A Ghost of Justice

by Jon Blackwood

  They went into his room. After Eric had closed the door, Emily finally turned on him, saying, "Why won't you discuss it?"

  He looked at her uncomprehendingly. "Discuss what? I never refused to discuss anything."

  "No, you don't. Normally. But, normally, you would have been talking away on what Will Cleary said. Yet you haven't said a thing about it." She waited for an answer.

  He sat on one of the room's padded chairs, next to a table. After some reflection, he nodded. "Okay. Maybe you're right. I guess he did kind of get to me a bit."

  "How?"

  "I don't know. I don't know why, either. Not exactly. Maybe the way he just refused to help us. He knows we're hemmed in by the law. Besides, I can feel in my heart this need to…to destroy John Hardy."

  "Yeah," Emily acknowledged. She'd felt that all along. However, she believed she understood why Cleary had refused. She said, "Did you notice his degree?"

  "No."

  "It was in a frame over his desk. A Masters from Duke Divinity. And I remember seeing a book of Pelagius in there. The table next to his reading chair, I think. That would explain his behavior."

  "How?"

  She actually felt herself roll her eyes before she could stop the impulse. It felt childish, but, "You introduced me to Celtic Christianity yourself. Remember the dig in Ireland six years ago?"

  He nodded, looking a little peeved.

  "Remember he said something about seeing the divine, maybe even in killers?"

  Eric nodded again. "So?"

  "Well, that, plus an ivory tower education, and he's got this deep philosophy against killing. Even justice-sanctioned revenge killing."

  "Strange sentiment from someone about to enter the world of ivory towers."

  Emily shrugged. "Can't argue that. Except to say it's different when it's your own; when you yourself are involved. Then all those high-blown ideals kinda collapse. Nothing will make me happier than to kill John Hardy. Maybe it won't make up for Steve and Kelly, but it would give me a feeling that some sort of justice came outta this. Closure, maybe. And you feel the same way."

  "Yeah." Eric sat staring blankly at the wallpaper. "You're right. The happiest I've been since this started was when I found that note in Parker's transcripts about Hardy being seen at that church."

  Emily sat down on the bed. "I guess it doesn't make it any better that we came so close last night."

  "The less said about that…" Eric started, then stopped in thought. With more animation, he said, "Well, maybe not."

  Emily looked at him dumbly, not following. His face grew hard. He fixed her with the same stare he used when she was a child and had misbehaved. It still worked on her. She waited for what had to be some sort of scolding, though she knew not why.

  "Let's think it through," he declared. "Can you think of any mistakes we made?"

  Emily averted her eyes. She couldn't think under that look. "We should have shot him outright."

  "No. Remember? We weren't sure until we got close."

  She thought for a moment, jamming her hands into her jacket pockets. "I guess not. He surprised us with his actions."

  Someone knocked on the door.

  Eric glanced at it and back. "That's correct. And we'll discuss this later."

  He went to the door, keyed the viewer. Emily saw on the little screen a white-haired man.

  Eric opened the door.

  Standing in the hall, the man was painfully thin. Emily didn't think he was as old as he appeared, figuring it was the way he stood with drooping shoulders. A whiff of some sort of cologne drifted to her nose.

  The steadiness in his voice sounded forced. "May I talk with you, Dr. Sheafer?"

  "That depends," Eric said. "Who are you?"

  "That…isn't important. I must talk with you."

  The man's demeanor disturbed Emily. She curled her fingers, still inside her jacket pocket, around the pistol's handle. It was reassuring.

  Eric continued to keep one hand on the door. "Tell me who you are. I'll be the judge of its importance."

  The man made no move except to lower his head. "Okay," he said with resignation. "I am James Hardy. John…is my son." His voice broke on the last word and he ran a hand over his mouth.

  She felt the new, all-too-familiar, burning inside her. Starting to speak, her father was quicker.

  "We don't have anything to discuss." He pushed on the door.

