Fly With Fire (7 page)

“He’s not my friend; he is just
doing his job. I’m not sure liquor’s what you need.”

She scooted around the other
side of the coffee table and yanked the cabinet open. Inside was a computerized
miniature dispenser. She eyed it and pressed the vodka button. Then she looked in
the fridge and eyed the bottle of seven-up thoughtfully. Ick, she thought.
“Better than nothing.” She sat back down and opened both bottles while Zack
watched.  She mixed the vodka with a small amount of seven-up, chugged
down one drink and poured another. “Don’t worry Detective Burnham, I’m not
driving.” She said without a glance.

“Maybe you shouldn’t…” Too
late. The second one was gone. Zack scratched his stubble and watched her lean
back and close her eyes.  He studied her face. It was an interesting face.
A little odd actually. With her head leaned back her eyes appeared even more
slanted. Her face was thin but flared at the cheekbones. He didn’t remember
ever seeing cheekbones like hers. Her nose was small with a slight curve at the
bridge. A light scattering of freckles played across it. Her mouth was small
but full. Her lips a little pale. He remembered how they’d looked just last
night. Very red in contrast to the pale rose they were now. He remembered her
smile and the sound of her laugh. He gazed at her sad face and thought she
might not truly laugh again for a long time. He looked at the long braid
winding over her shoulder and chest almost to her waist. It was straight and
glossy though disheveled. Her neck was long and thin. He could see the vibration
of her pulse point. The little notch at the base of her throat. Was she falling
asleep? That would be best. He wondered if he should try to get her to the bed.
He’d just decided he would leave her there and get a blanket when his phone
rang.

“Yes, Your Honor?” The
mayor’s voice made him hold the phone away from his ear as he walked into the
bedroom.

“How’s Ms. Whitman holding
up? Damn shame. Show’s canceled ‘til Wednesday at the earliest. Whitney’ll take
care of her. Look, you stay on her tonight. That’s an order.”

Zack didn’t have time to
affirm that order when he was disconnected. He walked out of the bedroom and
saw she was lying down from the waist up but her long legs hung off the sofa.
He went back into the bedroom and yanked the bedspread off the bed. He dumped
it on the coffee table and picked her legs up and put them on the sofa.
Carefully he pulled off the little flats she wore and covered her with the
spread. He didn’t know what to do then. He should move his car. Fuck it. He
settled into the chair and ignoring his rumbling stomach, tried to sleep.

Ray sat on the trashcan with
his back to the wall. At first Zack thought he was playing one of his jokes. He
was made up like a harlequin. His eyes were wide, his lips blood red. There was
some kind of mark on his face, dead center of his cheek. He got closer and
thought he heard a laugh. He heard a clang and looked up to see the fire escape
above vibrate with an unseen person’s movement. He turned back to Ray and saw
him still there with a frozen look of shocked humor. His mouth had been stopped
mid smile or laugh and had set with a hideous grin. The harlequin mouth dripped
blood on both sides.  The hole in his face was small and clean. The blood
on the wall behind his partner’s head spread outward like a preening peacock’s
tail. Then the mayor came diving in on a trapeze. “You’re finished, Burnham,
finished.” Tyler grabbed hold of the fire escape then was suddenly Monica
Whitman. You did it, Detective. It’s all your fault. All your fault, Burnham,
Burnham…”

Mo patted his shoulder. “Mr.
Burnham. Detective!” He jerked awake. “You were having a nightmare, I think.”

It took him a second. In his
disorientation he reached out running a hand down the thick dark braid. Then it
came to him and he yanked his hand back. “Sorry. I thought…”

“I’m supposed to be having
the nightmares.”  She pressed her hand on his shoulder. “I’m going to move
into the bedroom. Why don’t you stretch out on the sofa?”

“Yeah, what time…” He pulled
his phone out and saw it was one-thirty. “I’m sorry I woke you up, I don’t
usually have nightmares, I don’t think.’

“Nightmares happen. Thank you
for staying. Goodnight.” She closed the door to the bedroom. He heard the lock
click. Zack stretched out on the sofa and thought about the dream for a long
time.

“How well did you know Ling
Wong?” Detective Graver examined the odd little man with red rimmed eyes. The
clown makeup was not the kind of make up your kid would see at a birthday
party. It was disturbing. Scary. The silly orange wig only exemplified the
creepiness of the clown.

