The Wallis Jones Series Box Set - Volume Two: Books Four thru Six

by Martha Carr

  Paulie was chewing on his bottom lip as if he was trying to decide something. “Ain’t worth the trouble,” he finally said. “Rodney Parrish had a couple of benefactors. That deputy sheriff, you know, the one who died in that house.”

  “The home of Wallis Jones,” said Buster.

  “Yeah, I suppose so,” said Paulie. “He was one of them. He hired Rodney most of the time to steal stuff or to threaten somebody. He wasn’t really into murder until he had something he wanted to take care of himself. Have to admire that.”

  “You said there was a couple of benefactors,” said Biggs.

  Paulie hesitated, turning his head again and scratching his neck. Biggs took a step back and gave him a little room, lowering the tension. Buster looked a little surprised. It was normally Biggs’ style to not let go of something once he had clenched down on it. He could be like an angry pit bull.

  “Tell you what,” said Biggs. “I bet I can write the rest of the story for you. That other benefactor, the one you don’t respect so much. Nobody does. He’s better at taking orders that actually getting his hands dirty and that’s the sort of guy none of you like.”

  Ralph was nodding his head but Paulie was doing his best to have a blank expression.

  “But he would have to be somebody who hung around here all the time. Maybe even be somewhat of a friend to our late deputy sheriff, Newman. He would have to be associated with every one of those dead bodies I mentioned and even Harriet Jones, somehow. I can only think of one person who would be at the end of that breadcrumb trail. Richard Bach.”

  A shudder went through Paulie’s body and Biggs knew he had him. He glanced over at Buster who pursed his lips as if he was about to whistle.

  “It’s so obvious once you get that piece,” said Biggs. “Would you agree, Buster?”

  “Little surprised I didn’t see it sooner,” he said, spitting on the sidewalk. A scowl had come over his face and his mood had clearly darkened.

  “You see, my partner here, Detective Busby doesn’t like being fooled. Normally, it’s Parrish and we would go and talk to him, if you know what I mean. But he’s in a potter’s field by now and so we’re left with you two.”

  Biggs took a step forward toward Paulie again till their noses were almost touching.

  “It’s not helping your case that Richard Bach has a job way above his skill set. We can’t even easily explain how he knew President Reese, much less how he became her closest advisor. Sounds like he got paid for a job well done.”

  “Have to agree,” growled Buster.

  Paulie pressed his back against the brick wall trying to gain a little space between himself and Detective Biggs.

  “Even if we were to confirm what you’re saying, what would it matter?” asked Paulie. “What are you going to do? March into the White House and arrest Richard Bach. Somehow, the dumbest white man we know, hell, the dumbest man alive who should be dead a thousand times over came out of this whole story better than anyone. Do you realize that if everything you say about Richard Bach is true? That he managed to get rid of the two people who were most likely to turn on him and that he didn’t have to do it himself. That’s its own kind of stupid genius.”

  “Then you can do me the favor of at least confirming what I do know,” said Biggs.

  “I tell you what, I’ll trade you leaving us alone for the rest of our days for something you don’t even know to ask,” said Paulie.

  “I’m listening,” said Biggs.

  “Richard Bach is not smart enough to ever come up with a halfway decent plan. And yet, you haven’t been able to solve any one of these murders. Hell, the FBI can’t figure out who helped our late friend Rodney get into that hotel. You really think that Bach is smart enough to have come up with all the arrangements that needed to be made for that to happen? Who has that much pull?”

  Biggs stood back, his hands on his hips trying not to smile. This was the answer he had come for and was willing to trade almost anything.

  “Deal. You give me the name of the Wizard of Oz and I forget I know either one of you.”

  “Oh no, I’ll need that promise from both of you. I’m not going to look up one day and see Buster standing in front of me and you waiting in the car like that was somehow our deal. I want to hear it from both of you.”

  “Consider it done,” said Buster. “You have my word. We forget we know you with one exception.”

  “Here it goes,” said Paulie rolling his eyes.

  “You bring physical harm to anyone for any reason and I’ll suddenly remember where I knew you from. Anything short of that and we’re good.”

  Paulie seemed to hesitate.

  “Of course, you don’t tell me what I want to know and right now, and I’ll beat it out of you,” said Biggs placing a heavy hand on Paulie’s shoulder. “Normally, I don’t go in for that sort of thing but too many people are dead, along with the President I voted for. I’m willing to make an exception.”

  “I’m willing to help,” said Buster, the scowl still on his face.

  “So we just have to trust you,” said Paulie, looking disgusted. “What’s new?”

  “Take it or leave it. Get something out of all of this or get a beat down,” said Biggs.

  “I’m running out of patience, myself,” said Buster.

  “And I’m a little curious about how you two know my teenage son.”

  “Fine, fine, take your hands off me and take a step back and we can finish this conversation.”

  Biggs took a giant step back and put his hands out shrugging his shoulders. “Well?”

  “This will do you even less good,” said Paulie. “You’re looking for George Clemente, ever heard of his name? I didn’t think so.”