  "Please, Dr. Sheafer." the elder Hardy pleaded. He held the door's edge with both hands and stuck his foot through to block it. "I must speak with you."

  Eric checked with Emily. She figured the man wouldn't leave them alone until he had his talk. She showed the handle of her pistol, and he nodded. James Hardy was allowed in. Just the same, she kept her hand in her pocket, tightly gripping the gun, finger laying alongside the trigger guard, just like she was taught.

  Eric motioned the man to one of the room chairs. James Hardy followed the direction and sat, hands clasped nervously on each knee. After an initial hesitancy, the thin man spoke. "I felt I…had to come see you, Dr. Sheafer. I read in the morning news that you were here."

  "What? I didn't know anything about that."

  With a brief pang of regret, Emily realized she had kept it to herself what she had seen on Will Cleary's Freader.

  "Oh?" Hardy said. "There's, ah, a story on Mr. Parker's murder. It mentioned he was working for you. It said where he was killed and…so I, ah, figured you were here. I asked…at the desk. They wouldn't tell me. But the feed said Mr. Parker had rooms on the third floor. So…I took a chance."

  "So you are here. What do you have to say to me and my daughter about the death of my son? What do you have to say about your son, Mr. Hardy?"

  James Hardy raised a shaking hand to his temple. "I don't know if I can make you believe me… But I came to tell you John couldn't have killed your son and his wife."

  Emily could only see her father's back, but she knew he was looking at Hardy the same way he'd just looked at her. When he did that it seemed he could see straight into your mind.

  Eric's fists came up onto his hips. "Your son was convicted of the murders, Hardy. You expect me to take your word over that of the detectives and the prosecutor? That of the judge? The jury? Who am I supposed to believe and who am I to doubt?"

  James Hardy held his hands out, palms up. Then he dropped them to the arms of the chair, defeated. "Please, Dr. Sheafer. I know my son. He would never hurt anyone. It… It's just not his way, his… He once studied music and art. He hardly ever got mad. And when he did, he was…he would try to stay calm and resolve things with whoever he was angry with. Most of the time he just blames himself. He isn't a violent person, Dr. Sheafer. He doesn't even like rough sports."

  "I knew my son, too, Mr. Hardy. And the court determined that yours killed mine."

  "Please," Hardy said, arms resting on the chair, but his hands open, pleading. "They're wrong. They must be."

  "I read the court summary, Mr. Hardy," Eric shot back. "Do you want to hear it? I've got it memorized. Your son was there. He was seen and later recognized by my son's neighbor. He had my daughter-in-law's blood all over his shirt. And he had a…a damned fifty-dollar bill in his pocket that had my son's DNA and blood on it. What more do you want? Your son's confession? I don't need it. There's plenty of evidence."

  Emily watched as her father walked over to the dresser. She caught a glimpse of the redness of his face as he did so.

  Eric turned back on Hardy and, though not any louder than normal, the cutting edge came out sharper. "My son's neighbor saw your son throw Kelly down then run off. She hit her head against a concrete planter on their patio. I don't know how he and she got out there. The neighbor said he heard lots of awful screaming just before. John must have dragged or chased her out."

  James Hardy made a motion to cover his ears, but he drew his hands back down.

  Eric continued with the description. "That's the way the police figure it. They think that the neighbor probab
ly kept him from doing more by turning on his floodlight, not that it mattered. At any rate, he got a good look at your son before he ran off. That fall killed Kelly. It didn't really make any difference. The medical examiner said she was dying anyway from at least two other injuries."

  "Please," Hardy said again. "There must be some other explanation."

  "What other could there be? I'll tell you the explanation: Your son went in to rob them and he killed them. And all he got was a little cash and some jewels. We still don't know where any of it is. The one fifty was all that was found. He must have hidden them away before his arrest. Some of them were heirlooms. But I don't care about them. I don't care about the money. He took my Steve away from me."

  Emily stared at her father, her chest heavy, remembering every line of the summary as he told it.