“Year and a half maybe. Nice
kid. Did her job.” Trollie shook his head. “Sucks.”

“You have any personal
interest in the girl?” The detective peered into the clown’s eyes.

“Nah. Not my type.” Trollie
leaned back, relaxed. “I think she was seeing Linc Harris. I’m not saying for
sure but they were friendly. I heard Ling was a very friendly girl, if you know
what I mean.”

“Did you try to get friendly
with her?” This guy was giving Graver bad vibes.

“Thought about it. Easy
pickings and all that. Too young and like I said, not my type. Goth bullshit
kind of a turn off.

Yeah, bet she was crying over
that. “Where were you between eleven thirty and two?” Graver tapped his pen on
the pad. Sleaze.

“I went into the city after
the show last night. Kinda hooked up with a friend. I went back to her place.
Didn’t get back ‘til eleven or so this morning. I went straight to the
coliseum. Thought I’d shower there and get in some practice. But I was…hung
over. One of the great things about being with this show is that people
recognize me. With my makeup, of course. Free drinks are a blessing or a curse
depending on the time of day. I kicked back in the dressing room, men’s
dressing room. Reuben Goldstein, a juggler, came in around four. Woke me up. We
chatted a few minutes then the terrible twins, Juan and Jesus Alehandras came
in. They said it sounded like something was going on at the hotel. Goldstein
always brings his car. So we all jumped in and came over here to see what the hell
was going on. Had to practically call the cops to get back in here.” Trollie
wanted a cigarette. A little hair o’ the dog wouldn’t hurt either. How long was
this shit gonna go on?

“Can your friend verify your
whereabouts last night?” Graver was thinking about a smoke too.

“Yeah, but she’s probably
working her corner on West Grand. It’s today you’re interested in, isn’t it?
Ran into a maintenance guy on my way in. There’s a lot of maintenance guys at
Greendale. Take your pick.”

“Don’t worry we’ll find him.
How ‘bout you wash off the makeup and let us get a look at you?”

“Gonna hafta get a warrant.
This is my legal appearance in Canada. Trademarked. Wouldn’t want to violate
any treaties. But just to show I’m being cooperative I’ll tell the home office
they can show you a picture of me if you’ll sign an agreement to keep my real
appearance from the press. It’s a trade secret, you know.”

“Oui, yes, I had a little
argument with Mo Whitmahn. She is the jealous kind. You see I broke up with her
and she was furious. I don’t say she would hurt somebody. That’s ridiculous! Mo
and Ling close friends. She would never hurt Ling.” Claude threw his hair back
with a toss of his head.

“Again, where were you late
this morning, early this afternoon?” Simmons was ready to come unglued with the
French buffoon.

“I tell you! With a new
paramour. But I am a gentleman. Not that she is…, you know. A gentleman does
not kiss and tell. Who wants to hurt Ling? There are crazy people in the
world.”

“Mr. Mojonnier.” Al Simpson
had stepped quietly into the room. “Unless you want to spend the night down at
the station where we know how to get answers, you’d better tell us where you
were at the time of Ling Wong’s murder? And who you were with?” He pressed his
hand firmly on Claude’s shoulder while leaning his face close, giving him a
terrifying smile as he gave this friendly advice.

“In my room! All day. All
night too. With the masseuse. Yes, they have a masseuse for the principals. What’s
her name? Ah, yes! Chreestal. Yes, Mc something. She tell you she have a good
time with Claude!” Al and Simmons looked at each other. It took all kinds.

Misha sat with arms crossed.
He wore a black muscle shirt and jeans. His sandy blonde hair was cut short and
combed neatly. “Yes.” His accent was slight but discernable as Russian or close
to it. “I was in the hotel. I was at the gym around one.   Roddy says
I’m getting fat in the middle. Henri Jardin was there. Roddy told him the same
thing. This morning I had breakfast in my room. I took a shower. A maid came in
and I let her clean while I took the shower. She left; it must have been
between twelve and twelve thirty. I’m a little unsure of the time. After she
left I went to the gym. My heart wasn’t in it. I guess I had a little too much
to drink at Mr. Whitney’s party. Mind?” Misha didn’t wait for a response and
lit a cigarette. He had paper cup of water he pulled close to use as an
ashtray. Graver had another flash of craving. Screw it. He lit one up too,
disregarding the laws concerning smoking in hotels.

