A Question of Fire

Chapter 5

-5-

Thursday

Cathy had a lot on her mind that afternoon,

so much, in fact, that she nearly forgot she had a dinner date. Or

was appointment a better word? Come to think of it, he hadn't said

they'd go out for dinner, either. And if you really wanted to

quibble, she didn't even know the man's name. Given the

circumstances, she debated the wisdom of keeping an assignation

with a complete stranger.

But he'd saved her life that morning.

Suspicions aside, she at least owed him a bit of her time. So she

waited at the employees' entrance until he pulled up, five minutes

late. Chronic tardiness was one of her pet peeves, but he wasn't so

dilatory as to make it onto her B list. In any case, the smile he

offered as he pulled to the curb, jumped out, and came around to

the passenger side to assist her into the vehicle would have made

up for more than the five minute delay.

"Hello, Catherine Bennett," he said, starting

the car and pulling away from the curb. "Can I call you Kate?"

"No." She let her fingers explore the plush

texture of the upholstery. "I'm not a shrew—most of the time,

anyway. It's Cathy, please."

"All right. Are you hungry, Cathy?"

"Voraciously."

He turned to glance at her. "That's a ten

penny word. But then they're your business, aren't they?"

"Words? The reporter's stock in trade."

"So." He nodded. "Would a steak satisfy your

voracious appetite?"

"Admirably. And now that you have the

advantage of knowing my name and occupation, might we even things

out some? The introduction was a bit informal."

His grin lit sparks in the aquamarine eyes.

"Sorry, I didn't realize. Ed Hammond. I'd offer to shake but I

don't drive well with one hand, especially not when the car has a

stick. There's a steakhouse half a mile up the road if I remember

correctly. Will that do?"

"Sure. Nice car," Cathy commented, admiring

the high-tech instrumentation of the dashboard and the sleek lines

of the Cirrus’s hood. "Yours?"

"Rented, I'm afraid." He let her see a bit of

wry disappointment. "Wouldn't mind owning one like this, though.

You like cars?"

"You ask that after seeing what I drive?"

"Just because you have a ten-year-old Honda

doesn't mean you can't admire."

"You're right," Cathy said. "But I'm not

picky, really. I prefer one with four wheels and an engine that

runs. Of course, I wouldn't mind extras like comfortable seats,

power to accelerate, and good handling." She sighed. “Maybe when I

get all my educational loans paid off.”

At the steakhouse, they were conducted to a

quiet booth near a corner. The candle on the table shed a soft

radiance that enhanced Hammond's beautifully-formed features. They

bantered over trivialities—the food, the weather, her job, and the

local political scene—while they ordered and then ate the salads

that preceded dinner. Hammond c****d an eyebrow when she asked for

a Coca-Cola; he had a glass of burgundy.

"I should have warned you I don't drink when

I have to go back to work. Not that it makes much difference. I've

got pretty plebeian tastes, anyway" she admitted.

"No problem." A dazzling display of

highlights in his blue eyes backed the words. While they demolished

the steaks and accompanying baked potatoes, they talked their way

through sites they'd seen while traveling around the States on

vacations. He'd wandered far more widely than Cathy, but he didn't

talk down or condescend. In fact, he was one of the easiest people

to converse with she'd ever met. And one of the cleverest. He could

ramble on indefinitely, entertaining and amusing, but never giving

away any solid information about himself or his background. However

carefully Cathy tried to probe.

"Where did you grow up?" she asked finally,

straight out.

"A place so small it doesn't even rate a

pinprick on the map. You could hardly find this burg with a

magnifying glass. The town was so little it had "Welcome" painted

on both sides of the sign. The mayor was married to the police

chief and everyone over the age of eighteen who lived there sat on

the town council. All twelve of them. Not a bad place to grow up, I

suppose, but deadly dull on a Saturday night. I was the black

sheep, anyway; I got bored and left."

He continued to ramble, telling her about

what he did afterward, his drifting through several colleges and a

variety of jobs, none of them seeming to last very long, but all

adding to his stock of amusing stories. By the time he stopped a

minute and she realized he'd never answered her original question,

there wasn't any graceful way to return to the issue.

Once they finished dinner and decided to skip

dessert, heading straight for coffee instead, he looked at her and

asked, "Ready to get to business?"

