A Ghost of Justice

by Jon Blackwood

  She tried to sleep herself, but was too excited to do more than rest quietly or read until the afternoon, when she napped for a couple of hours.

  Finally it was time to eat a good supper and go out into the night to search.

  "I don't know why I didn't think of it myself, Wally," he said as they ate.

  Luptman tapped his fork delicately on his plate. "I must admit that, on first hearing, I was doubtful. But the more I consider it, the better your idea sounds, Emily. Still, there is one factor that sours the whole thing."

  "What's that," Emily asked.

  "Night is the worst time to be out in Washington. The worst time to be out in a city of any size. Do you have any idea how much it increases your risk of being assaulted? Or worse?"

  "Hell, Wally. It wasn't safe for my son and his wife to be in their own home," Eric interjected. "Do you have any idea how much this is likely to increase our chances of finding Hardy?" He stopped and took a deep breath, turning to her. "Em, I've given it a lot of thought. I wasn't actually going to give it to you but now there seems to be a distinct possibility you may need it. I'll be right back."

  Walter Luptman and Emily exchanged glances and shrugs. They turned to Ruth who offered her own shrug.

  When he returned, Eric placed his pistol on the table next to her. Beside it he set down the clip for it.

  Ruth kept her silence, giving a small, knowing nod, but Wally's fork clattered loudly in his plate. "God, Eric! Does she know how to use that thing? It could be more dangerous to her than anything out there."

  As for herself, Emily just said, "What?"

  "It's not loaded yet," Eric answered. To Wally he smiled grimly and said, "She knows. Evans-Thomas' idea. You see, some of the poorer tribes have fallen back onto banditry along the edges of the sand seas. Albert was worried to distraction until he decided we would all be armed - and know how to use the weapons. So Emily knows."

  "But this is your pistol, Dad."

  He shook his head. "Your mother's, actually." Reaching behind him, Eric pulled out a larger version. "I've got Dad's service pistol, too."

  The doorbell rang.

  "Who could that be," Ruth blurted. "In the middle of suppertime."

  She was half-way up when Wally offered, "I'll get it."

  "Never mind. I'm already going."

  Luptman shrugged. While Ruth was away from the table the table, he returned to the subject. "Emily, are you sure you can handle that thing?"

  She picked the pistol up. Racking the action back to be certain it was empty, she shoved it back, then palmed it, snatching up the clip and slamming it in. "Yeah," she said. "I know how."

  "Okay. I believe you. Now please unload it."

  "Oh, it's not really loaded. Yet. The chamber's still empty."

  "Just humor me, okay?"

  Wally sighed with relief when Emily eased the clip out. She stood and found both pistol and clip fit into her jeans, but not in the same pocket. Even then, it was a tight fit. She resolved to put the clip back in when Wally wasn't around. Pulling the pistol back out, she studied it closely. The bore was about a quarter of an inch in diameter.

  "It's an eight millimeter, fifteen round clip," Eric confirmed.

  "Just please be careful, you two," Wally said.

  It seemed to Emily that he, for the first time, was fully appreciating exactly what they were actually doing, and the dangers inherent in it.

  "There isn't nearly as much crime in D.C. as when you and I were young, Eric," he continued. "What with the Addict Houses of the Benevolent Sisters. But, God knows, there's enough to get yourself in real trouble at night."

  "We'll be careful, Wally. Em and I have an understanding." Eric glanced at her. "Caution is a part of this search."

  She nodded her confirmation.

  Ruth came back to the dining room. "There's a man here to see you, Eric. He gave his name as Roy Parker and says he has something important to tell you."

  27

  "I guess I better see him, then," Eric said.

  In the front room Emily saw a stranger about her own height and more than a little overweight. He was studying Wally's bookcase, hat in hand, his back to them. He turned at their entrance, revealing a ruddy face under a balding crown. She caught a faint stale odor off his coat.

  Stepping forward, he held his hand out. "Dr. Sheafer, I'm Roy Parker."

  "Yes," Eric said, shaking hands perfunctorily. "Ms Luptman told me."

  Parker nodded. "I suppose you are wondering why I am here to see you."

  "Of course."

  It no longer surprised Emily how her normally open, friendly father could be so guarded at times, but she still found it unsettling.

  "I'll get straight to the point," the man said. "I have the whereabouts of John Hardy." Roy Parker paused for effect.

  Apparently Emily had inherited her character from Eric for she found herself instantly irritated by the dramatic act. "So, where is he?" she demanded.

  "You must be Emily Sheafer."

  "Right the first time. Now that you've established how smart you are and know who we are, tell us where Hardy is and why we should believe you."

  Parker hesitated, as if gauging the situation. He came to some sort of conclusion, saying, "Whether or not you believe me is your prerogative. Just be assured I know what I'm talking about. John Hardy is in Richmond."

  "How do you know that?" Eric said.

  "I have…my methods."

  Are you a private investigator, Mr. Parker?"

  "The best in the South for this type of work."

