I Am God (17 page)

She stood up, crossed the room and went out on the landing where the coffee machine was. When the hot liquid had almost filled the paper cup, Russell Wade appeared by her side. He didn’t look like someone who wanted a coffee.

Vivien took out the cup and turned to him. ‘Finished with your tormentor?’

‘With him, yes. Now I need to talk to you.’

‘Me? About what?’

‘The man whose photograph you have on your desk.’

Vivien’s senses were immediately alert. There were times like that, when her experience – but above all her skill – told her something important was about to happen. And she had seldom been wrong.

‘What about him?’

‘I knew him.’

Vivien noticed the past tense. ‘Did you know he was murdered?’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘If you have any information, I can put you in touch with the people handling the case.’

Wade looked puzzled. ‘I saw the photograph on your desk. I thought you were handling it.’

‘No. Brooklyn caught the case. It’s pure chance that photograph was on my desk.’

Wade decided to get more specific. ‘Actually, it’s not Ziggy’s death that’s the important thing. At least not entirely. There’s something else much more important. But right now
I’d like to talk in private with you and the head of this precinct.’

‘Captain Bellew is very busy at the moment. Believe me, I’m not just saying that.’

He paused, looking her in the eyes. Vivien remembered that moment when he had passed her in the car, the day he had been released. That sense of sadness and solitude he had conveyed to her. She had no reason to feel any respect for the man, but once again she found it hard to remain insensitive when faced with the depth in those eyes.

‘If I told you I have information that could lead to the arrest of the person who blew up the building on the Lower East Side,’ Russell Wade said calmly, ‘do you think Captain Bellew might find a minute to hear me out?’

He was sitting on a plastic chair in a small waiting room on the second floor of the 13th Precinct. A nondescript room, with faded walls that bore witness to stories that had also faded with time. But his time was now, and his story belonged to the present.

He got up and went to the window that looked out on the street. He put his hands in his pockets and, for better or worse, felt part of the world.

After the discovery he had made in Ziggy’s apartment, after reading the paper he had passed on to him before dying, and realizing with dismay what it was about, Saturday and Sunday had been spent in long and tormented reflection, interspersed with watching the TV news, reading the newspapers and seeing images of the bloodstained man who had died in his arms.

At last, he had come to a decision.

He didn’t know if it was the right one, but at least it was his.

In this uncertain situation, one thing was now clear to him. That something in his life had ended and something else was about to start. And he would do everything he could to make it something good, something important. By a strange twist of fate, at the very moment he had found himself alone,
burdened with a huge responsibility, the knot he had carried inside him for years had loosened. As if the ship had needed a real storm to demonstrate that it was seaworthy.

At first, overwhelmed by doubt, he had wondered what Robert Wade would have done if he had been in his shoes. Then he had realized it was the wrong question to ask. What mattered was what
he
ought to do. And he had finally turned his back on the mirror in which, however hard he had looked for his own face, he had continued for years to see the image of his brother.

For the whole of Sunday night, he had lain on the bed, looking up at the ceiling, which was like a clear roof in the semi-darkness.

All you had to do was search. The most difficult thing to understand was not who, or how. It was where. And that was always somewhere closer than you thought. In the morning, when the signs and the street lamps had gone out and the sun had come up again, he had got out of bed and taken a shower that had completely wiped out any lingering trace of tiredness due to his sleepless night.

He had found himself in the bathroom, naked in front of the mirror. There, on the shiny surface, was his body and his face. He knew now who he was – he knew that, if there was something he had to prove, then he had to prove it to himself and no one else.

But above all, he wasn’t afraid any more.

The door opened behind him. In the doorway appeared the young woman who had introduced herself as Detective Vivien Light. When some time ago

when
was
that
?

he had been released and had gone out onto the street with the lawyer, Thornton, and got into the car, he had seen her
there on the steps, motionless, as if unsure whether or not to descend. The car had passed her and their eyes had met. A fleeting moment, a brief glance in which there had been no judgement and no condemnation. Only a curious sense of understanding that Russell hadn’t forgotten. At that time he hadn’t known she was a police officer but, when he had found her sitting at a desk with Ziggy’s photograph next to her, he had realized she might be the right person to talk to.

