Firetrap (15 page)

31. RIDING IN A CAR WITH THE ICE QUEEN

TREY
>

On the drive to the Mount Zion church, Estevez seemed to be reinvigorated. I couldn't tell whether it was because she'd caught me stealing the photo off Chester McDonald's desk or because she'd learned I'd lost a partner at a fire. I'd spent the whole morning trying to figure her out. I'd thought at first Estevez was one of those women who had been coasting on her good looks all her life and thus didn't know how to deal with real people. I know I'd made things difficult for her, but I was still irked at some of her presumptions, the worst being that I didn't need to be asked about being on this committee. One of my specialties, though, was being difficult, and knowing this, I was beginning to regard our clashes less as irritation and more as entertainment.

The photo
was
a trifle blurry, and there was a chance it might not have been Renfrow, but with fifteen deaths to be accounted for, I wasn't going to write it off to coincidence the way Estevez seemed inclined to do. I had been virtually certain of my identification until Estevez sowed seeds of doubt, but then, that appeared to be her subcontract in our arrangement—to cast doubt on any thoughts I had that weren't based on fire department technicalities.

We were almost at the Mount Zion church when Estevez said, “While we have a minute, would you explain how a normal fire operation works. Or is there such a thing as a normal fire operation?”

“Seattle adopted an incident command system maybe ten, twelve years ago. We use it on every fire call now, the same basic system that's utilized in a lot of places around the country. The same plan for every fire call. One person, the incident commander, essentially runs the show. He or she gives the orders, makes the decisions, and delegates. Everybody works as a unit, because there's one brain driving things. The weakness is that if the IC is disorganized or forgets something important—or worse, if he chokes—any fire can go to hell in a handbasket. Another problem is that the IC generally doesn't go inside and often doesn't get around to the back side of the building, so he knows only what he's told and what he can see from the command post. If the reports he's getting are garbled or inaccurate, things can go south in a hurry.

“Also, there's a span of control we try never to exceed. One individual should have no more than five to seven people reporting to him or her. The IC will have four to seven divisions reporting, and each division commander will have no more than that number of company officers under him or her.”

“Every fire has the same basic command structure?”

“Yes.”

“That's good to know. And thank you for coming to this meeting.”

“My pleasure. I'm sure I'll enjoy it. I'm going to take notes and put them in my journal.”

“You keep a journal?”

“I'm going to start one tonight.”

“You are so sarcastic.”

We parked in front of the church and walked to the main entrance, where we found the front doors locked. There were lights on in the back, so I pounded on the doors until a smallish woman with a red-haired wig let us in.

“They're waiting in back,” she announced.

Just as I suspected, it was two deacons from separate churches who'd joined the Z Club Citizens for Truth just today, each insisting they wanted to pick our brains, though it quickly became apparent that what they really wanted was to complain about the fact that half a dozen young people were arrested Saturday night on charges of disturbing the peace, and another dozen were detained last night for throwing rocks and bottles at a fire engine. “You gotta get this report out so we can put an end to all this,” said the larger of the two men.

“How about telling people to behave?” I said.

Estevez gave me a harsh look and then listened patiently to their concerns, which was more than I could manage, knowing that the more time we wasted here, the longer it would take to complete our task. Forty-five minutes into the confab, my cell phone rang and I stepped out of the room to answer it.

“Can you meet me?” I recognized the caller immediately.

“Where are you?”

“Downtown.”

“Whereabouts downtown?”

“Right now I'm in the Georgian at the Four Seasons Olympic.”

“I'll be there in twenty minutes.”

I stepped back into the room and caught Estevez's eye. The two men liked listening to themselves talk and didn't stop even when she got up to speak to me. “What is it?” she whispered.

“Something's come up. It's personal.”

“Now? We're almost finished.”

“Yeah. Sure we are. And after that the four of us are going to start a rock band and turn out a hit single.”

She glared at me for a moment. “When will you be back?”

“Sometime this afternoon.”

“In the meanwhile, what do I do for transportation?”

I handed her a twenty-dollar bill. “If you ever finish up here, take a cab. I'll call your cell phone when I'm free.”

“I hope this is important.”

“It's at least as important as all this pissing and moaning.”

“Shhh, I think they heard you.”

“Tell them I send my love. See you later.”

It was with a rising sense of anticipation that I parked in a garage off Fifth Avenue near the Four Seasons, then walked across the street, throwing on a jacket to cover my white uniform shirt and badge.

I found India Carmichael seated at a table for two in the restaurant, looking both casual and elegant in a simple white blouse and blue skirt, hair pulled into a loose ponytail; the woman I'd fallen madly in love with the summer I turned seventeen. You know the one—the one you never forget. And here she was, married to Mayor Stone Carmichael, my ex-brother, having already given him two children, a pillar of society, while I was a lowly unmarried captain in the Seattle Fire Department, subject to the whims of every nutcase who got the itch to dial 911.

When I sat across from her at the table I was starkly aware of the contrast in our social positions, and not just from the five-thousand-dollar watch she wore or the silk blouse. The rich also project an air of privilege the rest of us can never quite exhibit. I know; I had been one of them.

She looked at me coolly. “How are you?”

“Fine. You look good.”

“I was surprised to see you Saturday night. Pleasantly surprised. I really didn't know you were going to be there.”

“Nobody did. I gate-crashed.“

She smiled, indulging me. “I know they gave you tickets. It's been so long. It seems like forever.”

“Does it?”

“Do you ever think about that night?” She asked it as if we were a couple of geriatric patients in a nursing home, as if there couldn't possibly be an ounce of passion left between us, but I knew she was talking about the two of us making love in the gardener's cottage and not about what happened later.

