The Twenty-Three 3 (Promise Falls) (20 page)

Walden shrugged. “So you say,” he said.

“I can’t get into specifics, but there’ve been times when I thought I had an idea who it might be. Individuals who were already in custody, or possibly even deceased.”

“Like who?”

“As I said, I can’t get into that. But I’m less sure of that now.”

“What are you saying?”

“Just that. That he’s not someone we’ve picked up for some other offense.”

Walden leaned in. “Has he done it again?”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry. The reason I’ve come to see you is to learn more about Olivia. Tell me about her.”

He leaned back. “She was wonderful. She was smart. She was everything to me and Beth. She would have been somebody. She already was. But she’d have shown the world how amazing she could be if she’d been given the chance.”

“I’ll bet.”

“Olivia was never mean to anyone. She never held a grudge. She was always happy when something good happened for someone else. You know how some people, they don’t like it when someone else has
a success. They’re bitter or jealous or whatever. But she wasn’t like that.”

“She grew up here?” I said, casting my eye about the kitchen.

“Yup. Beth and I were living here when we had her. This was the only place she ever lived. She didn’t bunk in at Thackeray. Didn’t make any sense, and it was a heck of a lot cheaper to live at home when she went to school.”

“Of course.”

“She’s still got her room upstairs,” Walden said. “Haven’t touched it.”

“Really?” I asked. I might have sounded surprised, but I wasn’t. Grieving families often left the rooms of those they’d lost untouched. It was too painful to go in there. Cleaning out a bedroom was a final acknowledgment of what had happened. And even if the bedroom could be used by another family member, who wanted to be the relative that moved into it?

“Beth wouldn’t touch a thing in there, and since she’s died, well, I haven’t felt the need, either.”

I couldn’t imagine that seeing the room would help me any, but I wanted to just the same. So I asked.

“Sure, why not?” Walden said. “You might want to lead the way up the stairs. I’m still feeling pretty weak. I’ll catch up to you. It’s the first door on the left.”

I found my way.

The door was closed. I turned the knob, opened it slowly. The air inside was stale. Olivia’s bedroom was maybe ten by ten, a double bed taking center stage. The walls were pale green, what Sherwin-Williams would probably call “foam green” or “seaweed.” Puffy yellow spread on the bed. One wall was dominated by a magnificent framed photo of a whale breaking the surface of the water.

“When she was a little girl,” said Walden, who’d caught up to me and was standing in the hall, “she loved that movie
Free Willy
. You know the one? About this little boy who wants to free a killer whale from an aquarium because they’re going to kill it?”

“I know it.”

“She cried every time she saw it. Had it on videotape, then on a DVD. Had the sequels, too, but even Olivia had to admit they were pretty lame. That was her word for them. ‘Lame.’”

The other pictures on the wall were not as large as that one, but they all featured sea creatures. Photos of a pod—I think that’s what they call them—of dolphins. A sea horse, an octopus, a photo of Jacques Cousteau.

“She hated
Jaws
,” Walden said. “Just hated it. That shark, she said, was just being a shark. It was just doing what it naturally does. It wasn’t a monster. That’s what she said. Made her mad when people said they loved that movie.”

I noticed several unopened envelopes on the desk, some with the Promise Falls municipal logo in the corner.

“What’s all this?” I asked, picking them up, leafing through them.

“She still gets mail,” he said. “Like a credit card statement, or an ad, something like that. Companies that don’t know what happened. Beth got so upset when something for Olivia came in the mail, she’d just put it there on her dresser like Olivia was going to come home one day and deal with it. And I haven’t got the energy to tell those idiots that it’s been three years. What really gets me is that the town doesn’t even know.”

I held up one of the envelopes. “What are these?”

“Warnings about paying a speeding ticket.” His face went red with anger. “How can one part of the police department be trying to figure out who killed her, and another department is busy nagging her about a ticket?”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry. It shouldn’t happen, but it does.” There were three such envelopes, unopened. “I’ll take these, if you like, and make sure they stop.”

“I’d be grateful,” he said. “Last time you were here, you sounded like you were going to talk to Victor.”

“I popped by,” I said.

“He’s not in a good frame of mind. I think he’s taking the anniversary harder than I am.”

I knew that in two days it would be three years since Olivia’s murder.

“He’s just so angry,” Walden said.

