Jan Burke - Liar

“Someone else in the building?” he asked, apparently pleased I was responding to him.

“No-at least I don’t think so. Outside-a young man, with a bandaged hand-”

“Oh, the owner of the building. He’s okay. He’ll be happy to know that we’ve found you. Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

Travis was waiting for me in the alley, and I made no complaint when the embrace he gave me sent a memo from everything that had hit the wall. It was good to know he was safe, still here, that the killer hadn’t somehow taken him away, too. When he stepped back, paramedics came toward me-but a familiar voice said, “Irene? Can I talk to you first?”

I turned to see Reed Collins, a Las Piernas homicide detective. I was relieved that Ulkins’s death was going to be Reed’s case; relieved, not just because I have faith in his abilities but because Reed works with Frank, and maybe as a way of doing penance for his actions when Frank was taken hostage, he has treated me with kid gloves ever since. I needed a break from bullies.

“Sure, Reed,” I said, “but I didn’t get a good look at him. He came at me from behind, never said a word. He was wearing a wetsuit, but it’s one of the things he set on fire up there.” Remembering how he had grabbed me, I said, “I think he’s right-handed.”

I still wasn’t too steady on my feet. At the paramedics’ suggestion, Reed took me to their big, boxy ambulance so that I could sit down while I talked to him. With Travis hovering nearby, I told Reed what I could.

“A wetsuit?” he asked.

“Yes. It confused me at first, but I think the guy must have heard about hair and fiber evidence or DNA, and was trying not to leave anything behind.”

“But he must have been here before, to know that Ulkins worked here on the weekends. He couldn’t have visited in a wetsuit every time.”

“No, but he could have learned Ulkins’s routine without going into the office itself. And today, I think he was already down on the eighth floor when I got there. You might want to check out the tenants on that floor.”

When I told Reed that the glove held over my face had been sticky, he gently took hold of my chin and looked closely at my left cheek, then said, “I need a favor from you.” I saw him glance toward a crime scene photographer.

“Oh.” The thought of having my photo taken in this state was humiliating, but I knew a photo might help a D.A. get a conviction-for assault if nothing else-provided this guy was ever caught. “Sure, go ahead-but Reed, I need a favor in return.”

“Anything I can do-you know that.”

“Don’t tell Frank-not yet, not while he’s away. I’ll tell him soon, but right now he can’t do anything about it, and it will just torture him. You know how he is.”

Reed smiled. “Sure. He has this crazy idea that if he’s not around, you’ll get into trouble. Dumbass hasn’t figured out that you’ll get into trouble anyway.”

“Thanks, Reed.”

They took the photos, and Reed even had one of the lab guys scrape dried blood from different parts of my face. “You think he left some of his blood on my face?”

Reed shook his head, glanced at Travis and said, “Maybe, but most likely it’s Ulkins’s.”

“He tortured him,” Travis said angrily. “Tortured that old man!”

I looked to Reed, who nodded. “We need to wait for the autopsy, but he appears to have some electrical burns on him. A few cuts as well.”

All of a sudden, I didn’t feel so hot.

“Let me get those paramedics back over here,” Reed said, watching me.

“Wait-up on that fire escape-once the fire is out-”

“It’s already out,” he said. “Soon as the fire department gives us the okay, we’re going inside to have a look at Ulkins’s office.”

“Then have someone look for a piece of electrical cord on the fire escape of the eighth floor-the ends are cut. He tied my hands with it. I know it’s a long shot, but maybe he handled it before he had the gloves on.”

He spoke into a handheld radio, asking someone to look for the cord. “Oh, one other thing,” Reed said to me. “There was an LAPD homicide detective here, name of McCain.” He smiled. “I thought Pete Baird’s wife was going to deck him.”

“Rachel’s here?”

“Yeah, I get the feeling she’s no stranger to this McCain.” He watched me for a reaction, but it was a wasted effort. “Anyway,” he went on, “I’ve had words with the guy, a very serious discussion, on the subject of his pulling his head out of his ass, and I do believe he made daylight by the time he left. But he still claims he wants to talk to you and your cousin here. Thinks this has a bearing on a case he’s working on. I told him I’d ask you to call him later-if you felt up to it-but for now he needed to go on home like a good boy. He said you had the number.”

“I owe you for that, Reed. Thanks-and don’t worry, I’ll call him.”

“He’s not the one I’m worried about at the moment. Let me call the paramedics back over, have them take a look at you, get you cleaned up a little, okay?”

“Thanks-and Rachel-”

“No problem. I’ll get her now. And if I need to talk to you and your cousin again-?”

“I’ll be at home or-Travis, mind if I give Detective Collins your cell phone number?”

Travis read it off to him.

“I called Rachel,” Travis told me as Reed left. “I-I didn’t know what had happened to you, and I panicked and-”

“It’s okay,” I soothed, “it’s okay.” I put an arm around his shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “God, I’m sorry.”

“For what? You didn’t tell me to run inside. I’m sorry I left you out there alone. I was so relieved to see you were okay.”

“Same here, seeing you.” His voice came out just above a whisper. He looked down at his hand, rubbed his wrist beneath the bandage.

“The burn bothering you?”

“A little. I’m all right.”

After a moment, I asked, “Were you and Mr. Ulkins close?”

“No, but W-Mr. Ulkins-was very close to my dad. He was his interpreter, you might say.” He paused, then said, “Imagine doing business in Japan-living there without speaking the language. It’s a little like that. For my dad, anything written was a foreign language. Mr. Ulkins translated that language for him-turned written words into spoken ones-and wrote what my father dictated into a recorder. He was sort of a combination secretary, bookkeeper and reader.”

“Your father must have had a great deal of trust in him.”

“He did. My father didn’t want others to know he couldn’t read, but he couldn’t hide it from Mr. Brennan. Mr. Brennan had the brilliant idea of hiring someone discreet and trustworthy to read correspondence, documents and financial news to my father. W also wrote letters, filled in forms, wrote checks and took care of anything that required reading or writing. Dad said that without W, he never could have run the business.”

The paramedics came back then, so we held off talking more about Ulkins. They helped me clean the rest of the blood off my face, and while I held a cold compress to my cheek, told me nothing seemed to be broken, just bruised-that I should probably go to the hospital because of the head injury. But I wasn’t seeing double or feeling nauseated, and although my head and one side of my face hurt like hell, the initial feelings of dizziness hadn’t returned, so I thanked them for their help and told them I’d take a rain check on the ambulance ride.

By then, Rachel had joined us. “Richmond,” I said, once she had been reassured that I’d probably be all right. “It’s almost one o’clock. We have to get over there by two, and I don’t want McCain coming along for the ride.”