Fly With Fire (45 page)

The performers in the show
had all allowed their feet to be compared to the mold made of the partial
footprint left on Zack Burnham’s terrace. Six men with the show could have been
the person who left the print. Al Simpson looked at the plaster of Paris cast
on his desk and drummed a pencil. They could all account for their whereabouts.
Goldstein had been on Long Island. He had credit card receipts for the trip in
his car. Haaken Bergkvist, was brand new. He’d stayed to rehearse with Deborah
Morton so was here during the show’s brief hiatus. But he’d only joined the
show after Ling Wong’s murder, coming fresh from Sweden. Fire eater ‘Antoine’,
his legal name, and a couple other big footers had solids.

Misha Severinsky had flown up
to Montreal. Records showed he had boarded and gotten off the plane. He said he
stayed in his apartment and drank and slept for the duration of his break.
There had been nothing to tie him to the Wong murder. A maid said she had seen
him. He let her clean his room while he was in the shower at roughly the time
of the murder.

Damn, everyone else had been
cleared. There was that sketchy two hours the clown said he’d been sleeping in
the men’s dressing room. But no evidence there. Unfortunately sliminess was not
evidence of guilt. Maybe Lincoln Harris had come back to town. The DA said he
didn’t have enough to press charges and the guy was no sucker. He hadn’t even
flinched when Al had threatened him with the death penalty. He hadn’t cared
what happened to him. He had cried about the girl and Al had grudgingly
believed him despite what anyone else had thought he’d been thinking at the
time. Could the guy be that good? He even said he forgave Al for what Al had to
do. It would have been so much simpler if he really thought the guy guilty. It
bugged him the missing running outfit had not been found. Severinsky said he
was in the gym. Saw Harris with a bath robe over his sweats. That was odd.
Severinsky when to the gym after his shower? Hmmm. Harris was skinny but long
all over. His shoe was probably custom. Eighteen at the very least. Too big. Al
looked at the plaster of Paris shoe sole he had propped on his home office desk.
He knew all about big feet.

Now Trollie the clown made
his living wearing shoes too big for his feet. Could the guy wear shoes several
sizes too big and climb twelve stories. Seemed unlikely. The witness said the
climber was tall. Middle of the night, sleepy, and possibly stoned. Not exactly
reliable. But this was no coincidental human fly. The person had skills of the
type utilized by the circus. He had clearly targeted Burnham’s condo. Too bad
the little clown had skated. He had a history of assault accusations in B.C.
Police in Vancouver informed him the little clown, Walter Jones to the company,
real name Atlas Hollenbeck, had had several suits against him for inappropriate
contact with several women who were patients at his psychiatric practice. A fucking
psychiatrist of all things. No charges were filed for lack of evidence but his
license had been yanked. He was a groper and freely admitted he frequented
prostitutes. He’d said some very unpleasant things to Monica Whitman at the
airport. But he had gotten on the plane. Could he, or Severinsky, for that
matter, have come back to Chicago on the sly?

Was the clown playing a sick
joke on Ms. Whitman or did he have a twisted need to expose himself to her that
indicated an even more deeply disturbed nature?  It was a nasty joke from
a nasty man. Either way he was trying to prove something. The round heel from
West Grand said he had wanted to tie her up. She said another fifty bucks, he
said no deal. It was sleazy, but maybe not a compulsion. Gonna find that man
and when he does…” But his gut said it wasn’t the clown.

Al looked at the clock. He’d
burned the midnight oil then woke early, lying beside his sleeping wife in the
dim morning light, thinking. Burnham might be awake. Poor fuck was shot up and
heartbroken. He groaned at the impulse to go over to the hotel and check on
him. Now he knew he was getting soft in his old age. He climbed gently out of
bed. “You stare at that plaster shoe sole all night?” Dolores turned toward Al
with a sleepy look, her short gray hair disheveled.

“Go back to sleep baby,
Libby’s bringing the kid’s over ain’t she?” He slipped into his trousers.
“You’re gonna need the rest.”

“She wants to shop for new
school clothes for the kids. She’s taking Chloe and leaving the babies here.
Try to be back for dinner. They want to see their grandfather. I want to see
their grandfather.” She reached out a hand.

