by Arjay Lewis
“And your hand is burned,” Jenny said, as she pulled a gauze pad out of her pocket.
“Bill, you should get down there!” I said into the phone. “Whoever did this might still be there. He’s dressed in black, tall, thin, Roman nose…”
“What are you talking about?” he said, not convinced.
“I was there, in the building—I saw him outside, just like the day Mishan died. He’s there now, watching the fire.”
“All right, I’m on my way. I’m going to want to talk to you later. You’ll be in?”
“Yeah. I’ll be here all night.”
I gave him the address and hung up as Jenny finished binding my hand with tape.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“I’ll be fine. Thank you—I don’t want your food to burn.”
“Dinner!” she yelped and ran toward the kitchen.
I went back to my room and put on my socks, shoes, and my well-traveled tweed jacket. Then I went to the bathroom and, using my left hand, splashed cool water on my face. Haggard eyes stared back at me from the mirror.
. . .
Jenny’s quick work saved the broiled salmon from becoming ash. At six, Jon, Jenny, and I sat down to vegetables and fresh bread that Jenny, with great modesty, claimed she just “threw together in the bread machine.”
“No end of excitement today,” Jenny said. “I woke Len up and saved him from burning alive.”
“What?” Jon said with a glance to me.
Jenny related the story from her point of view, while I added very little. Just as she finished, there was a knock at the door.
“I’ll get it. It’s probably Mrs. Kinney from around the corner.”
As soon as Jenn left the room, Jon moved close and whispered, “So, how long can you stay?”
“I should leave soon. I don’t want to wear out my welcome.”
“Len, I’ve barely had any time with you. Tomorrow is Friday. At least stay through the weekend so we can hang out together a bit.”
“Sure, that will be—”
Jenny walked into the room, pale and stiff.
“It’s a police officer, Len. He asked to see you.”
I brightened. “Oh, that’s Detective McGee. It’s all right, he’s the one I called.”
I got up, but Jenny still looked worried. I could sense that there was something about the situation that made her uneasy.
I hobbled out to the hall. Not an easy feat as I was not accustomed to using my cane with my left hand. There was McGee, flanked by a uniformed officer I had not yet met. The officer was average height with features I would expect on a movie star. Strong chin, high cheekbones. He was well-built without being too pumped.
“Doctor Wise?” McGee said, his eyes tight and his attitude stern.
“Detective McGee, I’m glad you—” I started.
“I have to ask you your whereabouts this afternoon between three and five p.m.”
“My whereabouts?” I asked, puzzled. “I was here, asleep.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jon and Jenny come into the room behind me.
“Do you have any witnesses to confirm that you were here?” McGee said in the same flat tone.
“I woke Len at five-thirty,” Jenny said.
“And where is your room, on the second floor?” McGee asked.
“No,” I said. “On the ground floor, back near the garage.” I could see why Jenny was so nervous about McGee’s arrival. He was acting totally different, hostile.
“So you could have climbed in through a window or entered through the garage without Mrs. Baines knowing it?”
At this, I couldn’t suppress a smile. The image of me with my bad leg climbing through a window was beyond comical—it was practically Three Stooges material.
“That would be impossible…” Jenny said.
“What is this about, detective?” Jon said, ever my defender.
“I understand, Doctor, that you received a burn on the palm of your hand,” McGee said, fixing his intense eyes on my bandaged hand. “May I see it and have Officer Galland photograph it?”
The uniformed man next to McGee nodded, and I saw the camera in his hand. It was a high-quality digital one with a large lens and an attached strobe. They’d come prepared.
I paused for a moment. “Of course,” I said, and began to loosen the bandage.
Jon raised his hand. “Len, if they are accusing you of anything, it would be better to have a lawyer present. I could make a call…”
“That won’t be necessary,” I said. “I honestly have nothing to hide.” I unwrapped the tape, and the bandage fell away.
I heard Jenny draw in breath, and then move over closer to me.
“But—it was burned. I saw the blisters…” she murmured.
McGee grabbed a flashlight from Galland’s belt and shone the bright light in the palm of my hand.
There wasn’t a mark.
I looked over at Jenny. “I told you, it was psychogenic—all in my mind. Once I accepted that I really wasn’t burned…”
“That’s amazing,” Jenny said, her eyes wide.
I turned to face Jenny and Jon. “I think Detective McGee and I should talk. Detective, may we step outside?”
McGee still looked at my hand, puzzled. “Of course, Doctor,” he said, his manner less cold.
We stepped out on the front porch and shut the door to the house. It was cooler, and I pulled my jacket tighter.
“I’m sure Officer Galland has a report to fill out,” I said.
“Yes, I’m sure he does,” McGee said with a nod to the man who returned the nod and walked away, playing with his camera as he went.
I looked at McGee and wiggled the fingers of my right hand. “You thought I started the fire.”
His eyes followed Galland as he headed to the car. “Look, Doctor, think of it from a detective’s point of view. You call me about a fire, and I overhear a woman saying you got burned—what would you think?”
