Burn (28 page)

Timms chuckled and shook his head. Tonight, he wore his badge on his belt. The big cop looked like he hadn't closed his eyes in days. Andrew could empathize.

“My partner got a call from your cousin. Mr. Borland. He wanted to report an incident he believed we ought to know about.”

“Cousin-in-law, ” Andrew said. Good old Lane.

Timms looked him over.

“I guess we're both having a week, ” he said. “Want to tell me about it?”

“Not much to tell that I didn't tell the other guys.” Andrew shrugged. “This guy busts into the house.”

“That's what your cousin tells me. Carol, is it?”

“Caroline.”

“Right. Well, I'm just getting up to speed on this thing, ” Timms said. “SMPD tells me they didn't find any identification on the guy who assaulted you. Don't suppose you could save us all some time?”

“Wish I could, ” Andrew said. “But I've never seen him before.”

“No offense, ” Timms said. “But that's starting to sound a little familiar.”

Andrew shrugged again. “What can I tell you? I'm not from around here.”

“I've got a couple of problems.”

Andrew waited to hear them.

“First problem is, the gun you shot this guy with seems to have been relieved of its serial number. I'm trying to figure out how a law-abiding out-of-towner like yourself would come to be in possession of such a firearm.”

“You'd have to ask the guy who pulled it on me. Like I told the other cops. He walked in with the thing.”

“Yeah.” Timms nodded again. “That's the second problem. Let's say for fun that you managed to disarm this rampaging intruder despite that busted wing you've got there. You look pretty tough, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. But here's the thing. The way it turns out, the guy you say you shot with his own illegal gun happens to work for a company called Lomax Enterprises. That name mean anything to you?”

“I'm becoming familiar with it, ” Andrew said. “So who is this guy? I thought you said you didn't have an ID on him yet.”

“I said Santa Monica PD didn't find identification, ” Timms said. “We already know him. Little homicide we're working on.”

“I see.”

“Look.” Timms rubbed his eyes. “It's late, and I'm way past tired, and you're beat to shit, so why don't we go ahead and tip our hands. Yesterday, I'd pretty much thrown you out as a joker. Today, here you turn back up as a wild card again. Just so we understand each other, I'm only concerned with anything you have to say that may or may not be relevant to my specific investigation. I'm not concerned with unrelated … activities that may or may not be of interest to some other cop. That sound fair enough to you?”

Andrew looked at Timms. The codeine had long worn off, and his arm throbbed inside the new cast. He sighed.

“Whatever you're looking for me to tell you, ” he said, “somebody hired a snoop to find it first. When that didn't work, they sent somebody to beat it out of me. And I still don't know what I'm supposed to know.”

He wasn't entirely sure why he'd decided to lie. He had no particular need. Was it a higher-brain decision, or was this simply his basic instinct? Was he indulging in what Heather Lomax had called self-destructive pattern behavior?

He decided to spend some time thinking about it between now and the follow-up call he planned to pay on Mr. Doren Lomax. Maybe it was possible to change yourself, and maybe it wasn't.

In the meantime, somebody was going to pay for Caroline's goddamned screen door.

Timms didn't look particularly disappointed. He didn't look particularly surprised.

He said, “Have it your way.”

Before he could say more, the door to the room opened again. A stocky fellow with graying temples, wire-rimmed glasses, and a solid-looking belly came right
in. He wore a short-sleeved Dodgers jersey and what looked to Andrew like pajama bottoms. He stood a head shorter than Timms and carried himself like a bulldog.

“Ah, ” he said. “Here we all are. Detective Timms, nice to see you again. Hope I'm not missing anything important yet.”

Timms looked over his shoulder at the man who had come through the door. They obviously knew each other. Timms took one last look at Andrew and shook his head. He offered the newcomer a polite nod.

“Pete, ” he said. “Been a while. How's the softball team this year?”

“Sucking hind tit, thanks. You should come back out one of these summers. We need the bats.”

Pete leaned over, reaching across his body to shake Andrew's good hand. “Peter Jeffries. You're Andrew.”

“You're right, ” Andrew said.

