“Six?” asked Ed. He wanted to make sure that he heard her right.
“Yes,” Beth confirmed, “and a couple of them were among our firm’s most important clients.”
“So she was good at what she did?”
Beth nodded her head. “Yes, she was. She really cared about her clients. You could tell. She was drippy with empathy.”
“How much did Faith get paid?” asked Ed. Beth paused. Ed could tell that she was unsure if she should be answering this question. “You don’t have to get specific,” Ed assured her. “How much should an account executive with her experience and of her caliber expect to make?”
“Well,” Beth said, “unfortunately, we’re going to have to hire somebody to replace her. We really need somebody in that role. So I can tell you the compensation package that we’re advertising.”
“That would be great.” Ed had no idea what to expect. Beth quoted the numbers to Ed and he took another slug from his coffee. Ed made more money than Faith had, but not by much. He tried to remember how old he was by the time he’d started making what Faith was making in her mid-twenties. He’d been well into his forties. He tried to guess how many cases he’d worked, how many drug dealers, thieves, rapists, and murderers he’d put in jail by then.
“You also have to understand that the last few years have been really rough on our business model. We add significant value to our clients, and we have the data to prove it, but so many companies are moving Internet advertising dollars directly to Facebook. I’m sure you’ve heard all about that.”
“Of course,” Ed lied, nodding. He wanted to keep the conversation focused on Faith. He wasn’t interested in a full course on Internet advertising. “Back to Faith. Do you think she was happy in her job?”
“I surely hope so,” Beth answered him. “She was a quiet person, but I think we had a good relationship. I would hope that, if she were unhappy, she would have come to me. Everyone on my team knows that my door is always open. Why? Had you heard otherwise?”
“No, no,” Ed assured her. “Like I said, we’re just trying to gather information.”
“But how is any of this going to be of help to you?” Beth asked.
“We’re trying to see if there’s any way any of the victims knew the bomber. We don’t think that Faith did but we’re trying to make sure we didn’t miss anything. All your answers so far have been very helpful. I only have one more question for you, and then maybe I could talk to some of Faith’s other colleagues. Do you think that Faith saw this as a career? Was she passionate about it?”
“I think she could have had a very good career in this business,” Beth answered.
“But do you think she wanted to? I mean, do you think she thought of this as her calling?”
Beth laughed again, though Ed thought he heard a bit of cynicism in her laugh this time. “I’m not sure that’s how people think about their jobs anymore, particularly young people. I mean, they’ve seen so much change in even their short lifetimes, I just don’t think they believe that any career is going to be there for them in the long run. And maybe they’re right. Things just change so fast now. Younger people aren’t focused on developing specific skills. They’re focused on continuing to learn how to adapt.”
“And Faith?”
“She was really good at managing clients. They could tell she truly had their best interest at heart. That’s a skill that will always be useful, no matter what she ended up doing.”
“Thank you, Beth. I think that’s everything for now. Who am I meeting with next?”
Beth told Ed that she had to check on everyone else’s schedules but that she would send in the next person who was free. Ed and Beth shook hands again before she left the room. Ed sat back down and finished his coffee. Before anyone new came to the conference room, the receptionist came back. It was all a very well-rehearsed dance. “I just wanted to check in,” she said to Ed. “Do you need anything else?”
“Any chance I can get a refill?” Ed asked, holding up his now empty mug.
“Of course,” the receptionist said. “I’ll get you a new cup.” She walked around the conference table and picked up Ed’s now empty mug. She disappeared beyond the glass door and came back moments later with a second steaming hot cup of black coffee.
“Did I tell you that you’re a lifesaver?” Ed said to her as she placed the mug in front of him. She gave him a warm but practiced smile.
The next one of Faith’s former colleagues stuck her head into the conference room only moments after the receptionist was gone. “Are you the police officer?” the woman said as she walked into the room.
