“No, she didn’t start the fires,” he said. “I’ve been with her all day.”
Halloran’s brows went up. “Some guys have all the luck.”
“We just returned from a family funeral,” Frank said.
“Jesus, I’m sorry—”
Frank found himself mildly pleased to see Halloran’s look of shame. “Yes, it’s been a tough day for them, so go easy. Besides, she never would have done anything to this place — especially not with her boy inside.”
“She have any enemies?”
“That’s a real possibility, but I don’t have any names for you.” He handed over his business card. “Anything you come up with, Blake, I’d appreciate hearing about it.”
“Likewise,” he said, handing Frank his own card. “You see anyone around here this afternoon?”
“Just a gardener.”
“Let’s see if the lady of the house can help out here.”
They walked back to Elena and Seth.
“I’d like to talk to you,” Halloran said to her, “if you wouldn’t mind letting Detective Harriman keep an eye on your boy for a moment?”
Elena looked back at Frank.
“I’ll be right here,” he said, then added, “Do you know the name of the gardener who works in this part of the complex?”
“Gardener? It’s a whole team — a service that comes through once a week. They come here on Fridays.”
Frank looked toward where he had seen the white van parked. He was not surprised to find it gone.
27
Wednesday, July 12, 3:00 P.M.
A Private Home in Las Piernas
The Looking Glass Man stepped into the shower, feeling weak and sick to his stomach. Soon he would have to go up to his attic room and chronicle the unmitigated failures of this afternoon, but for now he must try to cleanse himself. For long minutes he stood beneath the spray, his head bent into the roaring rush of hot water. He closed his eyes to the glaring whiteness of the shower walls and allowed his other senses to become attuned solely to this enclosed world — the sting of the hot water pelting his scalp and shoulders, the wash of warmth and steam over his skin, the roaring of the water in his ears, the coolness of the tiles beneath his hands, the pressure of his own weight against his palms and the soles of his feet. He opened his mouth and let the water sluice across his lips and teeth and tongue and down his chin. But soon the water echoed the refrain inside his skull—
Elena Rosario was in Las Piernas.
He had thought her long gone. A few months after Lefebvre’s death, she had left. But she must have returned, and now she had a child.
He did not understand it. He had never understood her. He had held various beliefs about her at various times, and always he ended up uncertain, unable to discard those beliefs and unable to cling to them.
He had put her out of his mind for years now, and here she was, back in Las Piernas. And living in Lefebvre’s home.
He had reacted to that out of fear. There had been so much to be afraid of.
When he had nearly been seen by Harriman at the cemetery, it was bad enough, but while eluding the motorcycle officer, his heart had almost given out. After changing the plates on the van, he had driven to the hospital just to see if there was some little thing he might be able to do for Bredloe. A little something to end the man’s suffering. But just as he entered the hallway near Bredloe’s room, he had caught a glimpse of Matt Arden going in to see the captain. The Looking Glass Man kept walking, hearing Arden’s voice say a dreaded name: Lefebvre.
Arden. Did Arden know? Had Lefebvre told Arden his secrets? He had always wondered about this, but when the years went by without a word from him or anyone else, he had decided that Lefebvre had not taken Arden into his confidence. Arden, he was certain, would have defended Lefebvre’s reputation — he had had an almost fatherly devotion to the man. Today, perhaps Arden had only mentioned Lefebvre’s name because of the funeral.
Or perhaps not.
In his present state, Bredloe would be of no use to Arden. But perhaps Arden was saying other things to other members of the department? Who was he staying with? Who was he seeing while he was here in town?
And so the Looking Glass Man had decided to follow Arden. And he did — right to Lefebvre’s former residence.
His shock had been profound.
For a few wild moments, he allowed himself to consider the possibility that Lefebvre was alive, that he had escaped from the wreckage of the plane, that his bones had never been found, that Harriman was involved in some elaborate scheme to trick the Looking Glass Man into revealing his secrets.
It was in this state of panic that he decided to set fire to the condominium. He quickly gathered the materials he had planned to use on Harriman’s home and changed into one of his most useful costumes — the green coveralls of a gardener, an outfit that would allow a person to come close to almost any residence without raising the least alarm from neighbors. A disguise that would let a man carry large green plastic bags full of materials without anyone suspecting him of anything untoward.
This time, the bag was full of gasoline-soaked rags.
He was out in the open, next to the building nearest the van, when he saw Harriman and Arden together. His
