CHAPTER ELEVEN: THE MAN WHO REMEMBERED THE SMOKE
Walter asked Nora to visit him at home that evening.
His living room contained fishing trophies, a crooked bookshelf, and a large framed picture of Caleb graduating from college.
Walter sat beneath the picture with his injured arm supported by a pillow.
“I fell on my stairs because I turned too quickly,” he said before Nora could ask.
“Caleb said somebody pushed you.”
“Caleb thought that because I told him somebody was there.”
“Was somebody there?”
Walter nodded.
“A man waited outside my house.”
“Did he touch you?”
“No.”
“Then why were you frightened?”
“Because he said the same words Grant Voss said twenty years ago.”
Nora sat opposite him.
“What words?”
“Some stories are too expensive to correct.”
Walter rubbed his forehead.
“I’ve spent most of my life believing that sentence.”
Nora placed the photograph on the table.
“Tell me what happened in the corridor.”
Walter looked at it for a long time.
“Your mother came through the smoke carrying a metal serving tray.”
“Why a tray?”
“She used it to shield the children from falling pieces of burning paper.”
He swallowed.
“The room was full of decorations, and the smoke made everyone cough.”
“Where were the adults?”
“Outside at the opening ceremony.”
“Was Grant Voss there?”
“I saw him through the glass doors before the lights went out.”
Walter described how Ruth gathered the children near the service hatch.
She told them to hold one another’s coats and stay low.
She pushed at the hatch until the latch cut her hand.
Then she used a small metal object to force the mechanism sideways.
“The thimble,” Nora whispered.
Walter nodded.
“She opened the hatch and told us to crawl through one at a time.”
“Why didn’t the main doors open?”
Walter looked at the ceiling.
“Because the demonstration equipment had been wheeled against them.”
Nora felt a sudden chill.
“Who put it there?”
Walter closed his eyes.
“I saw Grant Voss tell two men where to place the equipment.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN B: THE NIGHT WATCHMAN
On Wednesday night, Caleb received a call from a man who had worked as a security guard at the winter exhibition.
The caller gave his name as Martin Rusk and asked to meet outside the old bus depot.
Caleb wanted to bring Walter, but Nora objected.
“Your father has spent the day talking about the fire,” she said.
“He needs a quiet evening.”
Caleb agreed, and they drove to the depot without him.
Martin waited beneath a broken clock with a thermos tucked under his arm.
He was thin and nervous, and his eyes moved constantly toward the road.
“I saw your notice at the library,” he said.
“What notice?” Nora asked.
“The one asking anyone who remembered the exhibition to contact Caleb.”
Caleb nodded.
“I put it up yesterday.”
Martin looked at the dark depot windows.
“I’ve never told the whole story.”
Nora kept her hands in her pockets.
“Then start with what you know.”
“I worked the outer gate.”
“Were you inside when the fire started?”
“No.”
“Did you see who moved the display equipment?”
“I saw two men pushing a tall rack through the loading entrance.”
“Who were they?”
“One was a maintenance worker named Silas.”
“Who was the other?”
“I didn’t recognize him.”
Martin unscrewed the thermos cap and took a drink.
“I told them the rack shouldn’t block the corridor.”
“What did they say?”
“Silas said Mr. Voss wanted the equipment hidden before the guests arrived.”
Caleb exchanged a glance with Nora.
“Did you report that afterward?”
“I reported that the corridor had been crowded.”
“That’s not the same thing,” Nora said.
“No.”
“Why didn’t you name Silas?”
Martin looked ashamed.
“Because he had a wife and two small children.”
“Did he ask you not to?”
“He begged me.”
Nora leaned against the brick wall.
“Did Silas survive the fire?”
“Yes.”
“Then he might remember more than you.”
“He died last winter.”
The answer landed heavily between them.
Martin watched a bus pass on the main road.
“His daughter still lives here,” he said.
“Does she know anything?”
“I don’t know.”
Caleb took out his phone.
“Would you speak to the building inspector?”
Martin considered the request.
“I can tell her what I saw.”
“Would you say it publicly?”
“I need to think about that.”
Nora nodded.
“Thinking is better than promising something you can’t do.”
Martin put the cap back on his thermos.
“Your mother came outside carrying a little girl,” he said.
Nora looked up.
“Ruth?”
“Yes.”
“She handed the girl to me and went back inside.”
Nora felt the cold pavement through her shoes.
“Did you try to stop her?”
“I told her the smoke was getting worse.”
“What did she say?”
“She said there were still children waiting.”
Martin looked directly at Nora.
“I should have gone with her.”
Nora had no answer that could make the memory easier.
She asked him to tell the inspector the same thing.
He agreed, and they parted beneath the depot clock.
