by Jan Burke
“Then you’d better hope I’m more attentive to you than you are to me.”
“If it’s arson,” Frank said, “eventually they’ll call for a detective. If you won’t let me handle this myself—”
“Not a chance in hell.”
“Then I need to ask that you’ll make sure that Carlson sends Pete Baird. And I need you to back me up when I ask for protection of the identities of the residents of the condo.”
“Who are they?”
“I’m not on a secure line, sir,” he said again. “I promise I’ll come in as soon as possible and explain everything to you in person.”
The chief hesitated.
“All right,” he said finally. “But I won’t be here much longer today. Let me give you a number where you can reach me later this evening — no, wait — better yet, come into my office tomorrow morning at ten. One of my meetings has just been canceled, so I have an opening in my schedule. I take it this can wait until then?”
“Yes, sir.”
Hale hesitated, then said, “If that changes, call this number.”
“Yes, sir.” Frank wrote the number down and thanked him.
“Thanks are premature, Harriman.” He hung up.
Frank walked back to Seth and Elena. As he drew nearer, she said anxiously, “If anyone asks, please don’t call Seth by his father’s name. And don’t call me Rosario. I don’t usually go by Rosario now — for obvious reasons. After what happened to Phil… actually, it was Yvette’s idea. Seth and I use the name Nereault. It just makes a lot of things easier.”
“You okay with that, Seth?” Frank asked.
He shrugged, but didn’t look up from his guinea pig.
“Seth?” Elena asked.
“Lefebvre is a good name,” he said.
“Yes,” Frank said. “And so is Nereault. Right now, Nereault is a safer name, so is it okay if we tell these firefighters that one?”
“Okay,” he said, turning the single word into a song of reluctance.
Any further discussion was halted by the approach of the firefighter who had spoken to them earlier. He took down some basic information from Elena, then said, “I’m afraid the car’s a total loss, but most of the contents of the house should be okay. You’ve got some structural damage though — so we won’t be able to let you stay here.”
She looked back at the condo, as if only now starting to fully absorb what had happened. Frank put an arm around her shoulders. She leaned against him, her face pale. “What caused it?” she asked the firefighter.
“Someone will be over to talk to you about that soon.” He left them to join the others.
“Where are we going to live, Mom?” Seth asked.
She looked back at the broken window, where the ladder they had used still hung, and bewilderedly shook her head.
“Maybe you and your mom could stay with me and Irene for a few days,” Frank said.
“We couldn’t impose—”
“With your dogs?” Seth asked excitedly.
“I don’t know—” she began.
“To protect your privacy,” Frank said, hoping she would catch his meaning, “we won’t tell anyone where you’re staying. Not even your former employer.”
His attention was drawn toward the firefighters, who were talking to a slender man in a suit. Frank noticed the man in the suit was armed. He turned toward them and Frank recognized Blake Halloran, an arson investigator he had worked with on previous cases. Halloran recognized him at about the same time and stroked his full, blond mustache in a considering way before motioning to Frank.
“Surprised to see you,” Halloran said. “Are you here on business or is Ms. Nereault a friend?”
Frank considered not answering, then said, “Both.”
“Hmm. Does your friend Ms. Nereault have any reason to light a couple of fires in her sister-in-law’s condo?”
“Two fires?” Frank asked, not correcting him about the relationship between Elena and Yvette.
“One on the stairway, one in the garage. She’s not a likely suspect, I admit, being inside the place at the time and all. But stranger things have happened.”
“No, she didn’t start the fires,” he said. “I’ve been with her all day.”
Halloran’s brows went up. “Some guys have all the luck.”
“We just returned from a family funeral,” Frank said.
“Jesus, I’m sorry—”
Frank found himself mildly pleased to see Halloran’s look of shame. “Yes, it’s been a tough day for them, so go easy. Besides, she never would have done anything to this place — especially not with her boy inside.”
“She have any enemies?”
“That’s a real possibility, but I don’t have any names for you.” He handed over his business card. “Anything you come up with, Blake, I’d appreciate hearing about it.”
“Likewise,” he said, handing Frank his own card. “You see anyone around here this afternoon?”
“Just a gardener.”
“Let’s see if the lady of the house can help out here.”
They walked back to Elena and Seth.
“I’d like to talk to you,” Halloran said to her, “if you wouldn’t mind letting Detective Harriman keep an eye on your boy for a moment?”
Elena looked back at Frank.
“I’ll be right here,” he said, then added, “Do you know the name of the gardener who works in this part of the complex?”
“Gardener? It’s a whole team — a service that comes through once a week. They come here on Fridays.”
Frank looked toward where he had seen the white van parked. He was not surprised to find it gone.
27
Wednesday, July 12, 3:00 P.M.
A Private Home in Las Piernas
The Looking Glass Man stepped into the shower, feeling weak and sick to his stomach. Soon he would have to go up to his attic room and chronicle the unmitigated failures of this afternoon, but for now he must try to cleanse himself. For long minutes he stood beneath the spray, his head bent into the roaring rush of hot water. He closed his eyes to the glaring whiteness of the shower walls and allowed his other senses to become attuned solely to this enclosed world — the sting of the hot water pelting his scalp and shoulders, the wash of warmth and steam over his skin, the roaring of the water in his ears, the coolness of the tiles beneath his hands, the pressure of his own weight against his palms and the soles of his feet. He opened his mouth and let the water sluice across his lips and teeth and tongue and down his chin. But soon the water echoed the refrain inside his skull—
You fool! You fool! You fool!
