I considered going into the stairwell, or a nearby janitor’s closet, but opted instead for the fire escape. What would have been his disadvantage would be my advantage-and outside the back of the building, I might see any exit the killer made from this side.

The bells kept ringing, the hall seemed to be made of the sound. I stepped closer to the window, took hold of the latch on the sash, and vaguely recognized the reflection of something dark before he grabbed me from behind and yanked me backwards, off balance. A large, black rubber hand, coated in something wet and warm and sticky, covered my face. The smell of it mixed with rubber made me want to pull away, but he held me tight, his much larger arm pinning both of my arms; I felt the weird smoothness of the neoprene suit against my skin, on my neck and arms, as he lifted me off my feet, and even as I kicked at him, turned and slammed my head into the wall.

Dazed, I saw nothing but black wetsuit and the wall as he maneuvered me against it; I made some useless efforts to push away, then felt searing pain on my already aching scalp as he took hold of a handful of my hair and yanked it hard. His other hand took me by the belt; he lifted me from my feet by these two handles and swung me toward the wall again.

At the last instant, I realized his intention and tried to shield my face with my arms, twisted my head just enough to prevent myself from hitting completely face-first. It hurt like hell anyway, the impact strong enough to give me a bloody nose. He slightly changed his grip, picked me up, and twisting at the last minute, managed to land another blow to my head. I didn’t feel anything after the moment of impact.

I awakened, if you can call it that, to heat, and the smell of something burning. Neoprene. And rubber gloves. And other things. I had no idea how long I had been out, but I could still hear the goddamn elevator bells ringing and took that to be a good sign. People would be coming into the building, they would hear the bells. No, I thought-slowly, it seemed-people don’t run into burning buildings.

I was dizzy, and facedown on the linoleum, which-a few feet away from me-was also on fire. I couldn’t see very far. The hallway was filling with smoke. I looked for an exit, but the stairwell and the hallway to the elevators were blocked by a bonfire of sorts. An evidence fire, with what looked like a few items from the janitor’s closet thrown in for good measure.

I tried to move, found my hands tied behind my back, but my feet free. Telling myself that being burned alive would hurt worse, I tried to ignore the aching in my head and face and the strain on everything else as I pulled my knees up to my chest, worked my hands down over my rear and feet, then rolled to my back, bringing my hands in front of me. They were bound by an electrical cord, and I decided not to waste time trying to untie them-I needed to get the hell out of the building.

I moved awkwardly toward the fire escape again, staying low, trying to breathe the cooler air near the floor. By the time I had reached the window, the heat was intense, the smoke thickening. As I stood and reached for the window latch, I prayed to God that Arthur Spanning had maintained his building well.

The window opened easily, and set off another loud alarm, but my head was already ringing. I half-crawled, half-fell out onto the fire escape, and only then heard sirens and shouting. I was on my back, looking at the sky, which also had smoke in it, and a helicopter. But although smoke was billowing out after me, compared to the hallway the air here was cool and good, and for the next few moments, all I could do was close my eyes and take big gulps of it into my lungs. Someone in the helicopter said something over a loudspeaker and I’m fairly sure it had to do with me, because soon a fireman was on the fire escape, talking to me, freeing my hands.

“Travis!” I said, sitting up too quickly.

“Someone else in the building?” he asked, apparently pleased I was responding to him.

“No-at least I don’t think so. Outside-a young man, with a bandaged hand-”

“Oh, the owner of the building. He’s okay. He’ll be happy to know that we’ve found you. Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

Travis was waiting for me in the alley, and I made no complaint when the embrace he gave me sent a memo from everything that had hit the wall. It was good to know he was safe, still here, that the killer hadn’t somehow taken him away, too. When he stepped back, paramedics came toward me-but a familiar voice said, “Irene? Can I talk to you first?”

I turned to see Reed Collins, a Las Piernas homicide detective. I was relieved that Ulkins’s death was going to be Reed’s case; relieved, not just because I have faith in his abilities but because Reed works with Frank, and maybe as a way of doing penance for his actions when Frank was taken hostage, he has treated me with kid gloves ever since. I needed a break from bullies.

“Sure, Reed,” I said, “but I didn’t get a good look at him. He came at me from behind, never said a word. He was wearing a wetsuit, but it’s one of the things he set on fire up there.” Remembering how he had grabbed me, I said, “I think he’s right-handed.”

I still wasn’t too steady on my feet. At the paramedics’ suggestion, Reed took me to their big, boxy ambulance so that I could sit down while I talked to him. With Travis hovering nearby, I told Reed what I could.

“A wetsuit?” he asked.

“Yes. It confused me at first, but I think the guy must have heard about hair and fiber evidence or DNA, and was trying not to leave anything behind.”

“But he must have been here before, to know that Ulkins worked here on the weekends. He couldn’t have visited in a wetsuit every time.”

“No, but he could have learned Ulkins’s routine without going into the office itself. And today, I think he was already down on the eighth floor when I got there. You might want to check out the tenants on that floor.”

When I told Reed that the glove held over my face had been sticky, he gently took hold of my chin and looked closely at my left cheek, then said, “I need a favor from you.” I saw him glance toward a crime scene photographer.

“Oh.” The thought of having my photo taken in this state was humiliating, but I knew a photo might help a D.A. get a conviction-for assault if nothing else-provided this guy was ever caught. “Sure, go ahead-but Reed, I need a favor in return.”

“Anything I can do-you know that.”

“Don’t tell Frank-not yet, not while he’s away. I’ll tell him soon, but right now he can’t do anything about it, and it will just torture him. You know how he is.”

Reed smiled. “Sure. He has this crazy idea that if he’s not around, you’ll get into trouble. Dumbass hasn’t figured out that you’ll get into trouble anyway.”

“Thanks, Reed.”

They took the photos, and Reed even had one of the lab guys scrape dried blood from different parts of my face. “You think he left some of his blood on my face?”

Reed shook his head, glanced at Travis and said, “Maybe, but most likely it’s Ulkins’s.”

“He tortured him,” Travis said angrily. “Tortured that old man!”

I looked to Reed, who nodded. “We need to wait for the autopsy, but he appears to have some electrical burns on him. A few cuts as well.”

All of a sudden, I didn’t feel so hot.

“Let me get those paramedics back over here,” Reed said, watching me.

“Wait-up on that fire escape-once the fire is out-”

“It’s already out,” he said. “Soon as the fire department gives us the okay, we’re going inside to have a look at Ulkins’s office.”

“Then have someone look for a piece of electrical cord on the fire escape of the eighth floor-the ends are cut. He tied my hands with it. I know it’s a long shot, but maybe he handled it before he had the gloves on.”

He spoke into a handheld radio, asking someone to look for the cord. “Oh, one other thing,” Reed said to me. “There was an LAPD homicide detective here, name of McCain.” He smiled. “I thought Pete Baird’s wife was going to deck him.”