‘In spite of the fact that they were there, the raid went ahead. Wendell Johnson and Matt Corey were hit with napalm. One burned to death, the other was rescued but had severe burns all over his body. After a long period of rehabilitation in a military hospital, he was discharged, but in a damaged state, both physically and mentally.’
Russell paused again, and in the silence he realized they were both holding their breaths.
‘I have reason to believe that, for some reason I can’t explain, the two men’s dogtags got mixed up. Matt Corey was declared dead and everyone thought the survivor was Wendell Johnson. And when he recovered, he accepted this change of identity. There were no photos or prints to contradict him. His face was completely deformed and it’s quite likely he didn’t have any prints left.’
Silence fell in the room. A silence evoking memories and provoking the appearance of ghosts. Ben Shepard allowed a tear held back for years to roll from his eyes and drip onto the photograph.
‘Mr Shepard-’
The old man interrupted him, looking at him with eyes uncorrupted by age or men. ‘Ben.’
In the light of this unexpected bond, Russell asked his next question in a calm voice.
‘Ben, when did you last see Matt Corey?’
The old man took an eternity to answer. ‘In the summer of 1972, just after he left the military hospital.’
After this admission, the old man decided at last to pour himself some coffee. He picked up the cup and took a long sip.
‘He came to see me and told me the same story you just told me. Then he took the cat and left. I never saw him again.’
Russell decided that Ben Shepard wasn’t a good liar, and that what he had just told him, even if not a lie, was only a half-truth. But at the same time he realized that if he got something wrong, the old man would clam up and he wouldn’t get anything more out of him.
‘Did you know Matt had a son?’
‘No.’
The way Ben Shepard lifted the cup to his mouth again immediately after uttering that monosyllable struck Russell as a little too hurried. He realized that he had no alternative but to let the old man know how important any information he had was.
And there was only one way to do that.
‘Ben, I know you’re a man of honour, in the best sense of that word. And I want to give you credit for that. I’m going to tell you something I’d never dream of revealing if you weren’t the man I think you are.’
Ben made a gesture with the cup to thank him and invite him to continue.
‘It’s a hard story to tell, because it’s a hard story to believe.’
He said that for Ben’s sake, but at the same time to confirm to himself the absurdity of the whole story. And the absolute necessity to bring it to an end as soon as possible.
‘Have you been following the news of the attacks in New York?’
Ben nodded. ‘Terrible business.’
Russell took a deep breath before continuing. He couldn’t do it physically, but in his mind he had his fingers crossed. He looked Ben straight in the eyes. ‘Matt Corey moved to New York after the last time you saw him, and spent the rest of his life working in the construction industry.’
Instinctively, the old man was pleased. ‘He was very good. It was the thing he was born for. He understood more at his age than many people who’d studied.’
There was both affection and regret on Ben Shepard’s face. But Russell felt his own face drawn with anxiety. He took care that what he was about to say should seem an expression of compassion and not an insult.
‘Matt was a very sick person, Ben. And after what had happened to him, the solitary life he led all those years made his mental state even worse. During his career, he planted bombs in many of the buildings he worked on. New York is full of them. Six months after he died, they started exploding.’
Abruptly, the old man’s face turned pale.
Russell gave him time to absorb what he had said. Then, with all the conviction he could muster, he said, ‘If we don’t find Matt Corey’s son, those explosions will continue.’
Ben Shepard put the cup down on the little table next to him, then stood up and went to the window. He stood there for a few moments. He might have been listening to the song of the birds or the beating of his heart or maybe the wind in the branches. Or else something that didn’t come from outside but from inside. Maybe the last words he and Matt Corey had said to each other, many years earlier, were echoing in his mind.
Russell thought it best at this point to clarify his own role. ‘I’m here because I’m working in collaboration with the New York Police Department. It’s a privilege I was given because I had some information they thought would help them. If you talk about it to me, you have my word that I’ll tell them only what’s absolutely necessary to stop the attacks, without involving you.’
Ben said nothing, and still did not turn around. Russell decided to insist on the gravity of the situation.
‘More than a hundred people have died, Ben. And others will die. I can’t say how many, but next time the death toll could be even higher.’
The old man started speaking without turning around. ‘When I met him, Matt was in a reformatory up north, near the state border. I’d won the contract to renovate the building. When we got there and started putting up the scaffolding, the other kids looked at us suspiciously. Some of them made fun of us. But Matt was interested – he liked the way things kept changing in front of his eyes. He asked me questions, wanted to know what we were doing and how we were doing it. In the end I was convinced, and I asked the warden if he could work with us. The warden wasn’t too crazy about the idea at first, but he agreed in the end, though he warned me the boy was a difficult character. His family background was enough to make anyone shudder.’
Russell realized that Ben was reliving an important moment of his life. He didn’t know why, but he had the feeling he was the first person to hear any of this.
‘I became fond of the boy. He was quiet and touchy, but he was a quick learner. When he left reformatory, I took him to work for me permanently and gave him that room to live in. There was a gleam in his eyes when he went in there for the first time. It was the first place he’d ever lived in that was really his.’
The old man moved away from the window and came and sat down again facing Russell.
‘Matt soon became the son I never had. And my right-hand man. It was the other workers who gave him the nickname Little Boss, because of how he ran things whenever I was away. If he’d stayed, I’d have left him the business, instead of selling it to the asshole who bought it. But one day he told me he’d volunteered for Vietnam.’
‘He volunteered? I didn’t know that.’