Alien Heat (3 page)

Unusual name, David thought, shaking her hand. For some reason her cheeks turned pink when he met her eyes—brown eyes, large, gentle, and tired. Her hair was thick and full, and had been plaited carelessly. Likely it had been neat and elegant some hours ago, but now strands of soft straight hair hung down the back and sides.

She wore loose khakis and a stark white shirt that was too large and slid down off one tanned shoulder. She pulled it up absently, giving David a glimpse of an ivory satin bra strap.

David remembered the case now. Theresa Jenks had disappeared in Chicago three months ago. She'd been seen in Saigo City by a friend, and the Chicago PD had contacted their office, asking them to follow up.

It was a courtesy thing, a not very likely lead that had petered out. David had done what he could, which wasn't much, considering the workload.

“Any news from Chicago?” he asked gently.

“Cold trail,” she said, low and soft.

Halliday was nodding. “Detective Silver will pull the file, answer your questions, anything else you need.” He seemed to be talking to Blake, who nodded. “Any problems, concerns, questions, he's your man. David, I think conference room C is open.”

David gave him a thoughtful look. Conference room C—reserved for top brass and special occasions. It actually had carpet, and almost-fresh paint on the walls. No windows, of course. That would have been too much.

Halliday gave David a careful look. “Ms. Blake was called in to help by the family. She's been working with Bruer in Chicago.”

She didn't look like a private investigator, David thought. Which would probably make her a good one.

“I'm a psychic, Detective Silver.” Blake lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes.

David's smile faded. He looked at Halliday, making it intense, then cleared his throat. “The conference room is this way.”

Teddy Blake's smile had faded with David's. She raised an eyebrow at him and headed out.

David waited till everyone was clear before he spoke. Halliday was still standing, his tie knotted neatly, pointed chin clean shaven. He didn't show the fatigue he surely must feel. He'd gone home and had a shower, David thought, wishing he'd done the same, wishing he was there now.

“Any chance we can reschedule this, Captain? Under the circumstances?”

Halliday sank into his chair and rubbed his forehead, eyes shut tight. “These people are wealthy, David, they have influence. I have orders, which means you have orders.
Go
.”

David went, pulling Halliday's door softly shut. String, the Elaki David and Mel often partnered with, was holding up a fan of cards to Della. David noticed the boy, Arthur, edging close.

“Please to choose,” String said.

Della glared at him. “String, I am
not
in the mood.”

Arthur took a small step forward. “I'll choose.”

Dr. Jenks shook his head. “No, no, Arthur, don't—”

“It's okay,” David said.

String's left eye prong swiveled and he slid close to Arthur, who swallowed, but stood his ground. David had the impression Arthur had never been quite so close to an Elaki before.

String was fascinated by human children; he would be kind with this boy. David had the feeling that Arthur needed kindness.

He looked at Teddy Blake. “I'll call the file up and print it out. Be just a minute.”

“There's physical evidence, isn't there?” She was civil with him, but the warmth was gone. “The detective in Chicago, Bruer. He said there was a sweater. I'd like to see it, please.”

“Picture do?”

She looked at him like he was stupid. “I need the actual sweater.”

“It's in a warehouse, all the way across town. May take a while.”

Her chin lowered and she looked away. Evidently she wanted it now. Had she expected him to keep it in the bottom drawer of his desk?

David sat down at his computer and keyed in a command, bringing up the Jenks's file. Theresa Jenks had been content to marry a mere plastic surgeon, but she was the niece of Bianca Jenks, who had turned the Jenks's family money into a hefty fortune. Theresa had numerous assets, and there would be more when Bianca died. David glanced at the husband. He stood to inherit a nice sum, but most of it, if Theresa followed family tradition, would go to her child. David looked at Arthur. The serious look was gone from his face, and he was laughing and talking too loud, as boys of that age did when their defenses were down. David felt a twinge, thinking how vulnerable children were. He glanced back at Jenks, then to the computer screen. He had precious little to report. These people were wasting their time. They were also wasting his.

