And then he reached across the table and covered her hand with his.
"And I want you to know that I admire you for it. And you should also know that you're not alone in this. There's still a few things I can do."
"Like what?"
"I learned a few things in Vice. One of them was that these pedophiles don't change their spots. You can't cure them. A stretch in the joint, years of couch time with an army of shrinks, nothing changes them. The minute they think nobody's watching them—or sometimes even if they suspect they're being watched—they're out on the prowl, hunting."
"Compulsive behavior." Alicia knew all about it.
"Right. And that can work to our advantage."
Our? When had it become his problem too?
Easy, she told herself. He wants to get this guy as much as you do. Don't get your back up. He wants to help. Let him.
She wondered why she found that so hard to do. Maybe because she'd been on her own for so long, taking no help from anyone, making all her own decisions, solving all her problems by herself. Was that why an offer of help seemed almost like… an intrusion?
"How?"
He smiled. "Leave that to me."
Alicia straightened and found herself smiling. "You know, Will, I think I'm getting my appetite back."
Oh, no. Had she just called him "Will?" Where had that come from?
But it was true. She was hungry again. And she had to admit, it felt good to know she had someone on her side.
They finished off the shrimp and green sauce, argued over who paid, with Will winning because he had longer arms and had snagged the check. They parted at the front door with Will promising to keep in touch.
Alicia was halfway back to the Center before she realized she'd never got around to telling him about her serious long-term relationship with that up-and-coming importer, Joseph Hermann.
4.
Before sifting through the pile of "While You Were Out…" message slips piled on her desk when she got back to the Center, Alicia checked her personal voice mail. She had one message.
"This is Benny. Call me." He left a number.
Her pulse quickened. The arsonist. She closed her office door and called the number immediately.
"Yeah?" said the same voice.
She heard traffic noises in the background. He was no doubt at a pay phone.
"Is this Benny? I'm returning your call."
"Yeah. This is about the Murray Hill place, right?"
"Right."
"Yeah. I can do that."
"Good. But I need more than that." Jack's comment about a fire leveling the whole block gnawed at her. "I don't want it to spread."
"No prob. You're dealing wit' a pro, here. The inside'll cook. It'll be done to a turn, crisped to ash before it shows outside. The water boys'll be there by then, and if they ain't, I'll call 'em myself. And that'll be it. A surgical strike. With no one the wiser."
"You're sure? Absolutely sure? And no one will get hurt?"
"Guaranteed. Piece a cake, honey. You'll be countin' your money in no time."
Benny obviously thought she was doing this for the insurance. Let him.
"Great," she said.
"But I wanna be countin' mine tonight. Like we agreed, half up front, half the morning after. In cash, know what I'm saying?"
"I know."
Benny's fee would just about clean her out. Was it worth it? Did she really want to do this?
Yes.
"Where do we meet?"
5.
Alicia stood on a chair and stared out at the night through one of her skylights. She faced northeast. Toward Murray Hill.
Benny had said he'd do the job tonight.
"I'm workin' another job farther uptown," he'd said.
"But why wait? Your place is empty and ready to go. Piece a cake."
Another job waiting… arson sounded like a booming business.
And then the police scanner she'd bought on her way home this afternoon squawked behind her. Something about shots fired near Madison Square Garden. Not what she wanted to hear.
Smoke reported from a house, on East Thirty-eighth.
That was what she was waiting for.
She knew she'd never see the flames or smoke from here, but something drew her to the window anyway. She'd stay here, squinting into the darkness until the alarm came through on the scanner. Then she'd run downstairs, snag a cab to Murray Hill, and stand there on Thirty-eighth Street, watching the flames burn that house to the sidewalk.
A tremor ran through her body and she wobbled atop the chair. She steadied herself against the skylight frame and closed her eyes. Her frazzled nerves were stretched to the breaking point. She wasn't cut out for this.
God, what have I done? I actually hired someone to burn down the house. Am I out of my mind?
Sometimes she thought so.
And after finally finding time to read the will today, she wondered if madness ran in the family. Leo Weinstein had mentioned in passing that it was "rather unusual," but she hadn't realized just how unusual.
Having read it, she knew the answer to Jack's question as to why the people she hired wound up dead but she remained unharmed.
And now she was convinced more strongly than ever that the only solution was to destroy the house.
Then she'd be free of Thomas's ankle-biting lawyers. And if insurance money came of it, she'd donate it to the Center.
And her world would be free of that house and all it represented.
6.
"All right," Kenny said as he came down the steps. "He's stowed in the trunk. What next?"
Sam Baker stood in a cone of light in the basement of the Clayton house and wiped the bloody blade of the filleting knife on a rag. He wanted to take a chunk out of Kenny and make him eat it for screwing up tonight. But Kenny was family, his older sister's kid, a broad-shouldered twenty-five-year-old with his mother's red hair, and you didn't scar up family, not even when they deserved it.
He'd punish Kenny and his partner another way.
"A number of things are next, Kenny. The first one is docking you and Mott five percent of your bonus."
Kenny's eyes widened. "Five percent? What the fuck for?"
"For letting that torch slip by you."
"Shit, man, we caught him, didn't we?"
"Yeah, after he was already inside and setting up his goodies. If you hadn't smelled the gasoline, this whole place'd be up in smoke, and we'd all be out of a sweet gig." Baker pointed the knife at Kenny's chest. "He shouldn't have got in in the first place."
"Guy must be a magician. We never saw him, and I swear we weren't goofing off."
"Swear all you want, but don't expect any sympathy from the rest of the crew. If this place had gone up, they'd have lost a hundred percent of their bonuses. You too. So maybe this'll keep you on your toes during your next shift."
"That sucks, Sam."
"Don't feel so bad. I'll see that it goes to Grandma."
Kenny made a disgusted face. "Yeah, right. Think she'll remember to send me a thank-you note?"
Suddenly furious, Sam grabbed the front of Kenny's shirt and jerked him close. Family or not, he was ready to do a tap dance on his nephew's head.
"You watch your tone when you mention your grandmother, kid. Got that?"
Kenny looked away and nodded. "Sorry. I didn't mean it."
Sam released him. "I hope not. Now, lug the rest of this accelerant upstairs and wait for the others."
As Kenny stomped up the stairs, Baker looked around the cellar and shook his head. Too close. Too damn close. He'd damn near shit his pants when Kenny had called to say they'd caught a firebug in the house. He'd run over and found this weasel-faced wimp tied to a chair in the basement. The guy had been carrying a couple of gallons of accelerant in quart bottles stashed in pockets inside his overcoat.