Angel Landing Read Online Free PDF

“Exactly how did you gain access to this valve?”
    â€œI work at the power plant,” Finn explained. “I’m a welder.”
    I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I find your whole story difficult to believe.”
    Finn brightened, he very nearly smiled. “Really?”
    Perhaps he was one of those desperate characters who felt the need to confess to crimes they never committed. He would then be a client with a string of interesting pathologies, a borderline psychotic, a case of intrigue and neurosis.
    â€œSo you’re the bomber?” I said. “And you say you’ve already gone to the police?”
    Finn smiled briefly. “The police came to me.”
    â€œI see,” I said. “They knew right away to come to you.”
    â€œI think they plan to question every power plant worker, they just happened to bring me in with the first bunch of workers. But it’s only a matter of time before they figure out it was me. Every welder stamps the work he does with his initials. As soon as they find the pipes I welded, they’ll know.”
    He sounded quite rational; truth was a vague possibility. “Have you gone to your family? Have you told them what you did?”
    â€œMy family?” Finn said. “They don’t want to know. They think the worst without being told anything at all.”
    â€œYou can’t be sure of that until you tell them,” I said.
    â€œI can’t be?” Finn said mockingly. “Yes I can. I certainly can. The police came to pick me up for questioning at my parents’ house. My folks were ready to guess I was wanted for murder, manslaughter at the very least.”
    â€œMurder?” I said warily. “What’s this about murder?”
    Finn ignored my question. “Listen,” he said. “Every thing I say here is confidential, right?”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œYou can’t repeat anything I tell you?”
    â€œMorally and legally, I’m bound to keep every word confidential,” I said, but I was beginning to feel cornered, I wasn’t so certain I wanted the information Michael Finn might offer. Of course, in the same situation, Lark would have jumped, she would have shivered at the prospect of an interesting case, she would have delighted in stories of passion and crime. “All right,” I said, “why don’t you tell me more about yourself.”
    â€œWhat should I say?” Finn asked.
    â€œWhatever comes to mind.”
    Finn looked around the room cautiously. His hair was the color of lions; his eyes narrowed with suspicion. He leaned forward conspiratorially.
    â€œI can’t talk about myself,” he whispered. “Not here. Your office could be bugged.”
    â€œWho would want to bug my office?” I laughed, though I had sometimes wondered if Claude Wilder’s desire for total power at Outreach would lead him to electronic devices and wiretapping.
    â€œThe government?” Finn guessed.
    â€œDo you sometimes feel that you’re being followed?” I asked.
    Finn scowled. “Of course not. I’m not paranoid.”
    I wanted to keep him talking, I wanted to get to his dreams and delusions; I wondered if there might actually be enough material in his case for a journal article, perhaps the first chapter of a book.
    â€œSo you insist that you’re the bomber?” I asked.
    â€œDid I say that?” Finn said.
    â€œYou certainly did,” I nodded.
    â€œIf I did have anything to do with the explosion I wasn’t in my right mind,” Finn said. “I could have been temporarily insane. Of course that doesn’t mean I’m saying I did it.” Finn paused. “I’m not saying anything at all.”
    I wanted to gain his trust. “Look,” I said finally, “I didn’t ask you to come here, you decided that on your own. Now you say you don’t want to talk.”
    â€œNot