Touched by Fire (14 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

The receiving room at the condo complex was awash with burned parcels. The flames had been knocked down, but firefighters still had several hoses going, and rivers of water gushed from within, carrying a flotsam of charred debris along with it.

Lilah was sitting on a courtyard wall, smoking a cigarette and staring blankly at the bank of mailboxes. The yellow message slip taped to hers was fluttering noisily in the searing winds that made her skin glisten with perspiration.

Merrick was pacing nearby, talking animatedly on his cellphone. “I thought you guys were supposed to X-ray everything?”

“We did,” T.J. fired back. The postal inspector’s home was almost an hour’s drive from the Forum, and he had barely gotten in the door. “I personally checked off on every package, every letter and piece of—”

“You saying the pyro used another shipper?”

“Damn right I am. UPS, FedEx? Who knows, maybe he delivered it personally?”

“Come on, these wackos never change their M.O. Ten victims, twenty years, the Unabomber did it by the numbers every single time.”

“He never went after the same target twice, Dan. Maybe this pyro isn’t your normal wacko.”

“Maybe. And maybe he just slipped one past you.”

“I’m telling you he didn‘t, man,” T.J. protested. “Let me get into it, okay?”

“Yeah, keep me posted.” Merrick hung up and went in search of Captain Singer, who was overseeing this operation with characteristic decisiveness.

“Still too hot in there,” the captain said, seeing the question in Merrick’s eyes. He advised that the Arson Squad hold off until morning and ordered the area be secured as a crime scene.

Merrick nodded, then crossed to Lilah and settled on the wall next to her. “How’re you doing, Doc?”

Lilah shrugged and sighed. “You think it’s Fiona?” she asked in a childlike voice.

“Yes—and no,” Merrick replied. “She’s my prime; but it’s all feeling and no fact. She could have a fire bomb factory in her kitchen, still no way I’d get a search warrant. Whoever it is, they’ve swung and missed twice. Chances are they’re feeling real frustrated. I’m thinking maybe you shouldn’t stay here tonight.”

Lilah nodded glumly. “I don’t think I could.”

“Be happy to drop you someplace. There a friend you can stay with? Your folks?”

“That’d be nice,” Lilah replied, clearly relieved. “But maybe I’ll just throw a few things together and check into a hotel.”

They crossed the grounds to her condo. Merrick led the way inside. There was no sign of package or pyro in the entry, nor in the kitchen or main living area, though a blinking light, which turned out to be the answering machine, gave him a moment’s pause. It was well past
eleven. Lilah had no intention of returning calls, and headed for the bedroom. Merrick entered first to check it out. The darkness came alive with a flurry of startling, almost heart-stopping images when he turned on the lights. Dozens of Merricks moved in perfect synchronization on every wall, surface, and shelf. The visual effect was mesmerizing, and almost as intriguing as the collection of mirrors that produced it.

Merrick’s eyes darted from one mirror to another and then another, and finally to Lilah. He was about to make a crack about excessive vanity but thought better of it. “Get your stuff, Doc.”

A short time later, overnight bag in hand, Lilah followed him to the Blazer, passing the Jaguar on the way. The Enforcer was long gone. Their encounter in the training room a vague memory, as if days, not hours, had passed. She activated the car’s burglar alarm, which emitted a series of chirps

Merrick whistled softly. “Sure wouldn’t keep that out here if I was making the payments.”

“You would if your garage was busting at the seams like mine.” She got into the Blazer, gazing forlornly at the fire bomb’s aftermath as Merrick drove off.

“So, what’d you think of the game?” he asked, trying to get her mind off it.

“I’d be more interested in what your son thought of it if I were you.”

Merrick groaned. “You sound just like his mother.”

“He mentioned she’s a nurse.”

“Yeah, a real angel of mercy.”

“Something tells me I struck a raw nerve there.”

“Oh?”

“Mm-hmm. I think you just answered my question.
She
hurt you, didn’t she?”

