I waited. Doug’s eyes blazed with hatred. His wife continued talking to him, continued pulling until, to my surprise, he gave in, and they both retreated a few steps.
Rachel seemed to be waiting for me. Her face was a mixture of fear, resignation, anger. “Don’t do it,” I said. “Whatever this is about, it’s not worth your life.”
“How would you know?”
I went a few steps closer, almost close enough to try to grab her. And, incredibly, she smiled. “Why do you work for him, Chase? You’re not like him.”
“Rachel, please. Come back inside, so we can talk.”
“We can talk.”
“Look, I’m sorry this happened. We never intended any harm.”
“I know.” Her voice steadied. “It’s not your fault. Not anybody’s fault, really. Except mine. You were just doing what you do.”
“That’s exactly right. And if we realized—”
“Shut up a minute. I don’t want any empty promises. It’s probably too late anyhow.”
“Why? What’s—”
“I asked you to shut up.” She took a deep breath. “It’s not your fault,” she said again. “It was inevitable that it would come out. I just wanted you to know. So you don’t blame yourself.”
“Don’t do this, Rachel.”
“If you want to do something for me—”
“Yes. Anything. If you’ll get away from there.”
“I’d like you to back away from this business.”
“Okay.”
“Forget the tablet. Will you do that?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t suppose you can get your idiot boss to do it?”
“I think he will.”
“You don’t believe that yourself. But try. Please.”
“I will.”
“Thank you.” She looked over at Doug and Ada, standing just out of earshot. And she said good-bye.
When I saw what she was about to do, I lunged for her, caught her wrist as she let go. We fought each other and screamed at each other. Then she twisted free.
Ada and Doug and the cops and I don’t know who else all converged on us as she slipped away. Rachel’s eyes brushed mine, pleading for help. Then she was gone.
We all stood looking down. I never heard the splash when she hit.
TWENTY-ONE
Guilt is never a reasoned response. It is rather a piece of programing that may or may not have justification. And it is probably most damaging to the innocent.
—Timothy Zhin-Po, Night Thoughts
Alex was furious when he heard.
When he gets angry, he doesn’t start throwing things, like most guys. He gets very quiet, and his eyes focus on something, on a chair or on a clock or on something in the display case, and they proceed to burn a hole through it. As he listened to my description of events, he was locked in on a table lamp. When I’d finished, he sat unmoving for several minutes. Finally: “Didn’t the police have a barricade set up?”
“Yes, they did.”
“How’d you get past it?” His voice was unemotional, level, calm. Which told me everything I needed to know.
“They let me go through.”
“The police did?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“They just did.”
We were in his office in back. He was still watching the lamp. “Did you call Fenn?”
“No.”
“Chase?” The eyes finally swung in my direction.
“The police called him.”
“And he got you through?”
“Yes.”
He pressed his fingertips to his brow. He looked genuinely in pain. “Jacob, see if you can get through to Inspector Redfield.”
“Wait,” I said.
“What?” His voice was icy.
“I don’t want you to do this. Create a problem with him, and you embarrass me.”
“Chase, the woman is dead.”
“And it’s my fault, right?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“What were you saying, then?” I think I was edging toward hysteria. Because I knew it was true. She probably would have jumped anyway, but if I’d listened to Fenn and kept my distance, it might have had a different end.
“Alex.” Jacob sounded nervous. “Did you wish me to put the call through?”
Alex ignored the question. “I was saying that Rachel died, apparently as a result of the investigation Rainbow was conducting. That’s my responsibility, not yours. It’s just that Redfield should have recognized what anyone from here meant to her. That there was an inherent danger in reminding her of why she was out there. He knew better, but he told you to go ahead anyhow. Damn.”
“Well,” I said, “do what you want. That’s how you’ll handle it anyhow.” I looked at him and had trouble bringing him into focus. “I’ve had enough, Alex. I’m going home.”
“That’s probably a good idea, Chase.” His voice had softened. “Get away from it for a while.”
“Yeah. Take a taxi.” I got up. “Anything else?”
“No. See you tomorrow. If you feel you need more time—”
“What are we going to do now about the tablet?”
He got up, and we walked along the carpeted corridor toward my office. “I still have a couple of ideas.”
“You mean we’re still going to pursue this business?”
“Yes.” He didn’t look surprised that I was offering resistance. “Chase, it’s more important now than ever.”
“Why?”
“Because whatever it was she was hiding, whatever happened to her, was so significant she couldn’t face it. She must have known that even if we pulled off, somebody else would take up the trail. The tablet has had too much exposure.”
“Alex, I promised her I’d give it up.”
“I know.” We paused at the door, then entered the office. I got my jacket out of the closet and pulled it on. “Maybe that’s why she did it.”
“What do you mean?”
“To extract that kind of promise.”
“You’re saying—”
“That keeping the secret, whatever it is, was more important to her than her life.”
I went home. There’d been a thousand calls at the office, most from media types, some from people who wanted to tell me what they thought of me. One had come from Robin, inquiring whether I was okay. There were more waiting when I walked in through my front door. They included one from my folks and one from my sister. Was I all right? Why was I being blamed for that poor woman’s suicide?
The most painful one came from Fenn. “It wasn’t your fault, Chase,” he said. “I was the one who gave you the okay. I shouldn’t have done it. I take full responsibility.”
I changed and went for a walk in the woods. Something was up in one of the trees, a korin, clacking away, then it leaped into the sky, white wings spread under the sun, and I watched it glide gracefully out of sight. I remember thinking how lucky it was.
When I got back home, a few media types were waiting. Why, they asked, had Rachel taken her life? What exactly were Alex and I looking for? What had my conversation with Rachel been about? I had no answers other than that I was trying to talk her out of jumping. As to Sunset Tuttle and the lost aliens, that was pure speculation.
Did we feel responsible for Rachel’s death?
I’m not sure how I responded to that. I recall, vaguely, pushing through the journalists, going inside, and locking the door.
An hour later, I called Alex. Were we really going to proceed with the search?
“Yes,” he said. “We have no choice.”