Ashes Of America

by Fergus McNeill

  As he rounded the end of the bed, and the upper half of her body came into view, he saw what was left of her face and staggered back, choking.

  Oh God, no…

  One of her eyes was staring up at the ceiling, but her nose and the upper right side of her head were torn apart, flaps of ripped flesh and dark blood congealing in her hair. Her lips were slightly parted, as though she’d been about to speak.

  Jean…

  Putting a hand over his mouth, Frank stared up at the awful spatter on the wall behind her.

  Shot. At close range. Whoever did it must have stood where he was standing right now.

  He stared down into the wreckage of her face and felt the grip of nausea bubbling up as he turned away and ran from the room. He raced along the hallway and almost slipped on the stairs, taking them two at a time. Gasping, he burst from the front door into the stinging cold rain and sprinted for the car.

  28

  Dark clouds slid over Dufourstrasse as Frank slammed the car door and trudged along the sidewalk. Pausing at the gate, he put a hand on the glossy black railings and stared up at the office windows for a moment, squinting as the rain pattered down on his face. Numb, he made his way up the steps, pushed the door and went inside.

  He hesitated again at the top of the stairs, wondering what he should do, how he might tell them. But there was no right way, not for something like this.

  Feeling sick, he opened the office door.

  ‘Ah, here he is,’ Rafe crowed, lifting a hand in lazy greeting, then faltering as he saw Frank’s face. ‘I say, you look absolutely drenched. Where’s Jean?’

  Molly glanced up from her desk, her initial smile tightening into an expression of concern.

  ‘Are you all right?’ she asked, getting slowly to her feet.

  Frank stood in the doorway, water dripping from him as he stared back at them.

  ‘Frank?’ Molly took an anxious step towards him. ‘What’s the matter?’

  For a moment, he teetered on the edge of it, unable to speak, unable to breathe, then he gulped down a lungful of air and forced the words out.

  ‘It’s Jean,’ he choked, his eyes brimming with sudden tears. ‘She’s dead.’

  Everything slowed, and all he could do was stand there in the awful silence that followed, wanting it all to just… stop. Rafe had recoiled against the back of his chair as though struck by a physical blow, and Molly’s face was caught in the moment between disbelief and anguish. A wave of nausea surged up from within him and he swayed, thrusting a wet palm against the wall to steady himself as he screwed his eyes shut.

  ‘Swift!’ Rafe was yelling. ‘Swift, come out here now!’

  He felt a hand on his shoulder, and another at his side, steadying him. Molly’s voice was in his ear, whispering something, telling him to breathe.

  His eyes flickered open and he reached out to grip her forearm, taking a deep breath as he gazed into her face.

  ‘What happened?’ she said softly, staring up at him.

  Through his tears, he could see Rafe getting up and, beyond him, Swift was hurrying along the corridor. Blinking, he looked down at Molly.

  ‘I found her in her apartment,’ he said, wretchedly. ‘Someone shot her.’

  Molly’s lip quivered, but she leaned in closer, holding his gaze.

  ‘You’re certain she’s dead?’

  Frank blinked more tears away, nodding as he tried to drive the sickening image from his mind.

  ‘She’s dead,’ he whispered.

  He glanced over at Swift, standing stricken in the middle of the floor.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know what to do, so I came back here…’

  He trailed off, looking round at them all.

  ‘No!’ Rafe swung an arm across his desk, sweeping everything aside and sending it all crashing to the floor. Then he slumped forward, head bowed, trembling. ‘Why her?’

  Swift’s eyes were wide, but the outburst seemed to shake him out of his daze, and he stepped over, putting an arm around Rafe’s shoulders.

  ‘Easy, now…’ he said, guiding Rafe back into his chair, then turning to look at Frank. ‘Was there anyone else there? What happened when you found her?’

  Frank stared at him, then slowly shook his head.

  ‘She didn’t answer the bell,’ he said, sniffing. ‘So I went upstairs to knock on her door, but it was open.’

  ‘Did you see anyone?’ Swift pressed him.

  ‘No,’ Frank replied. ‘At first I thought she’d gone out or something… then I saw…’

  He closed his eyes for a moment, felt Molly’s hand squeezing his shoulder.

