Flashover (10 page)

N
ick started at the sound of a crash outside. Through the crack in the upstairs shutter he could see the man with the still-bruised eye lying in a pile of bricks and the girl firefighter talking quietly to him.

Nick let go of Cyril's neck with a disgusted sigh as he took a breath to control his rage. Cyril had made the mistake of angering Nick with his refusal to provide the goods. Anger wasn't a good thing in Nick's line of work, as Cyril's snapped neck proved. His boss wasn't going to like it. Cyril dead and still no merchandise recovered. He'd already searched the hotel from top to bottom before the scrawny man showed up, so he knew it wasn't there. Cyril had come in with a backpack, probably left it in the downstairs mess. It was unlikely, but it bore checking out.

Nick crept downstairs, avoiding the squeaky floorboards he'd noted on his way up earlier. The two outside seemed to be talking. He made it to the main floor before he saw the handle turn. He'd just enough time to snatch the backpack and squeeze back out through the loose shutter before they entered.

Holding the backpack and keeping his head down, Nick retreated, vanishing into the leafy screen where he'd hidden his motorbike. Once again, he settled down to watch and wait.

 

Ivy barely avoided the tumbling bricks. She scrambled over to where Tim lay on his back. “Are you okay?”

He blinked. “Yeah. Got a few more bruises to go with my eye, but nothing serious.”

She brushed a cobweb off his cheek. “And you say I'm a trouble magnet.” Her joke didn't elicit a smile. Instead he sat up and grabbed his cell phone.

“Who are you calling?”

“Detective Greenly.” His forehead creased into a frown. “I saw a red backpack in there before I fell.”

Ivy inhaled sharply, all her senses on fire. “Cyril.”

He nodded. After a moment he hung up with a frown. “He's not in the office. The dispatcher is going to contact him and route him here.”

Ivy chewed her lip. “Cyril will run as soon as he catches sight of a police car. Maybe we should try to talk to him first.”

“Greenly won't like it.”

She exhaled loudly. “If we wait for Greenly, we may never find out who is after Cyril.”

“And Moe.”

“And Moe,” she agreed. After a silent decision, they crept to the door and turned the handle. It gave with only a small squeak of protest.

Tim scanned the room wildly. “I think he heard us. The red backpack I saw earlier is gone.”

“Maybe he's hiding.” She made a circle. The room was cluttered with construction debris, coated with dust and grime, but several clean patches on the floor hinted at recent activity. “Cyril?” she called. “It's Ivy. I'm Moe's friend. We need to talk to you.”

The quiet was broken only by the sound of their breathing.

Tim pointed at the stairs. “Let's try up there.”

Ivy trailed him up the steps, their combined weight making the wood groan in protest. The hallway opened up onto a series of rooms, ten in all. All of the doors were open. Tim poked his head into the first one. Ivy continued onto the second door.

She saw only the feet before the adrenaline took over. She immediately yelled for Tim as she ran to Cyril and checked his airway and pulse. By the time Tim careened into the room, Ivy had started compressions.

Tim carried on her efforts to find a pulse. “I think his neck is broken.”

He took over the compressions while Ivy called it in.

They continued, alternating breathing and compressions, until it was clear there was no more life left in Cyril Donovan.

Ivy sat back, wiping the sweat from her forehead.

Tim groaned. “Oh, man. Is it possible he fell from something?”

“I don't think so.” She'd seen plenty of death in her time with the fire department, but she'd never been so close to someone who'd just had their life taken in such a brutal manner. It sickened her, the colossal waste of a life, the cruelty of a powerful person over a weaker one. She held Cyril's hand for a moment. “I'm so sorry,” she whispered. “So sorry.”

Tim reached out a hand to her shoulder. “We should wait outside so we don't disturb any more evidence.”

“No. I'm not leaving him alone here.”

Tim didn't answer. Instead he sat down on the floor next to her, settling into the dust that swirled around the three of them.

 

They stayed another half hour before Detective Greenly arrived. His face was impassive, but his voice betrayed anger. “You should have waited for me.”

Tim nodded. “Probably, but we weren't sure he was here at first. It could have been a wild-goose chase.”

When the coroner arrived to take Cyril's body, Ivy stood, her knees cramped and shoulder aching. She stared at the space where he'd lain, alone. Cold waves seized her again.

Greenly walked them both downstairs, into the hot afternoon. “I was at the airport, doing some beating of the bushes. Seems Cyril did show up for his flight, but something spooked him and he took off just as the passengers started to board.”

Tim shook his head. “Too bad he couldn't have made that flight.”

“Yeah. We wouldn't be standing here right now.” Greenly listened to Tim's recounting about the backpack again.

“Either he hid the thing somewhere after you spotted him or…” He stared at the ruined building jutting out against the blue sky.

It took a moment for the implication to sink into Ivy's brain. “Or whoever murdered him took it.” For the first time she realized that the person who had choked the life out of Cyril might have been in the house at the same time they were.

She shivered, feeling the fear grip her insides.

Tim put an arm around her. “Are you done with us, Detective?”

“Sure, for now. By the way,” he added, “I'd watch my back if I were you.”

Ivy tried not to let the fear show as they walked back to the car.

 

Nick had taken the precaution of dismantling the backpack down to its nylon lining. Nothing. A pack of cards, a few dollars, a wadded-up sweatshirt and three candy bars. If he hadn't killed the guy, Cyril would have talked eventually. They all did. Nick allowed himself a moment of self-recrimination. Then he returned to practical matters. The merchandise was probably gone anyway, reduced to ashes in the house fire. He knew the probability would not be enough to satisfy his boss.

