by Greg Dinallo
Lilah took a moment to comprehend what her protégée seemed to be suggesting. “Something tells me there’s a side of you I don’t know about, Serena.”
Serena peered from within the shiny black mane that framed her face and smiled seductively. “We all have one, don’t we?”
She did have an ulterior motive, Lilah thought, but it was more personal than professional. Lilah exhaled a long stream of smoke, then slowly put out her cigarette. “Sleeping with the boss seems to be taking on a whole new meaning these days, doesn’t it?”
Serena moved closer and put an arm around Lilah comfortingly. “It could,” she said softly.
An intrigued smile betrayed Lilah’s thoughts. Usually, her sense of adventure and appetite for danger would have prompted her to consider taking such a risk, but tonight it was her need to be held, to be comforted, to feel protected; and there was a surprising tenderness in Serena’s moist, almond-shaped eyes, and a softness to her touch that sent a rippling sensation to the tips of Lilah’s extremities.
Lilah’s eyes darted about in search of a mirror, as they always did when she was in need of reassurance. She caught sight of herself in the one in the entry and studied the image, making her decision. “I really appreciate everything you did for me tonight, Serena—” she said, her voice breaking slightly.
Serena smiled thinly, knowingly. “Something tells me that teddy is going back, isn’t it?”
Lilah nodded. “I just don’t think I could handle it. I hope you understand.”
“Of course,” Serena replied, lowering her eyes contritely tritely. She was flustered now, and took a moment to collect herself. “I don’t know what to say, Lilah. I’m afraid I was more than a bit out of line. I can’t imagine what came over me.”
“An impulse,” Lilah offered generously. Then, glancing with concern to the teddy, she added, “We both seem to be having trouble resisting them tonight.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Lilah was exhausted, but her brain refused to shut down, and she’d been lying awake in the darkness for several hours. Her eyes had just begun to close when the phone rang. “Yeah?” she whispered sleepily, fumbling with the receiver.
“Lilah? Oh, I’m so glad you’re there!” Marge Graham shrieked excitedly.
Lilah bolted upright in the bed. “Is it Daddy?” she asked, assuming the worst because of the hour.
“No, he’s fine. What about you? I couldn’t sleep, so I put on the TV. They bad something about a fire at UCLA. The genetics lab. Well, you can imagine what—“
“Mom? Mom . . . I’m fine . . . Uh-huh, you’re right, I should’ve called . . . No, just exhausted. I’ll fill you in tomorrow, okay? . . . Promise.”
Lilah hung up, sagged against the headboard and lit a cigarette. The flare of the match brought the evening’s events back in a numbing rush. She inhaled deeply and shuddered at the words that were ringing in her head.
It wasn’t her mother’s shrill chatter that she heard, but Dan Merrick’s dispassionate probing: You have any enemies? Genetics a competitive field? What about jealous colleagues? Any enemies? Competitive field? Jealous col- leagues? Enemies? Competitive? Jealous? Colleagues? Colleagues? Colleagues?
Her eyes darted from one mirror to the next, and then the next; and then to the sweep of black hair beside her. Despite their awkward moment, Lilah really hadn’t wanted to be alone, and she’d insisted that Serena keep her company. Now, she watched Serena’s chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm.
The phone rang again, snapping her out of it.
The caller apologized for the hour and identified himself as a reporter. Lilah hung up and unplugged the phone, then sat staring into the darkness until the first rays of light painted the room a dusty pink and the rising wind rattled the windows in their frames.
The morning news shows led with the wildfires and Santa Ana winds that were still fanning them. A reed-thin fellow sporting a boutonniere was strutting across the TV screen doing the five-day forecast. “That’s right, folks, we’re looking at more dry air, more gusting winds, and more double-zero digits!” he exclaimed with the goofy enthusiasm that afflicts L.A.’s all-male corps of weather reporters. “We’re talking a hundred-plus degrees out there today! And no end to the fire season in sight! Marta?” he prompted cheerily, handing off to one of L.A.’s many double-minority newsreaders.
