A Ghost of Justice (10 page)

"Same as you."

"Enough.  Truce.  You want a news feed?"

She nodded.

He handed her a five-dollar coin.  "Here.  Go get one," he said, pointing to the bank of media links behind her.

"And I thought you were going to get it for me."

He said, "Well, I'm paying.  That should count for something."

Emily went, bought a download of the National Post and returned to the table.  She set it for sharing to her father's PDM and they settled into reading of the world's affairs, forgetting about theirs for a while.

Thirty minutes later she closed the editorials and glanced around.  For the moment the little vending area was empty but for themselves.  Finally she felt she could ask him.

"Dad… Why did you turn him down?  The private investigator, I mean.  Other than the politics thing."

Eric Sheafer looked up at the opposite wall for a second, then at Emily, searching for a way to say what he was thinking.  "Em, I had a bad feeling about him."

"So did I.  But I can't say for sure why."

"Well, partly because of his association.  But the way he presented himself.  I've seen his type.  Before you were born - before
I
was born - they would try to scare people into buying more insurance than they needed: cancer policies when it was covered by your health insurance, six or seven life policies, flood insurance even if your house was on a hill in the desert, extended warranties on all manner of products.  These things rise and fall in terms of legitimateness.  Most products are generally sold by companies that stand by their work.  Most insurance firms are reputable.  But there's always something that is in vogue for shaking people loose from their money for little or no return."

"Like this."

"Yep.  They prey on helplessness.  I can't stand that sort of thing and I won't be a victim to it.  This Maxwell fellow may actually help someone, but you can bet it'll take at least a week longer than it should.  Everyone who hires him is asking to be cheated.  He ought to be locked up himself.  I just hope Kelly's parents don't get involved with one of these leeches.  They can't afford it, plus Mary Alice has enough to do helping Don through his illness."

"I think that's what I felt about him," Emily said.  "He struck me as too well- lubricated."  When Eric seemed to miss the vogue colloquialism, she explained, "All sales pitch, no substance."

"Exactly."

"Is that why you said to Mary Alice not to worry about Hardy?  Because of Don?"  She gazed out at the steady passage of sightseers in the main hallway.

Eric nodded.  "She doesn't need anything else at all right now."

"Yeah.  It's…"  Emily forgot her words.  Her attention had been drawn to a  man.

21

The
man was shuffling among a group while not seeming to belong to it.  Wearing a dirty olive raincoat, he had a short, scruffy beard, more unshaven than groomed.  And he was so thin his coat hung on him like a drape.  He faced in her direction, then went on.

"Oh, God!  I think it's him," she gasped.

Emily jumped up, bumping the table, knocking over what was left of her cocoa, and ran to the main corridor.  Eric followed as quickly as he could, but she was already out in the hall.

She stopped short, scanning the area.  It was filled with ambling people.  "Damn," she complained.  "Where is he?"

Eric reached her side.  "What was he wearing?"

"Looked like a raincoat.  Kinda dirty green."  Then she caught a glimpse of it.  "There!"  She pointed and started pushing her way through.  Eric followed, then led the way as he became more efficient in plowing through the mass.

A yelp erupted ahead, followed by an actual scream.  A woman shouted, "My bag!  He stole it!"

She kept shrieking, but Emily paid no attention.  She focused on looking for rapid flight and keeping an eye on her father.

To the left, in a narrow space between two large orbiter exhibits, she saw the green coat fleeing.

Shoving stunned people aside, she heard one man curse as he stumbled.  Belatedly she alerted her father, "Dad!  To the left!"

Then she had escaped away from the throng and no one was between her and the green coat.  She broke into a sprint.

He reached the side exit.  Opening the door slowed him some and she gained a few yards before he got out.

Gauging the distance, Emily threw herself against the door before it could re-close.  It gave her a good jarring, but it worked.

Still moving, she looked around the instant she was outside.  Hardy was running west, toward the Washington Monument.  She sprinted after him.

He only had a forty-yard lead and she closed it fast.

