“I admit it…I’ve got no idea,” said Akash. “It just seems like the most logical thing to do. It’s the center of the Dead Zone, so something might be down there causing it. I guess I’ll dig down as far as they’ll let me. There’s bound to be utility and sewer lines down there though. That will bring this all to a quick halt. They’re not going to let me dig those up.”
“I know what you’re gonna’ find down there,” said the agent as he stared at the expanding and deepening hole.
“What?” asked Akash.
“Dirt,” said the agent as he turned to Akash. “Plain, old, ordinary, easy to understand, add water and get mud, dirt. You’d be better off trying to capture a wave in a paper cup.”
Akash looked at the agent. “That’s an odd thing to say. This is the logical thing to do. Why are you so certain I’ll just find dirt?”
The agent paused as though thinking one thing at first and then something else. “I really don’t know my source. Isn’t that odd? I know something but don’t know how I know. Hell, maybe I got it from watching the flight of birds. Good luck, though.”
The agent patted Akash on the back and started toward Second Street. Akash looked puzzled as he watched the agent walk away. “Birds?!” yelled Akash after him. “What is the thing with birds around here?!”
The agent didn’t bother to turn around or respond in any way, but kept on walking.
David Westmore eventually found his way to a bench at McCann Park—the same bench where Carl had seen the world for the first time and the same bench where Matthew had proposed to Rebecca. It seemed a comfortable spot to clear his head and regain his balance. The sound of the water in Little Bear River seemed particularly relaxing to him and gave more of an uplift to his mood than he would have imagined. He watched and listened to the river for a few minutes before opening his briefcase and pulling out another unread document. He realized there were now only two remaining. He picked up the second to the last document and read:
Edgewood Court Transcript, Part XI
Edgewood County Court
Official Court Transcript
Case #020086044
The People vs. Matthew William Duncan
(WHEREUPON the following was heard and recorded in open court, to wit:)
Bailiff: All rise. Court is now in session. The Honorable Montgomery S. Nelson, presiding.
Judge Nelson: Thank you. You may be seated. Members of the jury, at this time we are going to hear closing arguments in this case. We will begin with the prosecution. Mr. Silverstein.
Mr. Silverstein: Thank you, Your Honor. Members of the jury, first of all, I want to thank you for your service. It’s because of people like you, willing to serve your community, that our justice system works. What it means is that your fellow citizens, in this case Mr. Matthew Duncan, can get a fair trial. I think this has been a fair trial. You’ve been presented with a lot of information over these many days. Some of this information has been somewhat technical. You’ve heard from several experts in the medical field. I want to briefly remind you of what those experts have told you. The deceased, Mr. Montoya, was a patient on the Critical Care Unit at the Edgewood Medical Center, but he was stable. You’ve heard of his condition directly from several of those who cared for him. All the experts told us that Mr. Montoya was in stable condition. All that changed, however, shortly after one specific event. That event was the visitation by the defendant, Mr. Matthew Duncan. The defendant is neither denying that visit, nor is he denying the fact that he went there to evoke some sort of reaction from Mr. Montoya. You heard from the defendant’s own mouth that he went to Mr. Montoya’s room to ask him to “make a choice.” Those were his exact words. He was looking for a reaction from the deceased. Well, Mr. Duncan got a reaction—Mr. Montoya unfortunately died shortly thereafter. Now, the defense would have you believe that it was all some sort of random coincidence. It just so happened that Mr. Montoya died after Mr. Duncan’s visit. I think the evidence tells a different story. In considering that evidence, I think the most important piece you ought to consider is Mr. Duncan’s own testimony. Remember, he has been found to be mentally competent to stand trial. He’s quite sane, but during your deliberations, please take the time to review his testimony. He was sane enough to evade security, and then I think he mocked you and mocked this court by making outrageous and preposterous claims of walking through doors and becoming invisible to the security guards. Is this a man to be believed? Are such statements reasonable? I maintain that they are not reasonable and that he is not to be believed. A person died because of Mr. Duncan’s reckless actions, and that’s what the charge of manslaughter means. I believe that is exactly what the evidence has proven to you—beyond a reasonable doubt. I would ask you, therefore, to weigh this evidence carefully and, after doing so, to return the only reasonable verdict for Mr. Duncan in this case—guilty as charged. Thank you.