“I am,” Ed confirmed. She was a short woman, probably only an inch or two above five feet, but she had a pugnacious air about her. Ed guessed that she was in her mid- to late twenties, probably about the same age as Faith. “My name is Ed.” He again reached his hand across the table.
The woman shook Ed’s hand and then sat in the same seat that Beth had used. “Sara. I was the lead project manager on a bunch of Faith’s accounts.”
“Project manager?” asked Ed.
“I coordinate everything to make sure that everybody’s on the same page and that all of our work comes in on time and on budget.”
“And that’s different from what Faith did?”
“Yes, definitely. Faith managed the client. I manage the process on all projects. They’re completely different roles.”
“Forgive my ignorance,” Ed said, trying his best not to sound condescending. “So you worked closely with Faith, then?”
“I work closely with everybody,” answered Sara.
“Were you and Faith close, other than at work?”
“We hung out outside of work a few times, you know, when we were both invited to the same parties or someone from the office was going out for drinks, but I wouldn’t say that we were close.”
“Was she close to anyone at the office?” asked Ed.
“Look, everybody really liked Faith. She was a sweetheart and a good teammate. She never left anybody in the lurch. It’s just that she wasn’t super outgoing. She was actually kind of quiet. I’m not sure she really wanted to be friends with anyone from the office.”
“I’ll take that as a no?”
“Unless there was something going on that I didn’t know about,” Sara started. Then she leaned in toward Ed and asked, without dropping her voice, “Was there something going on that I didn’t know about?”
Ed shook his head. “I don’t know anything that you don’t know.” He jotted a quick note down on his pad beneath Sara’s name. “What was Faith like to work with?” he asked after he’d finished writing.
“She was great. I’m really going to miss her. She was totally reliable. It almost freaked some of us out sometimes. And she was always nice. Even when things got super stressful, even when someone fucked something up on one of her clients, she was still nice. Not everybody is like that.”
“If she wanted to make friends at the office, do you think she could have?”
“Oh God, yes. People would have loved to hang out with her more.”
“One more question. Did she seem happy here?”
Sara shrugged. “I guess I never really thought about it. She did her job. She didn’t seem unhappy. I mean, it’s a job, right? There are way worse ways to make a living.”
“Did you notice any change over time? Or recently?”
“I don’t think so.” Sara thought about it. “No, nothing comes to mind. Everything seemed normal. Has this been helpful at all? Do you really think she might have known the bomber?”
Ed looked down at his notes. His page was almost completely empty. “This has been very helpful,” he said to Sara. “Thank you. And no, we don’t think she knew the bomber, but we want to be sure. And please keep everything we’ve talked about confidential.”
Ed met three other colleagues of Faith’s, two more women and one man. With the five interviews and the gaps between the interviews, he had p
ainfully little to show for three and a half hours of work in that conference room. Each of the interviews ended up being quite similar to Sara’s. People really liked working with Faith but no one seemed to know her super well. Two of them told Ed the same story about how Faith once got drunk at a bar and tried riding the electronic bull in front of everybody. She didn’t last very long before she was thrown off. It was really out of character for her and she seemed really embarrassed. Everybody told her how great she did, but she went home shortly after her ride anyway. Nobody heard her mention it again and, since everybody liked her, nobody else mentioned it to her.
When all the interviews were over, Ed stared sadly down at his notebook. He had managed to fill out two pages of notes for Cole but there wasn’t one thing in his notebook that he was actually proud of. Beth came back after Ed had finished with the other interviews to ask if there was anything else they could do for him.
“Actually,” Ed said, “do you think you can show me where she worked? Could I see her office?”
“Well, we’ve already cleaned out her desk, but I can show you where she sat.”
Ed nodded. “That would be helpful.”
So Beth led Ed back across the office, down an internal staircase and to a group of cubbies in the southwest corner of the building. “This is it,” Beth said when they got to the single empty workspace in the area. Except for a computer, the desk was completely bare. There were no half-written-in notebooks or pens lying around and no pictures on the wall behind the computer. Ed could hardly believe they’d cleaned everything out so quickly.
