to follow, not anticipate, though perhaps there had been a way to get to the bomb
After ten hours of hard solid thought on every possibility he could imagine, Daniel gave up. There were too many unknowns, too many improbable sequences, and all the evidence pointed to the obvious: a faulty bomb, probably a malfunction in the timer.
DANIEL: Hello, Volta? This is Daniel.
VOLTA: And how are you, Daniel?
DANIEL: Broke and nowhere.
VOLTA: (chuckling) At least you’re making progress.
DANIEL: You’d have to convince me.
VOLTA: The last time we talked you were merely broke.
DANIEL: (sullenly) I suppose.
VOLTA: Have you made inquiries?
DANIEL: Yes, but without any startling discoveries.
VOLTA: Are you satisfied Gideon killed your mother?
DANIEL: Not completely.
VOLTA: I’m not satisfied at all. The more I’ve thought about it, the more it seems too improbable that your mother connected the bomb with Gideon just moments before it exploded. As I mentioned before, it seems far more likely she heard something inside the case – some sound, the timer connecting – that convinced her the bomb was about to explode.
DANIEL: That’s my tentative conclusion, also.
VOLTA: Have you explored it at all? The possibility of a faulty bomb?
DANIEL: No.
VOLTA: I have. I’ve talked to four demolition experts who all said it was virtually impossible there would be a warning sound, though it would depend on the type of bomb. One of the experts, ‘Blooey’ Martien said that if your mother was a particularly receptive soul she may have ‘sensed’ imminent death – he entered it as a possibility, but noted it was highly doubtful. However, when I attempted to obtain the police report on the bomb, it was missing. No record. Gone. So while you may indeed be nowhere, you’re not alone.
DANIEL: What do you mean the police record is gone?
VOLTA: I’m not sure I can be more explicit. The bomb report is not on file. With every bombing, there’s a lab analysis of the traces to determine the composition of the bomb, the type of explosive, so forth. Either the report was never filed – highly unusual – or it was removed. Or, mostly likely, it was misfiled in the bureaucratic paper shuffle. You’re welcome to look if you choose. I must say, though, we have an exceptional contact inside the department, and she’s gotten nowhere. Also, your inquiries will no doubt excite their curiosity about you, thus their scrutiny, and perhaps their wrath.
DANIEL: How do I know that you’re not making this up?
VOLTA: You don’t. But you’re free to verify the information. In fact, we’ll increase your pay to $120 a month to do it. It’s a rather strange arrangement, paying you to verify our honor, but
AMO has traditionally delighted in strangeness.
DANIEL: I’ll take your word for it. But thanks for the raise. I can afford lunch twice a week now.
VOLTA: Really, Daniel. Like most human beings, sniveling does not become you.
DANIEL: (quickly, trying to catch Volta off guard) Did you know my mother was seeing Shamus in Berkeley?
VOLTA: No. But I clearly surmised the possibility, since I did request your mother to call me should he appear.
DANIEL: What made you think he’d show up?
VOLTA: His eyes when he talked about Annalee.
DANIEL: Were you having Shamus watched? Or us?
VOLTA: (patiently, but with some snap) No, Daniel. You must understand that while I didn’t want Shamus stealing nuclear materials, and would have tried to dissuade him, I would not have physically intervened, and certainly not by killing your mother. If you think differently, we’re wasting each other’s time and spirit.
DANIEL: I’m sorry if I offended you. I’ve been asking questions for the past few months and I’m a little hungry for some answers.
VOLTA: All I can give you is my word that I knew nothing of the plutonium theft until the day your mother died in the explosion.
DANIEL: One of the reasons I ask is that Shamus says not to trust you. I wonder if
VOLTA: Less so lately than before. He’s not doing well. He’s evidently drinking heavily and taking drugs – one of the painkillers, Percodan or Dilaudid.