The phone rang.

“Silver, homicide.”

“Daddy?”

“Kendra?”

“No,
Mattie
.”

He should have known, but all of his girls sounded like babies when they called.

“Daddy, you know how you told me to leave Elliot's food bowl out near the garden? I looked in there and I think he ate something!”

“Really?”

“Really, Daddy.”

“That's wonderful, Mattie. Did you look around, see if you could find him?”

“Yep, a long long time, but it's so hot. I had to come in.”

He pictured his daughter, sturdy tan legs pocked with scabbed over bug bites, wandering through cornstalks which were almost over her head, rampaging through bean plants and tomato vines, looking for the large, fat, ill-natured iguana who had been missing over a week.

“Is Mommy there?”

“She's outside with Haas. They're looking for Elliot too.”

David set his teeth. He didn't just want to find the iguana, he wanted to find it before Haas did. Rose's very good friend, Haas.

“Bye, Daddy.”

Mattie sounded hopeful and happy. He felt ashamed to resent Haas's efforts to find the iguana. Likely Haas was reacting to the same thing he was—the look in his little girl's eyes when she stood outside and called the lizard home.

“Bye, sweet,” David said. He looked up, saw that the woman, Teddy Blake, was watching him. He looked back to his screen, hitting the print file command.

What kind of a woman called herself Teddy, anyway? The kind of woman who set herself up to take advantage of a bereaved family, with the willing and able cooperation of the Chicago and Saigo City PD. Money gave wealthy people large pockets of vulnerability.

Something he'd never have to worry about.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. Mel leaned down, eyes on Blake.

“What you got here, David?” Mel had just had a haircut, leaving the brown hair short and curly. His skin was sun-bronzed, his shoulders solid and muscular under the worn suit.

“She's a psychic, Mel. Working on a missing person. Remember Theresa Jenks?”

“The red sweater we found? Next to the book on reincarnation?”

“That's the one.”

A lazy smile spread across Mel's face. “No kidding? So we're baby-sitting them when we got a death toll over two hundred in this supper club fire?”

“Two hundred now?”

“And counting. Captain wants 'em in conference room C, I bet.”

“Very good, Mel.”

“Maybe I'm psychic. Look here, David, why don't I help you out? No point leaving them standing around in the squad room. I'll get 'em settled down in C, do the pretty for you.” He squeezed David's shoulder. “Feel free not to show up.”

FOUR

David checked his watch as he walked down the hallway. He hadn't meant to leave them alone so long, but three calls had come through on the fire, Detective Clements was keeping him informed to the minute on special interest groups who took credit for the arson, and he'd taken a moment to wash up and change his shirt.

He heard Mel laugh, and opened the door to the conference room.

No one noticed him, printout clutched in one hand, clean white shirt neatly tucked into filthy trousers, hair damp where he'd sluiced it with water in the sink of the men's room. Mel was bent over Teddy Blake, refilling her coffee cup. Jenks was smiling benevolently at Arthur, who was holding a deck of cards and listening to String.

Maybe he should let Mel handle it, after all.

He went in quietly, laid the printout in the center of the table. The walls were beige here, instead of green, the carpet tan and freshly vacuumed, the table fake wood grain. There was an actual art print on one of the walls, instead of a wanted poster.

No one seemed impressed.

Blake set her coffee cup down and picked up the printout. David tried to remember what Bruer had told him.

Theresa Jenks had packed a small bag and left in her Mercedes—no, not Mercedes. Some kind of a sports car, which had been abandoned right outside of the city. The navigator chip showed that she'd been to and from the airport, and had programmed a route to First City, though she hadn't followed it.

She'd taken large sums of money from her personal bank account. Nobody liked the sound of that, not David, not Bruer. She had called her lawyer, but he'd been unable to talk, and she hadn't called back.

Her plane had landed in Pittsburgh, and she hadn't been seen since, had made no charges on any accounts. She'd been gone a week when she was spotted coming out of a Saigo City instant laundromat. It had been a fluke—a man she knew in town on business. He had not been sure it was her.