  ‘What about on the way out?’ Swift asked. ‘Did you speak to anyone?’

  ‘There was nobody around,’ Frank said, drawing another breath. ‘I just… I had to get out of there.’

  Swift nodded slowly, then lowered his eyes.

  ‘Poor Jean,’ he said, quietly.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ Molly asked, twisting round to look at him.

  Swift met her gaze, then frowned to himself.

  ‘I’m going over there,’ he said suddenly. ‘I need to take a look, before the police get in there and mess things around.’

  ‘I want to come with you,’ Molly said.

  Swift hesitated for a moment.

  ‘I think it’s better if you wait here,’ he said, inclining his head towards Rafe and giving her a meaningful look. ‘Frank can drive me.’

  ‘Let me come too,’ Molly insisted.

  ‘No. Frank comes with me, you two stay here,’ he said firmly. ‘I mean it; I don’t want any of us alone right now. We don’t know what the hell we’re dealing with.’

  Molly glared at him, then turned back towards Frank. She gazed up into his eyes for a moment, her hand gently squeezing his arm, her face full of unspoken words. Then she stepped away from him and looked down at her feet.

  ‘You better go,’ she murmured. ‘Before someone else finds her.’

  Hunched forward in the car, Frank peered out through the smears of water on the windshield. Sitting next to him, Swift was drumming out a pensive rhythm on the side of his seat. Abruptly, the drumming stopped.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Swift murmured. ‘It must have been a hell of a shock for you.’

  Frank gripped the wheel a little tighter.

  ‘Yeah.’

  He swallowed and stared out through the rain. They were approaching the turning for her road.

  ‘I’ll understand if you don’t feel able to come in,’ Swift said.

  Grimly, Frank shook his head.

  ‘Don’t worry about me.’

  He slowed and pulled hard on the wheel, rounding the corner onto Sahlistrasse, then applying the brakes as Jean’s apartment building came into view.

  ‘Drive past,’ Swift muttered.

  ‘What?’ Frank looked across at him.

  ‘Drive past!’ Swift snapped, then continued more gently, ‘Park round the corner and we’ll walk back.’

  Frank nodded wordlessly and straightened the wheel.

  Trudging through the rain, they made their way slowly back up the hill. Swift went ahead, turning in at Jean’s gate and walking up to the front door.

  ‘Calm and confident,’ he reminded Frank. ‘Like we belong here.’

  ‘Okay.’ Frank took a deep breath, then pushed the door open and stepped inside. Glancing around the empty lobby, he stood and listened for a moment, but there seemed to be no one around. Satisfied, he started towards the stairs.

  Behind him, Swift whispered, ‘Wipe your feet.’

  Frank halted and turned around.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Wipe your feet.’ Swift pointed at the dark smudges of damp on the carpet. ‘Or did you want to leave a trail of wet footprints leading up to her room? One of the neighbors might come up to complain.’

  Frank stared at him, then moved back over and wiped his feet on the brush mat, shaking the water off his coat as he did so.

  ‘So
rry,’ he mumbled.

  ‘If you want to catch a killer, you need to be able to think like one.’ Swift motioned towards the stairs. ‘C’mon, let’s go.’

  Upstairs, the door of apartment 14 was closed; Frank couldn’t remember if he’d shut it on his way out. He supposed he must have. Swift glanced back along the hallway, his face a picture of calm, all except for his eyes.

  ‘Ready?’ he whispered, then reached for the handle without waiting for an answer. The door opened silently and they stepped quickly inside.

  An oppressive stillness lay heavily on the room. Frank was more aware of the smell now, a dirty slaughterhouse stench that made him cover his nose and mouth with his hand. Swift looked at him and nodded slowly.

  ‘Somebody’s going to notice that soon,’ he muttered. ‘Come on.’

  Treading softly, he made his way through to the bedroom. Unwilling to follow, Frank stood rooted for a moment, his eyes roving around the room. There was a stack of magazines on the table – movie magazines from the States. Beside them, he could see Jean’s little gold cigarette lighter, her purse, the pillbox hat that she’d worn to Brig yesterday. He found himself thinking about the pen that Dulles had bought her, still sitting on her desk at work. Orphan items, now, a precious collection unravelling, meaningless without the person who had brought them all together. Gritting his teeth, he turned away and walked slowly through to the bedroom.

