Ashes, Ashes

by Charles Atkins

  Mary held up her hand. ‘He’d even brought a ring.’

  Carla gasped, looking at the small, emerald-shaped diamond in platinum. ‘That was Lucinda’s. Oh my God!’

  Mary turned, as though just noticing her. ‘Who’s Lucinda?’

  And while Barrett didn’t say it, what she thought was, Lucinda Peters got the murder Richard Glash had intended for you. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, and looked at Hobbs. ‘Mary, Richard Glash is attempting to do something so horrible that if he succeeds thousands of people – maybe more – will die. He’s not working alone, someone has been helping him.’

  The bald woman with her scarred scalp just stared across the Hudson River Valley.

  ‘Mary,’ Barrett persisted, ‘is it you? Have you been helping him?’

  ‘No,’ she said, and then stopped. She looked up at Barrett and then at Hobbs on her other side. ‘I don’t think so. How could I?’

  ‘Did you leave a pickup truck for him in the parking lot of the Croton Forensic Hospital?’ Hobbs asked. ‘It’s not far from here,’

  ‘I know where it is,’ she said. ‘And no, of course not.’

  Barrett’s frustration mounted with each passing second. They’d been wrong, Mary hadn’t been the accomplice – or was she lying? She felt for the woman who’d been so badly traumatized by Glash, but at the same time had the gut sense there was more. ‘Why did you visit Richard Glash in prison?’ she asked. ‘Not just once, but you were going at least monthly … for years.’

  ‘Because I knew eventually he’d get out,’ she said. ‘No matter what anyone says, one day he would have been let go, and that would be the day he’d come for me. Richard Glash never lets go. I know that better than anyone.’

  ‘Of course,’ Barrett said, ‘but why the visits?’

  ‘When I was a little girl, I lived next door to him. What he did to me was horrible, but before that, for a little while, although in my mind it seems longer, he and I were friends. For the couple months that he lived there we played together every day. I don’t remember much; just that he was my friend, and then one day he tried to kill me. Years later, he tried again. He wasn’t angry or mad, and I think the reason he didn’t succeed when we were teenagers is that somewhere buried inside him, he was still my friend. He could easily have killed me then. I begged him not to. I don’t remember much of it, just that he told me he’d try not to kill me, but that he needed to remove my scalp, and because the vessels in the head bleed so much; “there was a high probability that I would die from the blood loss”.’ She shivered in her chair, despite the ninety-plus degree heat. ‘That’s why I visited him in prison. He could have killed me that afternoon, but he stayed for hours doing … no, I can’t talk about what he did to me that day. But he stayed so long they caught him. In a sense I owe him my life, the only thing that saved me then … and now … is that I may be his only friend.’

  ‘You visited him to keep the friendship?’ Barrett asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you didn’t help with the escape or buy him prepaid cell phones?’ Hobbs interjected.

  ‘Of course not. I never wanted to see him out. I just knew it would happen.’

  ‘Then who’s been helping him?’ Hobbs asked.

  ‘You say someone left a truck for him?’ Mary asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Was it black?’

  ‘Yes, why?’ Hobbs asked.

  ‘Richard would talk about his dreams when I’d visit him. He had two sets. One very normal and the other to go on a killing spree that would make him famous. He’d show me pictures he’d drawn of the two possibilities. In both, whether it was the wife and kids or the murder spree, there was always a black pickup truck. I can even see the logo on the back – a Ford, I think.’

  Barrett nodded. ‘Who would know that he wanted a black truck?’

  ‘The only person I can think would be his father.’

  ‘What?’ Hobbs spat out.

  Mary turned and looked back at him. ‘Peter Glash … his father. He has some sort of store or warehouse in the city.’

  ‘I know,’ Hobbs said, crouching beside her chair. ‘What makes you think the two men were in contact? His name never appeared on the visitors’ log.’

  ‘I’d forgotten that,’ she said.

  ‘What?’ Hobbs persisted.

  ‘He wouldn’t visit Richard. He’d visit another prisoner. I’m trying to remember his name.’

  ‘Clarence Albert?’ Barrett offered.

