Burned (4 page)
“YouTube. Someone taped the fire. Isn’t it great living in the modern age? Private citizens tape crimes, and thanks to Google Alerts, I get updates on anything I’m interested in. And I’m very interested in the fire and this guy.”
“Video, huh? Let me see.”
Nice play, Vincent
. I kept wiggling my fingers and used the memory of my dead family as a painkiller for my screaming muscles.
“Sure.” Confidence was in Meena’s voice. “Give me your phone.”
“Nice try. Do it on yours.”
There was silence, and I guessed she was calling up the YouTube video.
“You can’t tell much,” Vincent said after a minute. “That could be anybody.”
“It’s a clue.” The words slithered from her mouth. “I don’t like unsolved cases. And I don’t like men who murder women and children.”
God, I wanted to vomit.
On her.
Poor Emily. A street kid I’d befriended during one of my volunteer stints. She’d educated me about life on the streets. I’d convinced her to come off them, to get into the system. She’d been at my house that night to sleep over. We were going to find her a social worker the next day. If she hadn’t been there that night, they wouldn’t have mistaken her body for mine. She’d be alive, and I’d be dead. My mom’s trust in Meena may have gotten her and Danny killed. But Emily’s death was all on me.
“Your friend isn’t a good guy.” The chair squeaked. Probably her standing up.
“I don’t have friends like that, but even if I did, he can’t be that much of a threat. After all, you came to my apartment alone.”
“The boys are outside. He’s a bad guy.” She paused. “But I’m dangerous.” Another pause. “Not just to him.”
I imagined her staring Vincent down.
“I’m deadly to anyone who gets in my way. We have officers canvassing the apartments. He murdered a six-year-old boy, shot him down—”
It took everything in me to stay quiet. For the first time, I was grateful for the coffin I was trapped in, because it was the only thing keeping me upright.
“—every cop in Vancouver wants him. He did a good job of trying to stay out of the cameras,” she said, “but we know where all the convicts live. It’s a matter of
when
not
if
we’ll get him. If he’s your friend—”
“Told you. I’m not friends with murderers.”
“—tell him to surrender. No one wants a shootout.”
Late at night, hunkered in a cardboard box and watching the rain turn my hut into sludge, I’d occasionally wondered if I’d done the right thing in never going to other cops and telling my story. Hearing
her talk about killing me in plain sight… yeah, I’d made the right decision.
“Do the right thing, Mr. Pyra.” The door opened, closed.
A few minutes later Vincent cracked the lock, and I stumbled into the light, holding on to him for support.
“You have to leave Vancouver,” he said.
“Not till I’m done with her.”
“She’s got a video.”
“You said no one can identify me.”
His face crumpled with irritation. “Sure, the video’s mostly shadow and movement, nothing else. Some kid running down the street. But she won’t give up, Jo. As long as you’re out there, you’re a threat.”
“Good.”
“There’s software, algorithms she can run…”
I scowled. “That’s television fiction. Most departments can’t afford that kind of equipment.”
He tried to stare me down.
“Let me see it.”
Vincent pulled out his phone and went to YouTube.
I watched as he typed in
arson
,
Vancouver
and
dead family
. A bunch of videos came up.
“This is the one,” he said as he clicked the link.
I watched the video, then handed the phone back. “If she’d been able to clean it up and see anything that would identify me, she wouldn’t have been here. She’s got nothing.”
“Run, Jo, and run hard.”
I shook my head, ignored the pleading in his voice. “Someone has to make her pay.”
“She’s going to kill you. Whatever your mom saw her do, it’s going to cost your life.”
I shook my head again. “She can’t get away with this. I won’t let her.”
Fear for me pinched his face, pulled his skin taut. “Don’t be stupid. She’s got the guns and loyalty of every cop on the force. All she has to do is call you a child killer and they’ll pump you so full of metal you’ll set off detectors in the next province!”