I turned to watch Galland as well. “Probably what you thought. Here I am, this guy you don’t know, wanting to be involved in the case. Then I call you raving about a fire—I’d be suspicious, too.”
I could see McGee shift uneasily. “There are people who do things to get attention…”
I nodded. “Agreed, especially people claiming to be psychics. They seek a lot of publicity to try to validate their abilities.” I faced McGee. “Look, Bill. I’m only here because you asked—and somehow, some way, I’m involved in this case on levels I don’t completely understand.” I gazed off down the quiet street lined with houses. “That dream was so real, and to be honest, it scared the hell out of me. It’s odd, it’s like I’m being pushed to find the truth. But, if I’m in your way, then I’m out of here and headed back to California.”
Bill nodded. “You actually have been a help. I found out Lonny the Match is out of prison.”
“For how long?”
“A few months, and he skipped out on his parole officer. He’s had plenty of time to make his way to New Jersey.”
“Where was he living?”
“California.”
I accepted the coincidence of my own arrival. “And I show up around the same time, from California, and conveniently point suspicion on him. If I were a detective, alarm bells would go off.”
“Can you see why I ran out here?” McGee said.
“If it’s any help, you can have forensics go over me and my belongings. I can assure you I do not have any residue of accelerants on anything I own.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“But if it becomes necessary, I won’t take it personally, Bill.” I sat down on the steps, my leg stretched out. McGee followed suit.
“How bad was the fire?” I asked.
“Bad. The fire department called
in squads from other towns. We may lose that entire block.”
“I hope everyone got out.”
“Still people unaccounted for.”
“Damn!” I said.
“And we lost any possible chance of going over the site again. Anything left will be far too damaged.”
“Damn!” I repeated. A faint breeze came, carrying the slight odor of gasoline, I guessed from the fire since it burned only ten or twelve blocks away.
“In my vision, I smelled gasoline. Like someone doused the place with it.”
“That’s for the fire department to find out. Then I’ll see if there are any witnesses, see if anyone was walking around with a gas can.”
“The oddest thing for me is that I saw a face,” I said. “It wasn’t Lonny, it was different. It was someone with a presence…” I exhaled heavily. “There I go, ranting again. Look, I’d better let you go. But my offer stands. Any way I can help or if you want me to just leave, let me know.”
“Do you think you could look over some mug shots tomorrow? See if anyone on the books matches this new face you saw?”
“I could try.”
“Then come on by in the morning. I’ll see you then,” McGee said, standing and taking my hand in a firm handshake. As he left, I knew we were still friends.
nine
The evening was spent reassuring Jon and Jenny that everything was fine and that I wasn’t going to be arrested or develop stigmata. Jenny spent a lot of the evening surreptitiously taking peeks at my hand. I probably stared at it a bit myself.
I have seen phenomena similar to what had happened to me at hauntings, though I’ve never been a big fan of physical mediums. The term applies to a clairvoyant who speaks with spirits—and causes physical manifestations. This includes table raps, movement of objects, and materializations—the sudden appearance of an object or person.
The problem with such displays is that the effects are usually accomplished through subterfuge. There was a strong spiritualist movement in the Victorian era in America and England, and although there were several truly gifted psychics in the mix, the vast number were clever manipulators, much like the modern “manifester” Uri Geller, with his spoon and key bending trickery.
That was the advantage of working my way through high school as a magician with my brother, who’d made a career out of illusion. I was familiar with many of the manipulations that fraudulent characters use. I have also recently witnessed events that I would call miraculous. You can find the truth if you look for what the psychic is attempting to accomplish. I’m trying to help people and keep my ego out of the equation. The people who can do the real stuff try not to draw attention to themselves. If you see a psychic making television appearances, he’s probably a fake.
My suggestion to such people who promise to connect you with your lost loved one on television every day at four PM is that they should switch to home cleaning products and let people work through their grief without them.
“So, Len, are you able to stay the weekend?” Jenny said as she sipped on a brandy.
I could smell the sweet odor from my seat, the aged cognac—my favorite tipple—and it was like smelling ambrosia and my own demise at the same time. You can’t get enough of the thing you don’t want, and I really didn’t want a drink at that moment, and I did want it with every fiber of my being.
“Yeah, as long as I’m not imposing,” I said.
“I hope you and Jon will get out of my hair this weekend and let me finish a book,” Jenny said. “I intend to spend most of the day with my butt on the sofa.”
“No problem, Jenn,” Jon said. “We’ll go out and do manly things.”
“Home Depot?” I said.
“Be still my heart,” Jon replied.
“Sounds fine to me,” Jenny said. “What do you gentlemen want for dinner tomorrow?”
“I’ll cook,” Jon said.
“Just not your chili. We want Len to like us,” Jenny remarked.
“I love Jon’s chili,” I said.
“There, see,” Jon said.
“But,” I interjected, “I’m going out tomorrow.”