He glanced back for the first time and audibly gasped.  Tried to put on more speed, but instead slipped and sprawled on the grass.

She tackled him as he tried to get up and they slid a few feet, but she kept a tight grip on him until Eric caught up.

She looked up to see him grab Hardy by the collar, pistol out.  Turning away, she waited for the shot to come.

It didn't.

"Damn it," Eric said savagely.  "It's not him."

She raised herself on an elbow and grabbed the coat, yanking the man around so she could see.  The face was similar.  But, up close, definitely not Hardy.  This man's eyes were too far apart, among other details.

"Oh, damn!"  Emily released the coat and beat the grass with her fist.  She scrambled to her feet, accidentally kicking the purse snatcher, but not caring.  "So what do we do now?"

"Hold him for the cops," Eric said, disgust plain in his tone.

While holding on to the guy, Emily became aware that a crowd had gathered around them.  Most were the usual onlooker types, but a few seemed to be muttering in irritation.  Gradually she was able to catch some of the words.  They weren't pleasant.  And they seemed to be divided evenly between two views.  One was that they should let the man go, while the other were saying to beat him, now.  That group was getting louder.

Finally her father stood, making his gun obvious, and said in a loud and insistent voice, "We will do nothing but wait on the authorities."

This caused them to draw back a bit and quieted most of the talk.  But Emily heard at least one more.

"G'damned Wall Street enforcers."

She thought the slur might be directed at her and her father.

An uneasy ten minutes later the Capitol Police arrived, but insisted on taking them all, the victim, the thief, and the Sheafers, to the station.  They also wanted to confirm Eric's purpose and reason for being armed.  The programmed permit wasn't enough for the cops on the spot.

Finally, after five minutes of statement-making made in the midst of an hour's wait, the case officer returned to the Sheafers.

"Mrs. Kursch is very lucky you made your mistake, Miss Sheafer."

Emily sat with her arms folded.  "Damn straight," she said.  "So she has her pocketbook back.  Can we go now?"

Detective McLain's chair creaked as she leaned back.  Sighing, she looked at Emily with great patience.  "I'm sorry due process is inconveniencing you, miss, but there are ways this must be done.  Mr. Caffee, if that is his real name, could go free if we make a bad mistake in handling his arrest.  Fortunately the evidence is accurate and very good.  As for you two, everything checks out with Guilford County.  You may go now."

Eric asked, "How much time will he serve?"

"Two years.  Then out grabbing purses, and other crimes, most likely."

"No sort of rehab, make him a productive citizen?"

"No.  Third offense; he's had his chance.  The system no longer wastes resources on repeat offenders.  Just keep locking 'em up as often as we can."

"Doesn't seem very effective to me."

"Never mind, Dad," Emily said snippily.  "At least they're actually putting the little creep away for a while.  That's more than they do to a goddamn murderer."  To McLain she said, "Where the hell is the logic in that?"

The detective shrugged.  "I don't make the laws, Miss Sheafer."

She got up abruptly.  "Come on, Dad.  The quicker we get outta here, the better."

*

Back on the Mall, near the Lincoln Memorial, Eric went over to an isolated bench and stood by it.  He waited for Emily, his face flushed, to join him.  He motioned her to sit.  Oddly, she felt small and nervous as she did so.

"So you think it was a bother to be sitting in the police station just now?"  His voice was low, which made it all the more intimidating.  He took a deep breath and continued, volume normal, that somehow making her feel less threatened.  "Well, we were doing the right thing, so I don't want to hear any more about it.  If it should happen again, we'll do the same.  And without any disrespectful attitude."

Her jaw dropped.  She started, "I wasn't--"

"You were," he said over her and went on.  "We will do the same.  Except for one little matter.  Don't you ever,
ever
, do that again.  That 'little creep' could've hurt you or killed you trying to get away, dammit.  Next time we work it together.  From the first.  Understand?"