"More than," she answered. "Whatever you want

to know, you didn't have to feed me quite this well to get it."

He looked at her oddly, the most serious

expression she'd seen on his face. "You have a suspicious mind,

Cathy Bennett."

She drained the last of her Coke.

"Occupational hazard, I suppose."

"In any case, you're right this time." He

stopped and reached into an inside pocket of his sport coat, pulled

out a leather wallet, flipped it open, and placed it on the table

where she could read the identification card in the pocket.

"You're a private investigator?"

"So it says." He reclaimed the wallet and

tucked it back away. "Don't get the wrong idea, though. It isn't

anything like what you see on television."

"I don't watch much television."

"In the movies, then. Sam Spade I'm not."

"You wanted to see me this morning. It has to

do with Bobby Stark, doesn't it?"

"Always a pleasure to deal with an

intelligent, logical person," he said. His smile had a definite

affect on her pulse. "I meet a lot more of the other kind in my

line of work. Yes, it's about Bobby Stark. I can't tell you very

much, I'm afraid. My client wants this kept in strict confidence,

but there's something going on, something... Well, I can't explain

very much. But Bobby was helping us out with it, and I think he

found something. Something that got him killed, damn it. I wish the

kid had never gotten involved in this mess. Too late for regrets

now, I know, but I hate to think his work and his death may all be

in vain if we can't find what he had."

"And since I was the last person he talked

to, you're hoping he told me something that might help you."

"Yes."

Cathy was silent, wondering if she could work

the same kind of deal with him that she'd managed with Lowell.

Probably not, but she needn't come away completely

empty-handed.

"I hate to disappoint you, Ed—"

"Which means you're going to, of course."

"Sorry." She offered a rueful smile. "There

just isn’t very much to tell. Bobby was trying to get a message to

his brother's lawyer, Peter Lowell. You knew his brother had been

arrested?"

"I knew. His brother was mixed up in this,

too, but unknowingly. That's one of the reasons Bobby agreed to

work with us; he hoped to get something out of it to help the kid.

Apparently he did, too."

"Bobby wanted me to tell Lowell he had some

kind of evidence that would prove his brother had been framed."

"Did he say what?"

"No."

"Or where it was?"

"No again. I told you I wouldn't be much

help. Bobby died before he could get it out."

"Would you tell me exactly what he did

say?"

Cathy was beginning to feel like she should

have the words printed on a card, ready to distribute to the people

who wanted to know. If only someone could make some sense of it,

could pinpoint just what Bobby had meant. "In the air..." didn't

help very much. But...

"Can I ask you something first?" she

said.

His eyes narrowed as he considered her. "I'll

answer if I can."

"Do you think whatever Bobby had would've

cleared his brother?"

Ed Hammond weighed his answer for several

seconds. "There's no knowing for sure until we actually see what he

had," he said slowly. "But, yes, I think so."

"Do you know what it was?" she asked. “In

even a general way?”

He shook his head slowly. "No idea. I wish I

did."

Cathy waited for him to continue, but he just

shrugged and lapsed into a brooding silence. After a moment,

though, he crooked a wry eyebrow, prompting her to speak. She

related the gist of her conversation with Bobby, again, wishing she

had a card she could give him. She still got a lump in her throat

when she talked about it.

"In the air? That was all he said?" Ed asked

when she was finished.

"He tried to get more out. He couldn't."

"Any idea what he was talking about?"

"None at all. I was hoping you might

know."

He shook his head.

"There must have been more to the word," she

continued. "Like air conditioner or air vent, but I don't have a

clue what it might have been. I talked to Peter Lowell this

afternoon, to see if it meant anything to him. He's a close-mouthed

sort, too, didn't volunteer anything, but I think he was just as

mystified. The police don't believe it at all, though they did

search his apartment and checked out the air ducts and air

conditioner. Nothing."

"Air..." he repeated. "Air conditioner...

airline... airplane... airport... airmail?"

"In the airmail?" Cathy frowned and shook her

head. "I don't think so. It doesn't sound right. I wish I knew.

Especially since somebody else seems to think I do."

"The character who tried to run you down this

morning?"

"The only logical reason I can conceive is

somebody thinks Bobby did tell me what he had or where it was and

they've got to eliminate me before I can tell anyone else."

