A Ghost of Justice (13 page)

28

Several
cars with flashing blue light strips around their rooflines were crowding the entrance to the Murata-Hilton when they arrived.  Of the police braving the wet cold, most seemed to be coming and going from behind the hotel.  There was one ambulance, flashing only its four-ways.

A fair-sized crowd had also gathered, getting in the way.  The police were none too gentle in keeping them back but did not bother with dispersing them.

"What's going on here," he mused to Emily.

She could only shrug.

A valet wound his way to them, motioning for Eric to roll down his window.  Soon as he had done so, the man asked, "Are you the Sheafers?"

It surprised Emily that the valet knew to ask them.

Raised eyebrows showed it surprised her father as well, but he said, "Yes.  Why?"

"We had been told to expect you."  A fleeting wry smile played on the man's lips.  "I thought it might be you by the description of your car.  I'll park it for you, if you please, sir."

Eric glanced at Emily, then nodded, opening the door.  She did likewise.  He headed for the trunk, taking the car key off the ring for the man.

"I can send your bags in for you," the valet said hurriedly.

Eric didn't even pause.  Opening the trunk, he said, "That's okay.  I'd rather take them in myself."

"Me, too," Emily chimed in, snatching up her own.  "We travel light," she added.

The valet took the key and got in.  "Oh, sir," he called out the still open driver's window.  "The police sergeant said he'll want to talk with you as soon as you settle in."

"Why?" Eric said.

A half shrug accompanied the valet's answer.  "He didn't tell me, sir."  The Volvo started and, after a moment's struggle with the gears, the valet pulled slowly away to maneuver through the crowd of police and onlookers.

With a single glance and mutual decision, the Sheafers started winding their own way through the unexpected throng.  Officers guarding the entrance let them pass inside.

"What happened here?" Eric rephrased his original question.

Emily ignored it as rhetorical.  She kept scanning for Roy Parker, without success. Plenty of little groups of people, each with a cop talking to them, but no bald private investigators.

"Maybe it has something to do with Hardy."  When Emily still offered no response, he said, "Well, we're supposed to have reservations.  Let's go see."

They moved to a self-serve kiosk.  Rooms 305 and 307, adjoining, paid in advance for a week, had been reserved for them.  "You know, just one of these rooms cost as much as a luxury car when you were born," he observed.  After Eric scanned his ID into the e-clerk, two lock-chips dropped into a metal cup with a plastic clink, one for each room.  "At least we can conclude he's telling the truth."

"You mean you were doubting him?"

Eric shook his head.  "Not really.  He seems to be straight-forward.  I think Hardy really is in this town, somewhere, out and about at night."

"Yeah.  So where the hell is Parker?"

It was Eric's turn to shrug.  "Maybe he's tied up with business.  Doubtless ours is not his only case."

They crossed the lobby to the elevators.  As they went by one knot of people, Emily saw that the woman seemed on the verge of tears.  For that matter , the two men looked badly shaken as well.

Nudging her father, she pointed to the scene.  "Something definitely happened here.  Big, too.  I'm with you:  What?"

He shrugged again and stepped into the elevator that had arrived.

There was a man wearing jeans and a windbreaker waiting by the door to 307.  A faint sweetish stench from him irritated Emily's nose.  Actual tobacco odor, coming off his clothes.  The man showed a badge as they came up.  "Are you Eric Sheafer?"

"Yes," Eric said.  "What do you want?"

"Detective Sergeant Yates, Herico County Police.  Please, if I may speak to you both in your room."

Eric raised his eyebrows, sighed tiredly and said, "Of course."  He held the lock-chip up to the door, between thumb and forefinger, and gently squeezed it.  A hum sang from the lock, followed by a loud metallic clack.  The door swung open easily.

They all entered, the Sheafers setting their bags down and Eric shedding his jacket.  Sergeant Yates pushed the door closed, standing just inside the room.

The room smelled of artificial fresheners overlying the faint mustiness of dirty carpet.  The air held a chill.

Emily involuntarily shivered and she wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing her hands up and down.  She could swear that it was colder in the more southerly state capitol than it was in D.C.