Merrick responded with a hal:tbearted shrug and headed east on Sunset. He glanced at the rearview mirror and noticed the headlights of a car making the same turn. The driver was the only passenger, and one of the parking lights seemed slightly dimmer than the other. “Yeah, I
guess,” he finally conceded, tromping on the gas. The Blazer accelerated, its knobby tires rumbling loudly on the boulevard’s serpentine curves. “The divorce became final a couple of months ago.”

Lilah leaned into the stream of cold air blasting from the dash. “There are a lot of broken marriages in law enforcement, aren’t there?”

“Yeah, most guys blame the job. You know, the wife couldn’t handle the tension, didn’t like being alone at night, wondering if the phone was going to ring with bad news.”

“That’s understandable.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t have that excuse.”

“You lost me, Lieutenant.”

“She’s living with a cop, Doc,” he replied with an ironic snort. “In my house.”

“Oh boy,” Lilah empathized. “So what happened?”

“Tofu.”

“Tofu?”

“Yeah, and alfalfa sprouts and rice cakes. She lowered our cholesterol and killed our marriage.” His eyes darted to the mirror. Despite the Blazer’s speed, the headlights were still there. “Couple of years ago she starts working at Pritikin. Next thing I know, I can’t smoke in the house.” He made a right into Warner, a tree-lined street on the eastern edge of the campus, then glanced at the mirror
again. Headlights swept through the turn behind them: single passenger, dim parking light—same car. “That was bad enough, but when she started in on the smell on my clothes from the job—I mean, I’m out there busting my hump . . . ” His voice rose in anger then trailed off.

“I don’t know,” Lilah said with a wistful smile. “I kind of like it.” She exhaled a stream of smoke, reflecting on her childhood, reflecting on how she would spend the time when her father was on duty gripped by an overwhelming fear that something would happen to him, on how she would wait anxiously for him to come home from his three-day shift, and how euphoric feelings of relief would wash over her as she ran into his arms and drank in the pungent scent of fire and smoke that mixed with his own. “Always did,” she concluded. “Ever since I was a kid.”

“Yeah, well she wouldn’t let me in the house till I changed,” Merrick went on, too fixated on the lights in the mirror to pick up on Lilah’s mood. “I’d like to see you come home exhausted at three-in the morning and strip to your Fruit of the Looms in the backyard.”

“So would a lot of guys,” Lilah said with a deadpan delivery.

Merrick burst into laughter, as she’d intended. He angled the Blazer into Hilgard, a winding street that bordered the campus. It was free of traffic at this hour, but the car with the dim parking light was still close behind. “You know, you bounce back pretty good, don’t you?”

“We all have our share of equanimity.”

“Good. It’s going to come in handy. Hang on. We’re being tailed.” Merrick punched the gas, hit the brakes, and spun the wheel simultaneously. The Blazer went into a controlled skid that turned it sideways, blocking the street. Lilah cringed at the screeching of brakes behind them.
“Stay here,” Merrick ordered as he popped the door and leaped out. The car that had been tailing them stopped about ten feet from the Blazer. Merrick yanked open the door and shoved his badge in the driver’s face. “L.A. County Arson Squad! Out of the car now!”

Lilah’s curiosity quickly got the best of her. She left the four-by and carne around toward the sedan to see Merrick patting down a woman who was spread-eagled across the hood. Lilah squinted into the glare of the sedan’s headlights that obscured the woman’s identity. Who could it be? One of her students? Serena? Fiona Schaefer? Fiona! Of course! She was the one with the motive, with the biochemical engineering background—it had to be her. But she was out of town when the first fire bomb detonated; and the odds were twenty to one the pyro was a man, weren’t they?

Her mind raced in search of other possibilities as she approached, stopping dead in her tracks on glimpsing the woman’s face. “Mom?” she exclaimed incredulously.

“Mom, is that you?”

“Lilah?” Marge Graham cried out in a trembling voice.

“Lilah, you all right?”

“Of course I am. What are you doing here?”

“That’s what
he
wants to know,” Marge grumbled, craning her neck to glare at Merrick.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The Westwood Marquis rose amid stands of tall trees. Its quiet European elegance made Marge Graham uncomfortable as she followed Lilah and Merrick into the lobby, which they’d decided would be a more suitable place to chat than the middle of a darkened street.

