Together Ben and Belinda approached the side of Maria’s bed. “Mrs. Truong?”
The top of her head was wrapped in bandages. Her eyes seemed unnaturally wide and hollow; after a moment Ben realized it was because her eyebrows and eyelashes were gone.
Slowly her eyelids opened. “Yes?”
“Ma’am, my name is Ben Kincaid.”
“Are you the one”—her voice was broken and hesitant—“in the fire—”
“No. That was Colonel Nguyen. He carried you out. Saved your life.”
“The Colonel. Yes.” She wet her lips with her tongue. “A great man.”
“Ma’am, I’d like to ask you a few questions. I’ve already spoken to the rest of your family, but they didn’t have much to tell me. I thought you might have seen someone, or might know something, about what happened last night. If you don’t feel up to it, though, just tell me and I’ll stop.”
Maria tried to nod, but found it difficult to move her neck. Her skin was thick and leathery; her burns were hardening to eschar.
Belinda reached across the bed and gently raised the woman’s pillow. Maria smiled appreciatively.
“Did you see what happened last night?”
“Truck,” Maria whispered. “Black. Threw something …”
“Did you see what was thrown?”
She shook her head.
“Did you see who was in the truck?”
Again she indicated that she did not.
“Do you have any idea why they would single out your house?”
She didn’t. Her eyes became watery. She moved her arm toward Ben, but it was restricted by the IV.
Ben untangled the IV tube. He reached out to take her hand, then froze. It was not a hand at all. Not anymore.
He touched her shoulder lightly and hoped she had not noticed. “My understanding is that you lived with your husband and your ten-year-old son. Is that correct?”
“Yes. Are they—”
“They’re fine, ma’am. The boy’s a little shaken up, but he’s not hurt.”
“And Vanh?”
“He’s fine, too. They visited you while you were sleeping. I’m sure they’ll be in again soon.”
“That is … good.”
“Do you know why—” How should he put it? He didn’t know. It was best to just get it over with. “Do you know why a baby would be in your home?”
Even given the limited powers of expression her charred facial skin allowed her, Ben could tell she had no idea what he was talking about.
“Is there anyone who might leave a baby with you? A friend? Or a relative, perhaps?”
“A baby,” Maria repeated. “I always wanted a baby. Tim is my stepson. He was five when I married his father.”
“Do you know where a baby might’ve come from?” Ben repeated.
“No idea.” A horrified expression passed across her face. “Was the baby—”
“No,” Ben said quickly. “The baby is fine. Everyone else got out without injury.” So call him a liar. This woman had enough pain in her life.
Maria tried to roll over on one side, but her burns were too sensitive. She gasped suddenly, then released a small, stifled cry. She rolled onto her back, her face contorted in agony.
Ben fought back his tears. Burns had to be the worst kind of suffering. The absolute worst.
“Can you think of anything else that might help us determine who set this fire?” Ben asked.
He could tell Maria was trying to think, but nothing came to mind. She probably had more pressing concerns.
“Thank you for your help,” Ben said. “I understand they’re arranging transportation to take you to the burn center—”
“No!” Maria said suddenly. “No more … treatments.”
“Ma’am, they can help you—”
“No.” She held up her hands and gazed at the charred, misshapen stubs that remained. “I’m done.”
Ben looked to Belinda for help. On his own he couldn’t find the words.
“Mrs. Truong,” Belinda said, “you have our deepest sympathy for your misfortune.”
“Not so bad,” she whispered. “My boy is fine. My husband … also.” Her eyelids slowly closed. “That is enough.”
35.
THE NEXT DAY BEN rose shortly after the sun did. His usual Sunday morning routine was to tumble out of bed, feed his cat, pour a heaping bowl of Cap’n Crunch cereal, and work the Tulsa World crossword. This morning, unfortunately, he had no cat, no cereal, and no crossword. He would have to settle for a quick wash and a shave in the lake.
He’d had a good night’s sleep, all things considered. He only dreamed about the fire twice. Dreams—nightmares actually. Horrible nightmares. Ben hoped he never came anywhere near fire again.
He brushed his teeth and tried to shift mental gears. He had several tasks he wanted to accomplish today, and several people he needed to talk to before the trial began.
After he was dressed, he took a powdered doughnut from a plastic bag in his tent and waited for the rest of his staff to assemble. To his surprise, Christina was the first to arrive.
“Morning,” he said. They had not spoken since their previous argument. “Thought you were staying at Mary Sue’s.”
“I am,” she said flatly. “I came out early to catch the bass while they were still sleepy.” She took a Coke from a cooler and popped it open. “I hear you’re going to church this morning.”
“Seems appropriate,” Ben said. “After all, it is Sunday.”
“And you’re taking … that woman.”
“Belinda?” He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. She should be here any minute.”
“You two have been spending a fair amount of time together.”
“That’s true.” He coughed. For some reason, he was suddenly uncomfortable. “She’s a very brave woman. Smart, too.”
“I see.” Christina stared at her Coke can. “Why are you taking her to church?”
“It would be stupid to go alone.” He looked up suddenly. “And you won’t come.”
“Ben, I—”
“It’s not too late, Christina. The trial hasn’t started yet. I need a legal assistant.” He brushed the doughnut crumbs off his lap. “That isn’t quite true. I need you.”
“Ben—” She pressed the Coke can against her forehead. “I can’t do that. If I did, I don’t know how I could sleep at night. I don’t know how you—” She shook her head.
“Of all the people in the world,” Ben said quietly, “I thought you would understand.”
She turned away. “You were wrong.”
Fortunately at that moment Jones emerged from his tent and joined them. “Did you get that report I left you, Boss?”
Jones had pieced together a bundle of information on ASP financing and ASP activities, both official and unofficial, during the last three years. He gave Ben the lowdown on the survival camps, the scare tactics, the outright terrorism in Montgomery and Birmingham and elsewhere. Ben suspected it would be helpful at trial.
“Thanks,” Ben replied. “I appreciate your hard work.”
“I live to please, Boss.”
“Nice to hear that someone does,” Ben commented. “I have a new assignment for you, Jones.”
“Shoot.”
“I pulled a woman out of the fire the other night at Coi Than Tien. Slim, maybe a hundred and ten pounds, dark hair. White. I think. It was very dark and smoky—I can’t be certain I saw her clearly.”
“Okay. What about her?”
“I want to know who she is, and why she was there.”
“Why didn’t you ask her?”
“She disappeared before I had a chance.”
“Know anything else about her?”
“ ’Fraid not.”
“That doesn’t give me much to go on. But I’ll do my best. Mind if I use Loving?”