A Question of Fire

Chapter 4

-4-

Thursday

The clock showed two minutes past four when

she walked into the suite of offices Lowell's firm occupied. She

would've been on time but couldn't get a parking place closer than

a block away. A young, pretty secretary asked her to have a seat

while she buzzed the office, then directed her to the proper

door.

Peter Lowell stood and offered a hand when

she walked in, but his face showed no warmth or friendliness. There

was a difference about him, but it took a moment to figure out. The

heavy glasses he'd worn the previous night were gone—replaced by

contact lenses, she presumed. It was an improvement; his eyes were

his best feature. They were a clear bright green which might or

might not be their natural color. His grip was firm but almost

insultingly brief, and she had to look up to meet his eyes.

Catherine stood five foot eight, barefoot, so it didn't happen very

often. He directed her to a chair and didn't sit himself until she

was settled.

"Miss Bennett. It is Miss?” he asked. “Thank

you for coming so promptly. I realize you had a rough night, though

you don't look the worse for it.” He paused. “It must have been a

shock." His tone was carefully neutral, and she noticed he didn't

refer to their previous meeting.

"It was."

He shifted in the chair behind the desk. His

clothes were well cut, and though his blond hair had been carefully

combed, strands were starting to fall loose across his forehead. "I

don't suppose you had an easy time yourself," she offered. He

shrugged but said nothing. "In any case, I'm glad you called. I

wanted to talk to you."

"About Bobby Stark?"

"And his brother."

He nodded, but his expression gave no clue to

his thoughts. "You've met them before?"

"I read about Danny's arrest in the paper;

I've never met either of them before last night. I don't cover

criminal cases."

Lowell picked up a pen and twirled it in his

fingers. "How did you happen to meet Bobby?"

Cathy detected suspicion in his tone, but

decided to ignore it and save her energy for the real conflict that

would come later. "The police didn't tell you?"

"Very little.”

She kept her own expression under tight

control so he wouldn’t see how much that discovery pleased her.

"Mr. Lowell, there are things I want to know about Bobby and Danny

Stark. I want your help and you need mine. What about a deal? I'll

trade cooperation for cooperation."

His eyes narrowed and his fingers tightened

on the pen. "As a newspaper reporter, I'm sure you know what

confidentiality means."

"I'm not asking for any of your clients’

secrets. In fact, what I want is public information anyway, but

it'll simplify my life and yours to do it this way."

"What is it you want?"

"Background on Bobby and Danny Stark. A

chance to talk to Danny."

She held his eyes, though his wary, weighing

look made her wonder if he saw her as some kind of dangerous

spider. She sucked in a deep breath, knowing herself a match for

the man, but only as long as she held onto her volatile temper.

"And, in exchange, you'll tell me how you met

Bobby last night and what he told you?" he asked.

"Yes."

He sat very still for a moment, eyes trained

on her but focused inward in thought. "All right." He leaned over

and jotted something on a piece of paper in front of him. "There's

one stipulation. What I tell you is strictly off the record. You

don't quote me or print any of this without my permission."

Cathy considered it, then nodded.

"Accepted."

He inclined his head also. "Good. About last

night?"

She recounted the story as she'd told it to

Norfolk the previous evening. Lowell listened intently, without

interrupting, until she finished. Even then he remained silent for

several minutes. He wasn't sharing whatever thoughts the story

suggested to him, however. "Thank you," was all he finally said.

"Now, what do you want to know?"

Cathy got her pad and pen ready. "Tell me

about Bobby Stark. Background?"

"Miserable," Lowell answered. "Alcoholic,

abusive father, ineffectual mother. The two boys—Bobby and Danny

are the only children—had a wretched childhood and were nothing but

relieved when their father was convicted of armed robbery and sent

up for fifteen to twenty. That was about three years ago, I think.

Jimmy Stark was a dangerous, violent man even when he wasn't

drinking.

"I met Bobby shortly after that," he

continued, "when I was appointed to defend him on a drug charge. He

was guilty, but I got him off and didn't regret it. It's been a

struggle, but Bobby pulled himself together, kicked the drug habit,

found a new set of friends, kept a steady job, and had a girlfriend

he was planning to marry." Tightening of the lines around his eyes

and mouth gave the only clue to his emotions. "Despite his

background, Bobby was a good kid. He just needed help."

For a second, she glimpsed raw pain in his

eyes, making her wonder how much of that help he'd provided

himself. She refrained from asking. "Danny?"

Lowell shrugged. "I don't know him very well.

Bobby called me a couple of weeks ago to say that his brother was

in trouble and ask if I'd help. I've talked to the kid a couple of

times, but he's a quiet boy, more reserved than Bobby. Not easy to

get to know. Even when he does talk, he seems to have a hard time

saying what he means. Except when he gets drunk, and then he says

too much."

"Did Danny set that fire?"

Lowell's light, almost level brows rose. "The

law says he's innocent until proven otherwise."

"That wasn't what I asked."

He shrugged. "I don't know. There's plenty of

evidence to show he did. But Bobby didn't believe it. There's this,

too: Danny's story has more holes than a cyclone fence, but it's

still better than I'd think he could invent on his own."

"What is his story?"

"You didn't hear it from the police?"

She wondered if she were inviting another

round of mutual blackmail. "No."

Lowell consulted papers on his desk. "Nine

tomorrow," he said, then looked up at her. "I’d rather you heard

the story from Danny himself. Arraignment’s tomorrow morning and we

should be able to get bail. I want him out of jail before his

brother's funeral. If it goes well, I want to talk to him here,

afterward, and you can, too. I'd also like to hear his story in

more detail. Is that all right with you?"

Actually it was more than she’d hoped for,

but he didn’t need to know that. "Yes, thanks."