“She set fire to my family. I’m going to end her.” I met his gaze, pretending not to see his terror. “I promise it’ll be fine.”
“You promise.”
“I’ve never lied to you, have I?”
He sighed. “No, you never have.”
I stood. “I know exactly what I need to do.” What I didn’t tell him was I only had two hours to get it done, and if I was wrong, it was going to burn me.
Permanently.
Between the rattle of the SkyTrain, my injuries and the walk, I should’ve been dead tired by the time I got to Meena’s house. But as the train pulled into its stop in the New Westminster suburb she lived in, all I was thinking about was my family. My hate took the edge off the cold wind, and my muscles vibrated with the desire—no, the need—to make her pay for what she’d done. I got to her house on Gifford Street, took in the quiet slumber of the neighborhood.
My family was forever sleeping in three cemetery plots. They’d never need light, never crave a soft bed or blankets
still warm from the dryer. I couldn’t bring them back, but I could—and would—make Meena pay for taking them from me. Stealing her laptop had never been a priority. It was too risky. She was bound to screw up someday, and taking a turtle approach—slow and steady—seemed the best strategy. I’d used the homeless network to keep tabs on her. So far, they’d only been able to bring me word of minor infractions, nothing I could take to the news.
Now, thanks to some random neighbor who’d decided to record the fire, Meena had video of someone running from the house. She had a solid record for closing cases, and I was the ultimate loose end. I was a target, but no way was I going to be prey. I needed to take the risk, get in her house and get the evidence I needed to put her away. I took the tools from my pocket and headed up the stone path to her front door. Bending, twisting my body so the light hit the lock, I slid the tension
wrench into the lower opening, turned and held it steady, then slid the pick into the lock.
“Are you totally stupid?”
I jerked upright, pulling the muscles in my back. Whipping around, I saw the girl—the urban climber from earlier that night. “What the—how did you get here?”
“With my feet, newb.”
“An urban climber, walking? Shouldn’t you be swinging from a web?”
“That’s Spider-Man.”
“This can’t be a coincidence.” I folded my arms across my chest, palming the lockpick. “Are you following me? What do you want?”
She snorted. “Watching grass grow would be more interesting than following you. Anyway, don’t be stupid. It’s a prime neighborhood. Why wouldn’t we both end up here?” Her gaze swept the street.
So did mine. No way was she here for a night of buildering.
“It’s got choice pickings.”
Stealing made more sense for why she was here, but I wasn’t thrilled with her tone. And I didn’t like her pet name for me. I’d had enough. Must have been the adrenaline from earlier that had made me feel like she and I were kindred spirits. “Fine. Go away.”
“What are you doing?”
“Setting up for a game of checkers. What does it look like?”
“Looks like you’re getting ready to get arrested for attempted B and E.” She paused. “That’s breaking and entering.”
I gritted my teeth. “Yeah, I managed to puzzle that one out.”
“So? What’s going on?”
“None of your business.”
“It is if you get us caught.” She came up the steps.
“Us?” I looked around. She couldn’t be alone, and I didn’t know if that was good or bad news for me. “You have a team looting the houses here?”
She didn’t answer. Instead she said, “Did you even check to see if the house is alarmed?”
“I’m not stupid.”
“You are if you’re breaking in through the front door.”
I wasn’t in the mood to explain why I knew all about the house setup but figured if I didn’t give her something, she’d never leave me alone. “Thanks for the tip, but you notice the trees cover me. Go away.” I pushed past her, stepped down the stairs and headed to the back door.
“You don’t have any bags. No car.”
“No wonder you’re a climber. Talk about eagle eyes.”
“Spotted your sorry attempt to play cat burglar from a hundred feet, didn’t I?”
I didn’t say anything.
She sighed. “I’ll keep watch.”
“Why?”
“’Cause if I don’t, you’ll ruin the neighborhood for the rest of us. I’ll give you a signal if anyone comes your way.”
“What’s the signal?”
“Me screaming, ‘Run!’”