Now he eased open the door and waited to face the music.

His boss stood at the workbench, the vise holding the specimen in place while he pushed the glass eyes into the face. The area around the shiny orbs was bare of feathers, leaving the duck with an eerie expression of wide-eyed panic as if he were trying to fly off the table.

“What do you think?” He moved aside so Nick could get the full effect.

Try as he might Nick could never see the sense in killing something and then taking painstaking efforts to make it look alive again. Dead was dead. He kept these opinions to himself.

“Cyril is dead.”

“How?”

“I was convincing him to tell me, and he refused. I lost control.”

“Unfortunate. Did the girl see you?”

“No.”

“Good. One dead body is enough trouble for now. The police are too close to my operations. I don't want to risk any more exposure.”

Nick waited patiently. He knew it was not over.

The man's tone was mild. “I am disappointed. I expected my property to be returned to me by now.”

“It probably burned up.”

“Perhaps.”

“Or he might have given it to someone. The kid, maybe. Or the girl.”

“Find Moe then, but don't kill him unless you have to. You'll have to put pressure on the girl, too.”

“I think she knows I'm watching her.”

“Yes. Maybe we'll have to enlist someone to help you.”

Nick frowned and made to leave. “Who?”

“Someone close to her, someone who has good reason to cooperate. And, Nick…” He punched the eye into the duck's head with an audible snap. “Let's get this matter tidied up quickly, shall we?”

 

Tim drove Ivy back to her apartment, lost in thought. He could not shake the shock of finding Cyril dead. It was such a waste. He breathed a prayer and tried to shift his mind to another topic. “I keep thinking about that string of letters and numbers that Moe rattled off. I wonder if it's somehow connected to whatever Cyril was hiding.”

“It sounded like random talk to me.”

“No, not random. He repeated it a couple times. His mother said he remembers things in sequence.”

“I don't even recall what the string was.”

He pulled out his PDA and repeated Moe's strange phrase. He took in her surprise. “I thought it might come in handy later.”

“Sometimes you scare me with that left-brain thing. Could it be some phone numbers?”

“Too many digits, and the letters don't fit as names or addresses.”

“I can't understand any of it. The whole thing is awful.”

His heart ached at the defeat painted on her face. “You look tired. Are you going to be okay here tonight?”

The conversation was interrupted when Ivy's phone trilled. She answered it, and he could see a flush creep over her face. “Oh, hi. I'm busy right now.”

Tim tried not to listen, noting that she retreated to a far corner of her apartment to finish the conversation. Her occasional laugh sounded high-pitched, nervous. When she hung up, he bit down on the question that burned inside him. She volunteered the information instead.

“That was Antonio.”

Tim's stomach clenched. “Oh. Signing up to help with the search?”

“No, he, er, wanted to ask me something.”

Tim took a deep breath and tried to keep his voice neutral. “Ivy, is Antonio looking to get back together with you?”

Her cheeks became infused with a deep pink. “I don't know. He just misses the fun we had, I think.”

And do you want to go back to him? After he treated you like that?
Tim wanted to scream the question along with some other choice remarks. Instead he cleared his throat. “Well, I guess I'd better be going. You sure you don't want to go stay with your mom?”

“Yes, I'm sure. I'll lock the door, I promise. Greenly said he's going to come check the apartment grounds after he's done at the hotel.”

“I'm not convinced. I think…”

“Go, Tim.”

He read her determined expression and knew he wasn't going to change her mind. He made a plan of his own. “All right.” He checked his watch. “Call me if you need anything.”

“Okay.” She walked him to the door. “Tim? It was some really good investigation work to find Cyril.”

Though her comment pleased him, he could not summon up a smile. “I just wish I could have found him a few minutes sooner.”

 

Ivy heard a knock early the next morning.

She pulled on her ratty blue bathrobe and tiptoed to the door, squinting through the peephole.

Ivy yanked open the door. “Mitch?”

Her cousin looked tired, his dark eyes smudged underneath with shadows. “Hey, V. Did I wake you up?”

She looked at the clock. In truth she'd been awake, thinking about Moe and Cyril. “It's seven thirty. That's a little early for you, isn't it?”

He shrugged. “I have an early shift today.” He walked into the small kitchenette and began to make a pot of coffee.

In spite of the hour, she was glad to see him. The night before had been so strange with her unfounded fear at her mother's house and Antonio's cheerful call. It was comforting to see her cousin's familiar face. “So what brings you here? You're not one to drop by unless there's pizza.”

“What? Can't I stop and check in on my favorite cousin? How's the shoulder?”

“Sore.”

“Heard you found a dead guy yesterday.”

She shivered. “News travels fast.”

“Small town. You okay?”

“I guess so.”

He returned to the living room with two cups of coffee. “Weird that it was the guy who owned the house that collapsed on you. I guess what goes around comes around.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Why do you say that? Mitch, did you know Cyril?”

“Know him? Nah, not really. Ran into him a few times, I guess. I think he showed up at Charlie's once while I was over there. Knocked on the door, offered to do some landscaping work.”

“Really? Did Charlie hire him?”

“Nah.” Mitch laughed. “You've seen Charlie's place. The gardens are picture-perfect, not a leaf out of place. Anyway, I actually came by to ask you a favor.”