by Jan Burke
He moved closer to her. “Can’t you?”
“No. I mean — yes, we did make that delivery, but the customer didn’t leave his name. He paid in cash.”
“Describe him.”
“You aren’t upset about him being illegitimate, are you?”
The wasp man momentarily lost his air of menace. “What?”
“He said that he was Mr. Lefebvre’s illegitimate brother. That’s why he didn’t want his name attached. He wanted to pay his respects but not to upset the family. I thought he was being overly sensitive, but—”
The wasp man reached across the counter, grabbed hold of her blouse, and dragged her halfway over it as he pulled his gun out.
Frank moved forward.
“I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you!” the woman said. “Please don’t shoot me! Please don’t! I don’t want any trouble!”
“Neither do I,” he said, releasing her. “Now tell me — who ordered the white flowers?”
“Please don’t shoot me!” she said again, cowering down behind the counter.
“Hold still!” the wasp man shouted at her. “Get your hands up where I can see them!”
She whimpered, putting her arms over her head, as if to shield herself from him.
The wasp man laughed. “Are your arms bulletproof?”
“Ohhh, God! Oh, God!”
“Christ, lady, did you just wet yourself?”
She began sobbing.
The phone rang.
“Don’t answer that!”
She sobbed louder.
“Shut up! Shut the fuck up! I just want a little information, for God’s sake.”
She obeyed, making little hiccuping noises. “He didn’t give me his name! I swear to you, he didn’t! I told you, he paid cash.”
“Describe him to me.”
“He was older, in his fifties, I’d say. Oh…”
“God damn it! Lady! Wake up! Oh, Christ — do not have a fucking heart attack on me, lady!” He shoved the weapon into the holster at his back and began to move around the counter.
Frank wasn’t going to wait for another chance.
“Police — freeze!” he shouted, his own heart hammering as the man turned toward him. His voice had come out at about half its usual volume — he had forgotten the effects of the smoke. “Freeze!” he said again.
To Frank’s surprise, the wasp man complied. He could see in the wasp man’s eyes that he didn’t necessarily want to do so — but he responded in the manner of someone experienced with being arrested.
“Hands high! On top of your head! Keep them there. Lock your fingers together.”
The wasp man complied.
“You will slowly take two steps away from that counter! Now!”
He moved, Frank’s weapon trained on him the entire time.
“Face the door!” Frank moved so that he was behind him but not within reach. “On your knees!”
With only the slightest hesitation, he obeyed.
Frank thought of waiting for backup before removing the weapon — always a tricky moment, one when it was easy to end up losing your own. But not knowing whether Pete had received the message, he wasn’t going to give this wasp knucklehead the time to change his mind about being cooperative.
“On the floor, facedown. Cross your ankles.”
Carefully, he relieved the wasp man of his weapon. It was not until he had taken the clip out of it that he noticed that the Brandenburg Concerto was still playing. For some minutes — could it have been only minutes? — he had been concentrating on the wasp man to the exclusion of all else. He cuffed him just as the old woman called out, “Is it okay now?”
“You were faking?” the wasp man said, incredulous.
“Shut up!” Frank told him, glad that she was all right but worried that she might be more difficult to control than the handcuffed man on the floor.
This concern seemed warranted when the woman stood and started to walk out from behind the counter.
“Stay back,” Frank warned. “Don’t come any closer. Just stay right there.”
“For God’s sake,” she said to Frank, sounding more calm than he did. “Took you long enough. What was I going to have to do next? Strip naked to scare him out of here?”
“You knew I was in here?”
“Oh, yes, I saw you back by the roses a little earlier. Do you have a cold, dear?”
“No. You couldn’t know that I wasn’t with him,” he said, indicating the wasp man. Although the man stayed perfectly still and did not seem inclined to cause trouble, Frank never took his eyes off him.
“Well, yes, I did know. I expected you.”
“Expected me?”
“Yes, you personally. The man he’s been asking about gave me your picture.”
“What?”
“You’re Mr. Lefebvre’s other illegitimate brother, the policeman, right? Your brother — the living brother — told me you might see those flowers and use your police know-how to find out where they came from. And he said to tell you that there was no need to feel obligated to him or to me and that he’d already paid me in full. Which he did. Now, I must ask you — do you have a picture of your father? He must have been some man!”
Mercifully, the SWAT team arrived, sparing him from having to answer her.
33
Wednesday, July 12, 8:30 P.M.
The Kelly-Harriman Home
He was tired, he was hungry, and it occurred to him that after talking to Mrs. Garrity and dealing with all that had followed, he hadn’t remembered to buy flowers. The arrest had kept him at the station longer than it did the wasp man, whose lawyers — Dane’s lawyers — had him out of jail almost before he was booked, saying that he had done nothing more than try to help an elderly woman whom he believed was suffering a heart attack.
Mrs. Garrity had readily identified the spray of flowers in Frank’s photo, but hadn’t been able to provide many clues to the identity of the man who bought them.
“He was wearing a disguise, of course,” she said.
“You knew this at the time?” Frank asked. “And weren’t suspicious?”
