Alien Heat (16 page)

“Taste like cinnamon?” Jenks snapped.

David nodded.

“I hate this hotel. No cinnamon in the coffee, you will notice. I raised holy hell the first morning they brought that Elaki pap for my breakfast. They're going to run real people off, if they're not careful.”

David kept quiet, thinking that Elaki coffee was superior to the typical brew, and that if Jenks didn't realize that running humans off was the business of this hotel, he was a fool.

“Arthur is a good boy,” David said.

Jenks set his coffee cup down. “I told her—Theresa, I mean—I told her that when she started this business up about Martin.”

David nodded patiently.

“You know, even though it was a lark, just a chance thing with a friend … the reason she went to the psychic was to ask about me. Would I become a father to Arthur?”

This pleased the man's vanity, David thought. He took another croissant. “And?”

“The psychic was an Elaki. It read
scales
, Detective, what a load of crap.”

“You hired Teddy Blake.”

“She's different. Bruer recommended Teddy, and I think you're wrong about her. I can't get her to take any money, other than expenses. But this guy Theresa went to, he was manipulative. He had her do all kinds of strange things. Meditate three times a day, keep her own personal scale with her at all times. It was ridiculous.”

David thought of Candy Andy, his own set of odd instructions, how often he had gone along.

“Before she left, she was really going off the deep end. Nightmares, like I told you. Talked about reincarnation till I thought I would wring her neck.” Jenks looked up sharply. “I didn't mean that, you know.”

David gave Jenks a reassuring smile.

“Then she stopped talking about it. To me. But I saw her books, and I knew she was still seeing the psychic. She seemed to have some sort of epiphany, she came to a decision. At first I thought, thank God, she is over this. Then I realized she had just gone underground. I caught her in Arthur's room when he was at school. She had his Eight Ball—you've seen those things the kids have, like a black bowling ball? Ask it a question and the answer comes up?”

David nodded. He'd had one himself, when he was growing up. How many times had he asked it if his father would come home?

YES … NO … IT SEEMS SO … ASK AGAIN LATER … ANSWER HAZY AT THIS TIME

Jenks grimaced. “Those things, they're just kid toys. They're a joke. And there she was, with this Eight Ball in her hands, tears running down her cheeks. It was
important
to her. It
mattered
.”

“Then what?”

“It shook me. I started watching her. And I realized how completely she had shut me out of her life.”

“Did you argue?”

“I wish we had, but we couldn't even do that. She was polite, she just slid away. I let it go awhile, but she even shut Arthur out. Her own son, she had no right to do that. Someone had to focus on the boy, and he was hers after all.”

“Did you tell her that?”

“Hell, yes, till I was blue in the goddamn face. And you know what she said?”

David waited.

“Said he wasn't mine, by legal contract, and I could mind my own business.”

Jenks picked up his coffee cup, then set it down. David saw that he had shredded the croissant into a pile of brown flakes.

“Then what?” David said.

“Then she disappeared.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

David slouched next to the pay phone in the lobby of his precinct and dialed Teddy's number. He decided not to think about why he didn't go up to his office and call from his desk. He let the phone ring, wondering if she was in the shower, counted three more rings. He hung up, disappointed, but relieved. The camera disc recorded his presence, and he ducked into the stairwell.

There were three messages in his reader. Two from Detective Warden, one from Clements. Mel was sitting on the edge of Della's desk, being ignored.

“Hey, David, you had breakfast yet?”

“Twice.”

“Once with your mistress, and once with your wife?”

“Talked to Jenks this morning, Mel. No surprise, but he and his wife were having Serious Marital Strain.”

“Business as usual,” Mel said.

String rolled in, carrying a white bag that reeked of cinnamon, garlic, and chili powder. The bag said HOMEBOYS on the side.

“Good of the morning, I have brought breakfast.”

Mel shook his head. “You have brought
tacos
. How many times I got to tell you that ain't breakfast?”