"I only went after him because he looked like Hardy, and when he grabbed that purse, I was sure of it.  That was
your
theory, remember?"  The last remark was childish and Emily regretted it immediately.

"Yeah, I know.  And I know you want Hardy bad.  We both do."  He let her think it over.

Finally she said, "I guess I wasn't thinking."

He wasn't accepting blame anyway.  "Damn right you weren't thinking.  That's the point I'm making here.  Hardy's going to be desperate when we actually catch up with him.  He'll do anything to get away."  Eric sighed.  He sat next to her and rested his arm behind her.  "He's killed two of us already.  Let's not give him a chance to get you or me. 
He's
the only one that needs killing."

Emily nodded, feeling very much like a chastised little girl.  "Okay.  I'm sorry."

"Good."  Eric hugged her, brief but strong.

"I won't be so stupid next time."

"I'm glad to hear that.  'Cause, if you are, I'm going to send you home."

"And go on by yourself?  No way!"

Eric laughed.  "Okay, then.  Next time we take the time to make some strategy first.  Then we go after him.  Together.  Agreed?"

"I can live with that," she said.  Silently she added,
Unless I'm forced to do otherwise
.
  But I
will
be careful,
she promised in the same thought.

Eric checked his watch.  "It's six.  Do you want to call it a day or keep going for a while?"

Emily looked about the Memorial and the nearer half of the Mall.  There was almost no one around in the deepening twilight.  "I don't know.  Doesn't look like much is going on out here now and it's getting dark.  And the Metro is, what, five or six blocks away?  Maybe we'd better head back."

"Whatever."

"Plus you've got a date tonight; and it's absolutely freezing out here."

"Oh, yeah.  That
is
tonight, isn't it?"

22

Drying
off from her shower, the house felt delightfully warm after the bitter weather of the day.  Choosing her khakis and a favorite Henley for the evening, Emily looked forward to settling in front of the fire Wally Luptman already had going in the den.  He would want to resume their game tonight and she found she was in the mood for it.

Coming out of the bedroom, she was pleasantly surprised by her father's appearance.  He'd shaved again and had on the best shirt he'd packed.  The pale blue contrasted well with his desert-acquired tan.

"Do you think she'll mind if I don't have a tie?"

"Not at all," Emily assured him.  "Ties aren't your best look anyway."

He looked in the mirror.  "I don't know.  Callie mixes with a pretty sophisticated crowd.  I could be rather underdressed by her standards."

"Dad.  It's a quiet supper in her apartment, not dinner at Club Republic."

"Yeah.  At least I can't embarrass her."

"Look.  I don't really know Callie, but it's obvious she likes you and she seems real nice.  So you'll just have to take your chances.  Or borrow a tie from Wally.  But I think you look just fine.  This
is
a casual meeting, isn't it?"

"Well, yes.  Basically."

"So you have a hidden agenda?"

"Sort of.  Not really hidden.  She really might be able to help, Em.  I'll bet she can help us more than CCF with their 'contacts.'  And she'll do it for nothing."

"How?"

"She's been around here for over a decade and worked with nearly every department in the government.  Even…especially the FBI, US Marshalls, and Justice.  She has friends and acquaintances everywhere.  Some may even owe her."

"Just have a good time."

"I will.  But if she thinks she can do anything, then I'm going to ask her to try."

"Okay.  Drive careful."

"You're one to talk."

"So what?  Do it anyway."

"'Bye, 'Em," Eric said, kissing her cheek.  "Don't wait up."

"I'll be up anyway.  After I whip Wally he'll want to start another game."

"Don't be too sure of yourself.  You might be the one wanting a re-match."

"He'll be crying when you get back.  Now get on or you'll be late."

Across the Potomac Callie Vance had slipped into jeans and a brown sweater.  She checked on her pie, the soup, then the temperature of the wok.  In another few minutes it would be ready.  The rice maker was beeping so she dumped it's contents in a bowl.

The doorbell chimed so she covered the bowl and hurried to let Eric in.

"Good," he said, stepping inside.  "I guessed right.  Casual attire."