That made me laugh. “Fair enough.”
We got to the back. Usually, I can pick a lock in under ten seconds. Having her around made it take longer. Still…“See?”
She shrugged. “I’m beside myself, I’m so impressed.”
I rolled my eyes and stepped into the quiet house. Despite what Climber Girl thought, I had broken into houses before. To fulfill the deal with Vincent, I’d done copies of art, gone into the homes and replaced the originals with my replicas. I had rules about which homes and which pieces of art I’d take. I would only steal paintings that were already stolen, and Vincent respected that.
Climber Girl followed me through the door and into the kitchen. “You’re lucky they don’t have an alarm system.”
Luck had nothing to do with it. Meena was arrogant, too full of herself to think someone would break into her place.
A couple of times, I’d helped my mom clean houses, and the memories of this house’s layout came flooding back.
“Hey!” Climber Girl’s voice hissed my way. “You sightseeing or shopping?”
“Stay here. Watch the door.”
I pulled a tiny flashlight from my pocket and panned it around the kitchen. No laptop. I aimed the beam at the living room. It washed over a rocking horse, princess castle and enough pink toys to put me off the color for the rest of my life.
“Get what you need and get out.”
I jumped at the sound of Climber Girl’s voice. She stood less than a foot behind me. “I thought you were keeping watch.”
“You seem like you need supervision.” She moved to the fridge and opened the door. “Geez. There are enough meds in here to start a pharmacy.” She leaned in and read the name on a prescription label. “Dollie Sharma.”
Never understood why Meena named her kid after a possession, but Mom had
loved the baby. She’d loved both of them. “Close the door—you’re letting out the light.”
“I’m hungry.” She pulled a soda from the door, then wiped her fingerprints off the fridge’s surface. “And thirsty.”
I rolled my eyes—which seemed like it was going to be a constant thing around this chick—and went back to looking for the computer. It was by the fireplace, charging. “Got it.” I grabbed it, slid it into my bag, then went out the door.
“All that for a laptop?”
“It’s what’s inside that counts.”
“According to you and Big Bird.”
I rolled my eyes. Yep. Definitely going to be a constant thing with her. “Thanks for your help—if I can call it that…”
“Raven. My name’s Raven.”
I hadn’t been looking for her name. I’d been looking for an insult.
“And you can call it whatever you want,” she said as she closed the refrigerator door. “Just be smarter next time.”
She stopped and glanced around the kitchen. Going to a pad of paper, she scribbled something, then handed it to me.
I took the paper.
She hesitated, like she was going to say something else. I wondered if she felt it too, the connection. We walked to the front of the house. She took off, heading to Salter Street. I glanced at the paper she’d given me. It had her phone number. She did feel the connection. I stuck the paper in my pocket.
Reaching into my bag, I shut off the laptop. I didn’t know what kind of security Meena had on the computer, but I wasn’t going to let myself get tracked. I headed for the SkyTrain and to find a quiet, dark corner where I could pry open the laptop and finally get the evidence I needed to put Meena away.
Half a block from the train station, away from any
CCTV
cameras, I dumped the boy outfit Eagle Man had seen me in. I put on the chick outfit, made a stop at the pawnshop, then dumped the girl gear for the second boy disguise. It was complicated and annoying, but I was on my own. If Meena was looking for me, let her think I had a team on my side. I spent the night on the bench at Memorial South Park. Nothing was great about the park—at least, not from a homeless-person-needing-shelter point of view. But it sat by Mountain View Cemetery, and that was as close as I could get to the graves of my family.
At first I’d stayed away from them because of the news coverage. The last thing I needed was to show up on some six o’clock sound bite. Later, it was integrity that stopped me. Okay, maybe it was guilt. And shame. I refused to visit, to touch their graves, until I’d brought Meena down. Hunkered in a clump of bushes that helped break the chill of the wind, I pulled myself into a ball, found a sort-of-comfortable spot on the ground and let the memories of my family keep me warm.