“Okay, Mom,” Lilah began as they settled in a distant corner. “You want to tell us what’s going on?”

“Going on? I was worried sick. What else would I be doing out at this hour?” Marge replied defensively in her brisk cadence. “They had something on TV about a fire at your condo complex. Well, after what happened at the lab . . . I called and left several messages. I even tried your other phone.”

“Sorry. I guess the battery must’ve run down.”

Marge harrumphed impatiently. “Anyway, your father was snoring in his chair, so I decided to come over and see what was going on,” she resumed in the blithe tone that made whatever she said sound like idle chatter. “I was looking for a parking spot when I saw you getting into a truck with a man who looked like a—a”—she paused and swept Merrick with disapproving eyes—“a street person. For all I knew, it could’ve been this animal who’s trying to hurt you. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“She’s fine, Mrs. Graham,” Merrick said, suddenly aware of his soot-smudged appearance, which explained the doorman’s reaction when they entered the hotel. “And I’m making sure she stays that way.”

Lilah smiled, heartened by his unabashed chivalry. “We decided it’d be a good idea if I spent a few nights away from the condo.”

“Oh! You’re so extravagant,” Marge exclaimed, her anxious eyes darting about the plush interior. “What’s wrong with your room at home? Your father’d love to have you, and it’d give me some time to—” She stopped abruptly in reaction to her beeper, which had just begun vibrating. “Oh my,” she exclaimed, suddenly flustered. “He probably woke up and is wondering where I am.” She hugged Lilah, turned on a heel, and hurried through the lobby toward the exit.

Lilah watched her go, then took the phone from her briefcase and called her father. After assuring him her mother was on her way, she went to the desk and asked for a room.

“High floor, no deliveries,” Merrick added smartly.

The clerk scowled as if he were a piece of litter that had blown in from the street, then noticed the badge in Merrick’s palm. Moments later a bellman took Lilah’s bag and showed them to a room. It had the same elegance of fine fabrics and antique furnishing as the lobby, and a view of the campus. Merrick tipped him, then gave the place a once-over, making certain the door to the adjoining room was locked. “Should be okay . . . ”

“Thanks,” Lilah said with a smile. “And thanks again for the game.” She struck a match and lit his cigarette, then her own. “You don’t really get off on the violence, you know,” she offered in that omniscient tone doctors employ when debunking imaginary illnesses. “I watched you. I can tell.”

“Sure I do,” Merrick protested, as if offended. “It’s great therapy. I scream my lungs out and sleep like a rock. Speaking of which . . .” He let it trail off and turned to leave.

“Sleep? No way I could crash now,” Lilah said with a frantic drag on her cigarette. Between the prison, the hockey game, and the fire bomb, it had been a long, nerve-racking day, and she was still wired. Her eyes went to the minibar. “There’s got to be a couple of brews in there. Stick around. Have one with me.”

Merrick cocked his head, deciding, then yawned and fell onto the sofa, sinking deep into the cushions. “So how’d you get into this medicine game?”

“By playing doctor with the little boy next door.”

“Seriously.”

“Seriously?” she echoed, fetching the beers. “I always knew what I wanted to do. My parents encouraged me. Especially my father. He’s very ill. I’ve sort of-been caring for him as of late.”

“You saying you’re your father’s doctor?” Merrick asked, uncomfortable with the idea.

“Of course not,” Lilah replied, bemused. “We’ve had the same general prac for years; but if having his daughter check him out once a month and tell him he’s doing great makes him feel better, why not? He was the best father a girl could have. A wonderful, decent, and supportive man. I’d do anything for him.” She sat cross-legged on the floor, then, setting Merrick up, added, “Saved a few lives in his day.”

“Ah, so, you’re following in his footsteps,” Merrick said, making the obvious assumption.

She broke into that little Doug Graham grin and delivered the punch line. “He was a fireman.”

Merrick arched a skeptical brow. “A fireman? You’re putting me on . . .”

“No, really.”

He sighed in amazement, too fatigued to recognize the significance of the little bell that had just gone off in his head. “So was mine.”

“Figures. Fire fighting’s a family thing. My dad put in forty years in Santa Monica.”