  “Is he with Management?” asked Detective Biggs.

  “Not bad, not bad. I’m only a little impressed,” said Paulie. “You not as far out of the loop as I would’ve predicted but you’re not enough in either. He used to be with Management, at least in name. He had everybody fooled,” said Paulie, chuckling. “Have to give him that. All of them think that they’re smarter than everybody else and they can control everything, including us, even if they won’t let us in on their party. All along, though, they have this sickness right in the middle of things and they don’t even know it. George Clemente. He’s been pulling everybody’s string. But he’s an untouchable. Bigger people than you have tried to take him down and most of them are dead.”

  “Most. So who’s not dead?” asked Biggs.

  “Funny you should ask. Only one family I can think of that has taken on George Clemente and caused him so much trouble and they’re still not dead.”

  “Wallis Jones,” whispered Detective Biggs.

  “Bingo!” said Paulie pointing a finger in the air in triumph. “Good luck finding her too.”

  Biggs put out his hand to shake. Paulie hesitated as if it were a trap and Biggs gave him a smile to encourage him.

  “Deal’s a deal,” said Biggs.

  “Well alright,” said Paulie, shaking Biggs hand. “Deal’s a deal. I know you’re a man of your word and I look forward to not ever seeing you again.”

  Biggs clamped down on Paulie’s hand and jerked him forward, hissing into his face. “But if I ever hear that you’ve come within ten feet of my teenage son, Maynard Biggs I’ll remember who you are pretty damn quick. I promise you.”

  Paulie’s eyes widened but he didn’t say anything. Biggs let go of his hand and stepped back. There was nothing more to say.

  “Come on Paulie,” said Ralph and they quickly turned the corner and were out of sight.

  “What do we do with any of this?” asked Buster.

  “What we always do? We go to the source,” said Detective Biggs.

  “So we find Wallis Jones,” said Buster.

  “No,” said Biggs, surprising his partner. “I mean the original source. We talk to Harriet Jones and I do know where to find her. She’s been staying at Alan Vitek’s house keeping a low profile.”


  “What makes you think that she knows more than her daughter, Wallis.”

  “There has to be some reason that nice old lady still felt safe in Richmond, Virginia even after the house she was living in with her daughter, son-in-law, and grandson got shot up.”

  “You have a point there.”

  They found Harriet Jones sitting in the glass-enclosed greenhouse by herself. “I would not have taken you for someone who meditates,” said Detective Biggs.

  “And you would be right. Did you come to check on me?” asked Harriet, comfortably settled in an overstuffed chair that looked out of place in the greenhouse.

  “That’s always a side benefit,” said Biggs. “But I’m here for a little information and I’m hoping you’ll be willing to help me. I want to know more about Richard Bach, and more about Management. I want to know why you didn’t tell me about George Clemente the last time.”

  “That one is easy,” said Harriet. “I didn’t tell you because I like both of you. I’d like to see you live to be old men even though at my age I probably won’t be around, either way. But I definitely don’t want to attend your funerals. Come, sit next to me,” she said, patting the bench next to her.

  Biggs took a seat next to her but Buster didn’t make a move toward the bench.

  “Too old to sit on some narrow little bench,” said Buster, eyeing the three narrow planks that made up the bench. Harriet gave a snort and a laugh.

  “I understand completely. It’s why I made Alan drag this chair out into the greenhouse. You get to be a certain age and you refuse to be uncomfortable. It’s a sign of wisdom.”

  “Tell me about George Clemente,” said Detective Biggs, a serious tone to his voice.

  Harriet looked back and forth between the two of them, not seeing anything.

  “I remember what you said about Management,” said Biggs. “I don’t have any illusions. After all, President Haynes is dead and no one has figured that out. How hard would it be to kill two detectives that area regular pain in the ass for their captain, as it is. Who would care? I get it.”

  Harriet placed her hands in her lap and took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

  “It sounds like you’ve thought all of this out. I hope so. You are going up against an enormous machine. I’m not including George Clemente in that part of it. He is something new, like a weed trying to strangle the life out of everything it comes across.”

  “Like kudzu,” said Buster.

  “Yes, like kudzu,” said Harriet. “He’s figured out a way to manipulate entire countries, regulate basic needs and take out whoever’s in his way without ever leaving a trace. Like he was never there. Everyone else pays for his crimes.”

  “Is he responsible for the Great Relief?” asked Buster.

  “Believe it or not, the good guys are responsible for that one. I know you can’t see why but trust me it was for the best,” said Harriet. “And I won’t be giving specifics about that,” she said, pressing her lips together into a thin line. “But I suppose you earned the right to know about George Clemente, or at least what I know. He’s an overly intelligent man with a single mission. Singleness of purpose, mixed with a sociopath who is not interested in killing except as a means to an end is the most dangerous thing there is.”

  “What is he interested in?” asked Biggs.

  “Power, control. For him that’s better than money or love or anything else you can name. The trouble with power is it’s always incomplete.”

  “If he’s not responsible for the Great Relief, what exactly has he done?” asked Buster.

