Ken Follett - The Hammer of Eden

“You bet. I got two people who remembered the name of the record.”

“No kidding!” Judy was thrilled.

“This woman was reading poetry over a background of psychedelic music.”

“Yuck.”

“Yeah.” He laughed. “The album was called Raining Fresh Daisies . That also seems to be the name of the band, or ‘group,’ as they used to call them then.”

He seemed pleasant and friendly, nothing like the spiteful creep he was on air. Maybe that was just an act. But you could never trust media people. Judy said: “I never heard of them.”

“Me either. Before my time, I guess. And we sure don’t have the disk at the radio station.”

“Did either of your callers give you a catalog number, or even the name of the record label?”

“Nope. My producer called both people back, but they don’t actually have the record, they just remember it.”

“Damn. I guess we’ll just call every record company. I wonder if they keep files that far back.…”

“The album may have come out on a minor-league label that no longer exists — it sounds like that kind of far-out stuff. Want to know what I’d do?”

“Sure.”

“Haight-Ashbury is full of secondhand record stores with clerks who live in a time warp. I’d check them out.”

“Good idea — thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Now, how’s the investigation going otherwise?”

“We’re making some progress. Can I get our press officer to call you later with details?”

“Come on! I’ve just done you a favor, haven’t I?”

“You sure have, and I wish I could give you an interview, but agents aren’t allowed to talk directly to the media. I’m really sorry.”

His tone turned aggressive. “Is this the thanks you give to our listeners for calling in with information for you?”

A dreadful thought struck her. “Are you taping this?”

“You don’t mind, do you?”

She hung up. Shit . She had been trapped. Talking to the media without authorization was what the FBI called a “bright-line issue,” meaning you could be fired for it. If John Truth played his tape of their conversation over the air, Judy would be in trouble. She could argue that she had urgently needed the information Truth offered, and a decent boss would probably let her off with a reprimand, but Kincaid would make the most of it.

Heck, Judy, you’re already in so much trouble, this won’t make any difference .

Raja Khan walked up to her desk with a sheet of paper in his hand. “Would you like to see this before it goes out? It’s the memo to police officers about how to recognize a seismic vibrator.”

That was quick . “What took you so long?” she said, joshing him.

“I had to look up how to spell ‘seismic.’ ”

She smiled and glanced over what he had written. It was fine. “This is great. Send it out.” She handed back the sheet. “Now I have another job for you. We’re looking for an album called Raining Fresh Daisies . It’s from the sixties.”

“No kidding.”

She grinned. “Yeah, it does have kind of a hippie feel to it. The voice on the record is the Hammer of Eden woman, and I’m hoping we’ll get a name for her. If the label still exists, we might even get a last known address. I want you to contact all the major recording companies, then call stores that sell rare records.”

He looked at his watch. “It’s not yet nine, but I can start with the East Coast.”

“Get to it.”

Raja went to his desk. Judy picked up the phone and dialed police headquarters. “Lieutenant Maddox, please.” A moment later he came on the line. She said: “Bo, it’s me.”

“Hi, Judy.”

“Cast your mind back to the late sixties, when you knew what music was hip.”

“I’d have to go further. Early sixties, late fifties, that’s my era.”

“Too bad. I think the Hammer of Eden woman made a record with a band called Raining Fresh Daisies.”

“My favorite groups were called things like Frankie Rock and the Rockabillies. I never liked acts with flowers in their names. Sorry, Jude, I never heard of your outfit.”

“Well, it was worth a try.”

“Listen, I’m glad you called. I’ve been thinking about your guy, Ricky Granger — he’s the man behind the woman, right?”

“That’s what we think.”

“You know, he’s so careful, he’s such a planner, he must be dying to know what you’re up to.”

“Makes sense.”

“I think the FBI has probably talked to him already.”

“You do?” That was hopeful, if Bo was right. There was a type of perpetrator who insinuated himself into the investigation, approaching the police as a witness or a kindly neighbor offering coffee, then tried to befriend officers and chat to them about the progress of the case. “But Granger also seems ultracareful.”

“There’s probably a war going on inside him, between caution and curiosity. But look at his behavior — he’s daring as all hell. My guess is, curiosity will win out.”

Judy nodded into the phone. Bo’s intuitions were worth listening to: they came from thirty years of police experience. “I’m going to review every interview in the case.”

“Look for something off-the-wall. This guy never does the normal thing. He’ll be a psychic offering to divine where the next earthquake will come, or like that. He’s imaginative.”

“Okay. Anything else?”

“What do you want for supper?”

“I probably won’t be home.”

“Don’t overdo it.”

“Bo, I have three days to catch these people. If I fail, hundreds of people could die! I’m not thinking about supper.”

“If you get tired, you’ll miss the crucial clue. Take breaks, eat lunch, get the sleep you need.”

“Like you always did, huh?”

He laughed. “Good luck.”

“Bye.” She hung up, frowning. She would have to go over every interview Marvin’s team had done with the Green California Campaign people, plus all the notes from the raid on Los Alamos and anything else in the file. It should all be on the office computer network. She touched her keyboard and called up the directory. As she scanned the material, she realized there was far too much for her to review personally. They had interviewed every householder in Silver River Valley, more than a hundred people. When she got her extra personnel, she would put a small team on it. She made a note.

What else? She had to arrange stakeouts on likely earthquake sites. Michael had said he could make a list. She was glad to have a reason to call him. She dialed his number.

He sounded pleased to hear from her. “I’m looking forward to our date tonight.”

Shit — I forgot all about it . “I’ve been put back on the Hammer of Eden case,” she told him.

“Does that mean you can’t make it tonight?” He sounded crestfallen.

She certainly could not contemplate dinner and a movie. “I’d like to see you, but I won’t have much time. Could we meet for a drink, maybe?”

“Sure.”

“I’m really sorry, but the case is developing fast. I called you about that list you promised, of likely earthquake sites. Did you make it?”

“No. You got anxious about the information getting out to the public and causing a panic, and that made me think the exercise might be dangerous.”

“Now I need to know.”

“Okay, I’ll look at the data.”

“Could you bring the list with you tonight?”

“Sure. Morton’s at six?”

“See you there.”

“Listen …”

“Still here.”

“I’m really glad you’re back on the case. I’m sorry we can’t have dinner together, but I feel safer knowing you’re after the bad guys. I mean it.”