Her father said, "Are we in any trouble, Sergeant?"

"Not  really, sir."

"So we might be?"

"That would depend on your definition of trouble, Dr. Sheafer.  You see, a man was murdered this evening, about twenty minutes ago, out in the parking lot behind the hotel.  We understand that you had some involvement with the gentleman.  Not his killing, you understand.  But anything may help the investigation."

"We
had
'involvement' with the dead man?"

"In a manner of speaking.  You see, the man had records indicating he was working on a case for you.”

It was suddenly clear to Emily.  "Mr. Parker," she said.

Eric shot her a glance and nodded, seeming to say, 'must be.'

The policeman nodded knowingly, confirming it.  "So…you can maybe help my investigation by telling me why you hired Roy Parker."

"What?" Eric said.

"Why did you hire Mr. Parker?  I can't make the question any simpler."
"I don't have a problem with the way the question is worded, sergeant.  It's the concept behind it.  The fact is I did not hire Parker."

"Pardon?" Yates said, frowning in his puzzlement.  "How is that?"

"Someone else hired him, though the case is ours.  I am the EOR for a vigilante fugitive case."

This time Yates looked sympathetic.  After all, there would only be one type of crime for there to be an executioner of record.  "We will see to it that you get copies of his pertinent documents.  It seems someone he either worked for or investigated took some action of his too personally.  He was shot-gunned at close range.  We're trying to find out why he was killed and by whom."

Emily winced at hearing about the horrible death dealt Roy Parker.  One of the weapons Evans-Thomas had them train on was a large-bore shotgun.  She remembered what it could do to the straw targets.

"I can certainly appreciate that, officer," Eric said, voice a little shaky.  More steadily, he added, "Other than to tell you he presented himself well and seemed quite competent, I'm afraid I can't help you."

"Look," the policeman said.  "There is the evidence he was working for you, looking for your fugitive.  You know you can't pay him or anyone else to go kill Hardy for you.  You see, that's your job under the law.  So what were you going to have him do?  Have him kill Hardy anyway and risk jail time and his license?  How much
were
you paying him?"

"Dammit, sergeant, I told you:  I did not hire Roy Parker.  I don't know who…"  Eric stopped and looked at Emily.  "You?"

"What?" she croaked, her mouth still dry from hearing about it.  "With what money?  And I didn't like the idea of him showing up at all."

Yates said, "You didn't like Mr. Parker, Ms Sheafer?"

"That's not what I said," she protested, shaking her head.  "I don't even know the man.  What I didn't like was the way he came in and told us what to do and wouldn't even say who sent him."

"Well, do you have any idea who may have hired him?  Is there anyone who would want to help you find Hardy?"

"Oh, God," Emily said in a moan.  "Dad, you don't think Mrs. Morgan hired him?"

"I hope not," he said.  "She can't afford him any more than we can."

"Who's she?" Yates demanded.

"She is my son's mother-in-law.  Um, I guess you need the background.  My son and his wife were murdered by a man named John Hardy.  They said he was a vagrant.  The Morgans were looking for him in Tennessee when Mr. Morgan had a heart attack.  So they're having a rough time of it.  That's Don and Mary Alice Morgan.  I can give you the contact info."

Yates made a note on his pad.  "We’ll check on that.  Is there any other family or friend who could have brought Parker into this case?"

Eric sighed.  "Well, I guess my father could have done it.  He has enough money.  But whether or not Dad would have thought of it, I can't say.  My mother is an invalid and it takes most of his time taking care of her or seeing to her care."

"Invalid?"

"Intractable Alzheimer’s Syndrome."

"Intractable?"

"Unresponsive to treatment."

"I see.  Well, I suppose we can get the Greensboro police to check out Parker's office.  We can find out that way rather than bother everybody."

"Thanks.  We'd appreciate that.  It'd probably be quicker, too," Eric said.

Emily caught on to what Yates said.  "Wait a minute.  You said 'Greensboro police?'  Was Parker from there?"

"Yes.  Didn't you know?  I guess he really didn't tell you much at all, did he?"