  ‘Yes,’ Mary said, twisting to face her. ‘That’s right. And then Mr Albert would let Richard know what his father had to say. It was very odd … of course, with Richard one doesn’t expect anything different …’

  They’d left Katonah and Mary twenty minutes ago. Now, with his jaw set tight, Hobbs kept flooring the banged-up Crown Vic. As they turned off 684 and on to the Hutchinson they hit traffic. Though mid-afternoon, they had to slow to a stop-and-start crawl.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Hobbs muttered, looking at the jam that seemed to stretch for miles ahead of them.

  Barrett flicked on the radio. Every station was emphatically announcing that the Department of Homeland Security had raised the alert level to red for Manhattan and the New York City boroughs. People were being urged not to panic – This is only a precaution – and they were being reassured that a major act of bioterrorism had been averted by the Department of Homeland Security working in collaboration with local, state and federal authorities.

  As they listened Hobbs’s cell went off. He glanced at the readout – his boss. ‘It’s Felix.’

  ‘You going to pick up?’ Barrett asked.

  ‘What the hell.’ He flipped it open. ‘What’s up, Felix?’

  ‘Where are you, Hobbs? I’ve got those morons from Homeland Security calling every five minutes asking why you and Glash’s two hostages haven’t reported to a quarantine facility. Who’d you piss off?’

  ‘Jesus! You’d think they’d have more important concerns. Like finding Glash.’

  Felix Schmitt paused; he and Hobbs went way back. ‘I take it that getting to quarantine isn’t your top priority; what is?’

  ‘Getting Glash before he infects Manhattan with bubonic plague.’

  ‘You working with a different script than the DHS? They say all of the plague was dumped in the reservoir, that it’s been neutralized – that the manhunt for Glash is over. They’re saying he and his last two hostages are dead.’

  Hobbs asked, ‘Yeah, but do they say they have positive ID?’

  ‘Yes, why?’

  ‘Because they’re lying bags of shit! Look, Felix, we were at the reservoir. Somehow Glash drove a Volkswagen with some stiffs in it over an impossible-to-reach ditch. As of two, three hours ago, no one had even made it all the way down to the bottom to ID the bodies.’

  Felix again paused. ‘Hobbs, you’re in such deep shit right now. In fact, getting you and your two lady friends tucked away into quarantine is like their number one priority. Right now, it’s you, and not Glash, who’s the threat of contagion. They’re saying if we can’t haul your asses in we might be looking at a large-scale quarantine – location determined by all the places you’ve been.’

  Hobbs’s jaw twitched and his knuckles turned white as they gripped the wheel. ‘Felix, this is a bunch of cover-your-ass spin. None of us are infected; we’re feeling just fine, thanks.’ He looked up at the sign for the Whitestone Bridge and the West Side Highway.

  ‘Ed,’ Carla said, ‘behind us.’

  Barrett turned and Hobbs looked in the rear-view. Two patrol cars were plowing through the traffic, with lights and no sirens. Ed looked at the cell in his hand. ‘Felix, you’re a total shit!’

  ‘Sorry, Hobbs. Just following orders.’

  Hobbs rolled down the window and hurled his phone out. ‘Hold on,’ he said, as he turned on his siren and, clipping a limousine on their right, shot across three lanes and then accelerated toward an off ramp into the Bronx.

  The
patrol cars gave pursuit; their sirens wailed and were joined by two more unmarked vehicles.

  Ed flew through the quiet residential streets. Small children looked up agape; one woman jumped back from her mailbox; a collie tied up in its front yard howled.

  ‘Hobbs,’ Barrett said, ‘they’ve got it all wrong.’

  ‘I know,’ he said, turning off the flashing light and siren. ‘I could kill Felix. It’s one thing to rat me out. He could have at least listened to me. But I shouldn’t have thrown that phone out.’

  ‘They were using it to trace us,’ Barrett said, as Hobbs took a hard right toward the tan-brick housing projects around Riverdale Park.

  He glanced in the mirror; now a single squad car was chasing. ‘Hold on to something,’ he yelled.

  Barrett and Carla braced as Hobbs slammed on the brakes, threw the car into reverse, then shot behind the squad car. He reversed directions with a jagged J turn and headed back toward Johnson Avenue. Glancing behind he could see he’d momentarily eluded their pursuers. He turned in to a residential street of two-story homes and spotted a garage that had been left open. He pulled in and shut off the motor.