“What did you do with all her stuff?” Ed asked.
“There wasn’t much. We boxed up what she had and sent it to her parents.”
“Can I sit in the chair?” asked Ed.
“Yes,” Beth whispered to him. “But try not to draw attention to yourself. We don’t want people associating this area with the bombing.”
Ed sat down. He pretended to type at the computer. When at the computer, all he could see was the wall in front of him. He turned around in his swivel chair and looked outside. From her seat, Faith had a direct view into Madison Square Park. Ed knew the park well. Before it had been cleaned up, he’d done a few shifts of scouring the park in the morning to move out the homeless people and the junkies. Now, it was like a yuppie paradise with a Shake Shack, a playground, and a few giant sculptures. It was getting dark outside but the park was still crowded, lit up by rows of small lanterns. “Had this always been her desk?”
“Come to think of it, it had,” answered Beth. Ed tried to imagine spending three years at this desk, trying to make sure that people were happy with their Internet advertising. He took out his phone and took two pictures: one of the view of Madison Square Park, and another of the empty wall behind her computer. He texted both pictures to Cole.
“Thank you,” Ed said to Beth. He stood up from Faith’s old chair. “We’ll be in touch if we need anything else.”
Chapter 14
TWO DAYS AND ELEVEN HOURS AFTER THE FIRST BOMBING
Cole’s phone buzzed while he was sitting at the small round table in Ivan’s kitchen. There were two chairs, but Cole had yet to remember a moment with somebody sitting in the second one. It wasn’t that Cole was short on memories either. He’d been rummaging through Ivan’s apartment for more than five hours looking for something—anything—that would trigger a useful memory.
Instead, Cole was inundated with more and more memories of playing baseball as a kid in Puerto Rico, of playing soccer on the beach with his friends, of working odd jobs all over the outer boroughs, of the day one of his bosses brought him to Yankee Stadium for the first time. Ivan was almost thirty then, but he felt like a little kid. He and his boss sat in the bleachers and did all of the chants that Ivan had seen the bleacher creatures do on television. Cole also remembered a few dates that Ivan had gone on, and even a short relationship that he’d had almost ten years ago. He remembered skipping meals due to lack of money. He remembered how badly his hands hurt at times, how it was a struggle merely to unball his fists. Yet Cole didn’t remember anything about the bombing and also didn’t remember anything that would prove Ivan wasn’t the bomber. All the memories showed was how undeniably human Ivan was. Cole found so much struggle, and so much wonder dealing with all the struggle. He loved Ivan’s memories. Cole thought of all his inherited memories as great works of art, only even more powerful because they were mainlined into his brain. If he weren’t under so much pressure, he would have loved Ivan’s even more. But he didn’t have time to dwell on memories that weren’t going to help him.
When Cole felt his phone buzz inside his pocket, he knew immediately what it meant. He didn’t have many friends who texted him. One or two of Cole’s old friends had tried but they quickly gave up when Cole never responded. For a person whose life was built on remembering, Cole could be one forgetful son of a bitch. So when the phone buzzed, his mind immediately jumped to Ed and the fact that Ed had gone out to try to get more information about Faith. Lifting his phone out of his pocket, Cole couldn’t have been more pleased with the instructions he’d given Ed: Take the pictures and text them to me. Don’t tell me what they’re pictures of or why you think they matter. I don’t want to risk prejudging. I don’t want to risk my own bias changing the memories. Just send the pictures. He wanted a clean trigger.
Cole didn’t open the pictures right away. He looked around Ivan’s apartment, trying to find the right place where he could look at them without being tainted by Ivan’s memories. He glanced in every corner of the apartment. He looked outside at the fire escape. Everything meant something to Ivan. Cole couldn’t escape Ivan while inside Ivan’s own space. He decided he needed to go out into the hallway to look at Ed’s pictures.