Judge Nelson: Thank you, Mr. Silverstein. Ms. Yates.
Ms. Yates: Thank you, Your Honor. Members of the jury, a great responsibility has been placed upon you. You are being asked to decide the fate of a young man. He has served his country as a U.S. Forest Ranger, and just over six months ago, he required medical attention and went to the Edgewood Medical Center for treatment. He could have gone to any number of medical centers, but he was taken to Edgewood. This was just a coincidence—it was random. Coincidences do happen, you see, despite what you might hear. Sometimes people are just in the wrong place at the wrong time. The deceased, Mr. Montoya, died of a ruptured heart. You heard expert testimony state that no one can predict exactly when such a rupture might occur. Yet, you are being asked to believe that Mr. Duncan’s presence in Mr. Montoya’s room was the cause of this unpredictable event. To find him guilty, you will be asked to believe, beyond a reasonable doubt, that Mr. Duncan caused this rupture to Mr. Montoya’s heart by his mere presence in the same room. Remember, he never touched Mr. Montoya but only spoke to him. I would maintain that this stretches the bounds of credibility and believability. You see, coincidences do happen, and Mr. Montoya was undergoing treatment under critical care, and so you can’t, beyond a reasonable doubt, know his heart wasn’t ready to rupture at any time. Yes, Mr. Duncan should not have been in Mr. Montoya’s room, but this entire case is a matter of the defendant being in the wrong place at, unfortunately, the wrong time. It was an unfortunate set of circumstances—but I believe the evidence fails to prove his guilt beyond a reasonable doubt, and I would ask you to find him innocent of the charge of manslaughter. Thank you.
Judge Nelson: Thank you, Ms. Yates. Members of the jury, this case will now be submitted to you for your deliberations. The first thing that you should do when you retire into the deliberation room is to select a foreperson to chair your deliberations. From that point forward, it will be up to you to decide this case. What you’ll take with you back to the jury deliberation room are your notes, the exhibits that have been admitted, the instructions of law, and a verdict form. When you’ve reached your verdict, and it must be unanimous, all twelve of you have to agree, then the jury foreperson can notify the bailiff, and you will return here to the courtroom for the verdict to be read before the court.
(WHEREUPON the jury exited the courtroom to begin deliberations)
Agent Westmore placed the document into his briefcase and watched the river flowing by. It gurgled and churned to a gentle rhythm of the quiet summer day. He closed his eyes, tipped his head back, and took a deep breath of the sweet air. He could not remember a more pure or sweet-smelling air. He opened his eyes and stared at the mountains across the river. Dark greens, mixed with the grays and reds of rocky outcroppings, dotted the sides of the mountains. The whole colorful blanket soared upward to touch the blue sky.
There by Little Bear River, David Westmore soaked up the magnificence of that moment. Somehow, everything outside and around him felt exactly right and perfect, but that perfection seemed to mock the growing turmoil inside. He moved his right leg, and his foot kicke
d something in the grass below the bench. He bent over and looked down. In the grass near his foot was a small box. He reached down and picked it up. It was a jewelry box, tattered and worn. Slowly he opened it—it was empty. At that moment, the face of a young man from Oregon came to the agent, and though he hadn’t been present, the agent imagined a rainstorm, headlights, a scuffle of one man against several, all fighting for the same small box the agent now held. The agent snapped the empty box closed, and at the same time, from a nearby tree, he heard the only other sound present besides the river.
Tweeta…tweet…tweet…tweetatweet sang Sturnella neglecta.
The agent didn’t bother looking to find the animal but simply closed his eyes and listened to the chorus of bird and river. He turned off his overloaded brain and listened with his heart to the closing arguments.