He would know very soon if he had been right.

The detective stepped aside and indicated the corridor. ‘Come with me.’

Russell followed her until they reached the door with a frosted-glass pane and the words

painted in cursive lettering by a steady hand. It reminded Russell of images from black and white crime movies of the Forties. The detective opened the door without knocking and they found themselves in an office with furnishings that were anything but austere.

Filing cabinets against the wall to the left, a closet on the right, a small table with two armchairs and a coffee machine on its wooden surface. Walls of an indefinable colour. A couple of questionable paintings and a few plants in a vase fixed to the wall with a wrought-iron ring.

A man was sitting behind a desk facing the door. Russell couldn’t see him very well because he was silhouetted against the light from the window, made only slightly less bright by the Venetian blinds.

The man pointed to a chair in front of the desk. ‘I’m Captain Bellew. Take a seat, Mr Wade.’

Russell sat down and the young woman detective came and stood a couple of feet from him. She was observing him curiously, whereas the captain, if he was curious about him at all, didn’t show it.

Russell decided he was a man who knew his job. He was a cop, not a politician, someone who had earned his rank by results, not through public relations.

Bellew sat back in his chair. ‘Detective Light tells me you claim to have some important information for us.’

‘It’s not just a claim. I do have it.’

‘We’ll see. For the moment, let’s take it from the beginning. Tell me about your relationship with this Ziggy Stardust.’

‘First I’d like to talk about my relationship with you.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘I know that in cases like these, you have considerable discretionary powers over concessions to anyone who provides useful evidence. You can offer money, you can even offer immunity from prosecution, if necessary.’

The captain’s face darkened. ‘Do you want money?’

Russell Wade shook his head, a half-smile on his lips. ‘Up until two days ago, an offer like that would have tempted me. It might even have persuaded me …’

He lowered his head, leaving the sentence unfinished, as if suddenly pursuing a thought, or a memory. Then he looked up again.

‘Today’s different. There’s only one thing I want.’

‘And are we allowed to know what that is?’

‘I want exclusive rights to this story. In return for what I’m going to give you, I want the chance to follow this investigation at close quarters.’

The captain thought about this for a moment. When he
spoke, he spoke clearly and emphatically, as if determined to make himself understood. ‘Mr Wade, I’d have to say you don’t come with the best references.’

Russell made a vague gesture with his hand. ‘Captain Bellew,’ he said, adapting his tone to the captain’s, ‘my story is common knowledge. Everyone knows I won a Pulitzer I didn’t deserve and that it was quite rightly taken away from me. I don’t deny that – in fact I know it better than anyone. I’m not going to excuse what I did in the past. At best, I might be able to explain it. But this doesn’t seem to me the right time to do that. I beg you to believe that I have some very important things to say even though, as you said, I don’t have the best of credentials.’

‘Why do you want this?’

Russell was aware that the answer he gave was a crucial one.

‘I could give you a whole list of reasons. But what I really want is to stop being a coward.’

Silence fell in the room.

The captain looked him in the eyes for a long time. Russell held his gaze without any difficulty.

‘We could hold you as a suspect in the homicide of Ziggy Stardust.’

‘Of course you could, but I don’t think you will.’

To make these words seem less presumptuous, he decided to be a little more specific.

‘Captain, I’m not a vulture. If I’d wanted a scoop I’d have gone to the
New
York
Times,
however difficult that might have been for me. But, believe me, that would have thrown the whole city into total panic. And I haven’t the slightest intention of playing with the lives of thousands of people. Because that’s what’s at stake here …’

He paused briefly, looking from one to the other.

‘The lives of thousands of people.’

He had repeated that last phrase to make sure the idea was as clear to them as it was to him. Then he reinforced it with a statement that was as difficult to say as it was to accept.