Al leaned over and took it,
brushing his lips on the knuckles. “You gonna sentence me to hard labor if I’m
late, Judge?”

Dolores chuckled. “I’m
retired. When are you gonna retire for real?”

“I’m thinkin’ real soon,
baby. Real soon.” He watched his wife pull a pillow over her head. She mumbled,
“That’ll be the day.”

Zack opened the door and
stared into Al’s big dark face. “What now?” He left the door open and sat
cautiously on a chair.

“You’re in a crappy mood,
Burnham.” Al strolled over to the coffee pot and helped himself. “Pain any
better?”

“Jesus, Simpson, do you
really have room to talk? Its eight thirty o’clock on a Sunday morning. I’ve
been around you too long, but my work is done here. I’m going home.” Zack’s bag
was on the bed. “I got comp coming. I’m going to lie around and heal. Okay, I’m
going to lie around and drink. Hopefully healing will occur.”

“You got it bad, son. You
think I don’t know about that? She kick you out the door or are you just
stubborn?” Al thudded onto the other chair with the coffee.

“She didn’t exactly kick me,
but she let me know in no uncertain terms that I was no longer…ah…what she
looked for in a man. Who could blame her? Yeah, I was an ass. No surprise to
you, eh, Al? If we’re suddenly buddies I may as well confess it. I was a total
ass.” Zack pulled the large envelope out of the bag, “Wanna job?” He tossed it
into the wastebasket.

“What’s that?” Al twisted in
the chair. He slopped some coffee on his tie with a curse.

“Job offer. From La Cirque du
Celestial. They want to form in house security. They, or I should say Rodrigo
D’Mario, wants me to head it up.”

“How’s the money?” Al hid his
near smile in a sip.

“You thinking about a career
change.”

“My wife always made the
better money. Now she’s retired, got a pension. I got my CPD pension and I do
all right here. Just curious.”

Zack snorted. “Hard to see you
as a family guy, Al. One eighty a year. Bennies out the wahzoo. And a
percentage in company stock. They’ll be looking for someone.”

“I would say Les Moore’s a
good choice but he’s been offered a partnership in his current firm. He doesn’t
wanna travel. Maybe they were thinking of how much money they’d save if you
shack up with the star.”

“Have your laugh, Al. I’m
outta here today. But I do have something I wanna run by you. Could be
nothing…”

Al interrupted him. “You may
have your own people in mind but let me give you a piece of advice. Hire Gary
Lao if you can. Small, but former special forces. World contender black belt.
Don’t look surprised, I checked up on all of ‘em. It would have to be top
dollar but he’s top flight.” He paused while Zack snorted with disgust. Al
could read his ‘ain’t gonna happen’ look a mile away. He continued anyway.
“Talk to Lourdes Garcia. I offered her a job but she said no, she didn’t wanna
be cop. Too limiting she said. Ha. She has a CJ degree and did some time at
Loyola Law. Left to go to Iraq. Signed up. She was in a blast that killed
everyone in the jeep she was in but her. She was a sharp shooter and an MP.
Like you she can wear refrigerator magnets if they ever get fashionable, but
she’s tough. She’s single so can travel. She deserves a better opportunity.”

“Why are you telling me this?
Tell Roddy.” Zack zipped his bag. “Look, my friend Dino is going to be here in
a few minutes. So listen. I got up early and started thinking about what
happened at my condo. There are only so many people it could be. Misha
Severinsky is one of them. I’ve checked his return flight back from Montreal
and he wasn’t on it. I checked all the other flights for the several days
before that and no dice. He was seen back here morning of the day the new run
started. That Friday. He didn’t fly back on his return ticket. He could’ve come
back at any time. I checked everything, all the airlines. Nothing. But Al, the
guy has always given me a strange feeling. He’s like a puppy dog with Mo but
I’ve seen him look at her in what I thought was kind of a, well, calculating
way.”

“We all know what we’re
calculating when we’re around a beautiful woman, Burnham. He’s around your girl
all the time, why wouldn’t he have done something if he wanted to. And the
maid…”

“Yeah, yeah the maid.” Zack
rubbed his stubble. He’d forgotten his pain while his mind worked the
problem.   “I’m grasping. I’m gonna have to go. Al, keep an eye on
Mo, would ya? I’ll see ya at Bull’s trial if he doesn’t cop.

