Chapter 13 Shreds of Evidence
Sordid still desperately wanted his report back. Giving himself not a moment’s rest, he went back to his office and called Ambassador Grace. This was something that City leaders hated to do and never did unless driven to it. For old Grace operated from a different power structure than that of the City people. He owed them no money, coveted nothing they had, and was unimpressed by their authority. Trying to persuade him to do anything was like trying to persuade a mountain to tap dance. Nevertheless, Sordid tried, knowing that the experience promised to be humbling at best.
When Grace answered the phone, Sordid explained that the City was trying to recover certain papers that had been stolen from his office. He hoped that Heavenites, with their lofty morals, would not keep anything obtained by theft?
“We don’t have that highly illuminating memo,” the old man replied cheerfully, “so I can’t help you there. Sordid, if you’re afraid for it to see the light, why don’t you try looking at the matter from a different angle? For instance, instead of trying to cover up what it says, why not take some steps that will exempt you from the disasters predicted in it?”
“If you know what it says, you must have it,” Sordid pressed.
“Not a bit of it! But to make my point in a different way, you must see, Chief, that your surviving the theft of the memo, should you do so, will only bring you a short reprieve. Along with the rest of the City, you’re headed toward a fiery doom. It’s not far off now. Why not make such plans as will bring you through it alive?”
“Look, Grace, I just have one question for you.” Sordid was straining to be minimally polite while enduring this evangelistic drivel, aimed at breaking up the solidarity of the City leaders. “Are your people going to make that memo public? Yes or no?”
“That’s being admirably direct, sir. The answer is no.”
Sordid got off the phone immediately and in great relief. One of his sources of fear was gone, gone completely. For whatever else might be said of the Ambassador, and he truly was a foul enemy of the City, no one had ever known him to lie. He had said both that he did not have the memo and that, though he plainly knew its contents, he would not go public. So that was that.
Sordid labored on into the evening. Within an hour he was in Guiles Leasing’s basement living room, all alone with the man, and making him sweat. On a laptop computer he had brought with him, he showed him the video of the theft. When it was over, he slowly shut off the laptop and packed it up, taking his time so that Guiles’ blood pressure would rise and rise. Sordid had done this sort of thing many times before.
“You saw I brought two officers with me who are out front of your house,” he said at last, “but I don’t want to have to arrest either your daughter or you.” Actually, he intended to do just that momentarily if necessary, but was using the threat of arrest to loosen Guiles’ tongue. “So what about the memo? Where is it?”
“Destroyed. It’s gone,” Guiles said, pointing vaguely at the corner of the room that included his desk with a shredder beside it. “As soon as Prevarica showed it to me, I saw that what she considered a prank was…was…”
With exhilarating hope, Guiles strode to the shredder, pulled the top off, and pulled out the shreddings heaped highest in it. He had expected that Guiles would own a rather pathetic shredder and was not disappointed. The strips of paper were wide enough that bits of text a few letters wide could be read. He could even see strips of the City logo. He carried the handful to a table surface, switched on a light, and fitted a few shreds together. Hallelujah. This was the memo.
“I’m taking everything in that shredder with me,” he said.
“Sure, of course,” Guiles answered meekly.
“You read it?”
“No, sir. I just read far enough to see that it was from you to Mr. Power and stopped there. I saw at once that it should be destroyed.”
“Or returned?”
“But I was protecting my girl, Chief. Surely you can understand that? You have a daughter yourself.”
“Hmm. No copies made?”
“No, sir. Why would I do that?”
Sordid returned to the shredder and lifted the whole plastic bag out to take with him. Then he sat down in the best chair in the room, told Guiles to shut up, and thought for five minutes. First he told himself that he would now proceed with extracting confessions from Scapegoat and Abject, tell the Mayor that he, Sordid, had stopped those traitors before they could sell their information, and perhaps put an end to this miserable episode. But it more than crossed his mind that, if he had only known the memo had been destroyed, he would have produced no doctored version of the report and would have arrested no one, except maybe Guiles and Prevarica. For Guiles had certainly read the memo, and of course his brat had too.
