by Lisa Black
‘Don’t you start bawling,’ he warned. ‘And don’t call my mother.’
She perched next to him on the bed since her knees no longer wished to support her. ‘Too late.’
‘Damn! What did you tell her?’
‘Same thing I told my mother. That you and Angela had a few scratches and that was it.’ Theresa took a closer look at his injuries. A red patch on his neck seemed to have a straight edge, as if it had come from something rigid and very hot. An area next to his belly button formed a more amorphous splotch. ‘Does it hurt a lot?’
‘Not as much as losing our prime suspect under seriously questionable circumstances. Or what happened to my car. Did I tell you about the car? I worked so hard to keep that new-car smell, and what happens?’
‘Does it involve flying debris?’
‘A piece of the damn house fell on it! Big chunk of wall and part of a window. The hood is bent in now.’ He pinched the bridge of his nose as if trying to blot out the memory.
‘Sorry about your car. How is Angela?’
His jaw tightened until it looked like his teeth might break, but of course all he said was: ‘Better or worse, depending on how you look at it. I landed on top of her.’
‘Ouch.’
‘Cracked one of her ribs. It softened my landing, yes, but it also meant that most of the burning debris landed on me and not her, so that makes us even. On top of that she owes me for waiting for Beltran.’
‘What do you mean?’
Frank accepted a pill from a comely nurse; under less trying circumstances he would have noticed the appreciative glance the woman in white cast toward his torso. Instead, he merely growled, ‘This had better be OxyContin. Because, cousin, if we had gone in to search his room, it might have been us who stumbled on his little cache of blow-up stuff, and it would have been us it blew up. Obviously it had a hair trigger.’
Theresa slid off the bed, stepped a foot closer and hugged her cousin, putting her face to his neck, just as she had so recently done with David Madison. Odd how the same gesture under different circumstances produced such different feelings.
‘There, there, cuz.’ Frank patted her back. ‘I know you love me.’
‘I do – love you, I mean – but that’s not why I’m smelling your hair.’ She backed up. ‘Did you notice the odor?’
He sniffed. ‘I haven’t noticed much of anything in the past hour and a half – oh.’
She nodded. ‘Yeah. You smell like iodine. Terry Beltran had the same explosives in his room that brought down the Bingham building and the Lambert workroom.’
Theresa went to check on Angela. The poor girl had to sit up very straight and breathe very carefully while the orthopedist spent more time gazing at the contents of her bra than applying the Velcro binding. Theresa did what she could to help by glaring at the doctor until he regained his focus and finished up.
Then she went back and waited with Frank until the hospital got around to discharging him. While driving to his apartment for a change of clothes, they bounced around possible connections between a violent parolee and a terrorist stockpile in the Bingham building. None seemed to make sense, though one fact remained – terrorists did a great deal of recruiting in prisons. A captive audience of the disconnected and disaffected provided fertile ground for their ideals. Frank planned to examine every prisoner or ex-prisoner with whom Beltran could have come into contact during his tenure there for some tie to Nairit Kadam. This would not be easy; it would require either cooperating with or duplicating the work of the FBI agents, and according to rumor they had not yet found any ties to Nairit Kadam. He seemed to have led an ordinary, law-abiding and utterly apolitical life until three years ago. Then, according to any and every fact recorded on the planet Earth, he ceased to exist.
So finding a link between him and Beltran would not be easy. Kadam had never been to jail, and even if they worked for the same organization they might not have known each other. ‘That’s how they try to work,’ Frank had said as she drove. He fidgeted, searching for a comfortable way to lay his arm on his lap. ‘So if one is caught, there’s only a few others he can take down with him.’
‘None of this would explain why he killed Marty Davis.’
‘That could be what we first thought – revenge – and have nothing to do with his other activities.’
Nor might a twenty-five-year-old meth lab explosion have any relation to Terry Beltran and terrorists. It most likely had no relation to anything, save her worry about falling in love with one of the involved parties.