“Thanks for putting it all in perspective for us, Lannie.” She lowered her voice and in a grave tone repeated, “No end in sight. Indeed, despite the heroic efforts of firefighters, the Las Flores, Trancas, and Calabasas wildfires are still burning and are all of suspicious origin.” She turned to a monitor where a wind-lashed field reporter was standing in front of the Health Sciences Center. The words LIVE UCLA appeared on the screen as she prompted, “This is the time of year when L.A.’s Arson Squad earns its keep, isn’t it, Skip?”
“It sure is, Marta. Especially when you consider there are only nineteen investigators for a city of over three million people. Compare that to San Francisco’s fifteen investigators for a fourth of the population, and you can see why L.A.’s squad is feeling the heat—but this week one of them still found time to be a hero.”
Lilah was in the shower. Serena was sitting on the bed with a cup of coffee, staring at the TV. Her eyes widened when a videotape of Merrick and the rescued firemen appeared. “Lilah?” she called out. “Lilah, it seems your arson investigator is on the news.”
Lilah hurried from the bathroom, drying her hair with a towel, and watched as the camera zoomed in on Merrick’s weary face.
“That’s right, Marta,” the reporter went on, “Lieutenant Dan Merrick was in hot pursuit of an arsonist when he took action that saved the lives of five firemen; and less than twenty-four hours later, Merrick was here at UCLA investigating yet another suspicious fire.” The image changed to a videotape of Lilah encircled by the media. “A fire that was started by a fire bomb mailed to Dr. Lilah E. Graham, a prominent researcher and member of the medical school faculty. Informed sources are saying the motive may be related to the controversial nature of her work—a motive that raises the specter of Unabomber Theodore Kaczynski. As you may recall, before being caught and imprisoned several years ago, Kaczynski had spent nearly two decades sending mail bombs to unsuspecting victims whose work or philosophy he found offensive. Many were university professors.”
“Well,” Serena sighed resignedly. “I was rather hoping it was all a bad dream.”
“That makes two of us. I don’t know how we’re going to get it all done in time,” Lilah lamented, referring to the upcoming seminar in Maryland; then her eyes clouded with fear and her voice took on a more fragile timbre. “I want to do something, but I don’t know what. I feel so . . . so damned paralyzed.”
“Well, releasing a statement would be a start. I’ll rough something out, if you like?”
“Good idea, thanks. Then what?”
“I’d say you’ve little choice but to leave the rest to the authorities. This Merrick fellow seems capable enough.”
“I’m scared, Serena. What am I supposed to do, ask him to protect me?”
“Oh, I doubt that will be necessary. He came charging to his colleagues’ rescue, didn’t he?”
“That’s not the same.”
“Really? A damsel in distress, a fire-eating prince oozing machismo from every pore—it’s fair to assume he’ll come charging to your rescue as well.”
“Well, I’m not going to hold my breath.” She lit a cigarette and exhaled thoughtfully, breaking into an ironic smile. “You know, Serena, you’re the last person I thought I’d ever be talking to like this. I mean, I don’t know why I feel so comfortable with you, but I do.”
“That’s because you don’t give a bloody damn what I think of you.”
“Not a bloody damn,” Lilah said, mimicking her as they both began laughing.
“Good, because to be brutally honest . . . all these mirrors, really. I can barely stand looking at myself in the morning, let a
lone dozens of you.”
The laughter brightened Lilah’s spirits. She fetched Merrick’s business card from her briefcase and called headquarters. When told he hadn’t come in yet, she left her cellular number, said it was important, and asked that he call as soon as possible. Then she got dressed, in jeans, T-shirt, tennis shoes, put on a few dabs of perfume, and gathered her things.
Serena dropped her at Macy’s and headed home for a shower and change of clothes. Lilah took the escalator to the lingerie department on the second floor. She still couldn’t recall buying the teddy and, along with returning it, hoped the clerk who made the sale might recognize her and provide the details and circumstances.
