Melody Burning by Whitley Strieber Read Free Book Online

that shaft work like a chimney. You’d have fire all the way to the top of the structure in a matter of seconds.”
    Then he thought an incredible, chilling thought: Was this why the elevator shaft went down to the fuel storage tanks? Had Szatson always planned to torch the Beresford?
    But why hadn’t the insurance company seen it? One reason and one only: Mr. Szatson was in the insurance business, too. You could be sure, though, when the Beresford burned, it wouldn’t be his money that would come out of the insurance trust to pay the gigantic claim. No, that would be the money of innocent investors.
    How much would he collect? Easily half a billion dollars and probably more. There would be lawsuits galore, of course, from the survivors and the families of the dead—for there would be many dead—but the suits would also be covered by liability insurance.
    Instead of making a small monthly profit on the Beresford, Szatson was going to cash out in what was bound to be one of the most spectacular fires in Los Angeles history.
    “Is it doable?” Szatson asked. His voice was very quiet. “I mean, could it happen? A fire like that?”
    “I don’t think those fuel tanks are that dangerous. That oil takes special treatment to burn—that’s why you’ve got blowers on the fireboxes.”
    “Well, good. Then I’m not gonna lose any sleep over it.” He went to a drawer and removed a file. “I got a variance from the city for that shaft. They let me off the hook, thank God. It was an honest mistake.”
    Frank knew that he had to have paid plenty for that variance. No honest inspector would let a violation that dangerous go unrepaired.
    “So, Frank, are we together on this?”
    Frank knew he was the best torch in the game, and Luther Szatson had reached out for him.
    He took a deep breath and spoke. “I want you to know that I understand very clearly, Mr. Szatson.” He would not say that he would do it, though. He would not do it. First, it was too dangerous. Second, he’d never killed anyone. He did arson, not murder.
    Szatson strolled to the glass wall that overlooked the pool.
    Frank interpreted this as a signal that the meeting was over and started to get up.
    “No, no,” Szatson said, “we’re not quite finished here.” He opened the folder on his desk. “I’m looking at a complaint here.”
    “About me? From a tenant?”
    “It’s from a tenant’s lawyer. The singer on fifty.”
    “Yeah?”
    “The thing is, this lawyer is claiming that somebody is bothering the girl. Somebody is—listen to this—‘utilizing shaftways and crawl spaces to stalk Miss McGrath.’ ”
    That damn squatter. Frank held up his hand. “Say no more. It’s taken care of.”
    “Wylie said that. Christopher before him. Now you say it.”
    “Except I can do it.”
    Szatson glared. “Then why haven’t you?” His voice was acid. Frank knew this shadow man could turn out to be a witness, and witnesses were dangerous.
    “I’ve confirmed that he’s there. That’s a start.”
    “I don’t need a start, I need a finish!”
    “He’s good at what he does.”
    “Get the job done!”
    “I’ll take care of him.”
    “If this bastard uses the chases, fine. He can fall.”
    Frank knew exactly what those words meant. His boss had just told him to kill the squatter.
    “Yes, sir,” he agreed, “he can fall. But then we have a police investigation inside the building.”
    “He falls, he disappears.”
    Frank could smell the stink of fear in the room, the sharp odor of his own sweat.
    “Well,” Szatson said, “I think we’ve reached an understanding. Am I right?”
    Frank had just been asked to set a fire that was certain to kill and to murder a squatter. He temporarily froze.
    “Frank, you know why you came out of the house early? Why you’re off the parole list?”
    “I’ve got an idea.”
    “It’s the right idea. I did it, and I can undo it. I can make it look like you forged the release documents. You , Frank.