The Ashes of Memory
4
"May I copy these?" Hannah asked. "If you don't mind…."
Dearborn was staring out of the window at the light-speckled night landscape of the city. She could see the reflection of his drawn face in the glass. "They were good men, and they all died. So young …" The sadness in his face and voice brought sympathetic tears to her own eyes. Hannah blinked them away.
Dearborn sighed and turned back toward Hannah. "I guess maybe I was the lucky one, after all," he said, and his laugh was bitter and short.
"Mr. Dearborn — " Hannah began.
"Take the papers," he told her. "Keep them, publish them, burn them. I don't really care. I don't really care at all anymore."
"I can't believe that you're falling for this garbage."
David was standing with hands on hips alongside Hannah's desk. Blue light from her Macintosh's monitor made his face seem almost spectral. Hannah saved the file and looked up at him. "David, I know it's far-fetched. I don't like it either but it all hangs together in a bizarre way: the old arson plot of Lansky and van Renssaeler, Faneuli infecting all those jokers in Kenya, the fire there, Durand being part of the X-11A disaster — "
"I thought you had a list of pyros," David interrupted. "Instead you're chasing shadows."
Hannah glared at him. "Don't be condescending. I have checked out the list. Simpson and I interrogated a few of them this afternoon."
"And?"
"And we have a good suspect. Ramblur, the one they call Flashfire …"
"Then bring him in. Sweat him until he cracks. Case closed, and you're a hero."
"Right. What if the hunchback's right and the torch is just someone's else's tool? The person who ordered those poor people murdered walks and the torch hangs. I don't want that, David. I want the bastard that said 'burn the church.'" Hannah switched off the computer.
"Nothing you've got would convince anyone that the fire was anything more than a lone psychotic's act, Hannah. Thinking it's more is stupid."
"Stupid?" The harshness of the word made her sit back. She took a slow breath, staring at his unrepentant eyes, hoping that his gaze would soften, that he'd realize how he was hurting her. You don't have to believe me. Just talk with me like my lover instead of some all-mighty deity. "David, even you have to admit that some of the links are suspicious. The use of an oxygen canister in the trigger — something someone in the medical profession would know. Jet fuel, too — Durand would have known how flammable that is. Maybe Quasiman's right. The priest said he catches glimpses of the future. Maybe this is part of something bigger."
"Oh, just fucking great! Now you're listening to the Psychic Hunchback. Supermarket tabloid stuff. Hannah, Hannah …" Words seemed to fail him; he exhaled like a steam kettle and grimaced. "You're acting like a paranoid idiot."
Hannah laughed at the verbal attack, unbelievingly. "And you're acting like an insensitive bigot. I just want to be sure. If I could get the information I need from Saigon …"
"Saigon? This is insane, Hannah. They're jokers," David spoke as he might to a slow child. "For Chrissake. There's no goddamn plot. Someone hated the fucking freaks enough to set the place on fire — that's not too hard to believe. It's a local fire, a local problem. Now you've pasted on a globe-spanning conspiracy fantasy."
"So now I'm fantasizing?"
"What have you got, Hannah? Where's your proof?"
"Damn it, David, there isn't any proof. You know that. It's just a feeling I have."
"Right. Fucking woman's intuition, huh?"
"Shut up, David. Just shut the hell up!" Hannah stood up, the chair clattering backward to the floor. She waved her hand at him. "If you don't want to listen, fine. Then leave me alone. Get the hell out of here."
David laughed at her, braying in her face. "Who the hell's apartment is this? Hannah, listen to me. Do your damn job and drop this nonsense. I had a hell of a time convincing Malcolm and the others to get you this job, but I did. Don't throw away everything I've given you."
"I didn't want you to give it to me, David. I told you that from the beginning. I was willing to find my own job, my own place …"
"But you sure as hell took it, didn't you? You sure came panting after me when I called."
"You arrogant son of a bitch!" Hannah picked up the brass paperweight that sat on the desk. David just looked at her. Hannah breathed heavily, staring at David, amazed at the revulsion she felt for him. It was as if she'd found a rip in a favorite teddy bear, and looked to see maggots writhing in the stuffing.
She set the paperweight down, and then the tears came in gasping sobs.
"Hannah …" David said. She could feel the warmth of his body alongside her. "Hey, I'm sorry. I really am." His hand brushed her arm, and she felt his lips brush the back of her neck. "Just … just forget everything I said. I didn't mean any of it."
But you did mean it, David, and I can't forget. I won't ever forget.
Hannah wanted to tell him that, but she didn't.
DAVIS: Mr. Ramblur, do you understand the rights that I've just read to you?
RAMBLUR: Yeah. (pause) I've heard 'em before. If I want my damn shark of a lawyer here, I can call him. So what? I don't need him. I ain't done nothing.
SIMPSON: Then you'll be happy to answer a few questions for us.
RAMBLUR: I'm fucking ecstatic. If I were any happier I'd come in my pants.
DAVIS: Would you mind if we went inside?
RAMBLUR: If you were alone, I'd say that'd be lovely, blondie. But since you have your bodyguard here with you, yeah I'd mind.
SIMPSON: (unintelligible)
RAMBLUR: Yeah? Well, ask your questions and get the hell out of here. I'm missing As Takis Turns. (He laughs) Just remember I'm talking with you on my own time. When I say I'm done, I'm done.
DAVIS: Where were you on the night of September 16th, Mr. Ramblur?
RAMBLUR: Out. Celebrating Black Queen Night.
SIMPSON: With someone or by yourself?
RAMBLUR: With friends. You want alibis? I can give you a dozen people who'll say they saw me.
DAVIS: Would any of your friends be jokers or aces?
RAMBLUR: (laughs) Not a fucking chance, lady. I don't have garbage for friends.
DAVIS: Do you burn your garbage or just throw it out on the street?
RAMBLUR: (laughs) You're a pretty fucking clever bitch, ain't you? Bet you're real popular back at the office with a mouth like that. Well, let me tell you something … (pause) I ain't gonna cry over that church burning. I ain't sorry at all it happened. Fire is clean. Fire purifies. And there ain't no place that needs purifying more'n Jokertown.
"Hannah?"
The voice caused Hannah to drop the transcript. Quasiman was standing in her cubicle. He seemed to have all his body parts today, at least the ones she could see. "Damn," she muttered. "You are just about the sneakiest SOB …" To cover her embarrassment, she straightened a few of the papers on her desk. Quasiman took a step toward her. Hannah scooted her chair back until it hit the wall.
The hunchback noticed, and the open hurt in his twisted face brought red-faced guilt to Hannah's face, but she didn't move back. "I remember you," he said. "I know that doesn't sound like much, but you don't understand how difficult …" Quasiman sighed. "I made Father Squid write everything down. I make him read it all back to me every night, just so some of it stays. I keep saying your name, trying to keep your face in my mind. I even pray — "
"Stop," Hannah said. "Just stop. I don't want to hear any of this. You need to leave."