do you think I need a psychiatrist?” Wendy asked.
McGee looked puzzled for a moment. “Oh! No, the doctor isn’t a therapist, he’s forensics. I thought if he could be here it might help everything make sense. Did I say he was?”
“No, I’m sorry, I just assumed,” Wendy said.
“My fault,” I said. “I should have out and out denied it when you asked me.”
“No, I’m just glad you don’t think I’m nuts.”
“Miss Wallace,” McGee said, “you’ve been a big help already. And I hate to bring you down here and bother you with more questions…”
“No, it’s OK.”
McGee pulled the folder in front of him, opened it, and took out a piece of paper.
“Now, is this your statement?”
She glanced quickly at it. “Yes, it is.”
“Do you want to double-check it?” McGee asked.
“No, I know what I wrote,” Wendy said and flashed a smile that could melt hearts. She was very aware of how attractive she was and knew how to use each movement for its best effect. “I was telling the doctor, I don’t know what I could add. It was all so weird.”
Can’t tell…
There it was again, the niggling feeling on the back of my brain. It was as if what happened wasn’t weird, but may have even been expected.
“Was there any kind of smell—I mean before the fire?” I questioned.
She grimaced, then looked at me. I made eye contact, slipped in to just the outer edges of her consciousness. The memory of the smell of Mishan burning was so fresh in her mind that I could experience it across the room.
“Just his coat burning,” she said.
“Could you smell gasoline or lighter fluid—perhaps even alcohol?” I asked.
“Nothing like that,” she said.
It was true, I could sense the memory in her mind.
“He was standing there, and his coat started burning. Then he began to yell that he had to get under a shower—or into a tub of water, then—poof!” she said, shutting her eyes from the painful memory, and our contact was broken.
I had no reason to try to go deeper, so I didn’t attempt to reach in when she looked back up.
“You ran out immediately?” I said.
“Yes, there are cleaners in that shop that were flammable. I was afraid the whole place would go up,” Wendy replied.
Which it did, but she had enough time to get out, I thought.
“Did you know of anyone who might want Mr. Mishan dead?” McGee said. Standard police question.
“I told you, everyone liked him. And I didn’t know all that much about the business. He could’ve been in hock to the Mafia for all I knew.”
She changed subjects—cleverly.
“Did you see anyone milling around outside or perhaps someone suspicious in the store around that time?” McGee queried.
She looked up at the ceiling as she tried to remember.
“There were a couple of people in that morning,” she said. “A couple getting wedding rings, a man who got earrings for his wife—oh yeah, a funny dark-haired man who met with Mr. Mishan.” She paused for a moment. “He left carrying a shoulder bag, like for carry-on luggage. I don’t think he came in with it.”
The bag…
Another buzz tingled in the back of my brain.
“He was funny, you say,” I confirmed. “In what way?”
“Well, I don’t like to make judgments about people being unattractive, but he had a face like a rodent.”
McGee reached into his file folder and extracted the drawing his sketch artist had made.
“Is this the man, Miss Wallace?”
Her eyes brightened. “Yes, that’s him!”
McGee and I exchanged a glance, knowing each other’s thoughts.
Lonny the Match.
. . .
The rest of the interview was tedious as McGee went over everything again with Miss Wallace. After an hour, we were done, and both of us rose as she collected her things.
McGee met my eyes. “I’ve still got some legwork on this one. Doctor, I’m done with you for right now.”
“That’s great,” I said. “You have my cell number, right?”
“Yes, but give me the number where you’re staying just in case,” McGee said, and I quickly wrote the Baines’s phone number on a piece of paper. “You need a ride?”
“That would be nice,” I replied. “I don’t have a car here in town.”
That was only half-true. I didn’t have a car at all, either here or California. I hadn’t owned one since the accident. And to have a custom one with the special controls I needed was beyond my meager means.
“I’ll give you a ride,” Wendy said, as she stood at the door.
I gave Bill a shrug. “That would be lovely,” I answered.
Bill escorted us through the corridor, then we went to a door with a square panel to the left of it. Bill waved his ID badge in front of it, there was a sound, and we went into a short hallway that led to the lobby.
The lobby had several chairs lined along both walls. Directly across from the main entrance was an elevated desk that had a low banister with a section that opened. As we went through the gate, I saw Sergeant Tice seated behind the elevated desk. He looked down upon us.
“Hey, McGee!” Tice said as we passed. “I called Doug Milbank and they don’t have anyone on staff in forensics named Wise.”
“He’s from out of town, Tice,” McGee said without even turning toward him. “Some of us actually know people beyond Passaic County.”
Tice muttered something unintelligible under his breath, and we stepped outside. McGee shook both our hands, thanked us, said he’d be in touch, and disappeared back into the station.
I followed Wendy. The view of her tight rear end was even more pleasant than the spring scenery.
“So, what happened to your leg?” she asked as we ambled toward her car.
“Car accident. My knee was fused. I’m lucky I didn’t lose the leg.”
She sucked in breath at the thought.
“Here’s my car!” she said and pointed at a small sports car at the far end of the lot.
“Very nice!” I commented, looking at the fire-red sports car, one of those two-seat jobs with a roof that probably folded back. “Rather pricey for a girl with a job at a jewelry store.”
“It was a present,” she said with a shrug. “People like to give me things.” She stopped cold. “Oh dear! Can you fit? I mean your leg and all?”
“I can manage,” I said as I opened the door, slid the seat back as far as it could go, and manipulated my six foot four frame into the vehicle.
I ended up sitting on my left side, with my right leg cro
ssing over my body. Diagonally, I was able to fit with my legs on the passenger side of the car. This did put my face very close to her shoulder as she sat in the driver’s seat.
“This is cozy,” she said, giving another of her dazzling smiles. I felt myself turn red. My relationships since Cathy’s death had been limited. And here was a very good-looking woman giving me all the signals.
I gave her the address and we took off.
“So, where are you from?”
“Originally Copeland, New Jersey, but I’ve been in California for years,” I said, trying to make sure I didn’t blow my cover as a forensic expert.
“Are you here just to work on this case?”
“I’ve been lecturing at Garden State University,” I said. That was true enough.
“How long are you in town?”
“A few more days. It depends if Detective McGee needs me.”
“Oh?” she said and raised her eyebrows. “Well, it seems to me if you’ve been away for a while, you could use someone to show you the sights.”
“That would be nice,” I said.
“What are you doing tonight?”
“Not a thing.”
“Neither am I,” she said and then bit her lip. “It’s only Wednesday night, and I never thought I’d miss my job, but it gave me something to do. How about I pick you up at eight?”
“Well…”
“Problem?” she asked. Her eyes still watched the road, but she wore a look of disappointment. “You’re not married, are you?”
I gave a hearty laugh. “Nothing like that. I’m afraid I don’t have much money on me…” I said, a bit embarrassed.
“That’s not a problem. We can go dutch, and I’ll pick some spots that don’t cost a lot.”
“Sounds great!” I said with a smile.
We pulled up in front of the Baines’s house, and she turned to face me.
“Until later, then,” she said, her eyes bright.
“How should I dress?” I asked, realizing it had been a while since I’d dated or been out to any kind of club or night spot.
“Casual. Definitely no tie,” she said, smiling as I rose carefully to extract myself from the tiny car. She gave a wave and drove off.