A Ghost of Justice (12 page)

26

Emily
woke with a start.  Somehow she knew
someone
had been in the room.  She looked around, straining to see in the dark.  A thin line of light glowed under a door.  A  moment of foggy brain passed as she grasped where she was and that the door was to the bedroom of the Luptman's ground floor.  And she relaxed.  The 'someone' had been her father.

Maybe I should go talk with him, ask how his date went, she thought, but dropped the idea.  She was too sleepy.  Besides, the clock on the t-vid said 2:42.  She simply laid back down, assuming he'd had a good time to be so late returning.

She was aware of nothing more except a sensation of running and running.  It wasn't until she saw the little red numbers saying 6:11 that she was sure the running had been a dream.

Emily swung her feet down and rubbed her eyes.  She yawned and went to the bathroom.  Splashing cold water on her face, she decided it
was
time to start running again.  Lacking proper clothing, she pulled on a pair of jeans and a heavy sweater.  She'd be back before her father got up.

Outside the air was crisp, clean, and freezing cold.  Stretching and shivering, her breath blew out huge clouds.  She looked up at the stars showing clear even in the city sky.  No breeze stirred.  Today will be a little warmer, she thought.  Maybe even pretend to be pleasant.

Then, not knowing the neighborhood, but assuming it was about the same for several blocks, she decided to start down toward the river as a warm up.

She was glad of the choice by the time she reached the lower street.  Her thighs burned from lack of exercise.  She turned left and followed the river, passed under a bridge, negotiating the large ice patch with mincing steps.  Then along a series of apartments.  Next was a block of fashionable homes and a couple of blocks of cleanly kept row houses.  A section of small shops followed that.

Now into her stride and feeling less of the burn, she turned from the river, deciding to continue a bit further unless she struck a bad area.

The shops continued along the rising street and consisted mainly of little antique and novelty stores, coffee shops, florists and the like, with occasional alleys in the middle of some blocks.  Even those seemed clean from what she could see in the dim pre-dawn.  So she kept running.

The street gently curved on upward until she felt she must be higher above the river than Wally Luptman's home.  As the sky slowly brightened to the pearl of real dawn, she sometimes caught glimpses of the Potomac, running high on its banks.

A sharp metallic clatter erupted from the ally she was passing.  She halted, startled, whirling to face it, breath issuing huge vapor clouds.

Peering nervously into the dim alley, she could see only some vague shapes.

Just as she could make out the shape of a hunched-over person, a gruff voice shouted, "What the hell you starin' at?  Get the fuck away from me!"

Despite the threatening words and tone, Emily stood, immobilized by the man's presence.  A tiny thought, just a notion, tugged at her consciousness, trying to get through.

"Go on," he said, less stridently, less certain, even worried.  "Get outta here."

Emily blinked and realized this was as far as she needed to go.  But this man seemed to be no threat at all.  "Sorry," she said.  "I won't do anything to you."  Turning, she ran back the way she'd come, less from fear than embarrassment at disturbing him.

Sometimes, when she tried inside her mind to haul a notion out to see what it held, she had success.  Sometimes she didn't.  This was a time when the notion was stubborn and the only thing to do was to quit trying.  Do something else.  So she concentrated on her route and the placing of one foot ahead of the other.

She ran on, past the row houses, the fine homes, along the apartments.

Coming under the bridge, she skidded to a halt, nearly slipping on the ice.  The notion fell in place before her.  A complete and full idea.

She looked around in the pale mid-dawn, the sun now striking orange on the tallest buildings she could see, and on the houses and trees farthest up the bluff.

It was so simple.  Why did it take so long to see?  Why hadn't they figured it out the first day?  Or, rather, the first night.

John Hardy comes out at night. 
Only
at night!  Just like the bum in the alley, he surfaces when everyone else is inside.

Emily started running full speed, slowed only by the climb back to Wally's house.  It didn't matter that her father came in so late.  He could sleep all day, now.

Eric bought the idea.  At least he said it sounded as good as anything he could come up with.  But Emily couldn't help thinking he was swayed more by the fact that he could go back to bed.

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 want 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."