"And since I was the last person he talked to, you're hoping he told me something that might help you."
"Yes."
Cathy was silent, wondering if she could work the same kind of deal with him that she'd managed with Lowell. Probably not, but she needn't come away completely empty-handed.
"I hate to disappoint you, Ed—"
"Which means you're going to, of course."
"Sorry." She offered a rueful smile. "There just isn’t very much to tell. Bobby was trying to get a message to his brother's lawyer, Peter Lowell. You knew his brother had been arrested?"
"I knew. His brother was mixed up in this, too, but unknowingly. That's one of the reasons Bobby agreed to work with us; he hoped to get something out of it to help the kid. Apparently he did, too."
"Bobby wanted me to tell Lowell he had some kind of evidence that would prove his brother had been framed."
"Did he say what?"
"No."
"Or where it was?"
"No again. I told you I wouldn't be much help. Bobby died before he could get it out."
"Would you tell me exactly what he did say?"
Cathy was beginning to feel like she should have the words printed on a card, ready to distribute to the people who wanted to know. If only someone could make some sense of it, could pinpoint just what Bobby had meant. "In the air..." didn't help very much. But...
"Can I ask you something first?" she said.
His eyes narrowed as he considered her. "I'll answer if I can."
"Do you think whatever Bobby had would've cleared his brother?"
Ed Hammond weighed his answer for several seconds. "There's no knowing for sure until we actually see what he had," he said slowly. "But, yes, I think so."
"Do you know what it was?" she asked. “In even a general way?”
He shook his head slowly. "No idea. I wish I did."
Cathy waited for him to continue, but he just shrugged and lapsed into a brooding silence. After a moment, though, he crooked a wry eyebrow, prompting her to speak. She related the gist of her conversation with Bobby, again, wishing she had a card she could give him. She still got a lump in her throat when she talked about it.
"In the air? That was all he said?" Ed asked when she was finished.
"He tried to get more out. He couldn't."
"Any idea what he was talking about?"
"None at all. I was hoping you might know."
He shook his head.
"There must have been more to the word," she continued. "Like air conditioner or air vent, but I don't have a clue what it might have been. I talked to Peter Lowell this afternoon, to see if it meant anything to him. He's a close-mouthed sort, too, didn't volunteer anything, but I think he was just as mystified. The police don't believe it at all, though they did search his apartment and checked out the air ducts and air conditioner. Nothing."
"Air..." he repeated. "Air conditioner... airline... airplane... airport... airmail?"
"In the airmail?" Cathy frowned and shook her head. "I don't think so. It doesn't sound right. I wish I knew. Especially since somebody else seems to think I do."
"The character who tried to run you down this morning?"
"The only logical reason I can conceive is somebody thinks Bobby did tell me what he had or where it was and they've got to eliminate me before I can tell anyone else."
"You'd better hope that's the case," he commented.
"I beg your pardon?"
"If that's what they think, you ought to be relatively safe. You've had plenty of time to get to whatever he hid and remove it. If those guys learned much about you, they'd know you're the sort who'd take something like that straight to the police. Therefore, if nothing's come down, they should be realizing you don't have anything."
"Hmmm." She liked his reasoning. "I hadn't looked at it that way," she admitted. "I hope you're right."
"I do, too. What are you planning to do about the story? Are you going to continue to cover it?"
"There won't be much more unless something new breaks. We'll run a follow-up tonight and probably a feature for the weekend, but that'll end it until something else noteworthy happens."
"And will that end your involvement?"
She'd hoped he wouldn't ask that question. "Probably not. Ed, the police think Bobby was involved in dealing drugs again. Do drugs figure in this?"
His look was almost severe now. "Maybe." He paused. "I don't suppose it'll do much good to ask you not to pursue it. But I will remind you a man's been killed; this isn't a game. So please, please, be careful. What do you plan to do?"
