me. I ache, I yearn to hear his voice, to see his eyes squint when he smiles. I want to be there in his bed, tucked inside his arm, with the musky smell of his deodorant, the sound of his ragged breathing, beams from the rising sun striping through the blinds. I want that right now. I want that forever. I need to feel that way again. I need to be human again.
I find my phone and start to dial, then scold myself for thinking of myself at a moment like this, when so many have suffered so cruel a fate. But maybe that’s when the importance of these things is the clearest. Maybe it takes something like this for me to see it.
But it wouldn’t be fair to him. I’ve pushed him away. He deserves to move on with his life; he doesn’t need to hear the cries and regrets of an ex. He deserves better. He always did.
As I wage war with myself, phone in hand, that very phone buzzes, a text message. It’s from Pully.
David finally posted.
I snap back into focus, click on the link and read the Facebook post from Citizen David:
Chicago was not me. I would never kill people. I condemn that bombing! #protestwithoutcasualties
I forward the link to Elizabeth Ashland, then text Pully back and tell him to try to trace the source of the Facebook posting. He already knows to do that, of course, and we both already know that he will fail. We got a court order forcing Facebook to help us trace the source, but David was too adept. Tracing his IP address was like trying to grab hold of sunlight. He used remote servers and anonymous proxies that took us around the globe. He could be in the hotel room next door or in Antarctica.
David has never denied anything he’s done. Just a scroll down his Facebook page shows he’s proud of the hacking and bombings he’s committed in the name of the little guy, the wrongly convicted, the cheated and downtrodden, all of it to rail against corporate fraud and abuse and an unfair criminal justice system.
“You wouldn’t kill two hundred people,” I say to my phone. “It wasn’t you.”
You two seem to have a crush on the lad, Ashland said to Rabbit and me. I can’t deny that Rabbit and I share the same concerns as David. Our justice system is unfair to minorities. Our lenders do take advantage of the poor. Most corporations will do whatever it takes to make a buck, and only protests or regulations can stop them.
My phone rings in my hand. Rabbit.
“Did you see the posting?” she asks.
“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” I say.
“I got some sleep. I’m fine. Really. Did you see it? He’s never denied his involvement in anything.”
“But he never killed two hundred people, even if accidentally,” I say, playing devil’s advocate.
A heavy sigh from her end. “I’m going in, gonna relieve Pully,” she says.
I sign off with Rabbit and drop onto the bed, feeling my eyelids close as soon as I hit the mattress. When my phone rings in my hand, I don’t know if two minutes or five hours have passed.
“They found Mayday,” says Elizabeth Ashland.
47
I SHAKE off the cobwebs and clear my throat. “They found Mayday?” I say. “Great. Should we meet somewhere?”
“Not unless you want to visit the morgue,” Ashland says. “He’s dead.”
I moan. The police officers made him sound like a plausible lead. “Shit. So he died in the hotel after all.”
“Actually, no. They found him dead in an alley a mile away.”
I sit up in bed. “Cause of death?”
“They’re thinking heart attack. Looks like he’s been dead a day or two. But no foul play, they say. Natural causes.”
My blood goes cold.
A homeless man.
Natural causes.
Sure, it happens every day, but…
“Where is he now?” I ask.
“Still at the morgue. One of the cops, Ciomek, confirmed the identification.”
“Is Ciomek still there?”
“I—I suppose so. I don’t know. Why?”
My heart’s pounding so hard, I can barely speak. “Never mind. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
“At this point, just ninety minutes.”
“Right.”
I check my phone for Officer Ciomek’s number. We exchanged contact information with all the officers. She answers on the second ring.
“Officer Ciomek, this is Emmy Dockery.”
“Sure, Emmy. You heard about Mayday?”
“I did.”
“That’s a tough break. Mayday knew everything on that block. We even used him as a CI from time to time.”
“Right, you mentioned. Listen, are you still at the morgue?”
“Just leaving. Why?”
“Could you do me a favor?