“Of course he is,” I said. “It’s a natural reaction to an act of senseless violence.”

“It’s not the killer he’s angry with,” Walden Fisher said.

I had a feeling where this was going. “The others,” I said.

“The ones that heard her screams and couldn’t be bothered to do a thing. That’s what really eats at Victor. You know all about that.”

“I do.”

“He nearly started a fight with complete strangers in a bar the other night, accusing them of being cowards.”

“Were they some of the people? Who did nothing?”

“Hell, no. No one even knows who those people were. But the way Victor sees it, the whole town’s guilty. If those random citizens of Promise Falls would turn their backs on Olivia, maybe anyone in this town would have. Sometimes I think the anger’s just going to consume Victor. He’s drinking a lot. I worry about him.”

“You said he drove you home?” I asked.

“That’s right. He came by the hospital, to see what was going on. Saw me there. The doctor said if I wanted someone to look at me, maybe I should go to Albany. I figured, I wasn’t dead yet, so I might as well come home.”

“Was Victor sick?”

“No,” Walden said. “He got lucky. He hadn’t had any of the water to drink. But he was telling me his landlady died. Spotted her dead in the backyard.”

“That must have been rough.”

Walden nodded. “Yeah. Like we haven’t all been through enough.”

I scanned Olivia’s room one more time, getting a small sense of
who she was and what she cared about, but I wasn’t coming away with anything useful.

We made our way back down the stairs. Walden stepped with me out onto the porch.

“There were twenty-two of them, you know,” Walden said.

“Yes.”

“Those are the ones Victor really blames. Well, those twenty-two and himself. I don’t know that there’s anyone he blames more than himself, for not showing up on time to meet Olivia.”

I thought about that.

Twenty-two, plus himself.

I could do the math.

THIRTY-THREE

ONCE
he had left the water plant, Randall Finley decided to head back to the park, where his people were still handing out free flats of water from the backs of the Finley Springs trucks. Many of the trucks had already run out and been sent back to the plant for more.

Along the way, he put in a call to David. There might be some more photo opportunities, and he wanted David to be there.

David picked up on the first ring.

“My man,” Finley said. “I’m going back to the park. Should be there in five. Meet me.”

“I can’t,” David said.

“Come on, the good people of Promise Falls are counting on us.”

“I know, it’s all about helping the people.”

“Am I hearing a tone?”

“Forget it,” David said. “I’ve got something else I have to deal with.”

“What could be more important than helping people get good, clean water?”

“That Sam person you were asking me about before? I’m worried she and her son may be in trouble.”

Finley sighed. “David, I gotta say, you need to get your head in the game.”

“Excuse me?”

“This town is in the midst of the biggest crisis it’s ever seen, and you’ve got your shorts in a knot because some woman doesn’t want to see you anymore?”

“That’s not what it’s about. It’s more serious than that.”

“Is it more serious than people dropping dead all over town?”

“I can’t talk about this, Randy.”

“You’re not going make employee of the month this way,” Finley said. His tone darkened. “Let me ask you something.”

“What?”

“Have you been talking to Duckworth today?”

“Duckworth? Why would you ask that?”

“That’s an easy yes-or-no question.”

“Okay, yeah, I was talking to him. I thought he might be able to help me with my situation.”

“Your Sam situation,” Randy said.

“That’s right.”

“Is that all you talked about?” When David didn’t answer immediately, Finley pressed on. “Was it?”

“I don’t remember. Mostly we talked about Sam.”

“Did my name come up?”

“I think it might have. I called him when he was at the water plant. He said he was going to arrest you or something, for getting in the way.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Tell him about what?”

“About me.”

“Randy, I have to go. I didn’t say anything to him about—”

“Did you say something about how I’d increased production at the plant?”

Another pause. “I think, just kind of in passing,” David confessed.

“Goddamn it, so it
was
you. What the fuck were you thinking, saying something like that?”

“When Duckworth said you were being arrested, I thought it had to do with the water.”

“That I’d somehow poisoned it?”

“I never said that. I never said I thought you’d poisoned the water. He was the one who said you’d been arrested. And then it kind of came together for me, at the time, that if you
had
done it, it made sense that you’d upped production.”

“And that would make sense why?”

“Because then you could be the big hero, coming to the town’s rescue with fresh, clean water.”

“Is that what you think?” Finley asked.

“No,” David said. “I don’t . . . I don’t think that.”