  He jumped out of the car, glanced down the street and rolled down the door.

  ‘Hobbs,’ Barrett said, ‘we’ve got to get into the city and stop him.’

  ‘I know,’ he said, breathing heavily.

  Through a row of small windows at the top of the garage door they spotted two black Cherokee helicopters flying noisily toward Harlem.

  ‘You don’t think those are for us?’ Barrett asked.

  ‘I think they are,’ Hobbs said. He looked around the garage and tried the door that led into the two-story brick home. It was locked. He knocked – no reply. He waited less then ten seconds and kicked it open. Inside, it was homey and warm. The smell of potpourri wafted up from terracotta dishes and the walls were covered with dozens of framed family photographs, many of them large montages of weddings and children’s birthday parties.

  Barrett let the smells and warmth of the cozy house wash over her. The normalcy of it brought tears to her eyes as she walked into the carpeted living room and switched on the large-screen television. The first image was Corbin Zane in his hazmat suit. He’d taken off the protective shield for the camera; behind him was the activity at the Ashokan Reservoir. At the bottom of the screen the rolling dialog was that the alert level had been raised to red for Manhattan and the five boroughs.

  ‘We believe,’ Zane said, ‘with a high degree of confidence that the biological weapon has been isolated and neutralized. But based on the seriousness and the potential for devastating consequences we are taking all precautions until we have one hundred percent certainty that the virus has not been transmitted.’

  ‘Bacteria, you moron,’ Barrett muttered. Her frustration and fear were at boiling point. She pictured her mother, probably at work right now, her hair in a gingham kerchief over big plastic rollers, setting up the bar … no way to get out of the city, and her sister who wouldn’t leave even if it were an option. She knew that Justine would be at University Hospital getting prepared for the massive influx of worried Manhattanites. She looked at Hobbs, who was dialing the phone, hanging up and then dialing again.

  He looked back at her and pressed the button to put the phone on speaker. ‘I’m sorry,’ a voice said, ‘all circuits are currently busy. Please wait and try your number again. This is a recording.’

  ‘Glash,’ Carla said. ‘We have to go and stop him. There’s got to be a way into the city.’

  They turned as flashing lights flooded through the lace-curtained windows. They heard sirens and saw one of the patrol cars that had been pursuing them head slowly down the tree-lined street. The siren was then turned off and a woman’s voice blared through the car’s loudspeaker.

  ‘Detective Hobbs, you and your passengers are to surrender immediately. This is a direct order from the Department of Homeland Security.’

  Ed glanced in the direction of the garage. ‘Shit.’

  ‘The police radio?’ Barrett said. ‘It has GPS too?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘What do we do?’ she asked.

  The cruiser stopped in front of the house. The voice again came loud and clear. ‘Detective Hobbs, we are instructed to escort you and your passengers to the nearest quarantine facility. If you do not comply we have been instructed to use whatever force is necessary.’

  ‘What are we going to do?’ Carla was peering through the curtains, as the cops exited their vehicle and drew their weapons. Behind them two other cruisers and a National Guard personnel vehicle were pulling up as additional sirens wailed in the distance. Overhead the roar of a helicopter shook the house. A wedding photo fell from the wall; its glass shattered.

  ‘We surrender,’ Hobbs said.

  ‘What?’ Carla replied.

  Barrett caught Hobbs’s eye. ‘Why, Ed? We can’t give up. If we all took off in different directions, maybe …’

  ‘For God’s sake, Barrett, would you listen to yourself?’ Hobbs blurted, struggling to be heard over the sirens and the roar of the chopper. ‘These guys aren’t fooling around. If Zane is anything like Cosway we’re dealing with a shoot-first-ask-questions-later mentality. Now, listen to me,’ he said. ‘Since nine-eleven I’ve been in a dozen major disaster drills for the city.’

  ‘And,’ Barrett said, taken aback by Hobbs’s vehemence; he seemed angry … at her, ‘I’ve been in some too. What’s the point?’

  ‘We did a couple city-wide drills with bioterrorism themes.’

  ‘I still don’t get it,’ Barrett said.

  ‘All the quarantine facilities were in Manhattan. It’s our best shot right now. If we resist … they’ll level the house and everything – everyone – in it.’