“Thirty-five, L.A. County,” Merrick reflected. “I spent more holidays at the station than I did at home. My mom used to say our lives were touched by fire. I mean, it just kinda gets in your blood and—”

“Well, we haven’t identified
that
gene yet,” Lilah said girlishly.

“You really think there is one?”

“Wouldn’t be surprised. You know, we saw you on TV after you rescued those guys. My dad took one look and said, ‘My kind of guy.’” She raised her arms with a dancer’s grace and sensuously ran her hands along the side of her neck up into her hair, her slender fingers gathering it into a flaming column; then, as she began arranging it into a perfect chignon, she glanced up at Merrick, with soft, deep blue eyes, and said, “I always thought he was a great judge of character.”

Merrick took a long swallow of beer, studying her from behind the bottle. “You wouldn’t be making one of your famous medical advances here, would you, Doc?”

“Hey, don’t take it personally, I’m bound by oath and training to make as many as I can.”

Merrick feigned being crushed. “And I thought it was because I reminded you of Daddy.”

“Well, you
do
smoke the same brand of cigarettes—like chimneys.”

“Look who’s talking. I mean, if anybody should know better, it’d be you, no?”

Lilah nodded. “You think I’d be indulging a two-pack-a- day habit if I didn’t?”

Merrick looked puzzled. “What am I missing here?”

“Information,” Lilah replied, intensifying his curiosity. She got to her feet, fetched a vacutainer kit from her briefcase, and sat next to him. “Roll up a sleeve,” she commanded as she peeled off the wrapper.

Merrick shrunk back deeper into the cushions and yawned. “Not that violence thing again.”

“No, I’d have to screen your X chromosome for that. The tweak I’m looking for rears its ugly head on fifteen.”

“Tweak? What tweak?”

“The FHIT marker. It’s a genetic defect that turns the compounds in cigarette smoke into carcinogens.”

Merrick broke into a knowing smile as the pieces fell into place. “Tested yourself, haven’t you?”

Lilah smiled, exhaling through her nose and mouth as she continued. “You just might be one of the lucky ninety-three out of a hundred who don’t have the marker.”

“Which means?” Merrick asked, stifling a yawn.

“You can smoke your fool head off without worrying about lung cancer . . . just emphysema and heart disease.”

“Only seven out of a hundred have it, huh?”

Lilah nodded, then swabbed the bend in his arm and readied the needle. “Make a fist.”

“I’ll probably be one of the unlucky seven,” Merrick said as the vacutainer began filling.

“Then you’ll have to make one of those nitty-gritty decisions,” she replied in a sassy tone. “You could quit cold turkey and spend a lot of time sucking your thumb. You could keep smoking and worry your ass off. You could
wait until you get the big C and put in for a lung transplant, if it hasn’t already spread to your nodes. Then again, you could run around with one of those metal clips on your ear. You don’t exactly strike me as the earring type, but I know several people who tried it and broke the habit.”

She finished filling the container, then extracted the needle, and was surprised when she looked up to see that he’d dozed off. An amused smile, infused with traces of affection and relief, broke across her face. Until tonight, he would barely give her the time of day, let alone eight cubic centimeters of his blood. Now, their playful sparring and sharing of childhood experiences had rekindled her earlier feelings that she’d gotten his attention. He
was
interested in her, not just her case. And whether he had intended it or not, she felt safer, felt he
had
become her protector, and would soon
consciously
make that commitment if he hadn’t.

Merrick’s eyes were closed and his breathing was steady, but he was still in the netherworld of semiconscious thought, his mind flitting from one thing to another.

Why
had
the pyro changed his M.O. and used a different delivery system? Why had the second fire bomb detonated in the receiving room, instead of after Lilah had taken possession of it, like the first one? He thought, too, of Lilah’s revelation that her father had been a fireman. Merrick’s mind was plunging from twilight into total darkness when that little bell started ringing again. This time it set off a flicker of insight about motive, an insight that could explain why an incendiary device, rather than a more common method, had been used. He tried to hold on to it, tried valiantly to store it for later retrieval, but the cerebral shutter slammed shut, obscuring it in trancelike slumber.