Story: Drownings (part four)

Drownings

(part four)

Faia strode next to him, both aware of the woman’s complaint.

“I swear to god! Me! I am not in this,” she was saying, and the tiny dink that followed was the card, binned.

They descended to the water, cleared a gap baffled by rolls of grey rubber—and they were afloat. Half of the walkway seemed forbidden; the allowed parts doglegged segment to segment, cordoned with moveable fences painted yellow. The bridge decking was a warren of scaffolding, risen from barges aside the pontoons.

“They’ll learn for themselves we can’t tell them more than he can see with his eyes,” McAlley said. “Their security chief, if they produce him. Now, in that flotsam round Dustin…we shall name him so…what did you spot that might have carried along with him?”

“It was twigs, brown muck, cigarette ends, beverage cans—grape soda, one. Did he wake up a day or two past…or more, the weather’s been cold…dress lightly, walk out to where we are now…?” She gestured to the deceptive current, so swift it seemed barely to run. “McAlley, he would know about the others. Our newest jumpers are in a different frame of mind.”

“Fair angel-work. Divine another thing.”

The pontoons ended in a caged flight of metal stairs. City buildings clustered this street south to an unused factory, not successfully converted to housing. Chain-linked and boarded from the sight of passersby.

The corner morgue was recent, a color scheme of beige and green, untinted swing doors showing tile and fluorescent lights. All this, and the single row of parking, and even (though they had died, which was something) the frost-heaved mums that lined the walk, felt belonging more to a jobs scheme or permit office.

They entered.

“I am missing one of my employees, sir. Or madam.”

McAlley spoke to a small, empty lobby. A voice came over intercom. “Be a sec, sir.”

“Have you been to the police?” The attendant, in scrubs, came out to them.

“And so,” McAlley said, “is the director in?”

“May I have your name?”

“Bert Swan. Bitterroot Cooperative.”

He watched, and Faia watched, the man write on a notepad, B’root Coop.

“Is there a report on file, Mr. Swan?”

“He’s likely one of the drowned,” said Faia. “We’re curious about the clothing.”

Their helper showed surprise, as of someone’s putting her finger on a matter of his own curiosity. He parted lips, and let a second tick by without remarking.

Then: “I’ll take you down to Mrs. Blaney’s office.”

4

Drownings

Drownings (part five)

(2021, Stephanie Foster)