"That's what we've been telling you," she said, badly wanting a drink for her parched mouth.  A beer, at least.  "Do
you
have any idea who killed him?"

"Not yet, Ms Sheafer.  But we'll let you know.  Got your n-web addresses from Parker's records."

"Do you think it was John Hardy?"

Yates shook his head.  "I don't know, Ms Sheafer.  It seems unlikely that Hardy did it.  But we hope to find out soon."  He pressed his PDM without activating it.  "I've just sent my contact info to your PDMs.  It will be in your address folder under 'Henrico County Police.'  If you think of anything, just let me or the e-cop know."

"Thank you, sergeant.  We will."

29

The
policeman gone, Eric sighed deeply.  Going to the wall com unit, he tapped it and requested room service.  Emily raised an eyebrow when her normally tee totaling father asked for some cold beers.

He caught the look and said, "I think we need them."

"No kidding."  She went to the adjoining door, opened it and flung her bag inside.  Leaving it open, she slumped, unaccountably exhausted, against the frame, raising her hands to her face and shuddering.

Eric came next to her, placing a gentle hand on her arm.

But she didn't need comforting.  Dropping her hands, she turned to him.  "I'm okay."  Going over to the room's bed, she sat and said, "
What
is going on?  This guy pokes his way in out of the blue…" she waved away the word and corrected herself to include the current weather as she went on.  "…the
gray
, tells us he knows where Hardy is, knows we're looking for him and why.  How does he know all this and who the hell is…
was
he?  And who the hell hired him?"

"I'd like to know those answers myself, Em."  He walked over to the window, pulled the curtain aside to look out, then dropped it back in place.  Activating his PDM, he said, "Let's call Bob.  Maybe he can guess.  Maybe he even knows."

But he stopped, letting the 'waiting' icon hover before him.

"What is it?" Emily asked.

"If Bob knew, he would have told me.  We have our differences, but only in our chosen professions and some philosophical views.  We're far too close for secrets."

Emily thought for a second,, then concluded, "Call him anyway.  You last talked to them on Tuesday and they might have thought of it since then.  Maybe after Mr. Morgan got sick they got together and hired Parker as a group."

Eric considered it.  "No.  Parker would not have been told to keep it from us.  Whoever hired him doesn't want us to know. 
That
is the curious question.  Okay, let's add one more: 
Why
would that person
not
want us to know about them?"

She could only shrug.  "Maybe if Bob knew about this he could help."

To that he nodded.  "Yeah.  Plus I should update him."  He pushed a finger through the floating icon and the keyboard and screen materialized on laser-excited molecules.  Eric selected the com function and picked out Bob's n-address.  The low pulsing tone sounded as they waited.

"Damn," Emily exclaimed as a thought struck her.

"What?"

"This is all we need.  We're out here to get John Hardy and this comes along to distract us.  Maybe Hardy himself hired the guy to lead us off while he heads to the other side of the continent…or the world."

Eric shook his head.  "I think we're close, Em.  Damned close.  Furthermore, this looks like it may get more dangerous than I feared.  Keep that gun loaded and on you."

The soft tone stopped and Andrea appeared, saying, "Eric!  Good to see you."

"Hi.  Yeah.  We're okay.  How about David?  And the rest of you?"

"Good as you can think.  We're doing okay."

"Is Bob there?  I need to ask him something."

Emily kept half an ear open to the conversation as a knock came at the door.  Room service announced itself and she went to collect the beers, tipping the girl with a fifty.  After closing the door and bringing the iced bucket to the table, she pulled one out, opened it and handed it to her father.  Opening the other, she took a long drink from it.

As it sounded like Bob knew nothing and the conversation became more mundane, she tuned it out and pulled out the little eight-millimeter pistol.  Looking it over, she brought out the clip and slipped it in the handle.  The combination was a tight fit inside her jeans pocket so she tried it in her jacket.  It went in easily, but the pocket was too shallow to hold it securely.