  Swift was standing by Jean’s feet, peering down at her where she lay behind the bed. Beside him, the spatter marks on the walls were now blackening to a grisly red-brown.

  ‘Her eyes…’ He paused, then corrected himself. ‘Her eye is still reasonably clear. She hasn’t been dead all that long.’

  He leaned over the body for a moment more, hands clasped behind his back, then straightened up slowly.

  ‘Poor Jean,’ he said, with a sigh. ‘She didn’t deserve this.’

  Frank nodded to himself.

  Swift glanced over towards the doorway, then back down at the body.

  ‘Someone got very close to her,’ he mused. ‘Three, maybe four feet away when they pulled the trigger.’

  Frank didn’t answer. From here, the wreckage of Jean’s face was hidden by the bed, but he could still see it in his mind, no matter where he looked.

  ‘Does anyone know you were here earlier?’ Swift was saying. ‘Did you speak to anyone? See anyone?’

  Numbly, Frank looked at him, then shrugged his shoulders.

  Swift came over and roughly grabbed his arm.

  ‘You need to get yourself together!’ he hissed. ‘There’ll be time for grief later, but right now I need you to snap out of it! Now, did anyone see you before?’

  Blinking, Frank shook his head.

  ‘I… I don’t think so. There was nobody downstairs so I came up, found the door open… when I saw this, I just… ran.’

  ‘Okay.’ Swift patted him on the arm, then stepped past him, moving around to the side of the bed and retrieving a couple of document folders from the nightstand. He flicked through them briefly, then started working his way round the room, opening the closet doors and pulling out drawers.

  ‘Look around,’ he said. ‘See if you can find her keys.’

  Frank thought for a moment.

  ‘Her purse is on the table out there,’ he said, gesturing over his shoulder.

  Swift glanced up at him.

  ‘Show me,’ he said.

  They went through to the other room. Swift spent a moment rifling through Jean’s purse, before triumphantly drawing out her keys.

  ‘Got them,’ he said, then moved over to grip Frank by both arms, leaning in close. ‘Now listen to me; this is what we’re gonna do. You and I will walk out of here, calmly and quietly. If we see anyone, you leave the talking to me, understand?’

  Frank nodded vaguely.

  ‘Good.’ Swift straightened up and took a last look around. ‘Let’s go.’

  Frank moved woodenly out of the room and into the empty hallway. Behind him, he saw Swift fumbling with the door and heard the sharp snick of a lock turning. Then he was being hurried along the corridor and quietly downstairs, outside into the rain once more.

  ‘So who did it?’ Rafe snarled. His eyes were puffy and red, and his hand shook as he leaned over his walking stick. ‘Who the hell would want to hurt her?’

  Molly stood in silence, watching Frank as he slowly pulled off his raincoat and hung it up to dry.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Swift said, shaking his head. ‘We just don’t know. Not yet, anyway.’

  He looked at Rafe for a moment, then lowered his eyes and moved over to the filing cabinets, pulling open a drawer and quietly stowing the folders he’d taken from Jean’s apartment.

  ‘We have to find out,’ Rafe demanded. ‘There must have been something, some indication…’

  ‘She was shot at very close range,’ Swift said softly, then looked round. ‘If it’s any consolation, she wouldn’t have suffered; it would have been instant.’

  Rafe’s anger seemed to give way to grief, and he sagged, lowering himself heavily into his chair and letting his walking stick clatter to the floor.

  ‘Poor old thing,’ he whispered.

  ‘So what are we going to do now?’ Molly asked.

  Swift looked at her, his face unreadable.

  ‘Nothing for now,’ he said. ‘I need to talk to Dulles, figure out how we play this.’

  ‘But what if someone finds her?’ Molly pressed.

  ‘We have time… well, a little time, anyway.’ Swift patted his pants pocket, and they heard the jingling of keys. ‘I locked the place when we left. It’ll be okay for now.’