"Talk to people who knew Bobby, see if any of them have any ideas. Lowell is trying to get Danny out on bail; I want to run it by him. Beyond that, I don't know. I could defend myself better if I knew what I was up against."
"Some very dangerous people," he answered.
"Killers, obviously," she speculated. "Pushers? Or something else? What were they covering up in that burning building?"
He shrugged. "A lot of questions and no answers. Be careful looking for those answers; somebody wants them to remain secret."
She nodded. "What about you, Ed? What are you going to do?"
He arched a graceful, arrogant eyebrow. "I have some more people to talk to, a few leads to chase down." He picked up the check and placed thirty dollars on the saucer for the waitress to collect.
Cathy reached into her purse and tried to hand him a couple of bills. "I don't think you've gotten your money's worth," she offered. "Will you tell me if you find out anything?"
"If I can." He pushed back her extended hand. "It's on the expense account." He waited quietly while the waitress passed and picked up the tray. "And if you find something, will you let me know? I'll give you a phone number where I can be reached. If I'm not there, leave a message. Also if you have any problems or trouble... call. Okay?"
"Yes, thanks, I will."
They left the restaurant and enjoyed a quiet drive back to the newspaper building. Ed was silent for much of the trip; she'd given him a lot to think about. Cathy turned once or twice to look out the back to check for a blue Toyota or other vehicle that might be following. She didn't see anything.
Ed pulled into the parking lot, but stopped the car in a far corner. He switched off the engine, pulled a pad and pencil out of his pocket, scribbled a number, and handed the paper to her.
"Remember, don't hesitate to call if you need anything or have any problems."
"I won't," she answered.
It was getting dark outside, but enough light remained to illuminate the serious concern in his brilliant eyes as he watched her. He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and drew her toward him, then brushed his lips across hers. It was brief and his mind wasn't entirely with it, but the effort impressed her She returned the kiss; then he drew away and started the motor again.
"Catherine Bennett, you're entirely too distracting," he said as he drove up to the curb. They said goodbye and Cathy climbed the stairs to her desk in the best humor she'd experienced all day.
It proved to be a slow night. She collaborated with Sandy Serrazin, one of the regular crime beat reporters, on a follow-up story about the murder which included her statement that Bobby Stark hadn't told her anything comprehensible, as well as the police theory that Bobby's drug connections had a bearing on the case.
Ray called her into his office again that evening. She related the gist of her conversation with Ed Hammond, including his belief that whoever was pursuing her should be realizing that she didn't have what he wanted. Ray nodded. "Good thinking. I hope he's right. Just in case, though..." He reached into a desk drawer and extracted a slim aerosol can which he handed to her across the pile of papers and clippings. "Keep that handy whenever you're out after dark."
"Pepper spray?" she asked.
"You may not be in any more danger, but there's no point in taking chances."
She got home at a reasonable hour that night. The slender can rested near
the top of her pocketbook, and she kept a hand on it when she stepped out of her car in front of her apartment and walked up the steps to the second floor balcony. Nothing happened, though, and she slept soundly.
- 6-
Friday
The phone call came at ten-thirty the next morning. Cathy had been awake for a couple of hours, catching up on chores. The summons yanked her out of the monthly frustration of balancing her checkbook. Though she kept careful records, the figures never seemed to add up right.
She dropped her pencil, pleased to have an excuse to take her mind off the numbers. A secretary calling from Mr. Lowell's office asked if she could be there at eleven-thirty. Cathy agreed.
Ten minutes later, she'd reduced the discrepancy between her balance and the bank's statement to four dollars and sixty-six cents and decided that was close enough to satisfy any sane human being. She wrote a few checks to pay bills, cleaned up the financial apparatus, and put it away; then changed into a short-sleeved blue shirtdress which flattered her pale complexion and emphasized the red highlights in her brown hair.
This time she left early and found a parking place fifteen feet from the door. A good sign—she was ten minutes early.