  Eric took a deep breath. "Now," he said, voice suddenly thick. "If you have no way to disprove that, then get out. I don't have any more time for you." He turned his back on John Hardy's father.

  But Emily kept her eyes on their visitor. He gave one shaky glance at her, quickly looking away. He was the image of defeat, shoulders hanging lower than before. He stood slowly and went out the door, pulling it closed behind him.

  Emily lowered her face to her free hand. She felt like crying after Eric's speech.

  She became aware of a motion in the room. Raising her head, she saw her father at the door, manipulating the viewer again. "What is it?"

  He held his hand up to silence her. Then he went over to the hotel's room phone unit and rang the desk. His composure almost fully restored, he said, "This is Dr. Sheafer in 307. Have my car brought to the front right away, please. Thank you."

  "What's going on?"

  Eric turned to her and explained rapidly. "We're going to follow him. He'll try to get to John before us and he knows better than anyone where his son might hide. Come on. We'll take the stairs down. I don't want to lose him and I don't want to bump into him, either."

  34

  Emily noticed two things as they came out of the hotel: their car was waiting and James Hardy was on foot disappearing around the corner of the next building. She nudged her father, pointing to the right and saying, "I'll drive. I saw where he went." She was thankful when he didn't argue. Switching the car on, she shifted into gear.

  Traffic was heavy and slow. The instant Emily was able to pull out and around the corner she had to brake for a taxi letting off a fare, but the shift in viewing angle allowed Eric to spot Hardy still walking down the street. As they waited, Hardy crossed over and entered a parking garage.

  They started moving again. Emily saw a loading zone and eased into it. They waited for James Hardy to come out.

  Five minutes later a small, light blue Chevy came up to the ticket booth. No other cars had come out, so it had to be him. Emily waited for him to leave, then, after a quick check over her shoulder, she wheeled out from the curb and into the traffic.

  Up ahead the Chevy signaled a left turn and slowed at the first intersection. Hastily, Emily maneuvered her way across the lanes to follow him. She finally got a good enough look to confirm it was Hardy, recognizing the thin, gray-haired head.

  Eric pulled a map up on his PDM. He also keyed in Hardy's license plate. "This way we can know where we are in the city and keep up with him."

  "Don't worry about that last part. I've already memorized the plate. Plus, he's got a little dent on the upper left side of his hatch lid."

  "You've always had a good eye for details," he said approvingly.

  "Oh? You never told me."

  "Sure, I did."

  "Nope."

  "Well…you do. I hadn't even seen that dent."

  Emily slowed and let another car change lanes between them and Hardy. "Don't wanna get so close he notices us, but I don't want to lose him, either. I'm glad he's going slow. Easier."

  "Exactly. Just watch your driving. I'll keep track of him. He's signaling another left turn up here."

  "Right," she said. As soon as she spoke, she had a better idea. "No. I can keep up with this guy. You watch for anywhere John Hardy might be."

  "You're right, Em. We could spot him at any time."

  "That's what I'm thinking. He looked right at me before he left. I didn't think much about it at the time, but he was real worried. He wants badly to beat us to his son."

  She sensed Eric nodding. He said, "Instead, he's going to lead us to him."

  *

  Emily checked the dash clock. Nearly four-thirty and they were still cruising in the Shockoe Slip district. Hardy was slowing down for what had to be the fiftieth time. A couple of times he actually stopped and got out of the car. Most of the time he just crept along, maybe stopping for a closer look. But then he would move on, never really getting up to the speed limit.

  Emily was finding it more difficult to trail James Hardy than she had expected. Keeping her distance was the challenge. But so far, he showed no sign of noticing them, hardly noticing any of the traffic. Emily cringed again as Hardy narrowly avoided crossing in front of another car. If he had a wreck, then he couldn't lead them to John.

  Finally he turned west on Broad and picked up speed, inching just above the limit.

  "What's he doing?" she asked as she followed. "He won't see his son driving like this." She glanced at her father, seeking his answer.

  He only shrugged.

