Sara Paretsky - 1985 - [V.I. Warshawski 03] - Killing Orders by Killing Orders

Author:Killing Orders
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-07-08T23:04:27+00:00

Chapter 16 - No One is Lucky Forever

THE PARAMEDICS HUSTLED us off to St. Vincent’s hospital in a couple of ambulances. A young intern, curly-haired and exhausted, went through some medical rituals. No one was badly hurt, although Ferrant and I both were surprised to find burns and cuts on our hands—we’d been too keyed up during our getaway to notice.

The Takamokus were badly shocked by the fire. They had lived quietly in Chicago after being interned during World War II, and the destruction of their tiny island of security was a harsh blow. The intern decided to admit them for a day or two until their daughter could fly from Los Angeles to make housing arrangements for them.

The students were excited, almost unbearably so. They couldn’t stop talking and yelling. Nervous reaction, but difficult to bear. When the authorities came in at six to question us, they kept shouting and interrupting each other in their eagerness to tell their tale.

Dominic Assuevo was with the fire department’s arson unit. He was a hull-shaped man—square head, short thick neck, body tapering down to surprisingly narrow hips. Perhaps an ex-boxer or ex-football player. With him were a uniformed fireman and Bobby Mallory.

I’d been sitting in a torpor, anguished at the wreck of my apartment, unwilling to think. Or move. Looking at Bobby, I knew I’d need to pull my wits together. I took a deep breath. It almost didn’t seem worth the effort.

The weary intern gave exhausted consent for the police to question us—except for the Takamokus, who had already been wafted into the hospital’s interior. We moved into a tiny office near the emergency room, the hospital security-staff room, obligingly vacated by two drowsing security guards. The eight of us made a tight fit, the investigators and one of the students standing, the rest in the room’s few chairs.

Mallory looked at me in disgust and said, “If you knew what you looked like, Warshawski. Half naked and your boyfriend no better. I never thought I’d see the day I’d be glad Tony was dead, but I’m thankful he can’t see you now.”

His words acted like a tonic. The dying war horse staggers to its feet when it hears a bugle. Police accusations usually rouse me.

“Thank you, Bobby. I appreciate your concern.”

Assuevo intervened quickly. “I want the full story on what happened tonight. How you became aware of the fire, what you were doing.”

“I was asleep,” I explained. “The smoke woke me up. Mr. Ferrant was with me; we realized the kitchen was on fire, tried the front door and found it was on fire, too. We got out by the fire escape—I roused these kids, he got Mr. and Mrs. Takamoku. That’s all I know.”

Roger confirmed my story. We both vowed that the people we’d gotten up had been sound asleep at the time. Could they have been faking it? Assuevo wanted to know.

Ferrant shrugged. “They could have been, but they seemed pretty deep in sleep to me. I wasn’t concerned about that kind of thing, Mr.

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