Ashes Of America

by Fergus McNeill

  ‘This is Detective O’Halloran.’

  ‘Hi Adam, it's Frank.’ He spoke lightly, as though everything was fine. ‘How are you feeling this morning?’

  Adam's voice changed, as though he were whispering into the mouthpiece.

  ‘Where are you?’ he asked.

  Frank hesitated, wondering what was wrong.

  ‘I’m at a diner called…’ He turned and checked the name on the sign. ‘…Martha’s Café. It’s on Baltimore Avenue.’

  ‘I know it,’ Adam replied. ‘Stay there and I'll be right along.’

  There was an abrupt click and the line went dead.

  Adam entered the diner and stood in the doorway with a troubled expression on his face. Sighting Frank, he made his way over and slid himself in on the opposite side of the booth. Placing his palms flat on the table, he took a deep breath, then leaned forward.

  ‘So, you wanna tell me what’s going on?’ he said in a low voice.

  Frank edged back in his seat a little, unsure whether this was about him being suspended, or about the fire.

  ‘What do you mean?’ he asked, keeping his expression blank.

  The muscles around Adam’s jawline tightened visibly.

  ‘That address you gave me...’ He broke off for a moment, getting a grip on what he wanted to say. ‘What's your interest in the place? Who's this woman you're looking for?’

  It was the fire.

  Frank lowered his eyes and spoke quietly.

  ‘Like I told you last night; she’s just someone I need to speak to, and I wanted to check whether you had a file on her before I–’

  ‘Don’t mess with me, buddy.’ Adam raised a warning finger. ‘You remember that address you gave me? Well, I go to start asking around for you this morning, and guess what: the whole place burned down last night. Sixteen people are dead.’

  ‘Sixteen?’ Frank sat back heavily in his seat, visions of the blaze playing out in his mind. ‘I thought it was twelve.’

  Adam stared across the table, eyes narrowing.

  ‘So. You've been checking up on it, eh?’ he mused, nodding grimly.

  Frank bowed his head slightly, annoyed at himself. He’d forgotten how easy it was to underestimate Adam.

  ‘I read about it in the paper,’ he admitted.

  ‘Oh yeah?’ Adam said. ‘Well, I got a newsflash for you. There's a huge investigation starting and you really don't want to be caught in the middle of it.’

  Frank glanced up at him. A huge police investigation could only mean one thing.

  ‘The fire was deliberate then?’

  Adam shook his head unhappily.

  ‘Seriously, you need to stay out of this, Frank. People died.’

  There was something distasteful in his tone now, an air of self-importance that he’d never had back in the Joplin days.

  Frank gripped the edge of the table.

  ‘Think I don’t get that?’ he snapped. ‘I was there last night; I saw...’

  Adam gaped at him in surprise.

  ‘You were there?’ he hissed. ‘What the hell…’

  Frank quickly held up a hand to silence him.

  ‘I took a cab down there, after you went home last night,’ he explained. ‘And before you ask, the place was already burning long before I got there.’

  Adam looked at him in disbelief.

  ‘But… why?’ he demanded. ‘Dammit, Frank. What the hell have you got yourself mixed up in?’

  Frank met his gaze.

  ‘When I figure it all out, I'll be sure to explain myself to you.’

  They stared at each other for a long moment. Eventually, Adam turned away, shaking his head.

  ‘Have it your own way, Frank,’ he muttered. ‘I wanted to keep you from getting dragged into this, but if you’re gonna be a jerk–’

  ‘Hey!’ Frank leaned over the table. ‘You know that fire was nothing to do with me. I was with you last night, remember?’

  Adam glared at him.

  ‘Yeah, so?’

  ‘So you're my alibi,’ Frank said. ‘Now you can either play it by the book, and waste everyone’s time by taking me in, or you can get out of my way and let me do my job.’

  Adam said nothing for a moment, then frowned.

  ‘Your job?’ he asked. ‘I thought you said this was personal.’

  Damn. Frank rubbed his eyes wearily.

