DARK THRILLERS-A Box Set of Suspense Novels (55 page)

His heart kicked into an irregular rhythm. He gulped and smoke filled his mouth. The whole room was dimming and blackening with smoke. An oily, thick cloud of it streamed from the carpet and roiled in ugly, thickening corkscrews near the ceiling. He was forced back, the heat already intense, the flames licking and gliding like orange-red wraiths from floor to ceiling.

Turning, feeling himself drop into a dreamy state, everything set to slow-mo, he slammed the door to his office with a bang that sounded like thunder. The sound galvanized him. He grabbed the phone and yelled, "I'm in my office. It's on fire! The whole building's going to go up."

It was a moment before he realized his call had been put on hold. Muzak played over the receiver. He dropped the phone and panic overrode his thinking. Black smoke billowed from beneath the door. Soon the doorknob would melt and the door would turn into a wall of flame. He couldn't hear any sirens of fire trucks. Maybe no one yet knew the place was on fire.

What should he save? All his records were here. Had Lois backed them up on the computer and had she deposited the tape backups in the safety deposit box the way he had asked her?

Save nothing, get out, his mind screamed. Get out now!

Something that sounded like a small bomb blew up in the outer waiting room. The computer monitor. The whole place was going up.

Without further thought, he lifted the big desk chair onto his right shoulder and ran with it toward the window. He hurled it forward and brought both his arms up to protect his face from flying glass. The crash was drowned in the roar of the fire from the other room. The chair had gone through the glass and tumbled across the sidewalk to the gutter.

Karl looked back once before climbing over the jagged glass edge of the window frame. He saw fire had eaten through the door. Only then did he remember this scene from the script—all except the note left on his BMW. It was uncanny how the script showed the lead trapped in an office with the only way out a large window. He'd even used the office chair to break out. He'd had a feeling of déjà vu from the moment he'd heard the outer door open. He should have been on alert, but how could he know when the stalker would try to implement the script scene? He might know what was coming, but never when.

As he stepped out into fresh air, his fear subsiding now that he was out of the fiery building, a blow fell on the back of his head. Karl slumped to the sidewalk, unconscious.

~ * ~

PERRY JOHNS: Detective Apollina, please. This is an emergency.

POLICE OPERATOR: Your name, sir?

PERRY JOHNS: Perry Johns.

POLICE OPERATOR: All right, hold a minute, while I see if the detective is in.

There's a suspicious crackling sound that draws PERRY's attention from the desk.

INTERIOR-FRONT WAITING ROOM: Front door snicking shut. Flame bursting from poured gasoline, leaping out of control, engulfing the exit.

CLOSE UP: PERRY standing in open door between waiting room and his office, shocked at the fire raging across the floor and moving up the walls.

INTERIOR-OFFICE: PERRY slams shut the door and rushes to grab up the phone.

PERRY JOHNS: Apollina! The waiting room's on fire. I can't get out the front of the building!

DETECTIVE APOLLINA: I'll alert the fire department. Do you have a window or a rear exit?

PERRY JOHNS: I've got a plate glass window. I'll have to break it out. I can't get from my office to the back door.

DETECTIVE APOLLINA: Someone will be right there. Get out now.

PERRY drops the phone, picks up the chair behind the desk and throws it through the wide window that faces the sidewalk. He crawls through, relieved to be away from the flames.

FADE OUT.

~ * ~

The Body raised the pipe again to strike a killing blow, but a car slammed its brakes on the street and pulled over awkwardly to the curb, the tires bumping up over the concrete lip. The grill halted no more than a foot from The Body. Time to go. No time to finish it.

He swiveled and ran away, throwing down the pipe as he ran. He turned down the next street at the corner, looking back over his shoulder to see the driver of the car wasn't following. A man had come from the vehicle and was squatting next to Karl.

The goddamn luck.

~ * ~

Karl did not come to until he had been moved away from the burning building so the firefighters could get their hoses across the sidewalk where he had been lying. He woke with a massive headache and his vision all out of whack. There were two Morales clones staring down into his face. So many teeth. So many eyes.

"You okay, buddy? There's an ambulance on the way."