"Any chance I get," she said.  "You look good.  I need to do the stir fry.  Put your coat there."  She pointed at the wall hooks.  "I'll be right back."

After the stir fry and a quick check on the timer and she looked in on the pie.  It was done so she removed it, setting it aside to cool.  She grabbed the teapot and carried it out to the table.

"I thought we could talk a little before eating," she said, motioning him over with her free hand.  Setting the pot down next to the early crocus she'd picked on the walk home, she poured both cups.

"You didn't need to go to this much trouble, Callie.  It's just me, an old professor from your past,” he said, sitting down at the table.

"No way.  I
had
to go to at least a little fuss.  You were my favorite teacher.  And it was no trouble.  I like showing off my cooking, and to someone other than myself.  The theme is Thai.  I hope you like it."

"It's among my favorites."

"Good.  The pie's Chinese.  My own recipe:  Mandarin orange."

"Sounds good.  Has anyone else had it?"

"Family and friends."

"So I'm not the first guinea pig."

"No.  Besides, I'm a good cook.  No one's ever died from my stuff."

"Has anyone gotten sick?"

"Of course not."  She waited a beat, then, feeling impish, Callie added, "Except for one friend."  She sipped at her tea, a study of nonchalance, peeking at Eric's raised eyebrow.  Putting the tea down, she grinned and said, "But she was student-teaching at the time and had caught a stomach bug from her class."  Another pause to suppress a giggle with partial success and she added, "Not my fault."

Eric chuckled.  Looking at the yellow flower, he said, "Isn’t this like the ones out on the Mall?"

"No coincidence.  That's where I got it."

"You stopped your car and got out to pick a flower for me?  Very thoughtful."

"Well, I guess it was
thoughtful
, but no bother.  I just picked it as I walked by."

"You walked?"
"Almost always.  It doesn't take thirty minutes, except in deep snow.  That's an hour.  Still less time than to drive and park."

"Isn't it dangerous?"

Callie considered it for a moment.  "Not really.  There hasn't been an assault this year yet, even at night.  Security is far better than the first half of the decade.  I drove all the time back then.  And the media overstates the crime issue, as usual, when they call them riots.  The people are really just demonstrating.  They're hurting, you know."

Eric seemed suddenly thoughtful at that.

Eric seemed to have enjoyed every bite, which pleased Callie more than she expected.  Had she really lacked confidence in hosting him?  The surprises life still could come up with, she mused.

"So, Dr. Sheafer, what brings you to the Capital this time?  Not a grant.  None available right now.  I don't know of any legislation pending that would concern archeology, either.  I
do
know you're somewhat involved in that dig in Egypt."

"Somewhat involved?  I'm the field leader.  I found the site," he said heartily.

But then he was silent, seemingly distracted.  The abrupt change was unsettling.  She reached over and touched his hand, not sure what the mood was evolving into.  She softly asked, "You were about to tell me something?"

"No.  You asked me a question.  Not the same."

The words came out emotionless.  Callie didn't know what to make of them.  She decided not to press the issue.  "Sorry.  I was just curious.  If it's something you really don't want to talk about, then--"

"Yeah, well, in a way," he interrupted, but without rancor.

Confused, she said, "In a way, what?  You do want to talk about it, or you don't?"

"Both."  He spoke softly, but followed it with a forceful sigh.  "Look.  I'm sorry this is getting hard for you, but it's helluva lot worse for me, Callie.  It's…personal."

"So I'm beginning to understand."  She looked closely at his face.  He was staring down at his empty plate as if he would get some sort of answer or motivation from it.  The muscles around his mouth worked ever so slightly.  He seemed one second about to say something, then the next his mouth would set into a tight line.

She got up and cleared the table, hoping the activity followed by a moment of privacy would help him get his thoughts together.  He stood and walked into her living room.  She laid the dishes on the counter and went in with him.