  ‘It's both,’ he sighed. ‘Okay?’

  Adam appeared unconvinced. He turned as though he was about to get up and leave. Frank reached out and put a hand on his arm.

  ‘Listen to me,’ he said. ‘I just need to know whether Faye Griffith was in that building when it went up, okay? If she's dead, then there's nothing more I can do – I'll jump on a train and get out of town…’

  Adam hesitated, suspicion still visible on his face.

  ‘…but if she's alive?’ Frank continued. ‘Well, she may know something that can help me, and I need all the help I can get right now.’

  Adam sighed, settling back into his seat and shaking his head.

  ‘If you find anything – anything at all – about who started that fire…’

  ‘I’ll tell you,’ Frank promised.

  ‘You better,’ Adam growled. He leaned back and folded his arms. ‘So? What do you want?’

  ‘I want to know if they ID any of the victims as her,’ Frank said. ‘That’s all I need.’

  Adam shook his head slowly.

  ‘Good luck with that,’ he muttered. ‘You got any idea how few of those bodies we'll identify? You saw the fire; most of those folk were as good as cremated. There's nothing left of them but ash.’

  Frank slumped back in his seat, frowning.

  ‘How many people lived in that building?’ he asked.

  ‘Can’t say for sure,’ Adam replied with a shrug. ‘Thirty, something like that?’

  ‘You said there were sixteen dead?’

  ‘Sixteen so far,’ Adam clarified. ‘But we still have some folks unaccounted for, and I reckon most of them’ll turn out to be dead, sooner or later.’

  Frank nodded, grimly.

  ‘How many got out?’ he asked.

  Adam looked uncertain.

  ‘Got out?’

  ‘When I was down there I saw a couple of people who'd made it out of the building before it collapsed,’ Frank said. ‘You know how many there were?’

  ‘No, I'd have to check.’

  ‘Can you do that for me?’

  Adam looked thoughtful.

  ‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘But it’ll take me some time.’

  ‘How come?’ Frank asked.

  ‘I don’t know where they all are,’ Adam replied.

  He glanced over at Frank, saw him frowning.

  ‘It won’t be just the one place,’ he explained. ‘I guess a few of them will be in hospital – St Luke’s, probably – and I heard someone say that the others were taken to a local church for the night, but I don’t know which church it was. I’d need to make some calls.’

  ‘But you’ll do it?’ Frank pressed him.

  Adam sighed.

  ‘Sure, if it puts you on a train back to Joplin. Anything else?’

  Frank paused, then nodded.

  ‘A car,’ he said. ‘I’ll need to borrow a car.’

  Adam shook his head wearily. ‘Dammit, Frank. I’d forgotten what a bastard you can be.’

  Frank gave him a bleak little smile.

  ‘And you’ve always had my back,’ he said softly. ‘Just imagine what a bastard I’m gonna be to the people who’ve crossed me.’

  30

  It felt strange, driving Adam’s red Oldsmobile across the bridge and down towards the intersection. Pulling up at a stoplight, Frank glanced around the spotless interior, then leaned across and flipped the glovebox open, absently rifling through the contents.

  A pair of white-framed women’s sunglasses… a corkscrew with the cork still attached… a hairbrush with strands of long red hair…

  He felt a sudd
en pang of jealousy for his former colleague – playing by the book and climbing the ladder, the willing little wife and the model home – but it wasn’t for him. He’d figured that out long ago.

  The stoplight changed. Frank slammed the glovebox shut and gunned the engine, heading south. St Luke’s Hospital was down on West 43rd, and Adam had made a good point about the injured being taken there. It was certainly worth checking to see if Faye was among them. But if she had been taken there, chances were she wasn’t going anywhere else for a while, and he had another stop to make first. Turning left onto East 40th, he pulled in and parked close to the curb. Switching off the engine, he gazed across the street at the small stone-clad chapel opposite.

  Adam hadn’t known which church the residents had gone to, but this one was just a few hundred yards from the burned-out apartment building. There was a good chance it was the place.