“You don’t sound sure.”

“I’m pretty sure.”

“Fuck!” Finley said. “Maybe we should put that on a campaign button. ‘I’m voting Finley because I’m pretty sure he’s not a mass murderer.’”

“I’d go with a T-shirt,” David said. “That’d never fit on a button.”

“You think it’s funny.”

“I don’t think any of this is funny. Look, I’ve already told you what I think of you. You’re a pompous gasbag, but do I think you’d kill hundreds of people just to look good? No. The bar’s not set that high with you, Randy, but I think you’re above that. If I’ve offended you, fire me. Or I can quit. I’ve offered before, and I can offer again.”

Now it was Finley’s turn to go quiet. Finally, he said, “I don’t want you to quit. Thing is, as little respect as you have for me, I don’t know that I could find anyone with more.” A long sigh. “I’m not a bad guy, David. I swear.”

David’s tone turned more conciliatory. “There’re still weeks to go before the election. I’ll have time to do what you need me to do. But you decided to run just when a lot of shit’s been going on in my life. That stuff with my cousin Marla, and then—”

“Yeah, yeah, fine, I don’t need a recap. Do what you have to do and then check in.”

Finley took the phone from his ear and tucked it away as Promise Falls Park came into view. The convoy of Finley Springs trucks was there, but he wasn’t going to be able to get a parking spot near them.

It was like Times Square at rush hour. Word had spread.

Cars jammed the road bordering the park. People were stopping in the middle of the street, running over to the trucks for free flats of water, then scurrying back to their cars with them.

“Son of a bitch,” Finley said to himself, followed by, “Cheap bastards.”

There was a Promise Falls police car off to the side of the road, lights flashing, a female uniformed officer trying to direct traffic. Letting people grab their water, then making a hole for them to drive away.

Finley pulled his Lincoln half up onto the sidewalk, got out, and started walking toward all the commotion. Was that a TV crew? With a CBS logo on the side of the camera resting on one man’s shoulder?

Maybe it didn’t matter that David couldn’t make it. There was a fucking national network here.

“Hello, hello, hello!” Finley said, reaching the first truck. Trevor Duckworth was handing out cases of water from the back of it as quickly as he could. “Let me help you out there!” the former mayor said, nudging Trevor out of the way, grabbing a case, and handing it to a young, unshaven man standing there with a girl of about six.

“Here you go, sir!” Finley said, then looked down at the girl and patted her head. “This your daughter?”

“Yup. Say hi, Martina,” the man said.

“Hi,” said Martina, extending a hand. Finley grinned and shook it.

“That’s the man who owns the water company,” the girl’s father said.

“Thank you,” the girl said. “All the regular water is poisoned.”

“I know!” Finley said. “Awful thing, just awful. Let’s hope they get it back to normal real quick.”

“Thank you for all you’re doing,” the man said, holding the water with two outstretched arms.

“No problem,” Finley said. “How about you, ma’am? Can I help you?”

Trevor leapt into the back of the truck and shoved cases toward the door so his boss could grab one after another. A few people took shots with their phones. The CBS crew had figured out what was happening, and was shooting footage.

Finley offered everyone a smile, but not too big a smile. This was, after all, a solemn occasion.

People had died.

The CBS crew had grabbed a few shots but now was moving farther up the line of trucks. Finley got his phone out and said to Trevor, “David’s a bit held up, so I need you to take some video.” He handed the phone over to him. “You know how to use this?”

“Yeah,” Trevor said.

“Just saw your dad up at the water plant.”

“Oh yeah.”

“Heck of a guy,” Finley said. “Doin’ a bang-up job. He’s gonna get to the bottom of what’s happened. You can take that to the bank.”

Trevor held the phone up in front of him, Finley filling up the screen. “Rolling,” he said.

Finley continued to sling cases into the arms of Promise Falls residents. He wasn’t registering faces. He figured he could go for a few minutes until he started to feel it in his back.

A plump woman with short hair, dressed in jeans and a dark blue athletic shirt that read “Thackeray,” had come to the front of the line. “Here ya go,” Finley said, but the woman didn’t have her arms out to receive the flat of water bottles, and Finley had to hang on to it.

The woman said, “You opportunistic bastard.”

Finley’s eyes met the woman’s. His face broke into a grin and he said, “Why, Amanda Croydon. I thought you must be dead.”

