Free (2012) Cross-Border Murder by David Waters Page A

the front that he tried to put up to protect himself, and us, I guess. He wrote that doing simple tasks, washing floors, cleaning up, kept the fears at bay best. But in the end he could not even look at wood or stones without the knowledge that they were not what they seemed and that he could never know them for what they really were.”
    “I think you’ve lost me.” Ryan said. “Wood and stones are wood and stones and nothing more.”
    The ball game had dwindled down to a depressing end. A strike-out, a pitiful grounder, and a weak pop-up to center field. But we remained in our seats. Gina tried to explain. “I once watched a documentary on PBS where some scientists using computer graphics explained that a baseball and a baseball bat are really nothing more than a lot of magnetized space, with atoms and particles rushing around doing god knows what! But the important thing was that they were certainly not the hard, solid objects we think we perceive with our senses.”
    “Okay. Maybe the scientists are right,” Ryan said simply, “but so what? Most of us don’t dispute what science says, but we stick it in the corner of our minds somewhere, trust what our senses tell us and get on with our lives.”
    “But my father couldn’t.” Gina said with a touch of anger, “the trauma he suffered at Winston stayed with him. Psychologically, his mind had gone out of sync. He lived, he wrote, like a mature Alice in a horrible wonderland beyond the looking glass.”
    Ryan frowned. Gina waited until both our gazes had shifted back to her from the empty field where the tarps were being rolled out. A nervous smile trembled at the corners of her mouth, but her voice came through strong and clear. “That’s why I’ve agreed to sit here with you two bozos and try to explain about my father.”
    Here we go again, I thought. Another attempt at aggression and intimidation. But her phrasing only seemed to amuse Ryan. Perhaps he was impressed by her determination. Or maybe it was the respect and concern she had shown towards her father.
    “I want you to find a way to help me to make amends,” She spoke firmly looking at both of us. But her eyes shifted past me and focused on Ryan.
    “And how do you think we can to do that?” Ryan prodded.
    “By finding the real killer, and then writing a letter of apology to my father and mother.”
    “I see.” Ryan stared at her. There was a glint of anger in his eyes. “There are billions of people in this world who suffer injustice. Millions are traumatized by violence each year. Amends get made to only a pitiful number of them. Life moves too fast. Besides, the resources are simply not there.”
    “That doesn’t justify not trying. Particularly now that you both have the time.”
    Ryan seemed unmoved by the taunt. His eyes remained locked on her. There seemed to be some struggle going on between them. It was the only explanation I could find for what he said next.
    “If we now have the time, we should probably be using it to prevent new injustices, not trying to make amends to those who are now dead.”
    A fragile mask clouded Gina’s face. I sensed how difficult it was for her to say what she said next. “I’m asking you to help in my father’s case. Please. If only because there may still be a killer out there.”
    “Okay. Okay.” He looked at me. I was startled by the sudden way in which he shifted gears, almost as if he had been prepared to do so from the outset. “Sure. We’ll both try to help. First to catch a killer. Second to make amends to your father. What else have we old codgers got to do? Besides, I’ll admit I may have made a mistake in you father’s case. Maybe I owe him one.”
    We all rose. Apart from a few young boys, we were the last to leave the ball park. On our way out we all decided to use the washrooms before heading for our cars. As Ryan and I stood next to each other at the urinals, I asked him whether he had done anything about getting the police