David Baldacci - The Innocent

“No, not at all. Were you here the night that bus blew up?”

S’mores tapped his chest and said, “Me.”

Robie almost said, “I know,” but caught himself. S’mores was actually starting to concern him. He sounded reasonably sane.

If he remembers seeing me?

“Have any other agents talked to you?” asked Robie, looking at the three.

S’mores glanced away when the sounds of a siren started up. He pulled his lips back. He looked like he was snarling. Then he started to howl along with the sirens.

“We all were there,” the second woman said. “But we left after it happened. I don’t think the police are aware that we saw anything.”

Robie focused on her. “What’s your name?”

“Diana.”

“Your last name?”

The fear sprang up again in her features.

Robie said quietly, “Diana, you’re not in any trouble. I promise you. We’re just trying to find out who blew up the bus and I’d like to ask you some questions. That’s all.”

“My last name is Jordison.”

S’mores gabbed his arm. “Hot eats?”

“Coming up.” Robie escorted Jordison to the cafe. When they walked in, the man behind the counter started to shoo Jordison away, but Robie flashed his badge. “She stays,” he said.

The man backed off and Robie seated Jordison at a table in the rear. “Order anything you want,” he said, handing her a menu from a stack on the next table.

He walked up to the counter and said, “I need some food to go.” He placed the order. While it was being prepared he sat down across from Jordison. A young waitress came over to take their orders.

Robie said, “Just coffee.” He glanced at Jordison.

She flushed and looked unsure of herself. Robie wondered how long it had been since she had ordered anything in a restaurant. A simple process for most people, it was astonishing how quickly simple processes became complex when you slept in alleys, parks, or over steam grates and gathered your daily bread from trash cans.

Robie pointed to an item on the menu. “The American has just about everything: eggs, toast, bacon, grits, coffee, juice. How about that one? Eggs scrambled? Orange juice?”

She looked like she could use a boost of vitamin C and protein.

Jordison nodded meekly and handed the menu back to the waitress, who seemed disinclined to accept it.

Robie looked at her. “My friend will have the American,” he said. “And could you please bring the coffee and juice out now? Thanks.”

The waitress walked off to fill the order. She brought back the coffees and juice. Robie drank his black, but Jordison doused hers with cream and several sugars. He noted that she slipped most of the sugar packets into her pocket. He looked over and saw the owner giving him the high sign and pointing to two bags he was holding and a carrier with two coffees riding in it.

Robie said, “I’m going to take the food to the other two and then I’ll be right back, okay?”

Jordison nodded but wouldn’t meet his eye.

Robie paid the check, grabbed the bags, and headed out.

When Robie got back to S’mores and the other woman, a male reporter he’d seen earlier was circling the pair like a shark after shipwreck survivors.

The reporter looked at Robie. “Playing the Good Samaritan?” he asked, eyeing the bags and beverages.

“Your tax dollars at work,” replied Robie. He handed one bag and coffee each to S’mores and the woman. The latter snagged her food and coffee, grabbed her plastic bags, and disappeared down the street. Robie let her go because he didn’t think she would be able to tell him anything.

S’mores stood there sipping his coffee.

The reporter said, “Can you answer a few questions for me, uh, Agent…?”

Robie hooked S’mores by the arm and walked off.

The reporter called after him, “I’ll take that as a ‘no comment.’ ”

When they had reached the next intersection Robie said, “Tell me what you saw the night the bus blew up.”

S’mores had opened the bag and dug greedily into the bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich. He crammed a handful of hash browns into his mouth and chomped down.

“Take it slow, friend,” said Robie. “Don’t want to choke.”

The man swallowed, took a slurp of coffee, and shrugged. “What you want?”

“Everything you saw or heard.”

S’mores took another, smaller bite of his sandwich. “Boom,” he said. “Fire. Holy shit.”

He took another sip of coffee.

“Anything more detailed than that?” Robie added slowly. “Did you see anyone around the bus? Maybe get off or on?”

S’mores crammed another handful of hash browns in his mouth and chomped. “Boom,” he said again. “Fire. Holy shit.” Then he laughed. “Grilling out.”

Robie decided that his first impression of S’more’s sanity was the correct one. He wasn’t sane. “You didn’t see anyone?” he asked halfheartedly.

“Grilling out.” Then he laughed and finished his sandwich in one bite.

“Good luck to you,” said Robie.

S’mores gulped down the hot coffee.

Robie left him there and fast-walked back to the cafe.

Jordison had gotten her food and was eating it slowly. There was none of S’mores’s energetic desperation. Robie hoped that boded well for her being able to tell him something useful, or at the very least intelligible.

Robie sat down across from her.

“Thanks for this,” said Jordison quietly.

“No problem.”

He watched her eat for a few seconds and then said, “How long you been out there?”

“Too long,” she said, wiping her mouth with a paper napkin.

“I’m not here to grill you about that. It’s none of my business.”

“I had a house and a job and a husband.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too. Surprised me how fast it all went to hell. No job, no house, no husband. Nothing but bills I can’t pay. I mean, you hear about it happening, but you never think it’ll happen to you.”

Robie said nothing.

Jordison continued, “He’s probably homeless too for all I know. My ex, I mean. Well, I call him my ex. He never even bothered to file for divorce. He just up and left. And it wasn’t like I could afford a lawyer to get it done.” She paused and added, “I went to college. Got my degree.”

“It’s been really bad times the last few years,” said Robie.

“Worked hard, did all the right things. The American dream. Right.”

Robie was afraid she might start crying.

She took a quick sip of coffee. “What do you want to know?”

“The night the bus blew up? What can you tell me?”

She nodded. “I’ve been sleeping behind a Dumpster the last couple of weeks. Nights haven’t gotten too cold yet. Last winter was a bitch. Didn’t think I was going to make it. January was my first month on the street.”

“That’s rough.”

“I thought something or someone would come through. Half my friends are like me. The other half will have nothing to do with me.”

“Family?”

“None that are in a position to help anymore. It’s just me now.”

“Where did you work before?”

“Admin support for a construction company. Like the worst possible job to have in this economy. I was just an expense item, generated no revenue. I was one of the first to go even though I’d been there twelve years. No severance, no health care, nothing. Salary stopped but the bills sure didn’t. Then my unemployment benefits ran out. I fought to keep my home for a year. Then my husband got sick. That sucked what little savings we had and left a whole ton of bills. Then he gets better and off he goes. For better pastures, he told me. Can you believe that shit? What happened to the marriage vows for better or worse?”