  "I've already turned down the services of one of your competitors making the same claim. A very large competitor. What makes you think I'm going to hire you? Just because you say you know where Hardy is and have told me the city doesn't make me feel obligated--"

  "I'm not looking to be hired by you, Dr. Sheafer."

  After a hesitation obviously out of surprise, her father said, "Well, then, why are you here? Forgive me if I don't think it is out of charity."

  "Not at all, Dr. Sheafer. I'm merely performing my contractual duties."

  Emily blinked at that. This conversation was rapidly becoming peculiar.

  "Contract," her father repeated. "With whom?"

  Roy Parker turned a corner of his mouth up in a little half-smile. "I'm not at liberty to tell you, Dr. Sheafer."

  More to himself than to the others, Eric said, "So it is out of someone's charity."

  Parker offered no comment.

  "Why would anyone want to do that?" he asked pointedly.

  "Never mind that, sir. Suffice to say the party has reasons. I, myself, have not been made privy to them. But, personally, I would accept my services…if I were you. This task of yours is hard enough this way, let alone your continuing to do it on your own. That, I think, you'll find impossible.”

  Emily waited for the reaction, for him to dismiss this similarly rude opportunist. She bristled at his insinuations. They had been doing rather well, considering.

  Eric only said, "All right, Mr. Parker. What can you do for us?"

  Emily's jaw dropped, but words failed to come. Only a soft little guttural noise.

  Parker heard the sputtering sound. "Yes, Ms Sheafer? You were going to say something?"

  Embarrassed, she glanced at her father. Obviously he felt this man really could help, or he wouldn't even be entertaining the idea. And she had no concrete objections. He had already provided information, and said he was free to them, paid by someone else. She grasped at anything that would come to mind. "I…I… Well, I just don't like getting help from an anonymous source."

  "Maybe this would help. I am authorized to say this much: my client is familiar with you and your case."

  "Friend or family?" Eric said.

  "My client provided no distinction of relationship, Dr. Sheafer."

  "How much are you costing this…person?"

  "Sorry. Also confidential. I'll discuss finances with you in the future if you should ever wan
t my services personally, doctor."

  "Where is your office?"

  Parker smiled with both corners of his mouth, dodging the question. "For the duration of this contract, I'm instructed not to disclose anything else to you except that which pertains to the needs of your search."

  "Okay," Eric said with a sigh. "I suppose that will have to do." The man was not to be budged beyond his contract, so Emily realized her father was capitulating to this unexpected benefit. "Now, what can you do for us? You say he is in Richmond. Do you know where, or do we have to look all over? It's a damned big city."

  "So it is. Yes, I do know, at least within a relatively small area. And I've arranged accommodations for you both very close to where he has been seen. Here is the address."

  Eric took the offered slip of paper and glanced at it. "Hmm. Em. This fellow doesn't play around. He's booked us rooms at the Murata-Hilton."

  "I do my job well, doctor. The best places in the best locations. But, in this instance, the location was the deciding factor."

  "I didn't think Hardy could afford something like this."

  Parker laughed, face redder than Emily thought it could get. "He can't. Your fugitive has been living like a night animal, scavenging food wherever he can, including the trash cans of fine hotel restaurants in the city. We guess that he hides during the day somewhere. My contact thinks it's just a matter of time before we find where. Now, if you don't mind, I need to get back there. Will you be coming down in the morning? I know you must be tired."

  "Not at all, Mr. Parker. We'll start right after supper."

  "Well, then." He checked his watch. "I'll delay my other business and meet you in the lobby of the Murata at say…nine-thirty."

  "That should do," Eric said, shaking hands again, firmly this time.

  "See you in Richmond, then," he said. Parker gave Emily a nod and one to each of the Luptmans. He put his hat on and left. In the brief glimpse she had of him hatted, Emily thought he looked younger with the baldness covered.

  Eric turned from the door, saying, "Let's finish supper."

  Emily grabbed his arm. "Why did you hire him?"

  "I didn't. You heard him. Someone else--"

  "You know what I mean. This is our problem. We don't need him."

  "Now, listen," he said, taking hold of her elbow, even as she kept hold of his arm. "Maybe we do. This country's a huge place and, big though it is, Richmond is only a tiny spot by comparison. Maybe we would get lucky and find him on our own. But I'm not so sure we would have that kind of luck. At least not quickly. I haven't said anything before now, but I'd begun to doubt if it was possible at all. That silly little program they downloaded to me hasn't so much as chirped since the other night." Eric dropped one hand to his side. "Besides, Parker did impress me some. Despite my own discouragement, I've been thinking more and more that Hardy may have gone to his home town. Plus, what Parker said about how he's living confirms your own idea."

  "I suppose," she acceded grudgingly.

  "And Parker does seem competent. He has already found what city Hardy is in. I was mostly impressed by the timeliness of his work, his professionalism, and the way Parker respected the confidentiality of his client."

  Emily let go of Eric's arm, standing still for a moment, weighing everything that had been said. Then she said, "That's what bothers me the most."

  "What? That he won't betray a confidence?"

  "No. But still… It's that we don't know who, or why."

  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."