“Goes in one hearing orifice and proceeds out the other. This is the proper expression?” String opened the bag. “Who will care for the taco?”

“They got cinnamon in them?” Mel asked.

“All are Elaki-style.”

“Give it here. Take mine, Della. You like stolen food better anyways.”

David shifted his weight. The Tylenol was wearing off and his back ached. “Della, did you do that background for me on the Mind Institute? There hasn't been anything in my reader.”

Della's voice went low and apologetic. “I got it started, Silver, just haven't quite finished it up. System's slow.”

Mel gave David a knowing look.

Della pushed her chair back from her desk. “Look, I'm serious here. I know my work's not up to par, okay? But this wasn't me. I got most of the stuff together, including a client listing, did some cross-referencing, and somehow in the middle of all this I lost data. Haven't been able to retrieve it.”

String took a bite of taco, tearing the shell loose and showering filling on the desk. David fished a napkin out of the bag and slid it across the table.

“Of what nature be the data?”

Della shrugged. “Names. Mainly people that were on the list the first time through, and now they aren't. And I can't figure out where I dropped the entries. I transferred everything to a shell document, and put it through a keystroke program, but it's a simple routine and—”

“Wait a minute,” David said. “You're saying you have names that were in the data bank, and now they're not?”

Della nodded.

Mel scooped up meat that had spilled from String's taco. “But what's the significance? Who are the people on the list?”

“Clients of that Mind Institute,” Della said.

“How many names are missing?”

Della slapped the desktop. “How am I going to know what's missing if it's not there?”

Silence settled, broken only by the crunch as String ate another taco.

“I do have two of the missing names. Shut up, Mel, let me finish. It's only because I ran a test subset. That's how I knew data was gone in the first place.”

David frowned. “Della, you think there's any chance anybody got into your drive crystal?”

“No, Silver, I was right there the whole time, working late. I ran the subset, got a call from the central operator. Said they were running a data compile, and the system would be down. I got up, took a break, came back.”

“So if somebody messed with it—”

“They'd have to get to the actual data file, Silver. Who's going to do that? The Feds?”

“Give the girl a taco.”

String fished in the bag.

“It's an
expression
, String, okay? He's kidding.” Della chewed a thumbnail. “You don't really—”

David held up a finger. “Here's the funny thing. Captain Halliday told me that if I wanted to back off on this Jenks murder, work just the supper club—”

“Nah, come on, she's a rich bitch, that don't sound right.” Mel cocked his head sideways. “And even if they did tell you that, it's bureaucratic bullshit. Management isn't smart enough to actually hatch a plot, they're just blowing in the wind.”

“Please, most distressing mental image.”

“Sorry, Gumby. What else makes you say Feds, David?”

“Dawn Weiler called me, said my name came up over there. Why would that be?”

“Senior detective on this supper club fire.”

“What's got the FBI interested?”

“If it's a hate crime, David, it's up their alley. Especially since this business agent, real estate broker … what's his name?”

“Tatewood.”

“You said he'd been getting letters from that group. SCAE. And you know those supper clubs always catch the hate groups, right? Mixing Elaki and people?”

Della dropped the taco she had picked up.

“I don't know, Mel. Clements is pretty sure these fires were set by the owners.”

“Two in the same month?” Mel said.

“Ah, it will be the feline faker.”

Della looked at String. “The what?”

“Feline faker. It brings to my mind an incident of happening when I was but young in law enforcement.”

Mel put his feet on the table and closed his eyes. “Excuse me for interrupting another ever fascinating story, but are you trying to say copycat, String?”

“Yes, that is it.”

Mel looked at David. “For the life of me, I can't figure how Theresa Jenks fits into any of this.”

“Wrong place at the wrong time?” Della said.

David shook his head. “Not if she's murdered. We have the same incendiary devices used in the house and the supper club. Making sure it burned and burned good.”