The receptionist directed her right into Lowell’s office. He sat on his desk rather than behind it, the casualness of the pose contrasting oddly with his formal attire. A dark suit and tie emphasized his leanness and made him look taller than his six feet. He'd taken some pains to get his hair in order, but it was starting to break loose and fall across his forehead again.
He stood as she entered the office, then closed the door behind her. Another person rose from the chair she'd occupied the previous day, and Lowell introduced her to Danny Stark.
The boy was an inch or two taller than herself. Straight dark brown hair, badly cut, brushed his collar in back; very dark eyes held his thoughts and reactions under tight guard. Thin to the point of gauntness, he nevertheless looked more tired and wary than hungry. Prominent cheekbones and smudges under the eyes suggested he hadn't slept well for some days. The sneakers he wore had seen better days and the jeans were a disgrace, but his shirt was clean and looked new.
She offered a hand. "Glad to meet you, Danny." He took her hand but withdrew quickly, as though her touch caused him pain. His eyes measured her gravely and Cathy wondered what standard she was being weighed against.
She wouldn't know how she stacked up, however, because Lowell asked them to sit, and Danny turned his eyes back to the lawyer.
Lowell addressed her first. "I've taken the liberty of telling Danny about your relationship with Bobby. I hope you don't mind?"
Cathy looked at Danny. His face wore no expression, but tension bunched the muscles of his rigidly set shoulders. "I don't mind," she said.
"Good. I thought it would save time." He hesitated a moment—an odd pause—as though he were uncomfortable. "Miss Bennett, you're not going to like this, but for Danny's protection, I'm going to ask you to sign this agreement." He handed her a piece of paper. "Basically it states you won't print anything about Danny without my permission."
She took the sheet from him and read it. It was surprisingly comprehensible for a legal document, and he'd summarized the contents quite accurately. He was also right about her reaction—she didn't like it at all.
"I can't sign this, Mr. Lowell," she said handing it back to him. "It would be worth my job. I promised you yesterday that what I learned from you was off the record, unless you agreed otherwise. If you want to be sure it still stands, all you have to do is ask. But you'll have to take my word for it."
Lowell watched her with impassive green eyes. "I don't have to let you talk to Danny at all."
"No," she agreed. "But I can go around you also. I'd prefer not to. I'd like to have your help, which is why you can trust me."
Lowell put the paper back on his desk and nodded coldly. Danny watched them both without comment or reaction.
"I have your word that everything we say here is off the record?" Lowell's tone suggested grave doubts regarding the reliability of her word. Cathy drew in a long deep breath to calm herself. The man was insufferable.
"You do," she told him.
"All right, Miss Bennett. What it is you want to know from Danny?"
"Everything."
"What's everything?" Danny asked.
"Everything you know that might help us figure out why Bobby was killed." The young man flinched on the last word. Cathy added, "Danny, I'm sorry about your brother. I liked him, and I want to know who killed him. I'm hoping you can help us find out."
“I’ll find out who killed him," the boy promised.
Cathy looked to Lowell for his reaction.
“Better odds if we all work together on it,” Lowell told him.
Danny shrugged.
"Start with the night of the fire," Cathy suggested. "Tell us everything you can remember of that night."
"I've already told the cops everything."
"I know," Cathy said. "But I'd like you to go over it again. There may be something the police overlooked."
"Overlooked, hell!" Bitterness and deep anger exploded from Danny. “They didn't believe a damned word I said!"
"Ease down," Lowell intervened. "Danny, we want to believe you; that's why we need to hear your side of the story again."
"Okay." The young man's shoulders lifted again, then he looked down at his hands and methodically cracked his knuckles. "It was a really rotten day," he started. "Nothing went right. So I went to this place to calm down—"
"Name?" Cathy interrupted him.
"Huh?"
"What was the name of the place?" She pulled pad and pen out of her purse and started making notes.