Elena Rosario was in Las Piernas.
He had thought her long gone. A few months after Lefebvre’s death, she had left. But she must have returned, and now she had a child.
He did not understand it. He had never understood her. He had held various beliefs about her at various times, and always he ended up uncertain, unable to discard those beliefs and unable to cling to them.
He had put her out of his mind for years now, and here she was, back in Las Piernas. And living in Lefebvre’s home.
He had reacted to that out of fear. There had been so much to be afraid of.
When he had nearly been seen by Harriman at the cemetery, it was bad enough, but while eluding the motorcycle officer, his heart had almost given out. After changing the plates on the van, he had driven to the hospital just to see if there was some little thing he might be able to do for Bredloe. A little something to end the man’s suffering. But just as he entered the hallway near Bredloe’s room, he had caught a glimpse of Matt Arden going in to see the captain. The Looking Glass Man kept walking, hearing Arden’s voice say a dreaded name: Lefebvre.
Arden. Did Arden know? Had Lefebvre told Arden his secrets? He had always wondered about this, but when the years went by without a word from him or anyone else, he had decided that Lefebvre had not taken Arden into his confidence. Arden, he was certain, would have defended Lef
ebvre’s reputation — he had had an almost fatherly devotion to the man. Today, perhaps Arden had only mentioned Lefebvre’s name because of the funeral.
Or perhaps not.
In his present state, Bredloe would be of no use to Arden. But perhaps Arden was saying other things to other members of the department? Who was he staying with? Who was he seeing while he was here in town?
And so the Looking Glass Man had decided to follow Arden. And he did — right to Lefebvre’s former residence.
His shock had been profound.
For a few wild moments, he allowed himself to consider the possibility that Lefebvre was alive, that he had escaped from the wreckage of the plane, that his bones had never been found, that Harriman was involved in some elaborate scheme to trick the Looking Glass Man into revealing his secrets.
It was in this state of panic that he decided to set fire to the condominium. He quickly gathered the materials he had planned to use on Harriman’s home and changed into one of his most useful costumes — the green coveralls of a gardener, an outfit that would allow a person to come close to almost any residence without raising the least alarm from neighbors. A disguise that would let a man carry large green plastic bags full of materials without anyone suspecting him of anything untoward.
This time, the bag was full of gasoline-soaked rags.
He was out in the open, next to the building nearest the van, when he saw Harriman and Arden together. His level of panic skyrocketed. He quickly hid himself, cowering in a nearby stairwell, heart pounding, sure that in the next second Harriman would come running, would pull that gun from his shoulder holster and force him to surrender and confess, force him to fail to achieve his most important goals just as they were within his reach. The secrets would come out then. Everything would fall apart. Judge Lewis Kerr would undoubtedly preside over his case — and make an example of him.
Caught up in the horror of these visions, he had nearly missed seeing Arden drive off with a woman. The woman was a surprise. Was she his wife? Perhaps Arden had married. He disliked not knowing who Arden might have spoken to about Lefebvre.
Harriman was no longer in sight then. He was up in the condominium, perhaps reading some papers Arden had left with him or even talking to Lefebvre himself. Perhaps Lefebvre had built secret rooms in his condominium. He had not seen them when he went to Lefebvre’s home during the investigation into Seth Randolph’s murder. But he had been able to do only so much with half the department on hand at the same time. He disliked such crowds.
He had always approved of Lefebvre, and for many reasons. They had so much in common. They were intelligent and logical. They loved to fly. They both did their best work alone. That was why, for a time, he had done certain favors for Lefebvre — Lefebvre himself had never known the source of these favors. The Looking Glass Man would not be surprised to discover now that they had more than intelligence and a love of solitude in common. He could easily believe that Lefebvre had also created hidden places in his home. After Arden left the condominium, this possibility disturbed him greatly, until his skin itched from his nervousness. It would be best, he decided, to hurry up and destroy Harriman and any evidence he might be studying.
And so he had started the fires. Once he was sure they were going, he had hurriedly left, not so stupid as to stay and watch, as a true arsonist would have done. No, it was best to be far away in such situations. He had the means of learning the results of his work.
He had listened to the scanner and heard the call. But then had come the announcement that three persons had been in the condominium, including a female and a child. He had risked turning back then, unable to resist the temptation — as weak as any arsonist after all — and had caught a glimpse of Elena Rosario holding a child while Harriman spoke to firefighters.
He had driven away again, chastising himself for returning at all, while reeling from the implications. Elena Rosario, living in Lefebvre’s home.
He scrubbed himself until his skin was raw.
The water turned cold, and though he briefly considered punishing himself by remaining in the shower, he shut it off. The room seemed unusually quiet, which made him feel afraid, until he realized that he had forgotten to turn the fan on and the quiet was the absence of its noise. He dried himself and wiped down the shower stall and all the chrome before stepping out, carefully placing his feet on the perfectly aligned bathroom rug.