Lilah was drifting between the racks of lacy undergarments when a well-dressed woman who seemed vaguely familiar broke into a knowing smile. “Hi there, how’d that teddy work out for you?”
“Oh, hi,” Lilah replied. “Actually, not too well.”
“Decided red wasn’t for you, huh?”
Lilah removed the teddy from the bag along with the receipt. “The fact is, I just can’t spend this much.”
“Oh,” the sales clerk exclaimed, clearly surprised. “You gave me the opposite impression yesterday.”
“I did?” Lilah prompted.
“Uh-huh. I remember because, well, it took me years to stop buying cheap underwear, you know?” She leaned closer to Lilah and shifted into a confidential tone. “Of course, soon as I did, I started seeing this man who had a thing for tearing it off me. It gets a little expensive sometimes, but hey, ten years, three kids, and don’t ask me how many teddies later, we’re still mad about each other.”
“He doesn’t have a brother, does he?”
The clerk laughed, then ran Lilah’s MasterCard through the imprinter and returned it with the refund slip and a pen. “Anyway, when I showed you what I had, you went right for this one.”
“Gosh, I can’t imagine what I was thinking.”
“Well, you did seem a little scattered,” the clerk offered. She was about to staple Lilah’s copy of the credit slip to the sales receipt when her eyes narrowed in confusion. “Yeah, I’d say you were having a pretty off night.” She set them side by side on the counter and pointed to the signatures.
They were totally different.
An eerie chill went through Lilah and set her mind racing. How could she explain to the sales clerk what she couldn’t explain to herself? “Some people get a craving for chocolate,” she finally said, forcing a laugh. “Me, I get extravagant, and my signature changes. What can I tell you?”
Before leaving the store, Lilah took the cellular phone from her briefcase and called Merrick’s office. “It’s Dr. Graham again. I left a message earlier . . . In the field? Thanks . . . No, no need to page him.”
She hung up and hurried across the street toward the campus. If Merrick was in the field, she was fairly certain she knew where to find him.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The elevator door had barely opened when Lilah slipped past it and dashed into the corridor. Water squished from the carpet with each step, and the musty odor of mildew mixed with the pungent odor of smoke. She ducked beneath the yellow tape that proclaimed POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS, and headed for her lab.
A campus security officer stood at the entrance. “I’m sorry, this is a crime scene,” he explained, stepping in front of her. “Authorized personnel only.”
Lilah pointed to the ID badge clipped to her T-shirt. “See that? Dr. L. Graham. UCLA. Department of Human Genetics.”
“I’m sorry, Dr. Graham, I can’t let you in there. My orders are that nobody is—”
“Then you’ll have to shoot me.” Lilah lunged through the door and dashed toward her office.
Logan was standing outside the fire-ravaged cavern, taking photographs. Merrick was crawling beneath the collapsed ceiling grid in search of evidence. The twisted aluminum, charred ceiling panels, electrical cables and lighting units created an obstacle course that hampered his movement. At the moment, he was examining a piece of burnt cardboard that he’d plucked from the ashes with a pair of tweezers. He heard the commotion and peered back over his shoulder through the labyrinth to see Lilah hurrying toward the office.
“Sorry about this, Lieutenant,” the officer said as he caught up, taking hold of Lilah’s arm.
“It’s okay,” Merrick mumbled, preoccupied with his find. He crawled out from beneath the grid and showed the blackened shard to Logan. “What do you think?”
The forensic expert’s crinkly eyes narrowed, then he shrugged. “Could be writing or something.”
Merrick nodded. “Can we enhance it?”
Logan shrugged. “Tag it, bag it, and I’ll get somebody to run it.” He turned away and resumed taking photographs.
The officer had released Lilah, and she was standing there, blinking at the strobe flashes. “Hello? Anybody home?” she called out, knocking on an imaginary door.
Merrick slipped the piece of cardboard into an evidence bag. “What can I do for you, Doc?”
“You can start with an apology.”
“For what?”
“Not returning my call.”
Merrick jotted something on the evidence bag and put it in his attaché. “You’re on my list, Doc; but the last thing I need right now is a watchdog.”