  “I can tell you what I know but there’s always a sense that with Clemente there could be something else that lies under every layer you find. What I know, is that he’s made deals with different countries like China or Angola or even the U.S. to control the flow of water.”

  “Water? How do you control water?” asked Buster.

  “These days, it’s not that hard. Either water’s been overused, rerouted, or polluted. Clemente saw it coming way ahead of everyone else and he made inroads over time with the largest population in the world. China. He knew he had some time so he didn’t rush things and at the same time, he set off small, murderous plots that kept us all distracted. All along, he was after water, and what it could bring him. More precious than gold. People need water to live. You can’t choose not to drink it. Countries have decided to work together, and stop bombing each other over the use of water.”

  “It’s probably even better than killing off everyone in a war because without people to know that you’re in power what fun is it?” asked Buster.

  “That is another dangerous thing about Clemente. He doesn’t seem to care if anyone knows what he’s up to. At least not the general public. Perhaps it’s enough for him to know that his closest enemies are aware of at least some of what he’s up to. That seems to bring him great joy,” said Harriet, letting out a weary sigh. Biggs was reminded of how old and frail she was, despite how often she had been willing to pull a gun on someone.

  “Are you his closest enemy?” asked Biggs, gently.

  “No, my daughter and her family are his closest enemies and try as he might he hasn’t been able to take them out.”

  A look of wonder came across Biggs face as he seemed to figure something out.

  “The Great Relief,” he whispered. Harriet gave him a smile.

  “Without debt,” said Biggs, “everyone lost their standing in the world for just a moment, including Clemente. There wasn’t any power to grab. You put a kink in his hose.”

  “Well, someone did,” said Harry, giving him a wink. “But let’s choose a different road to go down. Why is it you want to know about George Clemente?”

  “Because of what he’s done to my city,” said Biggs. “There are too many open murder cases that no one’s ever had to answer for, and the one guy we might’ve grabbed is now dead.”

  “Rodney Parrish,” said Harriet.

  “You know about him too. There’s still Richard Bach. He could answer for these crimes but we still wouldn’t have the one man who started it all. Without him, there’d be no guarantee the killing would end, either.”

  “As long as George Clemente is alive, and someone in my family is alive I can guarantee for you it wouldn’t end. There’s something else that seems to bother Clemente that he’ll never be able to do anything about. He craves legitimacy. Like the kind that comes from who your ancestors are and where you’re from and how everyone looks at you like you’re something special just because of your roots. He comes from humble beginnings. Nothing wrong with that but he seems to have swallowed whole the origin story of Management.”

  “What does that have to do with you and Wallis?” asked Buster, as he slowly paced the greenhouse.

  “That is a long story,” said Harriet. “The short version is that there are two large organizations, the Circle and Management and there are only two people who just happen to be born from both sides. Wallis Jones and Ned Weiskopf. Neither one knew anything about it till recently and both would gladly give it up if just to go back to a normal life. George Clemente would do anything to have what they have and he never can. He’s decided that controlling their lives will be what he has to settle for. But so far, his plans have not gone as he expected, and that’s saying something. Does this help you two boys at all?”

  “I have to say, I don’t see how,” said Buster, who had stopped pacing and looked frustrated but Biggs was looking off into the distance again.

  “Yes, actually it does. I don’t know exactly how we can help I just know that we can offer our services. If George Clemente’s ultimate goal is to control your family, then we can join your team and prevent that from happening.”

  Harriet shifted in her chair, trying to get comfortable.

  “You want me to put your purse up here on a shelf?” asked Detective Biggs.

  “Oh no, honey. No one ever touches my purse,” said Harriet. “Think long and hard about what you’re o
ffering us. There’s an ending coming and not everyone will survive. I’m hoping it’s George Clemente who dies and we can serve his head up on a plate. It’s the only way I’ll believe he’s dead. But I’ve been around for a long time and watching everything unfold from a very special perch. George Clemente may win yet and if he does I don’t think any of us will survive it this time.”

  “Then you will need our help,” said Buster.

  “We can be very helpful,” said Biggs. “I’m tired of anyone thinking they can run my town.”

  Chapter 10

  “I feel like I’ve spent half my life underground,” said one of the Watchers traveling with George Clemente.

  “You want to get us killed?” asked the Watcher, walking next to him. George Clemente was further ahead and didn’t seem to notice. They were traveling through a tunnel that originated near the Metro stop at Union Station, not far from the Capital or the White House. The tunnel predated all of them. It had been done during revolutionary times as a means to escape the British.

  Its existence was known only to the upper cells of both Circle and Management, and because of the current President’s betrayal, George Clemente now had full access. He was traveling to meet with President Ellen Reese to finalize the details of who would sit on the thirteenth circuit as a judge and preside over the trade deals that would ultimately affect his ability to ship water in and out of the United States.

  The tunnels had always been rumored to exist. Everyone in Washington knew about them but very few had confirmation. Some of the Watchers who had left Management to join with Clemente’s force were also former Secret Service under different administrations that had been controlled by Management. They were more than eager to win favor with Clemente and map them out for him.