Unless Terry Beltran had some connection to Joe McClurg, and had heard the account of the college group while in jail. Inmates had nothing to do all day but talk, after all. When had Ken Bilecki last been incarcerated?
But she could not picture Ken Bilecki involved with a political cause, unless it involved legalizing certain drugs. And Beltran didn’t need to stumble on a motive to kill Marty Davis; he already had one. No, her brain had gone punchy with weariness, that was all.
Still, she said nothing to Frank about her talk with either Ken Bilecki or David Madison. She certainly didn’t mention pinning the latter to a kitchen chair while Frank was getting blown on to East Forty-ninth Street. Or how much she wanted to do it again.
What a mess.
TWENTY-NINE
When she returned home for the second time that evening, she found an attention-starved dog, a hungry cat and David Madison’s car still in her driveway. Moreover, David Madison was in it.
He got out as she parked. ‘How’s your cousin?’
‘A little banged up, but fine. You didn’t have to wait here …’ She leaned against the warm fender of her car, weariness seeping through her bones. As much as she wanted a rematch with the man, tonight could not be the night. If she didn’t get some sleep she’d collapse.
‘I needed to – look, I’m sorry.’
The cat meowed from the stoop, and the yellow retriever bounded between her and their guest, unsure which smelled more interesting. ‘Geez, David, it’s not your fault. My mother will be fine with it. Granted it wasn’t the best way for you to make each other’s acquaintance—’
‘Not that. I mean, I am sorry for startling your mother,’ he added with the hint of a grin that reassured her he wasn’t too sorry. ‘But I have to ask you for a favor, and I apologize in advance. I know you’ve had a hell of a day and you’re exhausted.’
‘You were the only good part of it,’ she said. ‘So go ahead.’
The dog had made his choice and slapped his head against David Madison’s thigh, to be petted as the man spoke. ‘My neighbor called. Channel 15 is camped on my front lawn.’
‘What? How could they have connected you to Marty Davis—’
‘No, no. It’s my wife. She is going to be released by tomorrow morning at the latest. They want to capture the happy family reunion. Newspapers, magazines and certainly the TV stations have been calling me for the past two days about it.’ He looked more weary than she felt, which she would not have thought possible. ‘I sent my boys to my sister’s. At least it’s the weekend, so we don’t have to worry about school or work. I can’t have them ambushed by a news crew during recess. They’re just kids.’
Theresa bent into her car to retrieve her purse from the seat and her water bottle from the floor. Then she said, ‘Come inside.’ It ought to be easier to control herself this time, too spent even to consider romance.
‘Last time this happened,’ David said, standing next to her coffee-maker, his body at an awkward tilt, ‘a woman from some Hollywood show walked up to Tony as he waited for his school bus, and asked if his mother had ever tried to sleep with him. He was eight. He didn’t even know what she meant.’
Theresa slumped into a chair. ‘I’m sorry, honey.’ The endearment slipped out without thought as she tried to picture reporters following Rachael to school. The idea made her want to beat someone.
David nodded. ‘So the favor I’m asking is – can I stay here tonight
?’
Her mouth fell open, ever so slightly.
‘I mean, on the couch. On the floor, I don’t care, I just need a place to hide out. I’ve been through this once already – if I can avoid them for a few days, they’ll get bored and go on to another story. I can’t go to my sister’s; her neighbors will see the car and then the media will find the boys. Maybe tomorrow she can get me some things from the house and meet me at a hotel, but I just couldn’t face the thought of it tonight. Desk clerks have called reporters on me before.’
The dog turned to her with a second set of pleading eyes, making it clear whose side he took.
‘OK,’ she said. ‘Sure. You can have Rachael’s room.’
His shoulders slumped in relief. ‘Thank you. Thank you. I know how this must look, and I promise I’m not usually such a basket case.’
‘Neither am I.’
He laughed. ‘I also promise this isn’t a sneaky way into your bed. I know we –’ he leaned over the table and touched only two of her fingers with his, producing a dangerously electric shock – ‘feel some attraction for each other, but I’m not going to exploit that.’