“This goddamn heat.” Jeffries shook his head. “Summers like this, the lunatics run the asylum. So, come on, Aid. What's the story? You were a homicide cop last I knew. SMPD's boy just pulled through surgery. Should be coherent enough to book anytime now. I'm not clear on Parker Center's interest here.”

“Intersecting investigations, ” Timms said.

“Has my client been charged with anything?”

Andrew wondered who he was talking about.

“We were just having a chat, ” Timms said. “When did you start defending again, Pete?”

“If I were defending again, I'd be with the other guy.” Jeffries smiled. “As it is, I've been retained by Caroline Borland to counsel Mr. Kindler as we move forward with questioning. That is, if Mr. Kindler wishes to accept my services.”

Timms and Jeffries both looked at Andrew.

Andrew shrugged. “Knock yourself out.”

Jeffries clapped his hands and rubbed them together.

“So listen, ” he said. “Adrian. My client has been severely beaten. The attending says he was in shock on arrival. He's obviously exhausted. And I understand he's been given narcotics for pain.”

Timms crossed his arms and listened to the drill. He appeared to be waiting for the man to wear himself out.

“Mrs. Borland has agreed to provide alternate lodging until my client's current place of residence is no longer a crime scene, ” Jeffries went on. “Naturally, my client is more than willing to provide any information he can. But I think we'd all be best served if he's able to do so with a clear head. If there aren't charges forthcoming, considering the circumstances, I'd like to propose that we allow Mr. Kindler to get some needed rest.”

Timms yawned.

“I'm sure my client and I—assuming no scheduling conflicts with the Santa Monica police—could meet you downtown in the morning. Mr. Kindler will be prepared to volunteer a full account of this evening's events at that time. Did you have a time in mind?”

“I'll see you at eight o'clock, Pete. Sharp.”

Jeffries smiled again. “We'll make every attempt. I'll get in touch if something changes on our end.”

On his way out the door, Timms looked back at Andrew. “Rest that arm. Don't leave town and all that.”

“My client wouldn't think of it, ” Peter Jeffries said.

THEY
lay on their backs in the sand and watched the dark, clear sky above. David had always loved the beach at night.

Heather did, too.

The drug dealer behind the dummy corporation who owned the condo only used the place when he needed a place to use, and he didn't need it at the moment. But once upon a time, one of the dealer's top sales associates had spent three years as a guest of the California Institution for Men instead of giving up his boss's name.

Benjy had driven her to the place, all the way down in Oceanside. He'd dropped her off with a key and went somewhere else to wait for her to call him back for a ride.

Here with her brother, at last, Heather felt almost as if she'd stepped back into a time that had never really
existed. It seemed so distant now. But they used to do this all the time as teenagers, after they'd gotten their first cars, take turns driving to the beach. They'd talk, listen to the ocean, watch the stars awhile.

They'd spent the afternoon walking this one. They'd walked this beach for hours. Same ocean, different sand.

Different world.

“Why didn't you
talk
to me?” she said. “Before any of this went so far? I don't understand why you didn't talk to me.”

David lay beside her, elbows out, hands behind his head. Heather had the brief, awful thought that if he'd been on his stomach in the same position, he'd look a lot like a criminal, waiting for cuffs.

“How long have you known?” He nudged her ankle with his toe. “I mean shit, sis, when did you find out?”

“I never found out, ” she told him. “I've never
known.
I suspected. Girl thing, maybe. I don't know.”

He looked at the sky. “Why didn't you ever say anything?”

“Because I knew how you'd react, ” she said.

“Come on.”

She propped up on an elbow, looked up the beach, down the beach, all around them. She looked back toward the condo in the distance behind.

“Okay, ” David said. “Point taken. You can cut the drama.”

Heather settled back again. “It didn't matter anyway. Mom was happy. She deserves that. Besides, it was none of my business.”

“None of your business!”

“That's right, ” she said. She scooted a little closer, snugged her hip against his. “You know she and Dad haven't really been … together for a long time.”

“He loves her. Don't give me that.”

“Of course he loves her, ” Heather said. “But not like a wife. He loves her like a responsibility.”