“I think about it once in a while,” I lied. I thought about it all the time, both parts of the night.

“Do you know I've never talked to Stone about it.”

“He still doesn't know?”

“He's never had a clue. Not that I haven't been tempted occasionally in our worst fights to blurt it out just to hurt him. You still don't like him, do you?”

“He hasn't done anything to change my opinion, but that's okay, because I think the feeling is mutual. You have two boys. How old are they? Or did I ask Saturday night?”

“You did, but I'll tell you again. Seth and Marshall. Eight and ten. Marshall's a sports fiend. Seth wants to be a musician and already plays the guitar and piano.”

“I bet they're adorable. It's too bad how it turned out the other night.”

“John has a habit of making a jackass out of himself. I felt sorry for my little sister. And for you.”

“Don't feel sorry for me. I rather enjoyed being called a rapist in front of my date.”

“I really am sorry.”

“No, don't be. Everybody should be taken down a peg or two once in a while. It helps us keep perspective. I mean that.”

“That's a good philosophy. I'll have to remember it.”

“She's changed enormously, Echo. More than any of us.”

“I suppose she has. I've been close to her all along, so maybe I haven't noticed the way others do. But then, we've all changed.”

“Not so much that anybody stood up for me when Armstrong teed off.”

“Kendra did her best.”

“Yes. I've missed her spunkiness. In fact, she's the one part of the family I've really missed.”

“I hope you're going to keep in touch. She's talked about you a lot over the years, wondering where you were and what became of you. Do you hold that against us? That nobody stood up for you that night?”

“Kendra was only sixteen and in shock. My mother never voiced an opinion contrary to my father's, so I didn't expect much out of her. Stone always wanted me out of the family, so as far as he was concerned, it was perfect. And my father…I've thought about this a lot, and he must have truly thought I was guilty or he wouldn't have done what he did. You were the one I was waiting for. But you never let out a peep.”

She sat back and appraised me, her wide blue eyes cooler than a drink of cold water. “Yes. Well. What did you want me to say? My sister told a room full of people you were the one. Later, I tried to talk to her about it, but she wouldn't talk.”

For a few moments watching India watch me, I was like a junkie going back on the juice, thinking she'd surely called me here to see me—ME—and that she was sending signals that she wanted to renew the relationship we'd had so long ago, that she might even want to go upstairs right here in the Olympic Four Seasons and take a room. Crazy thoughts. Until now I'd lived what I thought to be a moral life, taking care of my family, doing my job, staying away from women married to close relatives, but I could see the facade crumbling in one long lunch if she made the right moves. I had the feeling for part of the time that we spoke that she was working through some of the same feelings, that we were both sitting there battling our worst instincts, sensing Eden just over the ridge and fighting not to venture toward it. It was a fantasy, of course. She hadn't sent out any signals.

She said, “I've had conflicted feelings about what happened that summer.”

“The part with you and me, or the part where my family called me a rapist and said they never wanted to see me again?”

“Being friends with the brother of the man I was eventually going to marry was a good thing, or so I thought. Having sex with him probably wasn't such a good idea. You were always a very nice guy, Trey. You had a good instinct about you. That was why I found it difficult to accept the fact that you'd hurt my sister. We all found it hard to accept, but there it was staring us in the face. She said you did it. She obviously didn't want to finger you, but she did.”

“And you accepted that even when I denied it.”

“I did at the time. I've called you here to tell you I've changed my mind. I no longer think you did it. I know I'm late, but I believe you're innocent, and I needed to tell you and offer you whatever my support is worth—if it's worth anything at this point. I needed to get the words out and I needed you to be in front of me when I said them. I'm sorry you were falsely accused, and I'm sorry your family disowned you. I'm sorry about all of it. I truly am.”

“So what you're saying is, your sister lied and you know it.”

“I'm saying I believe you're innocent.”

“Why this sudden change of heart? Because of our chat the other night? Did I seem so reasonable and normal that you decided to reevaluate what happened? Or did your sister tell you she lied?”

“I'm not at liberty to say anything about my sister. I can say I'm sorry you got kicked out of the family and I'm sorry you didn't get to see your mother before she died. I wish none of it had happened. It must have been awful for you.”

“Echo talked to you, didn't she?”

“I think if perhaps you spoke to her, you and she might come to some sort of understanding. I think she might be…I don't want you to tell anybody I'm the one who told you, but I think if you spoke to her…things might rearrange themselves. I can't guarantee that, but I have a feeling it might happen that way. You should at least give it a try. And please be gentle with her.”

“You're asking me to be gentle with the woman who essentially ruined my life.”

“I think…yes. I think you should talk to her and be nice. She's not as stable as some of us.”

“Somehow the thought of seeing her again doesn't seem very appealing, especially after meeting her husband.”

“Promise me you'll get in touch with her.”

“I'll think about it.”

“I should have spoken up for you that summer. I should have told everyone why Stone saw you leaving the cottage and how your watch happened to be there. You deserved to have all the facts out on the table. Now that I know you were innocent, I feel sick about it.”

“Speaking up for me might not have changed anything.”

“At least I wouldn't have had to live with this feeling of cowardice all these years. And you would have had the satisfaction that one person wasn't afraid to speak the truth on your behalf.”

“Apology accepted.”

“Thank you.”

We had lunch and talked about more mundane matters during the meal. Afterward, we paid the bill and she gathered up her coat and moved toward the restaurant entrance. I followed her into the hotel lobby, where a well-dressed, middle-aged man and woman on one of the davenports watched us as only two disapproving white people can watch a black man with a white woman. She asked for a ride to the Monorail terminal, which I gladly gave her. We were strangely silent on the walk to the car and during the drive, but then, India had always been a woman of silences.