“Miss Wallace?” Jon asked.
“So you should plan a romantic dinner for just the two of you,” I said.
“If Jon’s cooking, then I’m already feeling romantic,” Jenny said, giving him a wink.
“If you two will excuse me, it’s been quite an evening, and I would like to get some rest,” I said as I grabbed my cane and rose.
“You slept this afternoon,” Jenny said. “You can’t be tired again.”
No, dammit, I just have to get away from the smell of the cognac. You would be drinking my favorite brand, I thought with annoyance.
“Been a busy few months with my doctoral dissertation and all. I guess I’m finally unwinding,” I said.
“That’s fine, Len. Good night,” Jon said.
“Good night,” Jenny added as I trudged out of the living room to my guest bedroom.
I was tired. The nap I’d had earlier had not refreshed me as it was troubled by the vision. I undressed, lay down with a book, and was out in about a half-hour.
. . .
The next morning, I followed McGee’s suggestion and dropped by the police station. Tice wasn’t at the front desk, which made the day rosier right at the beginning.
I gave my name to the officer on duty, and McGee came right out, all smiles. He shook my hand and took me back to Interrogation Room C, which I found out was also called soft interview or observation, where several large ledgers sat on the table.
McGee rubbed the back of his neck as I sat down. “Look, Len, I hope there’s no hard feelings about last night…”
“It’s fine, Bill,” I said. “I really do understand. I’m just glad you’re still willing to work with me.”
He slid the mug books in front of me, then paused. “I’ve been able to get some information on that Nova Corporation.”
“And our Miss Wallace is listed on the board?”
“As a matter of fact, yes, along with several other names I want to look into.”
“I have a date with her tonight,” I said.
“Then I should tell you, I have filed paperwork to get a warrant for her financials, including her taxes.”
“And you’re telling me this why?”
“We are probably going to execute the warrant tomorrow. So, if you have a date tonight and, well—how do I put this?”
“If I get lucky,” I suggested with a stupid smirk on my face.
“You get the picture. Just be sure to be out of there by morning,” McGee stated with a somber expression.
“I don’t know if it’s that serious, Bill.”
“My one suggestion, Len. If a woman like that offers, don’t say no.”
I nodded lamely and opened the book in front of me.
Bill headed out the door, saying, “If you need coffee or anything, I’m right in the next room.”
I got down to the business of looking at the faces. Time passed and I recognized not a one. By noon, I’d worked my way through all three books and still hadn’t seen a face that was even close to a match. In my memory, the most outstanding feature was the red, glowing eyes. Did they distract me from the rest of his face?
I got up with my cane and walked through the open door and over to Bill’s desk, which sat out in plain sight at the false wall that subdivided the detective bureau. His desk was neatly piled with folders, but the concept that there was a specific order to his system was beyond me.
McGee lifted his head. “Any luck?”
“Not even a nibble,” I said. “I have the additional problem that I can’t focus on him in my memory. I concentrate, and he gets fuzzy.”
“At least you know it’s a him, that eliminates half of the population.”
/> “He’s white, thin, Anglo-Saxon I think,” I said.
“Getting closer all the time,” Bill said, as he pawed through some papers.
“I guess. I should take off. By the way, don’t let Wendy think I had anything to do with—y’know.”
Bill met my eyes, an eyebrow raised. “More serious than you thought?”
“I don’t know,” I said, suddenly flushing. “I just don’t want her to think I was using her.”
“Hold on a second, Len,” Bill said and signaled me to sit next to him.
I did.
“There may be more to Wendy Wallace than you think. I’ll probably sort it out when I get hold of her records, but this Nova, it appears to be an entire dummy corporation. Miss Wallace is the only real person I’ve been able to locate.”
“Real person?” I repeated, surprised. “But you said…the names…”
“While you were going through mug books, I was looking into them. They appear to be mostly fake, and one I haven’t located, Denny Kalhaskalwicz, has almost too many letters to be real,” Bill said. “Once I bring Wendy in for questioning, I’ll figure it out. But if not, I may have to call in some old friends.”
“FBI?”
He nodded and held up the papers. “This Nova is a pretty handy little creation. Dubious names, the addresses listed are empty lots, the only one to take the fall is our Miss Wallace. I don’t think someone would have gone to all that trouble just to invest in a jewelry store.”
“What do you think it is?” I asked. “Drugs? Money laundering?”
“Slow down, cowboy,” Bill said. “Just be aware that she might not be what she appears to be. But don’t say anything to her.”
“You afraid she’ll slip me a mickey?” I attempted with my best Humphrey Bogart impression.
His blue eyes flashed steel. “Things like that do happen. Just be aware—and be careful.”
. . .
I made my way to the university. It was raining, with a slight nip in the air. I wore my rumpled raincoat and tried to stay dry as I trudged along.
Trisha got Jon on the intercom, and with great ceremony, Jon pulled out an envelope containing my check with all the flourish of a prestidigitator.