"Oh. 'Andy's'. On Dayton Street. Not much of a place, but the beer's cold and nobody asks questions."
"Like how old you are?"
His lips quirked but didn’t quite make it to a smile. "Yeah. So I had a few and I was starting to feel better... you know, like relaxed, more sociable... and there's this guy a couple a stools down, making noises about how it's been his lucky day, and he just made a hundred for an hour's work. Sounds too good to me, so I’m like, 'Nah, don't nobody pay that much for an hour,' and he says, 'Oh yeah?' So we go back and forth on it a while, only when I ask him what he's doing to earn this hundred, he goes all... secretive, like, on me. Looks me up and down, kinda sharp, then says, 'You interested in making a hundred yourself?' And I’m like, 'Sure, who wouldn't be?' He looks at his watch and says, 'Okay, I'll be meeting the boss in half an hour. Come along and I'll introduce you. Maybe he's got some work for you, too.' We paid up and left and I went with him up to this old building... It used to be apartments, only no one lives there now."
"You walked to the building?" Cathy asked.
"Yeah. It wasn't real far."
"The man didn't tell you his name?"
"No."
"Can you describe him?"
Danny was quiet a moment, fiddling with a button on his shirt. "It was dark in Andy's, and outside, too, and I never got a real good look at him."
"You walked next to him. Was he taller than you or shorter?"
"Shorter."
"Thin or fat?"
"Kinda in-between."
"White or black?"
"White,” Danny answered.
"Dark hair?"
"I think so."
"Eyes?"
"I couldn't see."
"Anything unusual about his face, about the way he walked or talked or moved?"
"No. Well, yeah, he talked with a kind of a stutter."
"Anything else?"
He shrugged and shook his head
"Okay. You went with him to an abandoned apartment building. Had you ever been in that building before?"
"No. Seen it before, but I ain't never been inside."
"You went in with this other man?"
"Yeah."
"Through the front door?"
"Door in the side."
&nb
sp; "Was it unlocked or did he unlock it?"
Danny thought a moment. "It wasn't locked."
"Okay, you went in with him. What happened next?"
"He took me to this little room and tells me I got to wait there while he squares things with the boss. He asked did I want a cigarette and I told him yeah. I don't usually smoke." Danny's voice got lower. "I didn't want to look... you know. So I said yeah. And he pulls a pack of cigarettes outa his pocket and tosses them to me. I catch them and pull one out. There's a Bic tucked into the side so I lit up with it. I was gonna toss the pack back to him, but he says to keep it, so I put it in my pocket.
"Then he went away, and I was sitting there in the dark smoking for a while. The place is too quiet and I'm starting to get..." He searched for a word but didn't find it. "Then I hear this noise and... I guess something musta hit me, cause I got this big pain in my head and then I was out. Like, out, completely."
His fingers brushed a spot on his head that might have been the site of the injury. "I woke up," he continued, "I wasn't in the same room and there was all... all sorts of stuff going on. The cops were there, and the firemen, and I smelled smoke and booze and gasoline, and the cops were asking me why I set fire the building on fire. I tried to tell them I didn't, but it was pretty hard to think; my head... It felt like somebody was pounding on it with a two-by-four, and my stomach wasn't too good neither. They took me downtown, and I was trying to tell them what happened, but the next thing I know I been charged with torching the building."
"You hadn't touched any gasoline before you were hit?"
"I didn't." His hands clenched on the arms of the chair and he looked down at his shoes. "I swear to God I didn't. I didn't set that place on fire."
Cathy was quiet for a minute, considering her notes. "The question is, though, how to prove it?"
Danny looked up at her, eyes wide with surprise. Cathy realized with a shock that he hadn't expected to be believed.
"Bobby thought he had proof you were innocent. Do you have any idea what it might be?" she asked.
He shook his head. "I thought about it a lot since Mr. Lowell told me, but I just don't know."
A Question of Fire Page 4