Cole grabbed the keys to the apartment to make sure that he wouldn’t lock himself out and stepped into the hallway. Ivan’s apartment building was a six-story walkup with about five apartments on each floor. Once out in the hallway, Cole could look up into the spiraling interior stairway and watch as people got smaller, turn after turn, or he could look down at the street entrance one flight below him. Cole closed the door to Ivan’s apartment behind him and locked it. He walked to the stairs leading up from Ivan’s apartment and sat on the steps so he could rest. He took a deep breath and then looked at the first picture that Ed had sent him.
At first, Cole had no idea what he was looking at. Ed had sent him what seemed to simply be a picture of a blank wall behind a computer. The computer, which was turned off, took up about a third of the photograph. The space around it looked empty. There were two colored tacks stuck into the corkboard behind the computer screen but they weren’t holding anything and Cole could see nothing else. He wondered why Ed would be sending him this photo of an empty desk. But despite the complete lack of context or detail, when Cole stared at the picture, it did begin to trigger something. He thought he recognized the desk. Cole’s stomach started to churn as he stared at the photo. He finally looked away when he thought he might be sick to his stomach.
Cole stood up. He walked away from the steps and sat down on the floor next to Ivan’s door. He leaned back against the wall. He took a few deep breaths. Then he felt a memory coming on. He closed his eyes and waited for it. He was in a room full of computers, maybe twenty in all, each facing the same direction. About two-thirds of them were being used. The other desks were empty. The computers were old. Cole could remember the one in front of him glowing and humming. Somebody walked through the door. “Hello, everybody,” the tall blond woman who had just entered projected across the room. “I’m sorry I’m a little late. Unfortunately, like most of you, I too have a day job. But we’re not here to talk about that. We’re here to work on computer literacy so you can all get better jobs.”
“Damn it, Ivan,” Cole said to himself. He banged the back of his head against the wall behind him. “Let me have one of her memories. Just one.” Cole shook off Ivan’s latest memory. Then he pushed a
button on his phone and moved to the second picture Ed had sent. This was an aerial shot of people walking through a park, taken through a window from across the street. Cole felt a pang of desire. He wanted to be inside those crowds. He could feel that desire. It was building inside of him. Then, another of Ivan’s memories came flooding into Cole’s head, washing away anything else that might have emerged.
Without getting up, Cole let out a frustrated shout. He banged his head against the wall again, harder this time, like he was trying to rescramble everything in his head so that the next time, something else would fall out. It was after eight o’clock in the evening. It was rude to be making that sort of racket out in the hallway of a residential apartment building.
Cole heard the door two doors down from Ivan’s apartment click open. A short Asian woman peered out through the slit at whoever was making all the noise in the hallway. Cole could see the look of concern on her face. “Are you okay?” the woman asked, without opening the door any wider.
“Yes,” answered Cole, scrambling to his feet. “I’m okay. I’m sorry for making so much noise.”
“My son is trying to sleep,” the woman said to Cole. Then she put her fingers to her lips, instructing him to be quieter.
Then Cole heard another voice come from behind the woman. It was a child’s voice, a boy of no more than six years old. “Mama, is it Ivan?”
The woman turned toward her son and the door swung open a bit wider. “No, son,” said the woman. “It is not Ivan. I already told you. Ivan won’t be coming back again.” Cole could see into the woman’s apartment. It had the same layout as Ivan’s apartment but was full of colors and plants. Cole’s view of the boy was blocked by his mother. Against one wall, however, Cole spotted an old upright piano. As soon as he saw it, music flooded into his head. It was as if somebody had flipped a switch and turned on twenty radios all at once, each one tuned to a different station and somehow, Cole could hear them all.
“Ivan,” Cole said to the woman, almost stuttering, “he played that piano?”
The Murderer's Memories Page 10