“He won’t cop. By the way,
I’m gonna take a closer look at Misha Severinsky. You in? I talked to the
housekeeper again. She never laid eyes on him.”

Zack froze for a moment.
“What the fuck?”

“She heard his voice. She was
rattled by the murder and didn’t think about it. She cleans a lot of rooms. But
later she contacted the department and said she’d thought it very strange.
She’d keyed the door. No sign. She called out. Heard the shower and called
asking if she could clean. He said ‘Sure, okay!’ and started singing. He shouted
out some more. The way he talked sounded strange to her. We thought she must
mean his accent; anyway it went in the file. It seemed clear he was in the
room. She realized later she thought she’d seen him but had mixed him up with
another man. Somehow that statement got lost in the shuffle. I just came across
it this morning. You with me, or you going back under?” Zack was squeezing his
eyes shut in pain or in thought, Al wasn’t sure.

The camera on Misha’s floor
had been broken at the time of the murder. Maintenance had gotten a work order
to replace it but the work hadn’t been done. It was broken before the
performers had even shown up for the run. Al rubbed his jowl. They’d been over
this territory. The show had been in New Orleans before Chicago. With a ten day
break in between. They’d all long since had had their room reservations. So
maybe he showed up early and sapped the camera. Zack frowned as he sat with the
maintenance records. The camera on 14 E had gone out around the time of Ling
Wong’s murder. The security guard monitoring the screens said it has been
flickering a lot for several days so he was not alarmed when it went out.

The company had shown up four
days before the first show. Enough time to screw with a camera if you had a
plan. “I haven’t found any flights to Chicago under Severinsky’s name. We need
to get into his room.”  Zack held his side.

Al could see the pain in his
eyes but the young idiot wouldn’t take so much as an aspirin. He wasn’t going
to tell him how like his father that was. “Every room has been turned upside
down. You’re right. This guy’s pretty slippery and he may have learned a few
tricks from his father who was involved in trying to boot the Russians out of
the Ukraine. Wound up having to flee the country when the side he supported
turned out to be just as corrupt as the Russians. If my information’s right he
knows a thing or two about false papers and dodging nasty government thugs. Now
that Ukraine is its own country, young Severinsky fancies himself a Chechnyan
sympathizer.

“You have been busy. He’s got
the tattoos to prove where his sympathies lie. Though I don’t see that being a
connection to all this. Though it might indicate a tendency toward obsession,
or fanaticism.” Zack looked at Al and took a deep breath. “Vince Smith can get
us in. I’ll get a pass key. He’s up to his neck in shit already and afraid
Whitney’s gonna yank his plush rug out from under him.”

“My money’s on Ben-Ghury.
Bedlow only has his job because of Smith and she’d do the yanking with zero
remorse. Vince is already history. Heard it from the mayor.”

“Tyler?”

“My mayor. She is an actual
mayor, you know.”

“Bet you don’t ‘little lady’
her. I’m gonna go find Smith.”

Al slipped the key in the
slot. The green light came on and in they went. There had been some argument
from Smith but he wasn’t about to stand up to Al. Maybe he figured he’d need a
job soon. They had made sure Misha was at the coliseum. Yet they felt it was a
long shot. The guy would have to be very stupid to have any evidence in his room
especially since it had been searched twice before. But arrogance has led to
stupidity many times. They had Harve Graver questioning the maid yet again with
a translator, since Al wasn’t sure that his Spanish was good enough at seven in
the morning to not Ms. anything. They hoped they were on the right track.

Zack looked at his watch.
They had waited until the Sunday matinee show would be close to starting to
guarantee Severinsky wouldn’t be coming back. They didn’t want the guy to panic
and do something stupid. They looked in all the places the police would have
looked in the aftermath of the murder and after the man had appeared in Mo’s
bathroom window. One thing they knew, it was a performer with the show. No one
had seen Misha in Montreal during the break. Apparently the man was more
talented than anyone had guessed. Turns out he had been a mechanical genius in
high school and had only gone into the circus as the outlet for a rebellious
streak. Zack guessed it ran in the family. “Let’s pull the registers. Bet your
boys shined a light in and went for donuts.”