“Yes. The Express used to have its own helicopter, but that was before budget cutbacks. Now the paper has a contract with a company at the airport. They’ll come here and pick up reporters and photographers and take us to anything we need to get to,” I said. “I think we were better off with our own, because we could respond more quickly, get to the scene we were covering without waiting for the contract pilots to pick us up. We’re a little slower now. Of course, most of the time, Wrigley just wants us to drive to the scene.”

“Hell,” Stinger said, pointing back at the Sikorsky, “this will get you most places you need to go a damned sight faster than a car — especially on the L.A. freeways.”

“Too bad you have to stay at work,” Travis said. “I could take you for a ride.”

“I’d like that,” I said, “we’ll definitely have to set that up for another time. How did you manage to call from the helicopter?”

“Pappy — Stinger’s ground crew — stays in radio contact with us while we fly. He patches calls through from Fremont Enterprises to the helicopter, and vice versa. Most of the calls are Stinger’s girlfriends—”

“Now, that’s enough out of you, Short Stuff,” Stinger said, although Travis was easily a head taller than he. “Time we were going. Irene’s got to get back to work.”

“But you just got here!” I protested.

“We might stay overnight in Las Piernas,” Travis said. “Jack said he could put us up. We’re just going to do a little more night flying and then go out to the airport after this.”

“There’s room at our place, too,” I said. “Do you need the van back?”

“I might want to borrow it for a little while tomorrow. I’m thinking of making an offer on a place not far from your house.”

Pleased by this news, I talked with him for a few more minutes about his plans. When I looked over at Stinger, his head was tilted to one side as he studied me. “When’s your next night shift?” he asked.

“Thursday.”

“Be back Thursday — same time, same station.”

I laughed. “Giving Travis more practice?”

“Call it that,” he said, nodding.

“Okay, why not?”

“Well, now that you mention it,” he said, scratching his chin, “could be a reason why not. Here, let me borrow your cell phone for a minute.”

I handed it to him, and he programmed a number into it. He handed the phone back, and showed me how to retrieve the number he had labeled “Stinger@FE.”

“That’s ‘Stinger at Fremont Enterprises.’ That will get you Pappy, and Pappy can patch you through to us. If your boss is hanging around or it’s otherwise inconvenient to have a chopper landing here, give a call. Otherwise, we’ll see you on Thursday.”

They took off.

I walked back toward the stairway access in a much happier frame of mind. I strolled a little more slowly, and found myself thinking that staying at the paper was worth overcoming any obstacles one member of the current generation of Wrigleys might toss in my way. Otherwise, I thought, I might end up in a building that looked like the Box.

I had just reached that corner of the Wrigley Building rooftop where the Box came into full view. I stopped. Something was odd about one window, a window nearly at the same height as the level on which I stood. There was some light in that office, but not enough to work by. Stranger still — this light was moving.

Fluorescent ceiling panels don’t move. A bright flashlight? Was I witnessing a robbery?

I had not rounded the corner that would place me in full view of the Box, and as the light bounced off the windowpane a few times, I stepped back into the shadows and took the cell phone out.

The light went out. I stayed where I was, kept watch on the window. Soon I saw a shadowy and indistinct figure standing close to the glass. I could barely make out the outline of this person. Nick Parrish?

Or was I only imagining him again?

I couldn’t be sure. But I hadn’t imagined that flashlight.

I crouched farther into the shadows and dialed the police.

49

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 20, 12:15 A.M.

The Roof of the Wrigley Building

Next I called home.

“Irene? Are you all right?”

“I’m okay. Did I wake you?”

“No. I’m waiting up for you.”

“You know how you said I should tell you if I thought I saw Parrish again?”

“Yes. Where is he?”

I told him that I had just reported a possible burglary in progress in the building next door, and quickly explained why I was on the roof. “But now I’m wondering if I should have mentioned Parrish after all,” I admitted. “I don’t want them to be unprepared if it is him.”

“Get inside, and find Jerry or Livy or anyone else who’s working there. Promise me you’ll do that until a unit gets there. And alert the security guard in the lobby.”

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