Seventy-Four
Supplies
Mayor Gilmore received the phone call directly from Gwendolyn Mercer late Tuesday morning. She had used her authority to secure an impressive first wave of supplies for Cottonwood. A caravan of about fifteen electric vehicles would be on their way from Grand Junction and another seven from the Durango area—all of them loaded with supplies for Cottonwood. The vehicles, some of which were even moderate-sized electric trucks, would be packed full with perishable food supplies such as milk, eggs, bread, and all the other staples which certainly must be running short in the isolated town. All this was to be supplied courtesy of the State of Colorado. Additionally, Gwendolyn promised the mayor that the first round of supplies were far from the last, as Cottonwood could expect such shipments to occur regularly, several times a week, until the crisis was over.
Gwendolyn’s plan also called for any of the remaining stranded travelers to hitch a ride back, either north or south out of town, in one of the electric vehicles making a return trip. They would be dropped off at the special parking areas to which their vehicles had been towed from the Dead Zone. It was hoped that by the end of Tuesday, or at the latest by Wednesday, all stranded travelers would be safely back on their way to their intended destinations. Additionally, a few of the electric vehicles would be left in Cottonwood for use by the sheriff’s office, fire department, and other officials as necessary. Gwendolyn insisted that the Home also be given a high priority and receive several vehicles for use primarily in shuttling employees back and forth, to and from work. Gwendolyn’s thoroughness and thoughtfulness caused the mayor to consider that he had perhaps judged her too harshly.
“You have certainly planned this out very well, Ms. Mercer,” said the mayor as he sat behind his desk, speaking into the speakerphone. “On behalf of the citizens of Cottonwood—I want to genuinely tell you how much we appreciate your professionalism in this matter.”
“Well, thank you, Mayor,” replied Gwendolyn. “We had also considered sending in helicopters filled with supplies, but we consider that too risky. Of course, if their engines stalled, we would have serious problems on our hands. By the way, how is Akash Mudali getting along down there? I haven’t heard from him yet with any sort of preliminary report, but I’m sure he’s been busy—and I assume you’ve given him everything he’s needed?”
“He launched right into things. He enlisted the help of our town’s best mechanic, and I understand the two of them mapped out the full size and shape of the Dead Zone yesterday…and today, well, the last I checked, he had quite a hole being dug right through our new sidewalk on Main Street. We just redid that sidewalk last year, and I’ve got to tell you, I’ve had more than one citizen call to complain about the big hole he’s digging.”
“A hole? Did he say what he was looking for?”
“Not really, though he did show me an electronic map of the town with a big circle around it and said he needed to dig right at the center of the circle. I think the circle represented the Dead Zone, but to tell you the truth, as soon as he said he wanted to dig through our new sidewalk, I sort of stopped paying attention to his techno-speak and thought about the cost.”
“Well, I can assure you Akash knows exactly what he’s doing, Mayor. If he’s digging a hole, you can bet he’s got a good reason. Anything you can do to accommodate his investigation will only speed along a solution. We’ll find the funds at the state level to get those sidewalks repaired. You can let your citizens know that things will be restored exactly the way they were before this whole thing started—you have my word on that.”
Though it was one of Gwendolyn Mercer’s points of personal pride to always keep her promises, in the case of restoring things in Cottonwood to the way they were before, this was one promise that would, thankfully, prove to be beyond her considerable resources to keep.
After finishing his conversation with Gwendolyn, Mayor Gilmore began preparing his town for the arrival of the supplies and vehicles. He made several phone calls to make sure word got out around town that the supplies were on their way. He also contacted the Cottonwood Inn, where the majority of the stranded motorists were staying, and told the manager of the inn to get the word out to all its guests that transportation out of Cottonwood was on its way. The mayor also made a call with the good news to his close friend, Dr. Paul Reese.