‘If what I’m thinking is correct, Saturday’s explosion is only the first in a long series.’

He got to his feet and took a few steps around the room.

‘For a whole series of reasons, one of which is pure chance, I’ve chosen Detective Light and you to tell this to. But it’s not my intention to keep any information to myself that could save the lives of so many people. I could go to the FBI, but I think it’s best if everything starts here, in this room.’

He came back to the desk, put his hands on the desktop and leaned slightly towards the captain.

It was his turn now to look the other man in the eyes.

‘All I want is your word that you’ll let me follow the investigation at close quarters.’

Russell knew there was a long-standing rivalry between the various investigating bodies. And he knew the biggest was between the NYPD and the FBI. Captain Bellew seemed like a good cop and a good man. But he was still a human being. The idea that his precinct could solve this case and get the credit for it had to weigh heavily with him.

The captain pointed to the chair. ‘Sit down.’

Russell did as he was told. Captain Bellew waited until he was seated before speaking.

‘All right. You have my word of honour that, if what you have to say is of interest to us, I’ll let you follow the investigation. But if I find you’ve made us waste our time, I’ll personally kick you down the stairs.’

A pause. They looked at each other to seal their pact – and accept its possible consequences.

‘Now talk.’

The captain motioned to Vivien, who had been silent so far, listening to the conversation from her position next to the desk. Russell realized that from now on she would be leading the way.

Which was what she did.

‘What’s your connection with Ziggy Stardust?’

‘For reasons of my own, I was at his place on Saturday afternoon.’

‘What kind of reasons?’

Russell Wade shrugged. ‘You know me. And I think you know Ziggy and what he did. For now, can I just say the reason doesn’t matter?’

‘Go on.’

‘Ziggy lived in a basement apartment. When I got to his place and turned the corner at the bottom of the stairs, I saw a man in a military jacket start up the stairs at the other end of the corridor. He seemed to be in a hurry. I thought he was a customer of Ziggy’s who couldn’t wait to get out of there.’

‘Would you be able to recognize him?’

Russell was favourably impressed by the young woman’s transformation. She had gone from being a mere spectator to being the person who asked the questions, and it was clear she knew her business.

‘I don’t think so. I didn’t see his face. He was of average build, I’d say. He could have been anyone.’

‘What did you do then?’

‘Ziggy’s door was open, and I went in. He was still alive, but there was blood all over him. On his pants, on the front of his shirt. It was even coming out of his mouth. He was trying to stand up and get to the printer.’

The captain interrupted at this point. ‘The printer?’

Russell nodded. ‘That’s what he did. I also wondered why. He grabbed hold of me and pressed a button on the printer. There was this orange light flashing, like when there’s no paper and the machine goes on stand by.’

‘And then?’

‘With his last strength he took the sheet of paper that had just been printed and put it in my hand. Then he slid to the floor and died.’

Russell paused a moment. Neither of the two police officers said or did anything to make him continue.

‘When that happened, I panicked. I stuffed the paper in my jacket pocket and ran out. I know I should have called the police, but I was scared. I thought the killer might come back. When I got home, I saw the explosion on the Lower East Side from the windows of my apartment and everything else went out of my mind. Once I’d calmed down a bit, I remembered the paper in my pocket and took a look at it. It was a photocopy, clearly part of a longer letter, because it begins and ends in mid-sentence. It’s handwritten, and quite difficult to read with all the bloodstains on it.’

Once more, Russell paused. When he spoke again, his tone was that of a man who couldn’t, in spite of everything, quite believe what had happened.

‘I had to read it twice before I realized what it meant. And when I did realize, I felt as if the whole world had come crashing down on my head.’

‘What on earth was in it?’

Russell Wade put his hand in the inside pocket of his jacket, took out a sheet of paper folded in four, and held it out to Vivien. ‘Here it is. This is a photocopy of the original. Read it for yourself.’

Vivien took it, opened it and started reading. By the time she got to the end, her face was white and her lips drawn. Without a word, she passed the paper to the captain.