  ‘Ed,’ Barrett started to protest, ‘once they’ve got us—’

  ‘Barrett’ – he grabbed her by the shoulders. She startled, torn between breaking free and wondering why he was so angry with her – ‘please do this for me. I can’t take the thought of anything happening to you. Please …’

  ‘OK.’ She realized it wasn’t anger, and his hands felt strong on her shoulders. She stared into his eyes, and wondered if he’d try to kiss her.

  He gave a half-smile and let go. He walked toward the front door, opened it slightly and shouted, ‘Don’t shoot. We’re coming out.’ He put his hands on his head.

  Barrett looked at Carla, shrugged her shoulders, and followed him out.

  Twenty-Seven

  Night had fallen as Barrett, Hobbs and Carla huddled in the back of the locked police van. Hobbs had been correct about the quarantine sites – all in Manhattan. He’d grimly commented, ‘Probably because it’s an island.’

  ‘So are Staten and Riker’s, for that matter,’ Carla responded.

  ‘Yeah,’ Barrett said, ‘so are Ellis and Roosevelt, but none of them have the medical facilities all set up and ready to go.’

  Hobbs had convinced their NYPD escort to take them to the quarantine facility that had been established at University Hospital in the Village. It was the closest to the Lower East Side and it was where Barrett’s sister worked.

  As they drove across the Whitestone Bridge that connected Queens to the Bronx he again tried to reason with the hazmat-suited driver. ‘Could I at least speak to my supervisor?’ he asked, still fuming over Felix’s betrayal, but maybe now that the heat was off and the three of them were in custody he’d listen.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ she replied. ‘I’ve been given direct orders to take the three of you straight to quarantine. Your supervisor is aware that you’ve been found and of where you are being taken.’

  ‘I have vital information,’ Hobbs persisted, ‘that pertains to Richard Glash. He needs to know this.’

  ‘Sir,’ the driver replied, uncertainty in her voice, ‘my orders come from very high up. I can’t go against them.’

  ‘You said your orders were to take us to quarantine. What does that have to do with
my speaking to Captain Schmitt? Or if not to him I could give you the number for Agent Anderson with the FBI?’

  The driver hedged, as the vehicle slowed at the tollbooth. Her male partner flashed a badge through the windshield and they were waved through. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but my orders state you are to speak with no one. That you and the ladies are to be processed in quarantine and kept isolated.’

  ‘Who would give such a bone-headed order? And why?’

  ‘They’re trying to spin this,’ Barrett muttered. ‘What do they think we’re going to do, go the press? Look,’ she said, pleading with the driver and her partner, ‘Richard Glash did not dump all of the plague bacteria into the reservoir. I know because I was there. I was his hostage and I saw what he did. I also know that he’s not dead. They’re saying they’ve made a positive ID, but they haven’t. We have vital information, and no one will to listen to us.’

  ‘I was there, too,’ Carla said, backing up Barrett, and making certain the two hazmat-suited cops had their attention. ‘He did not dump all the bacteria, but that’s what he wanted people to believe. Even if he’s dead, which he’s not, there’s more bacteria out there.’

  ‘Listen,’ Barrett said, ‘as we speak he’s somewhere in Manhattan, quite possibly at his father’s place in the Lower East Side. He’ll be figuring a way to infect the most people possible. The reservoir was just a ploy to buy time.’

  ‘Guys, you’ve got to believe them,’ Hobbs pleaded. ‘Think of your families, your children, millions will die if he’s not stopped.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ the driver repeated, her voice wavering. ‘I have orders; you’re to speak with no one. I was told that you’d try to get me to deviate from my orders. We cannot do that, sir.’

  Hobbs felt like his head might explode; it was futile, but he couldn’t let up. They pleaded and begged. Hobbs gave them the numbers for Schmitt and Anderson. He gave them the street address for Glash’s father. It was met with a steady stream of ‘We are to take you to quarantine. We are under strict orders.’

  In the dim light of the van he saw Barrett lose it. ‘Look, we’re not in Nazi Germany. Can’t you think for yourselves? Just imagine for half a second that the three of us aren’t all psychotic. Maybe what we’re saying is the truth. Even if it’s a remote possibility don’t you think you should follow it up?’