Karl struggled to a sitting position. "I don't need an ambulance." He felt the back of his head where a goose egg knot had risen.

"You might have a concussion, need to get it checked out."

Karl remembered the note. She would be blamed, it had said. What if the bastard had left evidence somewhere near the building? The evidence could belong to Robyn or to anyone he'd ever dated. He couldn't let the fire inspector find it.

"Here. Help me up."

Morales took his arm and pulled him to his feet. Karl felt a little light-headed, but it passed. He stared at the building. Half of the roof was gutted. Smoke and an occasional cloud of sparks still streamed toward the night sky. The fire appeared to be put out, or almost. Firefighters still pumped in gallons of water.

Where would the stalker leave evidence? Near the front of the building where he'd entered, Karl assumed. He couldn't leave it inside in the fire, of course.

Morales was talking to a uniformed officer. Karl took his time walking slowly away from them, rubbing the back of his head, and toward the building. He passed over the thick snake-like water hoses and past two firefighters. They paid him no attention. Everyone was involved in doing their jobs. An investigator wouldn't arrive until later, maybe after the fire was completely out.

The front door was burned completely up. A gaping black hole spewed foul scorched odors of plastic wafting from within. Karl went closer, his eyes on the sidewalk. He saw light glinting off the pen. It was burnished stainless steel, a slim ballpoint, expensive. He leaned down and picked it up, stuck it in his shirt pocket. He looked for anything else out of the ordinary, but it was dark and he couldn't see a thing but puddles of sooty water speckled with flakes of burned material.

Karl wished he had the note, but it was gone. He had taken it with him inside when he first meant to call the detective. He could see it now in his mind's eye. He'd dropped it on the desk as he dialed.

Well, at least he had the pen.

Morales scared him by coming up from behind and placing a hand on his shoulder. "This is tough," he said. "Looks like a firebug. You smell anything in there when the fire started?"

"Yeah, gasoline."

"I want that list of women you were supposed to get together for me. I want it now."

Hell. How could he explain anything to Morales? It would sound insane. He nodded his head. "I'll get it for you."

Morales cocked his head and he gave Karl a curious stare. "You do want to find out who has been doing this, don't you? You could have been killed in there."

"Of course I want to know who it is. Why?"

"You just seem reluctant about the list. I've been after you to give it to me for three days."

"So you believe me now."

"Oh, you mean your friend's death in your Jaguar. Look, I'm not with the investigative team that checks out wrecks. I'm not the one who couldn't verify whether the brake line was cut or sheared during impact. I happen to be on your side, Mr. LaRosa, whether the wreck was accidental or not."

Karl nodded. He couldn't trust himself to speak in a civil manner with the detective. The whole police department had been completely ineffective in his opinion. They put him off. They didn't return his calls. They didn't follow up on his complaints. What was he supposed to do now, give thanks they finally believed he had a life-threatening situation on his hands?

"LaRosa?"

"Yeah." He had been drifting and he must have looked like a man in shock. His head felt as if a hammer was repeatedly pounding a nail into one spot at the back of his skull.

"You need to let the paramedics look you over."

"No. I'm fine."

He knew what he would do. He would find out who owned the stainless steel pen in his pocket. Then he'd have a direct line to the man who was so determined to kill him.

He ought to tell Morales. He ought to tell him about the phone call from the killer claiming to have committed the murder of Marilyn Lori-Street.

This wasn't just arson. Blood thrown in his office. Ransacking his house or wrecking his Jaguar.

People were dead.

"You don't look so good," Morales said, taking his arm.

Karl let himself be dragged over to the ambulance that had just arrived. Maybe they had some aspirin for the headache. Ibuprofen. Morphine! Any damn thing to stop the pounding.

"Is my BMW all right?" he asked Morales on the way to the open back of the ambulance.

"It's fine. The fire was controlled before it took out that wall."

"Sometimes I get lucky."

Morales looked at him and gave a toothy grin that brightened his dark Hispanic face. "I'd say you're one of the luckiest sons of bitches in town, LaRosa."

Karl couldn't dispute that.