They watched the sky. For their eighteenth birthdays, when they'd still been goofy and epic, they'd bought each other stars. You paid the international registry fifty bucks, and they let you name a star, then sent you the coordinates for it in the mail. You couldn't see either of them without a telescope.

Heather hadn't looked in years. She'd once heard that you could see the light long after a star burned out. She wondered if either of theirs was still up there.

“We've always talked, ” she said. “We've always talked about everything.”

David kept quiet. She waited.

“I needed to hear it from them, ” he finally said. “I wanted to put them in a goddamned room together and make them look me in the eye.” He shrugged a little. “Dad wouldn't meet. When Greg didn't show up either, I went to his house. He wasn't getting off that easy, not the mood I was in. That's where I found him.”

“That's what I don't understand.”

“It was my fault, ” he said. “If I hadn't…”

“You didn't
do
anything.”

“I called Benjy, ” he said. “I don't know why. Panic. I don't know. He asked me what I wanted to do. I told him. And it was done.”

“David …”

“He said he still knew a few people who know people. Who know people. People who clean things up. I didn't ask, he didn't say. He asked me again if I was sure, I told him I was. So he made a call, and we left. And that was it.”

He looked at the sky.

“I couldn't go to work. Couldn't face Dad, not then.”

“David …”

“I stayed home and tanked, slept for three days. Dad and I didn't speak to each other at all.”

“David, just…”

“When they found Gregor's … when they found him, I freaked. Took off driving, just couldn't deal. Couple of days, somewhere in Arizona, I turned around and started back. I was almost home when Benjy called me on the cell. Told me they'd found my badge at the house, said it looked bad. Must have fallen out of my pocket, I don't know.” He looked at her, looked back at the sky. “Guess I must have had blood on my hands.”

“David!” She sat up and stared down at him.
“Why?
Why didn't you call the police? When you found Gregor, why didn't you just call the
police?”

He turned his face back to her, hands still behind his head. In the starlight, he looked ten years younger. Or ten years older. She couldn't decide.

“What if they found fingerprints? Anything? What if he'd left something behind? Jesus, Heather. What if I'd never gone to him in the first place? I'm the one who lit the fuse. So Dad knew about Gregor and Mom. Obviously he could live with it. But when he knew I'd found out, when he knew Gregor wasn't going to live with the lie anymore … maybe Dad went to confront him after all, lost his temper. Maybe he didn't know he'd actually killed the guy. I don't know. I don't think he could have … but after all this … how much do we really know? That's what I keep asking myself. How much do we really know about our own family?”

“Jesus, David,
Dad didn't kill Greg!”
She felt her voice getting away from her now, carrying on the breeze. She dropped it to a hiss. “Dad didn't kill Greg. He thinks
you did. Our father actually believes you killed a person, and he thinks it's his fault, and it's wrecking him. That's why he's been keeping quiet to the cops. That's why Uncle Cedric—-Jesus,
Uncle
Cedric, I can't stop saying it. Don't you see this? He's not trying to protect himself. He's trying to protect
you.”
She clenched her fists. Unclenched them. She wanted to pound the daylights out of him. She wanted to pound everything back into place. “Jesus, what a mess. What a mess. What a
mess.”

David didn't move or say much. He stayed on his back, looking at the sky for a long silent while. Heather tried to get calm. She tried to make her heart stop pounding.

Neither of them asked the obvious question. She just looked at him.

Eventually, he sat up and looked back.

“Benjy's probably bored out of his mind by now, ” he said. “Think we should call him?”

“I could kill him, ” Heather said. “I really could. Knowing where you were the whole time … going along with me, keeping me busy … hiring that goddamned private investigator … I could just kill him. Both of you.”

“One murder suspect in the family's enough, ” David said. “Besides. Benjy was just doing what I asked him to do. Be pissed off at me if you want.”

“I am, ” she said. “Both of you.”

David wrapped his arms around his knees. “So what do you think?”

“I think it's time to go home. I think it's time to go home while there's still a chance.”

David looked out over the water.

“I wonder, ” he said.