“Same somebody that killed Jenks did the fires,” Mel said.

String chewed taco shell. “Is most surprise the dog does not protect.”

Mel scratched his left armpit. “Much as I hate to admit it, he's got a point. You get anywhere on finding Bowser's remains?”

“The Bowser cannot be finded in the morgue.”

“Should be in evidence,” Mel said.

“But yes, Detective Mel, and much is the altercation, which does not change the one true way.”

“The one true way?” David asked.

“That this animal of remains has been tossed for the cookies.”

Della frowned. “Thrown up?”

“Thrown away, I bet.” Mel put his feet back on the floor. “That's what you mean, ain't it, Gumby?”

String twitched an eye stalk. “Have speaked with a one who believes Bowser remains given the heave-ho at site of origin. The fire. So this will be perhaps found in the Euclid dump?”

Mel looked at David. “You think it's worth going through days of garbage?”

“I want to know what the dog died of. If somebody killed it, or it died in the fire.”

“A murdered dog, David? You don't have enough crime to solve? Or maybe he bit the killer, and still has their hand in his mouth, or their class ring in his belly.”

David waved a hand. “If the dog died of smoke inhalation, then it didn't interfere in the struggle in the hallway. Which means maybe it knew the killer. And, Della, I want anything you have on this Mind Institute in my reader today. Plus, take the two names you have that disappeared from the data set and give me what background you can, quick and dirty.”

“Okay, but David?”

He sighed. His back hurt. “Yeah?”

She leaned close, turned her back on Mel and String. “Can we talk a minute?”

“Okay.”

Della slipped into the interrogation room and closed the blinds. “I want to ask you about something.”

“Okay.”

“I want your opinion.”

“Okay.”

“This really isn't a joke, David.”

“Okay.”

“Stop saying that.”

“Oh … sorry. What is it, Della?”

“I'm afraid to tell you. You'll think it's disgusting.”

“No, no I won't. What is it?”

“I think I'm in love,” Della said.

David smiled wanly. “What's wrong with love, Della?”

“It's not what you call a natural love.”

“Another woman? There's nothing so bad about that.”

She shook her head, looked him in the eye. “An Elaki.”

David swallowed hard. No, she didn't look like she was joking.

“Pretty weird, huh? You think it's sick?”

“I don't think it's sick, Della. It's just, it seems strange, that's all. Not String?”

“Good Lord, no. No, he's … don't laugh, but he's handsome, Elaki-style. You know, like he's eight feet tall, and black as coal on the outer loop, dark red in the middle. Really, he's very striking. And he is so kind. So wise and childlike, and so focused on me. He cares about me. He's considerate.” She closed her eyes and groaned. “Oh, God. I know how this sounds.”

Bizarre, David thought.

“So schoolgirlish. He wants …” Della looked at her hands. “You sure you want to hear this?”

David did not know if it was fair to judge this Elaki by the standards of men, but he had a good idea what the Elaki wanted.

“Yes?”

“
You
know.”

“Ah. Is it … possible?”

“I don't know. I thought maybe you would?”

David swallowed. “What does
he
say?”

“He says he wants to understand and experience human intimacy.”

“Did he say how?”

“Maybe he's just going to read me poetry or something, I don't know. Did you … you saw that supper club tape?”

David cleared his throat. “Yes, Dell. Yes, I did.”

“Everybody was laughing. They made it all seem … it seemed so dirty. God, Silver, I don't know what to do. Do you think I'm evil? Unnatural?”

David put a hand on her shoulder, thinking how fragile her bones felt. “I think anything between two consenting adults is their own business. And, let's face it, women are always saying they'd like an alternative to men. Think of yourself as a pioneer.”

He expected her to smile, but she didn't. She looked at him quite seriously.

“So what exactly should I do? Should I—”

“You should do whatever you want to do, Della, whatever feels good … uh,
right
to you, and not worry about other people. Or Elaki. Or whatever.”