~ * ~

"Look, I know it's late, but I've got to talk to you." Karl was on his cellular phone while driving the BMW toward North Hollywood.

"I was just going out," Cambridge Hill said.

"Don't. Don't go anywhere until I get there. Unless you want me to talk to the cops instead."

There was a groan. "Okay, shit, come on over then. Make it snappy."

The paramedics had given him three Tylenol tablets, but they weren't helping. Maybe he did have a concussion. Now his neck was so stiff he could hardly turn his head. When he did turn his head, his vision wavered. Hell. He was in no shape to argue with Cam. But he had no time to waste, either, headache or no headache.

Cam opened the door, took one look at Karl, and ushered him inside, clucking like a mother hen. "What the hell happened, man? You look like you've been run over by a tractor trailer."

"Close. My office was set on fire and I had to break out a window to escape. When I got outside, someone hit me over the back of the head with something. It felt like a sledgehammer." He turned completely around to show Cam the swelling on his head.

"Jesus. That must hurt like a son of a bitch."

Karl faced him again. "I have the script now, but it's not enough, Cam. I knew the office fire was coming, but I didn't know when. I'm going to have to tell the police what I know."

Cam went up like a Roman candle. He seemed to grow five inches taller, he stuck out his chest, he paced like a wild man, running both hands through his hair. "Can't do that," he said. "Can't do that, uh uh, no way."

"Cam, listen. I read the fire scene in the script, but I had no idea it would happen tonight after everyone was gone. I made one dumb mistake. I had locked the office and was going to my car to drive home. I found a note on the windshield. I went back in to make a phone call and . . ."

"Someone poured gasoline in your office and set it off."

"Right. I'd forgotten to lock the door behind me. How many lives do you think I have left? And another thing," Karl said. "That actress you're missing? The guy who's after me killed her. It's because of me she's dead. We once had a fling, a short one, and she insisted I be told about the script. So this isn't just a case of harassment, Cam. You've got a murderer on the set. Are you going to let more people die for the sake of a movie?"

Cam was still pacing like mad. His hair rolled from the front into spikes toward the rear so that he looked like those oddball photographs of Einstein they put on T-shirts. He'd be comical looking if this was a comedy and not a situation where life hung in the balance.

"I know about Marilyn. I know about your friend, Jimmy. I know there's a fucking wacko on my set, they're all fucking wackos, you want my opinion." He gave a flourish of his hands. "Okay, okay, you get outta town." Cam had stopped and was pointing at Karl.

"What?"

"Just get outta town for a while, Karl. This will all blow over if you're not around, trust me on that. You bring in the cops and . . . and . . ."

"Maybe they'd stop this insanity," Karl supplied.

"No! They'd fuck up everything and you know it. I told you that already. I'd be under suspicion, my actors, my crew, everybody. You just leave town. You got a place to go? Listen, I have a cabin stuck way back in the fucking wilds, man, up in Montana. I go up there hunting elk and to get in a little skiing just to get away from this crazy goddamn place. I'll give you the keys, no one knows where it is, you'll be safe."

Karl began to shake his head.

"I'm telling you, Karl, this is what you've got to do. It's my life, this picture. You want to fuck me up, is that what you want? I promise, man, I promise you the minute I get the last shot in the can, you come back and we call in the cops. If they ask why didn't we tell them what we knew earlier, we plead ignorance. How they gonna prove otherwise? This is the only way it'll play. Okay? Let's do it my way. I'll take all responsibility for the decision."

"And if I don't?"

Cam gestured crazily in the air, turning half one way and then the other. He looked like a man about to blow a gasket. His color was high and he was breathing like a fire bellows. "I'm not going to beg you." His voice rose as he repeated it, stepping in close to Karl. "I am not going to fucking beg you. I'll tell you what I will do, though. You don't go off to Montana and let me do my film, you call in the cops now and screw this up, I'll make sure you really are ruined in this town. Now I don't like to threaten people, but you have to understand the wall I'm backed up to. You don't want to get me in that place, Karl. I get bad when I can't move around. So I'm telling you again, you take the keys to my cabin, you leave town, you stay out until I finish the film, and then I'll cooperate. It's up to you."