He wheeled around as soon as she crossed the tile of the dining area and said to her, "It's personal, all right.  But it's not private.  I'm surprised you don't already know, Cal.  It's been on national news feed, for God's sake."

"Well, I've been rather busy.  The whole office is.  I don't get all the news.  My secretary screens much of it for me.  He's very good, you know…"  Callie let her voice die.  It wasn't like her to babble, to drift from the subject.  Or be defensive.  "What's been in the news, Eric?  What is it?"

He turned and walked over to the sofa.  "Oh, God, Callie," he said softly.  "I…I didn't mean to direct that at you."  He sat down heavily.

She came and sat next to him.  "That's okay.  Now, what has got you so angry?"

Eric leaned back and took a deep breath.  He let a little out, speaking with the remainder.  "My son, my daughter-in-law…" he said quietly.  "They're both dead."

She gasped quietly.  "No.  How?"  She regretted the question even as it left her lips.

Eric seemed not to have noticed.  "I'm here looking for their murderer.  They caught him, tried and convicted him.  All while Em and I were still in Egypt, unaware.  They tried to get us word, Bob and Andrea, our lawyer, even the damned county prosecutor.  But there's always a lot of human and natural disruptions of com, particularly with the sun storms going on.  Finally the lawyer got to us with suborbital mail of all things.  But they had to let the guy go before we even got home."

"Why?  How?"

His eyes came around to rest on hers.  "Vigilante conviction."

She felt the tightness that had come into her face drain away.  "Oh," she said inadequately.  Callie knew the law.  She had advised against it to every Senator and all the members of Congress that would hear her.  But too many felt compelled (or were just too stupid) to vote for it, saying,
We have to balance the budget somehow.  Cuts have to be made
. 
And people should take the responsibility
.

She asked, "Is there anything I can do?"

"Can't think of a thing."  Eric sounded defeated.  "I'd hoped, but I can't think of anything you really could do.  I thought once that maybe you'd have contacts with the FBI, things like that.  But then I realized that wouldn't help.  The police have washed their hands of this business, just like the courts.  They won't do anything unless they stumble on him.  And then all they'll do is let me know about it."

Eric leaned forward, elbows on knees and chin in his hands.  Then he rubbed his face and sat straight up.  "They leave it to the
family
to execute the man," he said, almost to himself.  "You know, to some people, that's also murder.  They won't be able to bring themselves to do it, maybe even won't consider it.  Being legal won't make any difference to them."  He turned and faced Callie again.

She felt a heavy nervousness.  Not of herself, but from the sheer tension coming from Eric.  She placed a tentative hand on his shoulder.

"We haven't figured out what to do with David, yet.  He's my grandson.  Steve's son.  He's only nine.  Frank, my nephew, he's got him for now.  He's got a wife and a seven-year-old daughter.  Or maybe with Bob, my brother.  Andrea's a terrific woman, and great with kids.  That way, either way, he'd stay in Greensboro, near friends and among family.

"God.  With me, he could be left behind or swept off to who knows where.  Sure, I normally spend most of the year at the university.  But… You know, Callie, I'm likely to be off on the other side of the world at only a few days' notice.  Even if it's planned way ahead, if he's getting excited about the trip, and then the funding falls through… I've been through that disappointment often enough.  And I'm an adult; I'm supposed to be able to handle that.  One time I behaved so badly Rose threatened to put me out in the garage.  Wouldn't even speak to me until…"

The animation drained out of him in an instant.  He leaned back, his whole body sagging.  In a whisper, he said, "He just walked into the house, they said.  Supposed to've been drunk or high or something… Wanting money."  Eric's voice thickened.  "They found a fifty on him.  It had Steve's blood on it.  Kelly's blood was all over his shirt, the inside of his jacket.  Campus cop caught him trying to wash it out in a sink in one of the classroom buildings."

He hunched back over, his forehead on a fist.

He struggled to speak.  "He…beat them to death, Callie.  He just went in there…and…"

His crying startled Callie, confusing her.  She reached around and held him tightly, not knowing what else to do.