Burn (22 page)

“I mean it doesn't make sense, ” Heather said. “It doesn't make any sense.”

He handed her the carbon copy of the rental agreement for the space. “Take a look. It's in my name, but it's been backdated to July 3.”

“I can read.”

“Our friend with the dislocated shoulder in the office back there tells me Larry offered two grand, but he talked him up to four. I didn't have the heart to tell him you gave me five for doing nothing.”

She didn't smile. “Four thousand dollars for what?”

“A thousand to tweak the papers, three to call the cops later in the week. After he opened this place up with his manager's key because of the smell.” Andrew looked around. “Hot as it is in here, I'm guessing it wouldn't have taken more than two or three days, tops.”

“Two or three days for what?”

“You don't see it, yet?” Andrew held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you. I'm the evidence.”

Heather just stared at him.

“I wasn't supposed to find this place. They were supposed to find me in here. It would have looked like a suicide.” Andrew shook his head. “But he couldn't go through with it. He couldn't do it. The crazy shit took it this far, then warned me away.”

“That's insane.”

“That doesn't mean it isn't the setup, ” he said. “Look, your uncle Cedric and me … there's a thing that goes back a few years. I'm not going to go into it.”

“Stop calling him my uncle Cedric, ” she said. “It's good and rubbed in. You can give it a rest.”

“The point is, there's history, ” Andrew said. “History that doesn't have anything to do with you or your family. But the minute Cedric heard about your brother, he knew he was sitting on the perfect opportunity. He knows I'm out here, he just hasn't bothered to do anything about it. But now here's his chance to get his satisfaction and help your dad at the same time. From where he's sitting, it's beautiful.”

“It's
ridiculous, ”
she said again. “Let me tell you something. I once had a part on the worst television show ever created, and
they
would have rejected this pitch. No cop in the world with any sense would buy it for a minute.”

“The cops, ” Andrew said, “don't want your brother to be guilty any more than you do. Believe me.”

“Is that why they turned his house and his office inside out?”

“Why haven't they issued an arrest warrant? Why haven't they named him yet?” Andrew shook his head. “Whatever they've got on your brother, I guarantee they don't think it's strong enough for a conviction, or they wouldn't be stringing this along.”

“I see. And you're a lawyer?”

“Close enough, ” Andrew said. “Listen. My guess is the cops are all over your brother because he's the only thing they've got. But if they had an alternative?”

He gestured around the room.

“Cedric aimed to give them an alternative. It's a little over the top, I'll give you that. But it's got a nice little bow on it. I'll bet they wouldn't have wasted much energy punching holes in the wrapping paper.”

“Please.”

“Think about it. Set aside the fact that your dad has personal friends on the duty rosters. He's a
commissioner.

Talk about an embarrassment the LAPD does not need.” He shook his head. “The media would have loved this story. Forget it. This would have been an easy sell. And once I was all over the news, your brother wouldn't have any reason not to come in from wherever he is. If he's anywhere near as bright as his sister, I imagine he could have improvised whatever Cedric and your dad couldn't coach him on, story-wise.”

“The media.” She shook her head at him. “Boy, you really haven't been in this town long, have you? Do you honestly think the LAPD would come off better in the press if they tried to close the case on
this?
I know reporters who would work overtime to prove the police set you up themselves to protect the son of a commissioner.
That's
a story.”

“But they wouldn't get anywhere.” Andrew shrugged. “Besides. Say the cops did end up dropping the hammer on your brother one day down the road. Say he actually went to trial. The kind of lawyers your father can afford? I'd say Cedric's little diorama project here would have bought them more than enough reasonable doubt to work with. They got O. J. off with less.”

Heather tossed the confession on the floor. The pages scattered. She paced a few steps, then came back.

“Why would you send a letter to the cops and sign my brother's name?”

“Who knows why crazy people do anything? The guilt was eating me up inside, I guess. Doesn't really matter. Forging your brother's name, though, that's kind of brilliant.”

“Explain why.”

“Because it forced the cops to follow up, ” Andrew said. “Do you know how many loser tips they must be
getting on a case like this? If I really had sent that letter, I would have needed some way to get their attention. Cedric was in the same position. By the time the cops verified the letter was a fraud, they would have already found Casa Cuckoo here, thanks to our friend in the front office.”

“But that doesn't make
sense, ”
she said. “I mean, is ‘Andrew Kindler’ your real name, or what? You used to work for Cedric, right? Wouldn't the police be able to connect you with him, somehow? I don't care how long he and my father have been friends. If he's the man you say he is, surely he wouldn't go to all this trouble to fake your suicide just to trash his own business.” She flung up her arms. “Besides! If the police connected you to Cedric's … what? Mob? Whatever it is? That would sink the whole thing! It'd make this all look like one big setup again.”

“I came to California to disappear, ” Andrew said. “I'm a nonentity here. I don't use credit cards. I don't belong to anything. I don't even have my own telephone number. Until the day before yesterday, there were only two people in Los Angeles who even know who I am. One of them wouldn't defend my name if you poured acid in his eyes. And the other….”

He looked at her, really thinking this through for the first time. As he did, something cold slithered around the base of his spine, curled up, and went to sleep there.

“The other is family. And she'd walk through fire.” He was starting to run low on shrugs. “But she has a healthy mother who still lives in Baltimore. My aunt Judy. Cedric knows what to do with that.”

Heather said nothing. She looked back to the pages scattered on the floor.

“My own mother passed away not long ago, ” he told her. “If the rat bastard she divorced when I was a kid is even alive, I'm sure he would have sent Cedric a thank-you note. That about covers family.”

Heather raised her head.