“Did you get along with Ling
Wong?” Graver flicked ash into the cup.

“Sure, everybody did, nice
girl.” Misha stretched out his legs. “How is Mo, Ms. Whitman? She and Ling were
close. Have you seen her?”

“Ms. Whitman is fine. Anybody
else see you?”

“In my room, the maid. At the
gym, sure. Besides Henry there were a couple other guests. I didn’t know them.”
Misha exhaled as he spoke. He was relaxed stretching his long legs out in front
of him. I ran into Linc Harris at the gym. He’s with the show. He was in a
hurry to take a shower.”

“He had been working out?”
Graver inhaled deeply, inwardly sighing with relief.

“No, he complained the
ceiling in his shower was too low, so he came to the gym. He had his bathrobe
on over his sweats. But I know he gets cold in the air conditioning. He
complains about it all the time.”

“I don’t know what happened
to them. I told you already. I got out of the shower and they were gone.” Linc
put his head in his hands. His tone was sad and tired. Not angry. Why was he
down at the station? Why weren’t they looking for Ling’s killer?

“You were in the room with
her this morning.” Al sat with a hip on the edge of the table. “Monica Whitman
said you were obsessed with Ms. Wong.” He leaned in close. “Sometimes they sure
can be a tease can’t they?” He gave a knowing chuckle.

Linc glared at him. “You can
shut up about Ling. She wasn’t that way. She just liked to pretend she was. I
know what you’re up too. Trying to get me worked up. Set me off. Mo didn’t say
that. She wouldn’t say I was obsessed. She knows I love Ling.”

“But your running clothes
just disappeared from the locker room. And you’re conveniently all nice and
clean. We’re gonna test that shower and if those clothes are in the hotel,
we’re gonna find ‘em. Did you feel better after you crushed that girl’s skull?”

The veins at Linc’s temples
throbbed. He took a deep breath. He tried to center himself and prayed for
patience. “I love Ling,” he said quietly. He closed his eyes and the tears
rolled. His center shattered causing his shoulders to vibrate. He hugged his
lanky torso and rocked.

“Dammit, Burnham, you could
be pushing a pencil behind a desk or holding my dick when I piss. I want you to
stay out there and keep an eye on what’s going on and stay on the acrobat.” The
mayor puffed hard into the phone.

“She’s a trapeze artist, Your
Honor.” Burnham rolled his eyes. He had escorted Mo to the police station and
after dropping her, was parking the car. Rain pounded on the windshield. The
sky was dark, dark enough to make the streetlights stay on at ten in the
morning. An ominous Midwestern storm front that could bring tornadoes was
brewing. He wanted to do exactly as the mayor said but he complained instead.
It would be just like Tyler to yank him back to the city if he thought he
wanted to stay on the girl.

“Well right now she’s news
and I don’t need her to turn into bad news for me. You stay on her. Get a room,
keep me informed.”

“Yes, Your Honor.” Tyler had
already hung up. Well at least he didn’t have to deal with that windbag all
day. So many cops vied for the honor. My ass. He wanted to get back to work and
if he couldn’t, there were worse things than keeping an eye on a beautiful
woman. A huge clash of thunder rolled over. The rain crashed down. He had given
Mo his umbrella. Well shit, here goes.

“You gonna stand there and
drip on my floor?”  The red cheeked desk sergeant asked irritably.

“You provide towels,
bathrobes, maybe a blow dryer?” Zack tried wiping his feet on the ineffectually
thin mat at the entry. He was drenched and still dripping despite his efforts.

“Al told me to expect a
smartass from the city, they’re in interrogation. You can go back, but not in the
room. Tyler got pull but this is still our town.” The sergeant pushed his
glasses up and went back to paperwork.

“Understood, sergeant.” He
got a snort in response. Harve was watching through the one way glass as Al
talked to Mo. She was much cooler today. More in control. She was answering
questions unruffled despite the detective’s efforts to shake her calm. “Thanks
for letting me bring her in. I think it made it easier for her. So are you
really still trying to get her to confess? You can’t believe she did it.” They
both watched Mo as Harve answered.