None of it smelled good to David, and Bruer hadn't liked it either. David had gone to the laundromat and found a battered paperback book on reincarnation, and a sweater hanging from the back of a chair. The book had Theresa Jenks's prints.

Arthur dropped the cards and bent down to pick them up, murmuring apologies.

Teddy Blake frowned as she went through the printout. Either she was skimming, or a very fast reader. She handled the file with a familiar ease, which made David think that for her, working with police investigations was nothing new.

“There's not much there, Ms. Blake, and what is there is pretty straightforward. But I'll be glad to answer questions, if you have any.” David stayed on his feet. Making it clear he wanted to leave.

“I might in a minute.” She kept reading, and picked up the coffee cup, taking a sip. Making it clear she would take her time.

The wall phone rang. Mel held the pot of coffee up. “David?”

“No, thanks.” David grabbed the phone. Listened, hung up. “What's that all about, Mel, some kind of messenger?”

Mel set the coffeepot down. “There we go, Ted, I told you we'd have it down. I'll be right back.”

Teddy Blake gave David a smug smile. “The sweater and the book on reincarnation. From the warehouse. I reckon Detective Burnett is more resourceful than others.”

She gave herself away when she was rubbing things in. The Southern inflection got thick then.

“You need the actual items?” David said.

She shoved the printout to one side with an air of rejection and disappointment. “I'm a remote reader, Detective. Do you know what that means?”

David shrugged, shifted his weight.

“Why don't you sit down? You can always jump back up again. I promise not to take it as a commitment.”

String twitched an eye prong. Dr. Jenks looked from David to Teddy Blake.

David pulled up a chair. “Tell me about your wife, Dr. Jenks.”

Arthur looked up. Jenks touched the boy's shoulder. “Sit still, Arthur.”

David held his tongue. Jenks had no gift for children, even his own.

“She's outdoorsy, Detective Silver.”

David liked the word, outdoorsy. He liked it that Jenks used that word, instead of saying “outdoors woman.” If Jenks had said outdoors woman, David would have been positive, for no particular logical reason, that Jenks had killed her himself.

Jenks was staring at a spot on the wall. Even in conference room C, there was a spot on the wall.

“She was a very good swimmer. She liked boating, waterskiing. Fishing.”

David smiled at Arthur. “Your mom take you fishing a lot?”

“No, sir.”

Arthur did not look like a boy anyone took fishing. David realized he had blundered into painful territory.

The door opened and Mel came in, a parcel crinkling in his hands. David could see the red sweater through the clear package.

“Here we go.” Mel unwrapped the plastic and set the neatly folded sweater on the table. Next, he unwrapped a worn paperback that had golden thunderbolts on a black cover, and the word
REINCARNATION
in large white letters.

Hokey, David thought. Arthur was rubbing a fist in his eyes. The boy should not be here. Someone should be gentling the child through this, not throwing things at him with no warning or care. Blake was a con, but Jenks should have had better judgment.

David leaned across the table, his voice gentle. “Arthur, do you recognize the sweater? Does it belong to your mom?”

Arthur stared at the soft red knit. “Can I pick it up?”

“Sure.”

The room was stone quiet. Everyone watched the boy paw through the sweater, clutch it close to his chest.

“It's hers,” Arthur said. His voice was steady, though he was at the age where it changed on him without warning. David caught the telltale tremble of the lower lip.

“You sure, kiddo?” Mel's voice was kind.

Arthur held up a sleeve and poked a finger through a hole in the shoulder where the yarn had unraveled.

“She wore it all the time, even with the hole.”

Jenks leaned forward, fingering the worn red knit. “It was hers.”

David flicked a finger at the book. “You recognize this?”

Arthur was nodding his head. “She read lots of stuff like that, before she left.”

“Like this? On reincarnation?”

“With thunderbolts on the cover.”

David flipped the book open, and Teddy Blake frowned at him. David had the feeling she didn't like him touching it. He looked inside the front cover. Small press publisher. The Mind Institute.