The man's face eased slightly as he settled

back in his chair. His stare tried to dissect her. "Do you always

go to these lengths to get a story?" he asked.

She finished scribbling notes on her pad.

"Yes and no. Yes, I'll work hard to get a story; that's my job,

after all, and I like to think I do it well. But no, it's not just

a story I'm after."

"What is it then?"

She searched his face, trying to gauge his

probable reaction to her next words. He had good features. The

strong bones weren't quite regular enough to be called handsome,

but the character they displayed was attractive. She guessed he was

in his mid-thirties. "I want to know who killed Bobby," Cathy

answered. "And what he did with the evidence he had."

"That's the police department's job," he

said, without any change of expression. "They generally do it well.

I suggest you leave it to them."

"What if they don't or can't do it? Suppose

they conclude Bobby was deluding himself again when they don't find

his evidence after searching all the obvious places? What are you

going to do? Danny is your client; can you afford to overlook the

possibility of evidence that might prove him innocent?"

The man sat up straighter, and sparks ignited

in the depths of his green eyes. "That's my job, Miss Bennett," he

said, in a tone that held an edge of controlled anger. "I like to

think I do it reasonably well, too."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I overstepped. It's

just that I don't want to see Bobby's efforts wasted, and I'm

afraid it might happen. The police don't believe in his

evidence."

"What makes you think so?"

"You didn't hear the way Lieutenant Norfolk

spoke about Bobby. He didn't believe there was anything to it."

"And you do?"

Cathy looked at her notepad, but she was

seeing a shadowy figure in a dark garden. "Bobby Stark trusted me,"

she said. "He didn't want to, but he had no choice. And maybe if I

hadn't demanded that he come out where I could see him, he'd still

be..."

"Don't torture yourself," Lowell ordered.

"The only difference was a few minutes one way or another. You

didn't change the outcome."

She nodded. "Probably not. But I might be

able to change the outcome for Danny. Anyway, Bobby trusted me. I

was the only person available. And I promised him as he was dying

that I'd see his message delivered. You've heard the message, but

you didn't hear the way he said it. Whatever Bobby had, he was sure

it would stand up, and he also knew it was dangerous. He wanted to

be sure that proof got to you and no one else." She sighed. "I feel

like I betrayed him when I told the police."

"You don’t need me to tell you you did the

right thing." His tone was anything but reassuring. "Of course you

told the police. Bobby was murdered. You can't withhold anything

that might help them catch his killer."

"I know that."

"So?"

"I want help finding that proof if the police

don't."

"Miss Bennett, if you're thinking of playing

girl-reporter-turns-detective, I suggest you give it up and stick

to writing about the news."

It took a minute's silent struggle to control

her outrage. "I have another, more personal reason for wanting to

find that evidence," she said when she finally unclenched her jaw.

"Whoever killed Bobby knew he had the goods. He also seems to think

Bobby told me where to find it."

Lowell’s eyes focused sharply on her face

again. "What happened?”

"Someone tried to run me down in the parking

lot outside of my apartment this morning. To answer all your

objections at once, I'm not hysterical, subject to delusions, or

nearsighted, and I know the difference between a careless driver

and one who's aiming at a target. It was a new experience for me,

so I'm forced to conclude Bobby's killer believes I'm a threat

also." She let that sink in. "You see why I'd like to find that

proof right away? I'm more than willing to let the police take care

of it, if they will. But what I've heard so far leaves me

dubious."

He looked down at his desk, but she doubted

he was seeing the papers there. She couldn't gauge his reaction

beyond evident surprise. "Maybe I do, and maybe I don't," he said.

"But I'll go this far with you. If the police stop looking for that

proof, I'll help you search. Meanwhile, I suggest caution and stay

away from lonely alleys after dark."

"Thank you," Cathy said, standing up to

leave.

His expression didn't change or relax as he

nodded goodbye. A pity, she decided. He'd be an attractive man if

he'd lighten up a bit.

The drive from Lowell's office to the

newspaper's headquarters took only ten minutes. She spent the first

half of the trip musing on what Peter Lowell's problem might be;

why he seemed to resent her when he hardly knew her. It had nothing

at all to do with Bobby, she was sure. Lowell had been curt to the

point of rudeness the previous night at the party when a mutual

acquaintance had introduced them.

She wasn't paying attention to traffic, so

she wasn't sure when she first noticed the dark blue Toyota that

kept popping up in her rearview mirror. When she changed lanes, it

did, also, and when she turned right and then right again, the

Toyota stayed in line behind. She made a sudden left turn and

zigzagged around the next couple of blocks, to come out a half mile

further up the road than she wanted to be. A look in the mirror

confirmed the Toyota was still there, two cars back. She continued

to watch it when she swung into the employees' parking lot at the

newspaper building, but the blue car cruised on, down the street

and out of sight. She was too far away to get a look at the

driver.

Ray was in his office, so she knocked and

entered at his nod. She filled him in on the conversation with

Lowell and added her belief that she'd been followed back from his

office. He expelled a long sigh and picked up a cigarette that had

been smoldering in the ashtray.

"Off the wagon again?" she asked.

He looked at the cigarette and nodded. "Brief

trip this time. It's all your fault. Worry sets me off."

"Forget it. I'm carrying all the guilt I can

handle right now."

He sucked in another long pull and expelled

slowly, trying to blow smoke rings that never quite achieved

circularity.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I talked to Lieutenant Norfolk," he said.

"No line on the killer yet. They searched Bobby Stark's apartment,

but didn't find anything that looked like evidence."

"They checked the air vents and

conditioners?"

"Of course."

She heard more in his tone. "Well?"

Ray blew a perfect ring for a change, then

put the cigarette down. "They did find a stash of crack."