“That’s excellent news,” said Dr. Reese. “I’ve been wondering how the food supplies were holding up, although, surprisingly, I haven’t heard of any complaints from our own kitchen staff. More importantly, our nursing staff is getting pretty stressed out from commuting back and forth to town by golf cart and bicycle. Eddie’s been doing a hell of a job to keep up, but I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to get a real vehicle.”
“At least you’ve had those golf carts—the rest of us are walking everywhere,” said the mayor. “Not that a little exercise hasn’t been good for us.”
“So I guess there have been a few positive side effects from the Dead Zone.”
“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it—but we have had our problems.”
“You’re talking about Old Blind Carl?”
“Yes…and some other things.”
“Anything you can share?” asked Dr. Reese, knowing that the two men, two of the most influential in Cottonwood, shared practically everything.
“We’ve also had a car theft—Ned’s electric car—and the sheriff told me this morning that one of your employees had her home broken into last night.”
“Really? Mind telling me which employee?”
“Rebecca D’Arcy.”
“No kidding? I haven’t spoken with her today. Does the sheriff think it’s one of the stranded motorists?”
“He’s not saying…but my hunch is that it’s all related to this Dead Zone, somehow. I sure don’t like the increased crime it’s brought, but between you and me—so long as we can keep getting supplies in here—I’m personally thinking that the Dead Zone could be best thing that’s happened to Cottonwood since they built your facility.”
“Why’s that?”
“Pure and simple—tourism. I’ve already had inquiries from tour companies wanting to know about lodging, restaurants, and other local attractions in the area. The Dead Zone could become the hottest tourist site in the Rocky Mountain region.”
By early afternoon, the first of the state’s supply vehicles had arrived in town and were quickly directed to various locations as specified by the Cottonwood emergency committee. Some were sent to the local grocery store, some out to the Home, and some were sent over to Ernie’s Diner, as the mayor was absolutely convinced that Cottonwood’s most popular restaurant, which had been packed with stranded motorists the past few days, would surely be extremely low on supplies.
As the supplies were restocked in Ernie’s, the regular patrons and even some of the staff were a bit disappointed, as it appeared the cowbell would no longer be ringing. There was now plenty of everything on the stockroom shelves and in the refrigerator. With the abundance, it seemed the need for “miracle food” of any kind to suddenly appear on shelves had faded. The arrival of the food supplies and the departure of th
e stranded motorists seemed to bring a sudden end to the holiday mood surrounding the diner since the beginning of the Dead Zone. By evening, the cowbell had not rung in over five hours, and the exodus of stranded travelers from the town had diminished the brisk business Ernie had enjoyed at his diner.
Late in the day, although the Dead Zone remained intact, the supplies of food and electric vehicles to Cottonwood had, at least for the time being, returned the appearance of normalcy to the town. Had she been there, Gwendolyn Mercer would have regarded this return as a sign of her success and the keeping of a promise. This was a thin veneer of normalcy, however, much like the thin veneer of the sidewalk Akash had fruitlessly torn through during the day to reveal nothing but layers of dirt below. Like the waves of the ocean, rising and falling, then rising again until finally crashing to the beach, wave after wave of jolts to the normalcy of Cottonwood had hit the town over the past several days, and another wave was already quietly building for its inevitable crash upon Cottonwood.
Seventy-Five
Ned’s Baby Returns
When the sheriff delivered Ned Quinlan’s car back to him, Ned rushed out his front door and immediately began surveying the car for damage. From the driver’s side, which was the first thing he saw, it looked untouched, but in moving around to the passenger side, Ned’s stomach knotted.
“Oh my god,” said Ned as he looked at the deep gash running nearly the entire length of the passenger side. “What kind of idiot does something like that?”
Sheriff O’Neil walked over to where Ned was kneeling and surveying the damage. He tapped Ned on the shoulder and held up a small white envelope he had been holding.
“I know it’s hard to compensate you for this kind of inconvenience, Ned,” said the sheriff, “but here’s the money I told you about. I had to pull some strings to get it to you so quickly, but I thought it was the least I could do—ten thousand bucks, tax-free.”
Touching Cottonwood Page 60