  Getting out, Frank locked the car and strode across the asphalt. There was a small gate in the fence; beyond it, a gravel path led under the shadow of a large tree towards the main entrance of the church, and on around the side of the building. Glancing back over his shoulder, he crunched along the path and went up the steps to the arch of the stone entrance porch, where he hesitated.

  Churches were supposed to provide sanctuary.

  Awkwardly, he removed his hat, then frowned and forced himself to step inside. The porch was empty, and he moved silently to the inner door where his eyes scanned the interior of the church. Light streamed down from the tall, pointed windows, illuminating two rows of dark wooden pews. There were several figures sitting in the silence – including three women – but none of them looked anything like the photograph of Faye. Frank’s gaze came to rest on the carved figure of Christ on the cross… then someone coughed, the sound echoing up around the high ceiling, and he quickly turned away.

  Outside, he replaced his hat and continued on along the gravel path, following it around the side of the church. Ahead of him he could see another building – some sort of meeting hall – and beyond it, a small cemetery enclosed by hedges. A man was standing by the entrance to the hall; mid-forties, with soot-blackened clothes and uncombed hair, he stared at the ground, a cigarette hanging from his lip.

  Yeah, this was the place all right.

  Frank adopted an expression of kindly concern, then walked confidently up the path, nodding to the smoking man and going straight past him into the building.

  The fewer people you spoke to, the fewer problems you’d have, as Rafe always told him.

  Inside, there was a small lobby area, colorfully decorated in cornflower blue, with a large sign reading Welcome to St Paul’s Community Hall surrounded by children’s drawings. Below the sign, leaflets were arranged on a long trestle table, with bundles of old newspapers stacked neatly underneath. There was a small collection tin bearing the crest of the RAI – the charity for Russian-Americans still held in U.S. internment camps.

  Frank walked over to a set of double glass doors and peered through into the main hall. It was a large space, almost as large as the church itself, with lines of small windows set high in the white walls and a raised stage at the far end of the polished wooden floor. A row of camp beds was set up along the left side of the room, dotted with bags and boxes and other possessions rescued from the fire. On the right, several sets of folding tables and chairs were arranged in groups. Here, a few disheveled people were sitting, some eating, some staring into the distance. A priest and two smartly-dressed women were moving between the tables, handing out bread and soup.

  Leaning closer to the glass, Frank squinted, trying to make out the different faces, but he couldn’t see everyone, not from here. Frowning, he straightened his jacket so that it concealed his .45, then pushed the glass doors open and went inside.

  He kept his distance from the priest and avoided making eye contact, striding purposefully towards the far end of the hall as though he was going to speak to someone. As he walked, he noticed that the air had a stale taste to it, and he caught the same faint reek of smoke that he’d found on his own clothes that morning.

  Not an easy smell to stomach, especially if you’d just lost everything in a fire.

  Ahead of him, there was a solitary woman, sitting on the right with her back to the door and her head bowed. He went a little way past her, then slowed and turned around, just as she looked up.

  It was Faye.

  She looked a bit older than in the photo, but it was definitely her. Unlike some of the other people here, her clothes seemed clean – a patterned turquoise dress with a blue-grey jacket – but her brown hair was untidy and she had a forlorn expression, dazed and weary, as through she’d been through hell. He might have felt sorry for her, if she’d been anyone else.

  Forcing a smile, he went over to her.

  ‘Miss Griffith?’

  She looked up at him, blinking sleepily.

  ‘Yes?’

  Frank sighed, feigning relief.

  ‘Thank goodness I found you,’ he said. ‘Are you all right?’

  Faye stared up at him; the makeup around her eyes was streaked, as though from tears.

  ‘I… I guess so,’ she replied.

  Frank nodded sympathetically.

  ‘I know you’ve been through a lot,’ he said, talking quickly to keep her off balance. ‘But if I could just speak with you for a few minutes, I’m sure it would help.’

  ‘I’m sorry…’ She looked uncertain now. ‘What’s this about?’

  Frank lowered his eyes.