They had not tried to make use of the memo’s contents and, as well as he could read Guiles, would not. But Sordid had not survived as Chief of City Intelligence by taking unnecessary chances. It was bad enough that he dared not touch the Heavenite boy Wisdom, but at least he would silence Guiles and Prevarica. Guiles was possibly lying about there being no copies, or maybe the girl had made copies without telling her father. Neither of them must be in a position to use a copy or pass one on to the Heavenites.
But even if no copies existed, he had to consider that Guiles’ mere word would carry weight. The little weasel had a City Seal on his house, as Sordid had just been reminded when approaching the place: a spotlight shone on the Seal at night at just the right angle to illuminate it without showing that the place was a ruin. Also, a dim ghost-fire rippled on the walls and roof, something Sordid had become accustomed to seeing here and there about town on a few other houses. He could even see traces of it in the corners of this well-lighted room. Such Hadean fire could be found in and around Mr. Power’s house and was actually a sought-after distinction. So if Guiles would decide to talk about the memo, then with such marks of prestige he might be believed when others would not. Yes, both he and the girl must be silenced. But he would not arrest them, for that would lead others to guess how the City’s secrets had actually been stolen.
Sordid stood up. Guiles was standing too, cringing against a bookcase while attempting not to appear to be cringing.
“You’re not under arrest and neither is Prevarica,” Sordid said.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t thank me. Tomorrow morning I’m going to the City Development Office to arrange for your house to be condemned.” He paused to let that sink in. Guiles was stricken silent. “You’ll go to the top of the demolition list, and they’ll send over the City’s biggest bulldozer, Old Coronary. Prepare your family for Relocation.”
He picked up his laptop case and the shredding bag as if to leave.
Guiles clung to his sleeve. “Don’t do it, sir! I swear, I swear, no copies! No Leasing will ever speak a word!”
“Your daughter will.”
“No, she won’t! I swear she won’t!”
Sordid pretended to ponder. “There’s only one break I can give you, Leasing, and it’s only because I want to save the City the cost of the demolition. For you, it means you’re spared the humiliation of you and your family standing outside the house while your neighbors watch it go down. Those Hopes across the street would love to see that, wouldn’t they? And everyone you’ve ever boasted to about your City Seal, they’d like to see your house just a pile of broken bricks and boards. Your cousin Dignity would come from down the street to watch and cheer, to laugh in your face while the place crumbles.”
“God, no!” Guiles cried. “Anything but that!”
“Then here’s your break,” Sordid said stonily. “Light a match. I give you twelve hours to burn the place down with you and your family inside. No red condemned sign ever appears on your door. No one laughs. It was just an accident, a sad accident. Everyone you know gathers for a loving memorial service, and Pastor Hypo
crisy talks long and movingly about what a good citizen you were. A beautiful obit in the paper. Tears fall like spring showers. That’s how you go out. Will you do it?”
With wide eyes and open mouth, Guiles just managed a nod.
“Then remember it’s got to be done fast, by early tomorrow. Show me out of here, huh? Where are those stairs?”
As Guiles showed him out the front door, they were joined by Prevarica, looking bright and pretty. For a short time the three of them talked pleasantly on the front sidewalk about this and that. Just to torment Guiles, Sordid told him about the substitution of Founders Grove land for the annexed lands and pressed him to buy on speculation as soon as the sale would begin. With smiles and thanks, Guiles promised that he would.
When Sordid and the two policemen were gone, Guiles and Prevarica remained on the sidewalk for a while in the slight illumination of the house’s ghost-fire. The flames even shimmered slightly around their bodies. Each was silent and seemingly happy.
“So, Princess, the Chief knows now that his little memo was shredded,” Guiles said at last. “He thanked me for destroying it and said that’s the end of the matter. Very nice man, isn’t he?”
“Sure is, daddy. I’m glad you smoothed that over for me.”
“Right, all fixed. Say, what’s that you’re carrying?”
She showed him her iPad, its screen lit up. “You know what it is, since you bought it for me,” she said with a giggle. “Quake Hope told Rage about a YouTube video that Love Orchard made, and Rage was trying to play it for me on my iPad just to give me a pain. I got it back from him.”
