Krewe of Hunters 1 Phantom Evil (14 page)

“Well, thanks. I'll keep that in mind,” Jackson assured her. “We're on our way to his offices now. I'm hoping to have some conversations with his crew—while they're split up.”

“Hey, by the way. There's something else you've got to see,” Angela told him.

“And what's that?”

“A shadow.”

“A shadow?”

“It's really strange. It's a shadow we caught on film in the basement.”

“Does it—do anything?” Jackson asked.

“No, it appears, and it disappears. But it's really quite amazing.”

“A ghost? Something's got to be down there to cast a shadow.” Jackson knew that there was skepticism in his voice, and he never quite understood why he would mock anyone. He did believe in the possibilities; he'd also seen way too much done by shysters. It all came back to two basic concepts—energy didn't die, and the human spirit's need to believe there was something beyond the rigors and pains of life on earth. He'd seen too many organizations—such as the Church of Christ Arisen—that could take beautiful tenets and twist them into something that was mind controlling, greedy and cruel.

“I don't know,” Angela answered slowly. “You'll just have to see it yourself,” she said. “Good luck.”

“Thanks. And you all be careful,” he told her.

“Of course,” she said. He heard her click off the connection and he slipped his phone back into his front shirt pocket.

“That's the building,” Jake said, and Jackson, driving, nodded, and started looking for a parking space on the street. The building had a garage, but he preferred being on the street. Somewhere, not far, the sedan that was driven by Grable Haines had to be parked, awaiting the senator's whim.

He found parking and they both exited the car. “Well, boss?” Jake asked.

“Find the chauffeur,” Jackson told him.

“Aye, aye, sir,” Jake said. Hands in his pockets, whistling softly, he started off.

In the building, Jackson discovered that the senator's offices occupied a suite on the fifth floor; he went up the elevator. He thought the building was probably built around 1900; it wasn't ornate, nor was it ill-kept. It was an everyman's building if he had ever seen one.

He entered the suite door, and found himself in a vestibule. At a chair in front of a bank of computer screens on a plain wooden desk was Blake Conroy. He smiled as Jackson entered.

“Hey, there. So you've come to see the senator's New Orleans offices,” he said. He'd been well aware, apparently, that Jackson had been on his way up.

“Yes, I thought I'd have a word with him here, get an idea of his situation when he was in town. I can see that no one could sneak up on him here, not with you on guard.”

“No, sir,” Blake said, pleased. His bald head shone. He was dressed in his customary nondescript suit, but his tie was loosened.

“But you weren't here the day that Mrs. Holloway died,” Jackson said.

Blake flushed. “The senator wasn't taking any appointments that day. We all thought that he was perfectly safe. He came in, and locked up. And Lisa Drummond was here, of course, and she could press an alarm button at any time. The senator is no slouch himself—he has a Glock in his office desk, and he knows how to use it.”

“Interesting. But he still needs a bodyguard?”

“Yeah, out in public. He'd never want to be seen carrying a gun.”

“No, I don't suppose that would be good for his public image,” Jackson agreed.

Blake shrugged. “It is Louisiana, but…no, he doesn't want to be seen carrying a gun. And in public, with those crazies out there, you never really know what might happen.”

“This is your usual position, though, huh?” Jackson asked him.

He nodded. “The senator wants to be a man of the people—but not a stupid man. And Lisa is a real secretary, you know? She's not a judo expert or anything of the like. So she wouldn't be much help if someone did try to get in to hurt the senator. Unless they're just going to lock up and work on paper—bills, committee work—I'm out here.”

“How often are you off?” Jackson asked him.

“Not often,” Blake told him. “Maybe a few days in a few months, that's all.”

“But you happened to be off that day?”

“Yes, the senator had cleaned his slate so that he could work on a few speeches and read over some committee bills he and others were working on,” Blake told him.

“So, shouldn't his aide have been with him?” Jackson asked.

“Naw, the senator needed time alone to think. Sometimes, having an entourage can get old, you know?”

“What about his secretary?” Jackson asked.

“You're about to meet her, aren't you?” Blake asked in return.

“Was she working with him then?” Jackson asked.

Blake frowned. He might have gotten punched one too many times as a fighter. He was truly puzzled.

“Hey, you'll have to ask about that. I'm not even sure. I didn't work at all that day—I didn't see the senator until they called me. Just ask her—she keeps a regular schedule of everything. I mean, if she can't remember, she can just look at her schedule. Although, to be honest, I can't imagine anyone forgetting what they'd been doing that day. It was a horrible day,” Blake said sadly.