  ‘You’ll appreciate that it’s a… delicate matter, so maybe we should speak outside?’

  Without waiting for an answer, he started calmly towards the door, hoping that her curiosity would get the better of her and that she’d follow him. He made his way down the line of camp beds, nodding pleasantly to one of the women handing out soup. When he reached the far wall, he pulled the glass doors open, and glanced over his shoulder. Faye had got to her feet and was just a few yards behind him, a confused look on her face.

  He smiled and held the door wide for her.

  ‘After you.’

  She gave him a doubtful look.

  ‘I’m not sure what this is about.’

  ‘Of course,’ Frank said, kindly. ‘I understand completely.’

  He gestured for her go ahead of him.

  Faye hesitated, then frowned sleepily and stepped through into the lobby.

  He followed her towards the main door and ushered her outside into the sunlight. The smoking man had gone now, and there was nobody else around.

  Good.

  Faye turned towards him, a curious expression on her face.

  ‘So what’s this about Mr…?’

  Frank drew the .45 out from beneath his jacket. Her eyes widened as she glimpsed the gun, but he grabbed her sleeve and hissed, ‘Keep quiet and do as I say, or I’ll finish you right here. Understand?’

  She stared up at him, paralyzed with fear, as he jammed the gun into her side.

  ‘Understand?’ he repeated.

  Swallowing hard, she managed a trembling nod.

  ‘What… what do you want?’ she stammered.

  Frank glanced around, wondering which way to go. Not back towards the street – too many people.

  ‘Come with me,’ he growled.

  Linking arms with her, he dragged her along the path towards the corner of the building. A small cemetery occupied the space behind the hall, with lines of well-kept headstones jutting up from the newly mown grass, all surrounded by a thick hedge that offered some privacy and shielded them from the road.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Faye whimpered. ‘Is this about the fire? Why are you doing this?’

  ‘That fire was no accident,’ Frank growled.

  ‘What?!’ Faye gasped, her body stiffening. ‘What do you mean? Let go of my arm.’

  He ignored her, increasing his pace so that she stumbled on the gravel, trying to keep up.

  Ahead and to the left, he could see a l
arge mound of dirt, partly covered by an old grey tarp, and turned towards it, dragging Faye across the grass.

  He felt her pull back when she saw the open grave, heard her little gasp of fear as they took the final few steps and stopped right at the edge.

  ‘No!’ she whispered, shrinking away from it. ‘Please, no!’

  Frank gripped her arm tightly with his, moving the gun around so the barrel was angled up into her chest. Her eyes were staring wildly at him as he turned his gaze on her and paused.

  ‘Do you know who I am?’ he asked.

  Faye shook her head, tears beginning to stream down her face.

  ‘No, I don’t!’ she sobbed. ‘And I don’t understand what’s–’

  ‘That’s all right,’ Frank interrupted, calmly talking over her. ‘I guess you could say I'm a friend of a friend. Remember that police officer you met, down in Neosho?’

  He saw the recognition in her eyes, the dread as he spoke the name.

  Yeah, she remembered all right.

  ‘C’mon.’ He smiled down at her, as though he wasn’t about to blow her heart out through her back. ‘You wouldn’t forget him, would you? All beaten to death in your room?’

  ‘Oh Lord, please…’ She tried to recoil from his gaze, but he was holding her tightly. ‘You don’t understand… I didn’t know, I swear I didn’t know…’

  ‘Hush now,’ he soothed her. ‘Shhhhhh… look at me.’

  She was trembling, her breathing erratic, eyes hunting around wildly.

  ‘Look at me!’

  She flinched and stared up at him as he leaned in close.

  ‘You’re going to tell me everything I want to know, understand?’

  Blinking fearfully, she managed a stiff nod.

  ‘Good.’ Frank regarded her thoughtfully for a moment. ‘Now then, we’re gonna start with an easy question: did you kill him?’

  Faye’s body jerked back against his hold.

  ‘No!’ Her eyes widened in horror and she shook her head violently. ‘No! It wasn’t me who killed him. Please, you have to believe me.’