  Rafe’s head jerked up.

  ‘You’re not just leaving her there, are you?’ he gasped, horrified.

  The phone started ringing.

  ‘I didn’t say that,’ Swift sighed. ‘But we need to know what we’re dealing with before we decide what to do.’

  The phone continued to ring. Frowning, Molly walked over and answered it.

  ‘She deserves better than this,’ Rafe insisted. ‘She deserves some dignity.’

  ‘She deserves to be avenged,’ Frank murmured, his voice bleak.

  Across the room, Molly turned around, her hand over the mouthpiece of the phone.

  ‘It’s Groth,’ she said urgently. ‘He says to turn on the radio, right now.’

  ‘Eh?’ Rafe stared at her, confused.

  Frank roused himself and walked over to the bureau, bending over and clicking the knob to switch the set on.

  ‘What the bloody hell…’ Rafe frowned, but Molly was turning away from them again.

  ‘Thanks,’ they heard her saying. ‘Yes, you too.’

  She put the phone down, then twisted round as the radio static hummed and a thin voice began to crackle faintly from the loudspeaker.

  ‘Ich spreche zu Ihnen heute, damit Sie meine Stimme hören…’

  Rafe leaned forward, cupping his hand to his ear, trying to make out the words.

  Frank bowed his head, translating as well as he could.

  ‘I’m speaking to you today… so that you will hear my voice… and know that I am unhurt and well… secondly, so that you will know of a crime… without equal in German history…’

  The voice was louder now, and Frank lapsed into silence as it continued.

  A small group of ambitious, dishonorable and criminally stupid officers have conspired to eliminate me and overturn the leadership of the German armed forces. A bomb that was planted by Colonel Graf Von Stauffenberg exploded two meters from my right side. It very seriously wounded a number of my faithful staff members. One of them has died. I myself am absolutely unhurt, except for very light scratches, bruises and burns. I interpret this as a confirmation of the order of Providence that I continue to pursue the goal of my life, as I have done up to now...

  Frank reached up and found the volume knob with his fingers, twisting it around and shutting the sound off. In the awful silence that followed,
nobody spoke.

  Hitler was alive.

  Fall, 1953

  Kansas City, Missouri

  29

  Frank opened his eyes, startled out of a troubled sleep, and sat up in bed. Grey light from the hotel window cast dirty shadows that moved across the sheets as he stretched his legs out beneath them.

  He smelled smoke, and for a moment he was back in his dream of flames and burning… but then he remembered, and sank down wearily into the pillow.

  It was on his clothes, from the apartment building fire last night.

  Rubbing his eyes, he lay back and stared up at the ceiling for a while, then sighed and pushed himself out of bed.

  Downstairs, the young man on reception nodded to him as he walked across the lobby. Frank paused, then turned and strolled back over to the desk, summoning the best smile he could manage as his eyes searched out the relevant pigeonhole and made sure the other guest’s room key wasn’t there.

  ‘Morning,’ he said. ‘Any messages for me? The name’s Edward Linden; room two-one-two.’

  ‘Let me just check for you,’ the young man said. He turned away, reaching a hand into the pigeonhole, then glanced back over his shoulder. ‘Nothing at the moment, Mr Linden.’

  ‘Okay.’ Frank inclined his head in thanks, then walked across the lobby and pushed through the glass doors.

  No messages. No leads. He had nothing.

  He ate a late breakfast in a neat little diner on Baltimore Avenue, then sat hunched over the table, drinking coffee and scanning the local papers. The noon edition had a piece about the fire on the front page under the headline FATAL CITY APARTMENT BLAZE. Frank leaned in closer, squinting at the smudged print. Twelve residents were confirmed dead, and at least ten more were listed as missing. Two fire-fighters were in hospital, one of them in grave condition.

  Frank sat up and pushed the paper away. If Faye had burned, there was nothing more for him here. One way or another, he had to find out.

  From his booth, he could see a payphone through the window. Gulping down the last of his coffee, he got up and made his way outside. Jamming a coin into the slot, he dialed the number and waited, staring gloomily at the endless stream of people moving along the sidewalk.