‘Meaning you won’t try a wee hour visit?’
He shook his head with a smile. Then he added, with equal amounts worry and hopefulness, ‘Unless you want me to.’
‘Desperately,’ she admitted. ‘But not tonight.’
A crushingly relieved smile. ‘I agree completely.’
‘David, can’t you get a restraining order or something? Do you have a lawyer?’
‘I can keep them off my own property and school ground, that’s it. Everything else is a free for all. You didn’t tell your cousin about me, did you?’ he asked suddenly. ‘About my connection to the meth lab?’
‘No,’ she said uncomfortably. ‘But he wouldn’t tell anyone anyway. The fire was an accident and the drug charges have expired.’
‘It doesn’t matter. Everything counts in a custody case.’
‘He wouldn’t expose you just for the fun of it. If it turned out to—’
—have something to do with Marty Davis’ death, she had been about to say, but David interrupted. ‘Yes, he would. Nothing against your cousin, Theresa, but cops are not my friends. I’m a freak to them, the guy who couldn’t hang on to his wife, who couldn’t compete with a child. I’m a joke to everyone in this city. Except you.’ Now he took her hand, and held it. ‘My boys are at stake here. Help me.’
She nodded. After a moment she extricated her fingers, reluctantly. ‘Rachael’s room is the pink one – you can’t miss it. The sheets are clean, and the hallway bathroom has towels and soap and shampoo. Help yourself to anything, and that includes whatever you can find in the refrigerator. It won’t be much.’
Then she went upstairs to her room and shut the door.
And, after some thought and with much regret, locked it.
She did wake up, somewhere in the wee hours, but not because David Madison was rattling her doorknob. A slight sound wafted up from the kitchen below, the faintest creak of a floorboard. David had probably decided to forage. He must be hungry; they never did make it to Don’s Pomeroy House.
What a strange situation. She had never had a romantic interest sleeping in her house other than her now ex-husband (who surely could not say the same). She had not allowed Paul to stay over while Rachael still lived at home, and preferred to meet Chris at his place. She felt a sudden and completely unexpected nostalgia for her ex-husband Rick, for the time when every night would find them in their assigned places – husband, wife and daughter. Her life had not been especially happy, but at least it had been consistent. Now she had this new man shaking her up with his proximity to too many crimes for comfort.
Perhaps she had over-thought things. So many events had occurred that week, perhaps she had jumbled them up. There were really two distinct crimes, or sets of crimes. First, the DaVinci meth lab ring from twenty-five years ago, involving Marty, Lily, Ken, David, the unknown DaVinci and Doc, presumably Joe McClurg. Then she had the explosion at the Bingham, involving Kadam and apparently Terry Beltran, if the odorous information Frank had given off meant anything. Terry Beltran could be connected to Marty. So two circles of events, which intersected only in the person of Marty Davis. A coincidence. Cleveland wasn’t that big of a town.
Still, perhaps she should put any questions about Lily Simpson’s death to rest before getting any more involved with David Madison. She had time. Time to get to know him better … She dozed, dreaming of the process involved.
The peal of a telephone ripped her from it.
‘Tess? It’s Frank.’
She collapsed back on the pillow. ‘Hell. Don’t you ever sleep?’
‘Not this week,’ he told her. ‘Apparently.’
THIRTY
Saturday
Theresa threw on some clothes and brushed her teeth, tossing on a little mascara. That represented the maximum cosmetic preparation she felt willing to put into early-morning calls. The door to Rachael’s room remained shut, and she did not see the need to disturb David. If he stuck to his plan, he’d be gone by the time she got came home from work. She left her cell phone number on the table in case he wanted to call, grabbed her water bottle from the refrigerator and edged her worn Ford out of the garage and around his car. Impressive considering she’d had about six hours of sleep in the past forty-eight.