Guiles shook his head and tut-tutted. “Rage shouldn’t talk with those Hopes or touch your iPad.”
“No, daddy, I told him that.”
“I’ll tell him to leave your things alone.”
Guiles looked across at Sluggard’s Lot on the corner, where just three years ago a house had stood. When he saw that his daughter was noticing the direction of his gaze, he looked at the ground instead.
“I’m awfully glad I didn’t get in trouble, daddy. I wouldn’t want you to be ashamed of me.”
“Never, Princess.”
He raised his head again and looked at the Heavenite flag that the Hopes flew openly from the second story of their house across the street. They too had once been in grave trouble with the City and had escaped by turning traitor, allying themselves with old Grace. Conformity Hope sometimes had tried to talk to him about that, but he had always turned the subject. Hope’s way could never be his way. There was such a thing as self-respect. But light a match Sordid had ordered.
“What’ll we watch on TV tonight, daddy?”
He hurriedly looked down from the flag, realizing that Prevarica had been observing him closely again. Had she guessed his thoughts? Of course, she had. She had seen Relocation on the night of the collapse of Sluggard House, had even seen the fiends that had taken the Sluggard family away. She was sophisticated enough to know, as well, that Chief Sordid would never let the matter of the memo rest or accept any assurances. So she probably expected Relocation. At least she did not know about the command to commit suicide. How could she guess that?
“Oh, we can watch whatever you like,” he said at last.
Their eyes met.
“You look a little sad, and sad people can do such silly things,” she said with a grin and a gush of breath. “Can’t they? But you’ll never be sad while I’m around, so you’ll never actually do anything, uh, silly. Right?”
“Well, no. What do you mean? Actually, I’m quite happy.”
“You are? That’s great! Come on now and let’s see what’s on.”
He allowed her to lead him back into the house, both still chatting pleasantly. Inside he was groaning. Prevarica was very smart, very discerning, and she had guessed.
After they had chosen a program that would begin a little later, Prevarica took her iPad to her room and finally relaxed into her true feelings. She sat down with ghostly white cheeks and stared at what happened to be in front of her, that is, the still image of Love Orchard that had remained on her iPad since she had paused the video. Love had her guitar but had not started playing it yet. Oddly the Heavenite woman looked almost as stricken as Prevarica herself felt. How stupid, what could be bothering her?
Absently, she pressed the Play symbol, in order to find out, but she had not ten seconds patience to listen. Instead, leaving it on, she hopped up and went down the hall to a bathroom to check her face for visibility, something she was doing often lately. She had thought she would be able to hear the sound from there, but the volume was too low. She didn’t care. Lying face up, the iPad played on unheard and unseen.
“I know some of my relatives must think I’m losing my marbles on this,” Love’s image said to the ceiling, “and they’re just too polite to tell me to give it a rest. I don’t want to come across as some sort of Cassandra, but the Lord just keeps impressing on me to pray and to tell others to pray. So anyway, here’s my latest harping, as in harping on the same old thing. Forgive me. It’s called ‘The Patience Waltz.’”
She began to sing and play:
If only my brother will come to me now,
Then all of our gains will be saved from the fire;
And if not, then a pitiless world will inquire,
‘Have you boasted in vain? Has he broken his vow?
For you sang of a savior in garments of white
Who would enter our borders with justice and light,
But now you are cloaked in inglorious night,
And a blush of shame covers your brow.’
For like sheep without shepherd we wandered astray,
Recreated by baubles and money and names,
Near the bog of self pity, the canyon of games,
And obsessed with the darkness, forgetting the day.
So the forces of heaven, who come in the clouds,
Turn their faces away from the faithless and proud.
Justly left to ourselves, we are blinded and bowed,
As we foolishly search for the way.
And our one hope is Patience. Oh brother, return!
You who never stop seeing each pathway’s true end,
Remember your promise, our leader and friend.
If you’ll teach us with trials, we promise to learn.
For a city lies dying outside our closed doors,
Bedraggled and starving and covered with sores;
And though they don’t claim us, please claim them as yours.
As you love, let us love them in turn.