“I beg to differ, Lieutenant. This arsonist, torch, whatever you call them, has already done—”
“Pyromaniac,” Merrick corrected.
Lilah winced at the term.
“Torches are businessmen. They play for pay. Burn to earn. They’re not into homicide, and they don’t go around mailing people fire bombs.”
“Well. As I was saying, this pyromaniac has already done enough damage. I don’t want you and your people making it worse.”
“We know a little about lab procedures too.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
“Whatever you say,” Merrick conceded wearily. He was operating on a couple of hours’ sleep and wasn’t up to a confrontation. “Long as you’re here, what time does the mail get delivered in this place?”
“Mid-morning. Why?”
“The fire bomb came in the mail, right?”
“To my condo.”
“Condo?” Merrick echoed with surprise. “Why didn’t you say that last night?”
“I don’t know,” Lilah replied, flustered. “I was upset. I had other things on my mind.”
Merrick let out a long breath. “What time does it get delivered to your condo?”
“Before noon. Usually,” Lilah replied, explaining that the package had arrived the previous day, remained in the receiving room until morning, and finally ended up in her office. “I spent the afternoon teaching class,” she concluded. “Then I went to the gym, had dinner with a colleague, and did a little shopping. It was after eight by the time I got here. Ten minutes later it went off.”
Merrick’s brows went up. “Almost thirty-six hours after it was delivered.” he said, suggesting this was significant. “Pete, you get a chance to check out that lump of plastic I found last night?”
“I have people working on it. Nothing definitive yet. Why?”
“Well, since it wasn’t rigged to detonate when it was opened, like most package bombs, I figure it was probably some kind of timer.”
Logan nodded patiently.
“So, why wasn’t it set to go off sooner? The pyro didn’t know the doc wouldn’t pick up her mail, or that she’d bring the package here, let alone be out of her office all day.”
“Good question,” Logan mused. “We’re either talking pure luck or detonation by remote control.”
Merrick nodded in emphatic agreement.
Logan smiled and fired the camera.
Lilah squinted at the blinding flashes. “You mean, they waited until I was here?”
“Well, yeah, that, or they got lucky. Either way, most homicides are committed by someone the victim knew. Any idea who they might be?”
“We
ll, let’s see . . . there were four—no, no five—people who knew I was here: the guard in the lobby; my junior researcher, Dr. Chen; Dr. Schaefer, over in Neuro-psy—that’s who I had dinner with—and one of my students, a kid named Kauffman. We were on the phone when it went off. Oh, and I called my mother.”
Merrick jotted down the names on a pad. “Any of them have a motive you can think of?”
“No.”
“Think some more. If I’m right about it being detonated by remote, and they’re the only ones who knew . . .” He let it trail off, implying the conclusion was obvious. “You get along with your mother okay?”
“My mother?” she echoed incredulously. “She needs my father to light the barbecue.”
“Okay. Put the guard and your mother on hold for now, and talk to me about the rest.”
“Well, for openers, there are times when Serena—Dr. Chen—thinks I’m out to torpedo her career; but that’s normal in this business.”
“In every business. What else?”
“She’s ambitious, driven, competitive . . .”
Merrick emitted a dismissive grunt after each and scanned his notes. “What about Schaefer? You said all the shrinks hate your guts?”
“No, he’s one of the enlightened few. We’re actually working together.” Lilah paused, making a decision. “What if I said we had an affair?”
“Did you?”
The strobe flashed again before Lilah had a chance to reply. She blinked back the spots, then nodded. “I’d like some privacy if we’re going to talk about it.”
“Gonnahaveto,” Merrick grunted, running it into a single word.
Lilah led the way to an enclosed conference area, dropped her briefcase on the table, and leaned against the window ledge. “I know I should’ve mentioned it last night,” she said defensively. “But before you jump down my throat, I didn’t because Dr. Schaefer is married. He’s also a highly respected psychiatrist, and I wasn’t about to damage his reputation.”