She picked up Frank in nearby North Royalton, since Fleet Management had taken his car in order to pound out the dent in the hood. He wore a loose, long-sleeved T-shirt instead of his usual collar and tie and carried a small bottle of pills, shaking one into his palm. ‘How’s the arm?’ she asked.
‘It would be better if the hospital gave me real painkillers. They’re so worried about prescription drug abuse they just give you sugar pills these days. Angela got Vicodin. I got friggin’ heavy-duty Tylenol because my burns were only a little blistered so the doc didn’t feel they were truly second degree. Damn drug addicts have ruined it for everyone.’
‘I’m glad she’s all right,’ Theresa said, knowing quite well what was really hurting him.
Of course Frank ignored this and tossed the pill into his mouth.
Theresa offered him her bottle of flavored water – ‘Fortified with vitamins and antioxidants and no additional calories, tastes like very weak Gatorade.’
‘No thanks.’
She headed for the freeway. ‘Where are we going?’
‘West Sixth and St Clair. Right in the shadow of our beloved Terminal Tower.’ He sighed, settled back in the passenger seat as she braked for a light at Bagley Road. ‘Routine patrol checking the alleys found Ken Bilecki’s body at twelve thirty this a.m. It took a half-hour to identify him because he didn’t carry ID, but they traced a receipt from the methadone clinic to his name. Then it took another hour or two to notice the flag I’d put in the system after what you told me about Lily Simpson’s tox results. You always drive through red lights?’
‘It was yellow. I thought we’d make it.’
‘Dangerous, cuz. They’ve already sent the body to your office, so I don’t think there will be much to see in the alley. I thought we could take a look and then go to the morgue.’
‘Medical Examiner’s.’
‘Yeah, OK. That one’s definitely red.’
‘Damn! Who’d think there would be all these cars on the road at four a.m.?’
‘The workday starts early.’
‘It’s Saturday.’
‘Maybe they’re heading home from Friday night, then.’
‘Don’t these people have jobs?’ She had to stop again just before the on-ramp, which infuriated her. ‘Why did they move the body?’
‘Because the responding officers hadn’t looked under “notes” on the report screen. I don’t think it’s too bad – as I said, I doubt we’ll find much in the alley. It looks like a standard OD.’
She took another sip and hit the gas. ‘Which alley?’
‘It’s off West Si
xth. They found him next to a dumpster behind a diner there. He still had the glass pipe in his hand.’
Theresa sped up to get around a meandering SUV, picturing the scrawny little Ken Bilecki waiting to be taken away with the trash. ‘That’s so sad.’
‘It is sad. It was also inevitable. He’s been working up to it for twenty years.’
‘That’s so sad!’
‘You’re getting a little close to that truck. I wouldn’t even have woken you up for this, but I have to know if his tox results are going to show something bizarre like Lily Simpson’s. Even though,’ he went on, apparently thinking out loud, ‘all that means is that there’s bad meth on the streets and they both got some. They probably bought it from the same dealer – why not, they kept in touch. It doesn’t mean it had anything to do with Marty Davis.’
‘But—’
‘But what?’
But another member of their circle is sleeping in Rachael’s bed, Theresa thought, reminding herself at the last minute not to speak out loud. She knew she could trust Frank, though he had the same laughing attitude about the libidinous teacher as every other guy in the city. Men were so unreliable when it came to sexual things. Why did they have to be like that? But Frank would keep a secret if she asked him, wouldn’t he? ‘I don’t know what to do.’
‘Get in the right lane,’ her cousin suggested. ‘Around that Kia. How fast are you going?’
‘Um, eighty.’ It had gotten warm in the car, and she rolled down her window as they sped past the I-480 interchange. A jet came at them, heading for the Hopkins airport on her left. The rush of air seemed exciting, intoxicating.
‘Slow down. There’s not that big of a hurry.’
‘We have to get there before they remove anything else from the crime scene.’
‘I told them to freeze it. Seriously, Tess, slow down. You’re starting to scare me, and that’s not easy to do.’