“Yes, but after all, a person doesn’t want everyone on earth to know he was born out of wedlock. So I understood perfectly. He was wearing sunglasses, and a hat, and a wig — not a very good one. No mustache.”
“Well, that’s something to go on!” Pete said.
“Sarcasm does not become you,” she said.
“How tall was he?” Frank asked.
“Not as tall as you, not as diminutive as Detective Sass here. Did he pass the height requirements for the department?”
“I used to,” Pete answered, “but witnesses like you have worn me down.”
She had not studied the man too closely, having been distracted by stories of legions of bastards roaming Las Piernas and by envisioning the all-white arrangement of flowers. She had complimented Frank on his photography and asked if he would send a copy of the photo to her.
“I’m quite proud of that arrangement!” she said. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need to go home and change my clothes.”
As he came in the door, the dogs greeted him. Seth was not far behind, jumping up and down and shouting, “He’s home! He’s home!” as if a fanfare ought to be playing, a red carpet rolled out.
“Hello, Seth,” he said, not feeling so tired after all.
“We’ve been watching about you on TV! Tell me about the bad guy in the flower shop.”
He groaned. There must have been a TV news team among the helicopters.
Irene came hurrying toward him, face full of worry, and hugged him tightly. “Are you okay?”
“Fine, I’m fine.”
“Your voice—”
“The smoke got it,” Seth explained. “My mom broke our window, so we got air. But he was in the smoke.”
Irene looked more worried than ever.
“Safe and sound,” Frank said. “Both then and this evening. Sorry you even had to think about it
— it wasn’t a big deal.”
“Did you shoot him?” Seth asked.
“No. Nobody shot anybody.”
“Seth!” Elena’s voice called. “Let Frank have a chance to come in the door.”
Frank bent closer to Irene’s ear and said softly, “I didn’t mean to spring them on you like this…”
She laughed, but he didn’t think there was a lot of humor in it.
“You missed it!” Seth said with relish.
“Seth!” Elena’s voice warned.
He walked in to find Elena sitting on the couch. She was petting Cody, who had taken up residence on her lap. He still had an arm around Irene and felt the tension in her shoulders.
“Everything okay?” he asked warily.
“Fine,” Irene said.
“They were going to kill each other!” Seth said.
“A misunderstanding,” Irene said, blushing.
Elena looked embarrassed, too.
Frank felt a nearly overwhelming urge to go back to the office.
“It’s okay now,” Seth said. “I made them be friends. But they were fighting! And saying the S-word! And the B-word. And even…”
“Seth…” Elena warned.
“…the F-word!”
“Seth Lefebvre!”
“And,” he added in a lowered voice, “they fought naked!”
“I had a robe on!” Irene protested.
“Naked fighting…”
“And I had grabbed a towel by the time you came in, Mr. Tattletale,” Elena said.
“…swearing ladies!”
“Seth!” the women shouted in unison.
Seth gave Frank a look that asked Who are you going to believe?
“Well,” said Frank, doing his damnedest not to laugh, “I’m glad you were able to make them be friends.” He looked between the women and saw that he wasn’t going to get any immediate answers. Certainly not about naked fighting swearing ladies. Not only was he not going to get answers, their faces said, he shouldn’t dare to ask any questions. He was still tempted to try, but decided he’d had enough heroic action for one day, and accordingly changed the subject. “Have you eaten yet?” he asked Seth.
“I wanted to wait…” Seth began.
“He did,” Irene said. “But I was hungry after all that swearing and nude boxing, so I went ahead and ordered pizza. Is that okay?”
“That’s great,” he said. “I get home late a lot, Seth — so you should eat when you’re hungry.”
“I want to eat with you.”
The pizza arrived, and over dinner the mood seemed more relaxed, although Elena was quiet. Seth talked about going for a walk on the beach with Irene and the dogs. When Frank asked if Elena had joined them, he learned that she had stayed at home.
“I was admiring your garden,” she said quickly. “One of the things I miss — we can’t have a garden at the condo.”
“I grew a potato in a jar,” Seth reminded her.
“Yes, I’d forgotten that.”
“Irene flew with my dad in his plane,” Seth said to Frank.
Frank happened to be looking at Elena when Seth said it and saw her wince.
Seth was rambling on, talking a mile a minute about the dogs, the beach, his new pal Irene.
“So, Elena,” Frank said when Seth paused for breath, “I haven’t even asked you about where you work.”
“I’m a PI now,” she said. “I got my license not long after I left the department.”
“Pete’s wife is a PI. You should meet her. You’d get along great. Are you on your own or with a company?”
“On my own. I do a little insurance work, mostly workers’ comp investigation, some heir hunting.”
“So that gives you time to home-school Seth?”
“You told him about that, huh?” she asked Seth.
“Yes. My mom’s a good teacher,” he said to Irene, then frowned. “Mom, am I going to flunk now?”
“No, why should you?”
“I can’t study. You know — the fire.”
“We’ll be able to get our things out soon. What we can’t get out, the insurance company will help us replace.”
“Gordie Howe?”
“He might be just fine. We don’t know yet. What’s important is you’re safe, and I’m safe, and My Dog’s safe.”
“And Frank.”
