He was exhausted. He’d been up all night getting rid of the evidence that the damn kid might have seen. “Hello?” It was Szatson. “Yes, sir?” “What’s with this wild child?” “Excuse me?” “ ‘Wild Child Found in Exclusive Downtown Apartment Building.’ You damn jerk, this is all we need, drawing this kind of attention to the building just now.” As he said the last two words, his voice dropped down. Just now. Concealed in them, Frank knew, was the terrible secret the two of them shared. “He’s in juvenile custody.” “I figured that out. You knew what needed to be done, and it wasn’t done, was it?” “Sir, I didn’t have—” “Don’t hit me with excuses. You did not do your job.” Frank had never killed anybody, and to tell the truth, he’d been glad when the cops got that kid. Even worse was the idea of killing this building. Every time a tenant said something to him, in the back of his mind was the thought that this person was probably going to burn to death or be a jumper, and it would be on his head.
