"If only it were possible," she said softly from that other place.
"Speaking of those kids," Jack said, "how's my man, Hector?"
And then abruptly, she was back. "Coming along," she said. "The antibiotic seems to be doing the trick." She clapped her hands once. "Now… I guess we have business to discuss."
"Uh, yes… and no," Jack said.
"Oh, I don't think I like the sound of that."
Might as well get it out on the table: "I checked out your father's house yesterday, and I think if you really want to get rid of it, you've got to find some way other than fire."
"No," she said stonily. "It's got to be fire."
"But the rest of the block could go with it."
"That's what the New York City Fire Department's for, isn't it—to prevent that from happening."
"Yeah, but fire's funny. You never know what it's going to do. The wind changes and—" He saw her expression and realized he was getting nowhere. "Maybe one of those demolition experts"—he was inventing this, right off the top of his head—"you know, the guys who can set charges just right so a building collapses in on itself? I can look around for you, see if one of them might—"
Alicia stood there, her face an alabaster mask, slowly, deliberately shaking her head.
"No. Fire. And if I'm willing to pay you, why won't you do it?"
Jack stared at her. This was not at all what he'd expected from Alicia. She seemed to care so deeply about so many things, why was she so blind about this? Almost as if her rational processes ducked for cover whenever that house was mentioned.
But whatever the reason, Jack wasn't about to get into a debate about doing the arson. It wasn't something he put up for discussion.
"Because who I work for and what I do for them is entirely up to me. And I choose not to do this."
After a moment of utter silence, during which Alicia's eyes blazed with such intensity Jack thought she might explode, she turned and walked back to the door to. her apartment, opened it, and stepped back.
"Then, there is nothing left for us to discuss. Good-bye, Jack."
She had that right. But as Jack passed her at the door, he said, "Just remember, there are other ways you can handle this. Take a few deep breaths and think about it before you go looking for somebody else to do the job."
"Don't worry," she said. "I won't be looking for somebody else."
And then she slammed the door.
Jack took the stairs down slowly. Maybe it was all for the best to cut loose from Alicia Clayton. That was one seriously overwound human spring back there in that apartment. He'd rather not be around when she snapped and started bouncing off the walls.
At least now he could devote himself full time to Jorge's problem. He'd already learned some interesting stuff about Ramirez.
Jack turned and glanced back at Alicia's door. Still… something appealing about her. Or maybe tantalizing was a better word.
What was that expression—something about a riddle inside a mystery wrapped in an enigma? That was Alicia Clayton: a riddle inside a mystery wrapped in an enigma within a thick coat of Semtex.
And a very short fuse.
3.
"I don't have to go looking for somebody else," Alicia whispered as she locked the door and headed for the phone. "Because I already have a name and number."
She'd call him now, and set this up as soon as possible. That house was a cancer on the face of the city, the planet, her life.
And fire… the cleansing flame… was the only cure.
WEDNESDAY
1.
"He spiked 103.4 last night," Sorenson said as they entered Hector's room. "But it responded nicely to a single dose of Tylenol, and it's stayed normal since."
Alicia glanced at the nurse. "One spike? Just one?"
Jeanne Sorenson flipped through the chart and checked the temperature graph. "Just one. At four-twenty."
Maybe it was nothing. One spike could be merely a fluke. She hoped that was all it was.
She pointed to the cluster of Mylar balloons floating at the corner of the bed.
"Where'd they come from?"
"Came yesterday. Addressed to 'Hector with the mad buzz cut on Pediatrics.' The teddy bear too. But the card only said it was from a friend."
Alicia seated herself on the bed next to where Hector lay clutching a new teddy bear dressed as a doctor.
Jack, she thought, smiling. You didn't forget.
She rubbed her hand over Hector's bristly hair.
"Hey, Hector."
"Hey, Dr. Alith."
He smiled up at her, but she didn't like the look in his eyes. Something wrong here. She could sense it.
"How's it going, guy?"
"My arm thtill hurths. You thaid you were gonna take the needle out."
"Soon as I can. I promise."
Still looking at Hector, she asked Sorenson, "How was his last chest?"
"Continued improvement," the nurse said.
"Labs?"
"CBC back to normal."
X rays and numbers on the upswing, yet Alicia couldn't shake the sense that something was wrong. She'd learned to trust that sense. Despite all the years of booking, of learning how to take a good medical history, how to do a thorough physical exam, how to interpret pages of test results, sometimes you had to throw them all away and go on your instincts. Sometimes it all came down to looking at a patient and sensing an indefinable something about his health.
She listened to the child's lungs, checked his lymph nodes, his belly. All normal.
Troubled, she put on a smile for Hector and rubbed his head again.
"You hang in there, Hector. We'll get you out of here as soon as we can."
Alicia rose and turned to Sorenson. "Get another chest on him, another CBC, and urine and blood cultures too."
She noted the nurse's questioning look as they moved toward the door.
"I hope I'm wrong," Alicia said in a low voice, "but I've got a feeling Hector's going sour on us."
2.
Alicia's office phone beeped and she hit the intercom key.
"There's a Detective Matthews on the line," Raymond told her. "Says he needs to speak to you."
Alicia stiffened. Just a reflex. No way Matthews could know about her meeting with that arsonist last night. Benny… that was the only name she had for the man. Nobody she'd been dealing with lately seemed to have a last name. He'd said he'd check out the address and get back to her.
Alicia had been looking over her shoulder, literally and figuratively, ever since.
So what did Matthews want? Could he have dug up something on Floyd Stevens already?
"Put him through."
"Isn't he the cop who was here yesterday about—?"
"The same."
"Okay. Here he comes."
She lifted the handset and said, "Good morning, Detective."
"Will, remember?" he said.
"Oh, right. I forgot." A lie. She simply wasn't anxious to be on a first-name basis with him. "What can I do for you… Will?"
"As promised, I did a little research on an acquaintance of yours."
She squeezed the handset. Not Benny, she hoped. She cleared her throat.
"Who?"
"Someone you had an altercation with recently."
Floyd Stevens. Why wasn't he mentioning the name?
"Really. Any luck?"
"Oh, yes. I think the results might interest you."
"Really?" Suddenly glad he called, she leaned forward. "What have you got?"
"Rather not over the phone. Why don't you meet me for lunch, and I'll lay it all out for you."