  James drove quickly but carefully and near the speed limit. He never turned off Broad, but continued on, as if going to a specific destination.

  Fifteen minutes later they had their answer. He pulled into a Chi Ling's parking lot. Emily waited in the turn lane as he drove to a space next to the store building and parked. Hardy then went in the side door.

  Emily checked the traffic and drove in. When they got close enough they could see the little sign over Hardy's parking space.

  "So he's a grocery store manager," Eric observed. "I wondered how he had time to talk to us, look for his son and all. He probably just told his assistant to mind things while he left, no reason given. Now he's got to close up his office." He glanced about the lot. Pointing, he said, "Park over there so we can keep his car in sight."

  She went where he indicated, backing into the spot.

  Just as the sky was getting dark and the wait seemed interminable and she was frozen stiff, James Hardy came out the same side door, carrying a package, and got in his car.

  Emily switched on the Volvo's electric turbine and eased into gear.

  Eric held up a hand. "Wait until he gets to the exit."

  She nodded, thankful as the inflow of heated air resumed.

  Hardy was able to pull out almost immediately. Emily hurried after him. Then she had to stop at the exit as a surge of traffic came on too rapidly for her to get out.

  "Don't worry about him," Eric said, obviously able to see her agitation. "Just get us out without having a wreck."

  "I've never had a wreck," she grumbled, keeping alert for a break in the stream of cars.

  "Oh, really?"

  "Not for a few years, anyway."

  "What about that Land Rover two months ago?"

  "Dad, please don't bother me about that now. I'm trying to concentrate. Besides, that didn't count. Wasn't in this country and it wasn't my fault."

  "Whatever you say," he said dismissively. "Try and get out as soon as you safely can. He just turned off two streets down."

  "Okay." Emily saw a minimal gap coming up. "Here we go," she said, timing it carefully. There was one irritated horn blast, but at last they were out.

  "Which way did he turn and where?"

  "Left, at the next light."

  She checked the outside mirror. "Okay. This'll be a little tricky."

  She signaled, then moved, eliciting a couple more honks.

  When she reached the turn lane, Eric turned and said, "Not very subtle for someone trying not to draw attention to herself."

  "So? You were rushing me, and he's too far ahead for that to be a p
roblem. I just hope we haven't lost him in all this damned traffic." She peered up at the sky. "It's getting darker by the second."

  She saw a break in the oncoming cars and whipped through a left turn. This time there weren't any horns, but it was closer than even she liked. She gunned the Volvo into a high whine to gain ground on Hardy. At the same time she wondered if there was any point. She still hadn't spotted him.

  “Where is he?" she voiced her dismay.

  "I can't see him," Eric said. Then he blurted out, "There he is! He's turning onto Monument." Eric sank back into his seat. "He's going home."

  Emily sighed. "I guess that's natural enough. But I wish he was game for more looking."

  "Me, too." Her father was silent for a moment. Then he said, "When Hardy parks, find somewhere where we can keep watch on him."

  "His car or his house?"

  "Both if you can. House if you can't."

  35

  John Hardy shifted for a more comfortable position. Lying flat proved to make for harder breathing, so he sat with his back to the tree and his feet downhill. That way it seemed his cough did more to clear his chest and he could breath better.

  Dimly he remembered that drinking fluids helped a cold. He resolved to venture out after dark to the nearest vending machine and buy the largest beverage he could with what money he had left. But he didn't feel up to the effort just yet.

  Rest had been nearly impossible. He was hidden off the quietest, remotest road in the cemetery, but cars and people still would come by once in a while. Usually with little warning. Several times he had to stifle a cough as people came by. He hadn't slept at all.

  Finally, the cemetery gate had been locked and the grounds were at peace again. But his cough was worse and he still didn't rest.

  Maybe this was better, he thought. If he stayed hidden long enough, then those people would leave Richmond. It would be safer for him.

  He was wracked by a severe spell. Of course, he thought wryly, I may just die right here and save us all a whole lot of trouble.