He looked up into the mirror and saw only the blur of steam and condensation.
As if he weren’t really there.
An omen, he decided, shivering where he stood.
But ultimately his faith in himself reasserted itself. Perhaps it was a sign of a different sort — a sign that he remained invisible to those who sought him.
He would need to be more careful, true, but the more he considered it, the fire was not such a foolish idea — after all, he had smoked Elena Rosario from her lair.
28
Wednesday, July 12, 4:43 P.M.
Las Piernas Police Department
In the end, Pete had helped him. He tried to keep that in mind now as he faced renewed sullenness in the office.
Frank had stopped Pete in the hallway before he came into the homicide room. Pete had assured him that none of the others knew the details of Frank’s afternoon. They knew that Pete had been sent on an arson call, but when he returned long before Frank, he pretended that there had been nothing to it — a questionable case of arson with no one hurt. He gave out no exact addresses and no names. A waste of time, he told them.
“No one asked why I hadn’t come back?”
“I told them I talked to you on the phone, that you’d be in later. Reed asked if you had had a chance to see if the face was as good as the figure for the babe in the black veil. I told him she was one of the cop-hating Nereaults.”
“Thanks, Pete.”
But Pete just shook his head and walked away without another word.
Even before he went to his desk, Frank knew he was in for more of the chill. The men in that room were expert observers. None of them would have missed the change in Pete’s mood regarding his partner. It would quickly become contagious.
When he arrived at the scene of the fire, Pete had been concerned for his partner’s safety, but that had quickly given way to anger over the fact that Frank had not told him where he was going that afternoon. He dismissed outright Frank’s theory that someone from the department had been the arsonist, and was infuriated that Frank could imagine such a thing to be true.
“It’s Whitey Dane’s bunch — you can bet on it,” Pete said.
Elena, who had been using Frank’s cell phone to call her insurance agent, said, “What about Dane?”
Pete remembered her, and Frank watched his manner change in the way it often did with women. Pete was short and balding, yet seldom failed to charm a woman. He was crazy about his wife — a gorgeous Amazon of a woman — and as far as Frank knew, Pete hadn’t ever strayed after marrying Rachel. But Baird enjoyed flirting with good-looking women, and he was all solicitude to Elena. Still, it wasn’t until Pete became aware of Seth, and became protective of him, that Frank was sure of Pete. By the time Elena and Seth moved off to beg the firefighters to allow them to retrieve a few essential items from the condo, Pete was saying, “You know, that kid is as sharp as his old man.”
Frank raised a brow.
“Oh, he’s Phil’s kid, all right. At the funeral, I thought maybe he was a nephew, speaking French with Lefebvre’s sister and all. Now I see him with Elena, I see a little of her, a little of him. Has Phil’s eyes. And no matter how I feel about Phil, it’s still a damn shame. I mean, a kid ought to know his dad.”
“Yes,” Frank said, thinking of the sugar in the fuel tanks of Lefebvre’s plane.
“Tell me what you want me to do for them,” Pete said.
So Frank had asked him to keep secrets. Knowing Pete, it was the most difficult of requests, simply because he would honor it, contrary though it was to h
is talkative nature. Being trustworthy meant something to Pete, and realizing that, Frank said, “I knew you wouldn’t want to hear any of this or be involved in it. I’m sorry. I’m glad you’re willing to do this for Seth and Elena.”
“I’m doing this because you’re my partner,” Pete said. “You know what pisses me off, Frank? How easily you forget that.” He walked away.
Frank thought of shouting after him that Pete’s own memory hadn’t been so great lately, but held back. For all the satisfaction that might give him, he had to consider Seth’s and Elena’s safety.
Frank spent two hectic hours helping Seth and Elena before they were settled at his house. Because of the damage to the stairs and the beams above the garage, the fire department had declared the condo out-of-bounds. Responding to Elena’s pleas and the careful description of where she had left it, one of the firefighters had brought her wallet out to her.
Frank drove Seth and Elena to a pet store, where they bought a cage and some food for the guinea pig. Next to a drugstore for basic toiletries. Frank dropped off the roll of film from the funeral, then came back for it when they finished shopping at a department store for a few articles of plain but essential clothing. Both Elena and Seth changed out of their clothes at the store — Frank, still reeking of smoke, envied them.
Neither Seth nor Elena had taken long to make their purchases. Soon they were on their way to the house — where the cage proved useful in saving the guinea pig from the attentions of Irene’s cat, Cody. Seth and the dogs formed an immediate mutual admiration society. The boy was given the guest room; Elena said she would opt for the couch. Frank showered and changed clothes, but he could still smell nothing but smoke.
The strain of the day was telling on all of them, but on Seth especially, who fell asleep sitting next to Elena on the couch. Frank carried him into the guest room and tucked him in.
“You sure your wife won’t mind our staying here?” Elena asked as he prepared to go back to the office.
“No,” Frank said. “She’ll be happy we’re able to do something for Phil Lefebvre’s son.”