“Yes, and Frank.”
“And I have my treasures.”
“Yes, but if we’re ever in a fire again—”
“I know.”
“You scared me to death, Seth Lefebvre.”
“I’m sorry.” He turned away from her and back to Irene. “Stay here — I have something to show you.” He stood up, seemed to remember something, turned back to Elena and said, “May I please be excused?”
“Yes, you may.”
He hurried to the guest room, taking care to prevent Cody from following him in.
“He’s great,” Irene said. “You must be so proud of him.”
“I am,” Elena said. “I am.”
Frank thought of the videotape Polly Logan had given him. “Elena — has he ever seen a videotape of Phil?”
“What? You have a tape of Phil?”
“Yes.” He explained where he got it. “I brought it home.”
Seth had overheard the last of this and said, “I have a tape of him too! Wanna hear?”
“Sure,” Irene said, then glanced at Elena, who was pressing her fingertips to her lips. “But maybe we should save it for another time.”
“No,” Elena said. “No, it’s fine.”
He ran over to the stereo, treasure box in hand. “Hey, Frank! Can you show me how to work this thing?”
Frank obliged. They gathered in the living room. Frank noticed that Elena was focusing on the cat, not meeting anyone’s eyes. What the hell was going to be on Seth’s tape?
As soon as Irene came in, Seth said, “Ready?”
“Yes.”
He opened the lid of his treasure box a narrow crack, slipped his hand in, and pulled out a cassette. Frank put it in the machine and pressed the play button. Seth reached into the box again and pulled out a black-and-white photo. A photo of Lefebvre as a young man, in a U.S. Air Force uniform, standing next to a plane. “That’s him,” he whispered to Frank as the tape went past the leader. Through the speakers, they heard a male voice say, “You’ve reached 429-5555. You know what to do.” There was an electronic beep, the soft hiss of tape, then silence.
“Wow, that’s so awesome!” Seth said. “I’ve never heard it on a big speaker before. Play it again!”
Elena’s head was down, her hair hiding her face.
Frank rewound the tape and played it again. This time Seth said the words along with his father.
“It was on his answering machine,” Seth explained to the silent adults. “We made a bunch of copies of it, because it was inside the machine and we were afraid the machine would break, right, Mom?”
“Right, Seth,” she said softly. “A digital recording.”
“The only one you have of him?” Frank asked.
“Mom has the other copies of it,” Seth said. “But this is my own. That’s why it’s in my treasure box.”
“Seth, I’m so glad you and your mom came to visit us,” Frank said, “because I have something I think you are going to love.”
For the next two hours, they watched Phil Lefebvre. At first, Irene and Elena fought back tears, but Seth was so totally captivated — and thrilled — his enthusiasm became contagious. “That’s him! Mom, look! He was on TV! My dad was famous!” he kept saying. “Frank, those people at the church were right!”
He would listen carefully any time Lefebvre spoke. Frank turned up the volume and Seth thanked him.
In one interview, Polly Logan asked Lefebvre about being a pilot. For once, Lefebvre smiled when he answered.
“God, how he loved flying,” Elena said. “He spoke about it in just that way to me on — when he took me out for dinner one nig
ht.”
“He took Mom to the Prop Room,” Seth said. “Tante Marie waited on them. Now she owns it.” He studied Elena, then moved over to sit beside her. “Are you sad, Mom?”
“A little, but only because I miss him,” she said.
Frank looked toward Irene, silently sending her another apology. She smiled, but he wasn’t sure that meant the apology was accepted.
Frank noticed that Lefebvre typically minimized his own role in solving cases, always mentioning anyone in the department who had given him help. In one of the last short segments before the final press conference, the tail end of one of Polly Logan’s questions could be heard: “…brilliant rescue of the boy?”
“There was nothing brilliant about it — I was at the marina by the purest chance and had the help of Detectives Elena Rosario and Robert Hitchcock,” Lefebvre said, quite obviously trying to get away from Logan. “You should talk to Detective Rosario — she hasn’t received the credit she deserves.”
“But you must have suspected something to be at the marina at that time,” Logan persisted.
“No. An anonymous tip on another case brought us there — a false lead. So you see, we were just lucky.”
Frank was thinking about this set of coincidences when the segment with the final press conference began. It was rough footage, not edited as the others were — Frank noticed there was much more background noise in this one than in the others. As the camera roved over the small crowd in the hospital room, Frank was struck by the fact that the lists in Lefebvre’s notebook could have been used as roll call sheets for the members of the PD who were there.
Seth was up on his feet again and gleefully pointed out Irene and his mother as they appeared on the screen. When Seth Randolph came on, he was momentarily solemn. “There’s the boy I got my name from,” he informed Frank. “He was in the newspaper, too. He fought bad guys, but he died. My dad loved him like he would have loved me if he knew about me, so my mom gave me his name.” Although he was serious during this recital, he seemed to take all of this as simple fact and did not seem overly disturbed by it. He was too enthralled at seeing his father in something other than still photos to remain solemn for long. He showed an obvious dislike of Tory Randolph, making a “gag me” motion when she was speaking and once yawning loudly.
“Seth,” Elena warned.