The mayor of Promise Falls rested her hands on her hips and said, “I’d gone to Buffalo for the weekend to see my sister. When I heard this morning, I drove straight back.”

“Well,” Finley said, handing the water to the next person in line, “while you were cruising along the New York Thruway, I was rolling up my sleeves.”

“What the hell is all this?”

Finley glanced Trevor’s way, wanting to be sure this was all being recorded.

“This,” Finley said, waving his hand before him, “is what’s called being there for the people.”

Croydon shook her head. “No, this is called grandstanding. There are emergency systems in place. Thousands of cases of bottled water are on the way from the state as we speak. The governor’s declaring a state of emergency.”

“Well, Amanda, as we speak, these people already have water. Sometimes, the private sector does a much better job serving the people than the public, and this turns out to be one of those times. Surely you’re not opposed to a private citizen pitching in where he can.”

The mayor’s face reddened. She pointed a short, thick finger at Finley.

“It’s a cheap stunt, that’s what it is. These people are in true crisis and you turn it into a PR opportunity.”

Finley shook his head with disappointment as people began to gather and watch.

“If the good folks of Promise Falls should decide next time around to choose me to represent them in the mayor’s office, and I certainly wouldn’t presume that they will, but if they do, I can promise them one thing for certain. If and when another tragedy hits this town, I will welcome help from
anyone
, anyone at all, if it means the people in this town will be helped, even if that help ends up exposing my shortcomings on the job. Because these people”—and
his voice began to rise—“these people you see here today, mean more to me than any job or elected position.”

Finley resisted all temptations to look at Trevor and the phone.

“That’s what I’m about,” he continued. “I’m about the people, and I’ve been doing my best for them since this nightmare began early this morning. Nice of you to finally join us.”

“I’ll have you know,” Amanda Croydon said, looking as though she might blow a fuse, “I’ve already been up to the hospital and conferred with Chief Finderman and—”

“Oh, you’ve
conferred
,” Finley said. “And here I almost accused you of doing nothing.”

“—
and
the governor, and the Atlanta Centers for—”

“And yet,” Finley said, cutting her off, “you still have time to justify to me everything you’ve been doing. Listen, I’d love to chat longer, but I have water to distribute.” He grabbed another case, moved past the mayor to hand it to an elderly couple.

“You tell her!” the man said.

Amanda Croydon turned around and walked off into the crowd. Over his shoulder, Finley looked to make sure Trevor was still recording.

He wasn’t. He was holding the phone down near his waist, looking at the screen, hitting a button.

“Trevor!” Finley said. “This is no time to play Scrabble. Wait. Are you tweeting this? You putting it on Facebook?”

“You have a call,” he said. Trevor put the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“For God’s sake,” Finley said, throwing a case of water back into the truck and extending his hand. He snapped his fingers.

Trevor handed him the phone.

Finley glanced at the screen long enough to see that it was a call from his home. “Hello?”

“Mr. Finley?”

“Yes, Lindsay, it’s me.”

“I think there’s something wrong with Bipsie.”

“Lindsay, I’ve kind of got my hands full here. What’s wrong with the dog?”

“She’s sick. She was throwing up and acting weird and . . . and I think . . . Mr. Finley, I think she might be dead.”

Finley kneaded his forehead with the fingers of his free hand. Then it hit him. “Tell me you didn’t let the dog drink out of the toilet.”

“She does that,” Lindsay said. “She might have.”

“For Christ’s sake, why didn’t you put the lids down so the dog couldn’t get into them? It’s not just water coming out of the taps that’s poison. It’s any water that comes into the house!”

“The water is poison?”

For a second, he stopped breathing. “Lindsay, what did you say?”

“You say the water is poisoned? How could that happen?”

“Are you saying you don’t know?” He started shouting. “Fucking hell, how could you not know?”

“You didn’t say anything when you left.”

“I didn’t know then! Haven’t you had the radio on? The TV? You didn’t hear them blasting warnings through the neighborhood?”

“Please don’t yell at me,” Lindsay said. “I’ve been reading, and I was in the basement doing laundry.”

“If Bipsie was thirsty, you should have given her some of the bottled! I can’t believe this! Jane’ll be devastated. Does Jane know?”

There was nothing at the other end of the line.

“Lindsay? Lindsay!”

After several seconds, she said, “Oh no.”