"You'd better hope that's the case," he

commented.

"I beg your pardon?"

"If that's what they think, you ought to be

relatively safe. You've had plenty of time to get to whatever he

hid and remove it. If those guys learned much about you, they'd

know you're the sort who'd take something like that straight to the

police. Therefore, if nothing's come down, they should be realizing

you don't have anything."

"Hmmm." She liked his reasoning. "I hadn't

looked at it that way," she admitted. "I hope you're right."

"I do, too. What are you planning to do about

the story? Are you going to continue to cover it?"

"There won't be much more unless something

new breaks. We'll run a follow-up tonight and probably a feature

for the weekend, but that'll end it until something else noteworthy

happens."

"And will that end your involvement?"

She'd hoped he wouldn't ask that question.

"Probably not. Ed, the police think Bobby was involved in dealing

drugs again. Do drugs figure in this?"

His look was almost severe now. "Maybe." He

paused. "I don't suppose it'll do much good to ask you not to

pursue it. But I will remind you a man's been killed; this isn't a

game. So please, please, be careful. What do you plan to do?"

"Talk to people who knew Bobby, see if any of

them have any ideas. Lowell is trying to get Danny out on bail; I

want to run it by him. Beyond that, I don't know. I could defend

myself better if I knew what I was up against."

"Some very dangerous people," he

answered.

"Killers, obviously," she speculated.

"Pushers? Or something else? What were they covering up in that

burning building?"

He shrugged. "A lot of questions and no

answers. Be careful looking for those answers; somebody wants them

to remain secret."

She nodded. "What about you, Ed? What are you

going to do?"

He arched a graceful, arrogant eyebrow. "I

have some more people to talk to, a few leads to chase down." He

picked up the check and placed thirty dollars on the saucer for the

waitress to collect.

Cathy reached into her purse and tried to

hand him a couple of bills. "I don't think you've gotten your

money's worth," she offered. "Will you tell me if you find out

anything?"

"If I can." He pushed back her extended hand.

"It's on the expense account." He waited quietly while the waitress

passed and picked up the tray. "And if you find something, will you

let me know? I'll give you a phone number where I can be reached.

If I'm not there, leave a message. Also if you have any problems or

trouble... call. Okay?"

"Yes, thanks, I will."

They left the restaurant and enjoyed a quiet

drive back to the newspaper building. Ed was silent for much of the

trip; she'd given him a lot to think about. Cathy turned once or

twice to look out the back to check for a blue Toyota or other

vehicle that might be following. She didn't see anything.

Ed pulled into the parking lot, but stopped

the car in a far corner. He switched off the engine, pulled a pad

and pencil out of his pocket, scribbled a number, and handed the

paper to her.

"Remember, don't hesitate to call if you need

anything or have any problems."

"I won't," she answered.

It was getting dark outside, but enough light

remained to illuminate the serious concern in his brilliant eyes as

he watched her. He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and drew her

toward him, then brushed his lips across hers. It was brief and his

mind wasn't entirely with it, but the effort impressed her She

returned the kiss; then he drew away and started the motor

again.

"Catherine Bennett, you're entirely too

distracting," he said as he drove up to the curb. They said goodbye

and Cathy climbed the stairs to her desk in the best humor she'd

experienced all day.

It proved to be a slow night. She

collaborated with Sandy Serrazin, one of the regular crime beat

reporters, on a follow-up story about the murder which included her

statement that Bobby Stark hadn't told her anything comprehensible,

as well as the police theory that Bobby's drug connections had a

bearing on the case.

Ray called her into his office again that

evening. She related the gist of her conversation with Ed Hammond,

including his belief that whoever was pursuing her should be

realizing that she didn't have what he wanted. Ray nodded. "Good

thinking. I hope he's right. Just in case, though..." He reached

into a desk drawer and extracted a slim aerosol can which he handed

to her across the pile of papers and clippings. "Keep that handy

whenever you're out after dark."

"Pepper spray?" she asked.

"You may not be in any more danger, but

there's no point in taking chances."

She got home at a reasonable hour that night.

The slender can rested near the top of her pocketbook, and she kept

a hand on it when she stepped out of her car in front of her

apartment and walked up the steps to the second floor balcony.

Nothing happened, though, and she slept soundly.