“As for back home, ” he told her, “if I have any friends left, they wouldn't be dumb enough to take their chances with Cedric Zaganos. And even if the cops did put me there—which I'm sure they have by now—I'm clean. No convictions, no arrest record, not even a parking ticket. I assume you could have called me up on a ‘known associates’ list a couple weeks ago. But now….”

“But now what?”

He gave her the best grin he could manage. “Suffice to say your dad isn't the only person who has friends inside a police department.”

“I can't believe this, ” Heather said. “I can't believe what you're telling me.”

“I know I've heard all need to hear, ” a voice behind them said.

Andrew tensed, but he didn't turn.

He waited. He waited for the sudden spike in his pulse rate to equalize, for the voice to speak again. For any sound. He imagined the space behind him, the voice's position in it. He watched Heather's eyes widen.

“Benjy?”

“Come on, ” said the voice, now familiar. “We're out of here.”

Andrew felt his entire body uncoil. He turned to see Lomax's driver standing just inside the doorway of the storage space. Benjamin Corbin either wore the same green polo he'd worn the other day, or he owned several.

Heather went straight to him. Benjy hugged her tight,
keeping his eyes on Andrew the whole time. She craned back her head and said, “What are you doing here?”

“Your dad sent me down, ” Benjy told her. “As soon as he found out you'd left this morning.” He looked down into her eyes. “I'm a little bit pissed at you.”

She mashed her face in his chest. “I know, I know. I know.” Then she stepped away and swiped her arm viciously at the room. “Would you look at this? Would you
look
at this?”

Benjy only looked at Andrew. “I see it.”

Andrew nodded to him. “I was wondering when we might run into each other again.”

“You haven't run into me yet, ” Benjy told him.

“I get that feeling, Benjy.”

Heather looked at both of them. “What do you two think you're doing?”

“Reaching an understanding, ” Andrew said.

Benjy said nothing.

“Well, put your dicks away and let's figure out what to do about all of this, ” Heather said. “Because I can't take it anymore. I swear to God, I can't last another day.”

“I know, ” Benjy told her, finally taking his eyes off Andrew. He looked at her and sighed. “I know.”

“Benjy, ” she said, and her voice had no weight.

“Come on, ” he told her.

“Gee, ” Andrew said. “You mean you guys aren't going to stick around and help me clean up?”

“Don't forget to untie your boy in the office, ” Benjy advised. “His hands were turning blue when I checked on him. Heather. Let's go.”

“I'm not going anywhere, ” Heather said. “If you want to stay and help us, Benjy, I wish you would. But I'm not going anywhere.”

“Not even to see your brother?” Heather's eyes widened. Then they narrowed. She said,
“Benjy?”

“Enough's enough, ” he said, and took her by the hand.

HIS left ankle had taken the worst.

Todd didn't think he'd broken it, but he'd felt a pop when the joint had folded, and it looked to be a bad sprain. This morning, the bruising had settled into the bottom of his foot, turning his instep black.

The tub of ice water doled far greater punishment than the injury itself: twenty stabbing minutes of knitting needle through bone, rays of pain climbing all the way into his hip. But he wanted to keep the swelling under control, so he forced himself to endure the cure despite the jaw-clenching agony of the treatment. He followed the ice bath with a megadose of ibuprofen and a tightly wrapped Ace bandage.

Once he'd redressed the ankle, Todd hobbled to his golf bag in the closet and tested club lengths. He finally settled on his nine iron for a cane. He wasn't sure which he needed worse: a doctor or a caddy.

The rest seemed superficial enough. Abrasions on his right hip, his back, shoulders, left forearm, left cheekbone. He irrigated with Bactine, applied a triple-medicated ointment to everything he could reach, and covered the rawest areas with adhesive pads.

He'd sustained a deep cut across the bridge of his nose. But there wasn't much swelling, nothing knocked crooked. Bactine and salve, two butterfly closures, then a Breathe Right strip over the top to help his airflow.

Not much to be done about the faint bruise-shadows beneath his eyes except apply a little vanishing cream and wait for them to fade on their own.

All in all, Todd felt far worse than he looked. His spirit throbbed. It was going to be one hell of a long day.

It began the minute he limped into the building. Todd could sense an uneasy vibe in the office, a quiet tension, and it did nothing for his mood. But he'd woken in such a funk that he hadn't even thought about how he'd explain his condition if anybody asked. He wasn't on his game today at all.

The people whose paths he crossed on his way to the elevators either held their tongues in light of his appearance, or they went ahead and accosted him anyway, usually with the day's newspaper.

Have you seen?

Todd did the best he could.

Yes, I've seen it. But let's not go jumping to assumptions until David's had a chance to speak for himself. We're all in this together.

Somebody must have called upstairs, because Sharla, his assistant, intercepted him as soon as the elevator doors opened. Her eyes went wide.

“My God, look at you! Mr. Todman, are you okay?”

Todd forced a smile onto his face, leaned on the
nine iron, and patted her shoulder with his free hand. “I'm fine, Sharla. Had a little fender bender yesterday. Good morning.”

“No wonder I couldn't reach you! I must have called twenty times after you left the office yesterday … that reporter from the
Times
called, and I tried to….”

“I've seen the paper, Sharla. Don't worry, it's okay. You did fine.” Todd hopped off the elevator and into the carpeted hallway, using the golf club for balance. “It's my fault. I forgot that I had my call forwarding set to the mailbox. But I got your messages. We'll need to set up a press conference for later this afternoon.”

Sharla looked both ways and dropped her voice.

“The police are here, ” she said. “Detectives Timms and Munoz. I told them I'd have you call them back, but they wanted to wait.”

Todd let out a long breath. He was in no mood for this. No mood at all.

“Where?”

“Right outside your office, ” she said.

“Stop
whispering,
Sharla, ” he told her. “Good grief, you'd think we were the criminals.”