She went into her room, fished a sock out of her bag and stuffed it next to the gun.  The result was fairly good, as long as she didn't run or jump.  She would have to remember that and hold it in her hand if she had to do any chasing.  Maybe she would go buy a jacket with better pockets tomorrow.  She set the pistol on the bed and removed her jacket, draping it on the back of a chair.

Holding the pistol up, she removed the clip and checked the chamber to make sure it was empty.  Then she aimed at a lamp across the room and pulled the trigger.  It was a satisfyingly solid-sounding click.

She wished it was loaded and the lamp had been Hardy's head.  That, she felt, would have been satisfying.  She reinserted the clip and returned it to her jacket pocket.

Eric winked out the PDM.  "Well, none of them have a clue.  But he'll see what he can do.  I told him the police there were to search Parker's office and would probably know sometime soon.  I told him to contact them."

"Did you speak to David?"

"No.  He's with Frank and Tricia."  A check on the time and Eric added, "Probably in bed now, too."  Then he sighed.  "Andrea said he got into a fight at school."

"About what?"  She stepped back into Eric's room.

"She doesn't know fully.  It was in the cafeteria.  Tricia is going to see the principal tomorrow.  I got the impression that it wasn't serious.  Just a bunch of shoving.  At any rate, no one was hurt."

"That's good."  Emily couldn't think of anything else to say.

In the silence there was another knock on the door.

They glanced at their beers, which they had in hand, so it wasn't room service.  They looked at each other.  Emily was closest, so she asked who it was.

"Sergeant Yates, Ms Sheafer."

She opened the door and the policeman stepped inside.  His PDM was on in 'mini' mode.  Again the tobacco odor assaulted Emily's nostrils.

"I won't take up much of your time.  As Parker was, in essence, working for you, then I am sending these to your PDMs.  It's all his records on your case, including transcripts of voice recordings."  He typed a couple of characters on the virtual keyboard and stabbed the SEND key.  "Maybe these will help you search out Hardy.  And, who knows?  It might give you insight on who contracted with Parker."  Yates stepped back out in the hall.  "Remember.  Give me a call if you come up with anything."

"Right, sergeant," Eric said.  "And thank you."

Yates gave a friendly semi-salute, pulled the door closed and was gone.

Emily activated her unit and pulled up the documents.  Most of it was stuff they already knew from the trial transcript summary: Hardy's full name, place of birth, age, appearance, family info, and the like.  Nothing helpful, except to suggest that Parker's client knew no more than they did.

"Look at this," her father said, spinning his hologram so she could see.  He pointed a finger at a line of data.  It was the address of Hardy's parents.  Next to it Parker had noted that it wasn't worth checking.  A contact had seen nothing unusual for two straight nights.  Parker had not said what nights those had been.  That brought to Emily's mind the question of
when
Parker was hired.  The answer to that might help the sergeant's investigation.

Eric had continued scrolling through the data while she thought.  Then he announced, "Jackpot!"

"What?"  She repositioned herself to see.

"Right here."  He was pointing halfway down the page.

She read aloud, "'
Hardy ? among congr Wed nite Cary St Non D Ch.  Accuracy 90%.  Contact reliable, same saw target.  To check.  If good, contact sub clients
.'  I guess the latter means us."

"Who else?  He goes on to say his contact watched Hardy leave the church and head east."

"Did the contact follow him?"

"No.  Parker says he cited 'personal obligations' kept them from going."

"I wonder what that means."

"Doesn't say here.  Parker just goes on to speculate that this narrows the search to the southeast section of downtown Richmond, north side of the river.  Parker meant it when he said he was booking us in the middle of where he thought Hardy was."

"Damn.  You mean it's possible we could just walk out and bump into the bastard?"

Eric shrugged.  "Maybe.  We'd better not count on it."  He reached a hand over and squeezed her shoulder.  "But we are so close we're practically on top of him."

"So where do we start?"

Eric grunted, then closed the Parker file.  Pulling up the local addresses, he said, "Tonight we work your plan: go out and look around.  Tomorrow, if we need to, we go to this church.  I have a feeling Parker's contact may very well be the minister."

"'Personal obligations?'"

"Exactly."