“Thanks. And, hey, it's really great, you know. The way you all get along.”

“We all?” Blake asked.

“You, Martin DuPre and Grable Haines.”

Blake shrugged uncomfortably. He might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he wasn't stupid.

“Yeah, we get along all right.”

Jackson laughed. “That didn't sound convincing.”

“We all really love the senator. Grable, he's a cool guy, but he's had his problems. He likes to gamble, and he's definitely a ladies' man. Girls just like him. All he has to do is grin. Maybe I am a little jealous, but, hey, he's fine. We have to kill time together sometimes, and it's cool.”

“What about Martin DuPre?” Jackson asked him.

“Well, he's an aspiring politician himself, you know?” Blake said.

“You don't like him.”

“I never said that.”

“But you don't.”

“I take my orders from the senator. I don't like Martin DuPre thinking he can snap his fingers at me. I tell him that. And I've told the senator that. Otherwise, well…I guess he's a little too Goody Two-shoes. He's with the senator, or he's at home on some online course about how to speak with proper diction, how to market, how to win the love of a crowd. He's a bit much for me, that's all.”

“Different personalities,” Jackson sympathized.

“Yeah. And you're going to dig into all our pasts, right? Because Senator Holloway is so torn up about Regina. If you haven't found it yet, you will, so I'll just give you the scoop on me. I did three years in juvenile for manslaughter. I killed a guy in a fight. It really wasn't my fault—other than I let the fight happen. Knocked him flat, and he came at me with a knife, and I didn't let him kill me. So, you can look into me all you want, and you won't find anything more. I paid for my sins, that's for sure. But I'm not worried about you or anybody else, because I found my peace.”

“I'm glad to hear it. How?”

“I found God. I'm a born-again Christian, sir, and I let anyone know it.”

“Well, Blake, it's a very good thing for a man to find his own peace. So, tell me, though, seeing as how you have found your own inner peace, how do you feel about the Church of Christ Arisen?”

Blake stared at him, shaking his head. “Those people are listening to demons, that's all I can tell you. Christ loves every man, and he comes to every man in a different way, and he
doesn't hate those who are confused or haven't found their way. And Christ does not say that a man should sleep with children, and he sure doesn't say that a man should do injury to any other. Those people are just wacko, and they hate everyone. My God teaches love—theirs teaches something I don't begin to understand.”

“You never had any trouble with Regina or David Holloway over religion, I take it?” Jackson asked him.

Blake grinned. “Regina and me, we loved to argue! She was a good Roman Catholic, and I used to tease her about getting guidance from mediums and tarot card readers. She told me her beliefs, and I told her mine, and we'd have a good time arguing now and then. David Holloway is a moderate himself, and he'd always just shake his head. The senator, he always said that debate was good for a man, as long as a man remembered that we were in the U.S. of A., where every man and woman was entitled to his own beliefs—as long as those beliefs did no harm to others.”

“And you don't believe that the Church of Christ Arisen means no harm to others?” Jackson asked.

“They haven't been caught on anything yet, but if you call brainwashing children harm, well, then, I think they cause a lot of harm. You might want to look into them,” Blake said. He cut himself off abruptly.

“Was there any trouble between them and the senator that we might not know about?” Jackson asked him.

He looked uncomfortable. “No. Nothing I know about.”

“And the Aryans?”

“Assholes,” Blake said gravely. “And I mean that in every Christian way possible.”

Jackson grinned, but he didn't leave. “There is something
that you're not telling me,” he said. “Come on—no man can lead a perfect life.”

“I think the senator tried,” Blake said. “I think he tried. I really can't say anything else except that I heard him talking to DuPre one day, and it sounded…financial.”

“DuPre needed money?” Jackson asked.

“I don't think it was for DuPre,” Blake said.

“Are you talking blackmail?” Jackson asked.

“I'm not talking anything,” Blake said firmly. “Anything I have is a vague notion, and could be entirely wrong. You got questions—ask the senator.”

He indicated the door beyond the vestibule.

“Please, sir, go right on in. I don't think that I'll warn Lisa. I think you should meet Miss Drummond all on your own,” Blake said.

Jackson arched a brow.

But Blake wasn't going to tell him anything more; if there was something going on between Senator Holloway and his secretary, Blake was going to flatly give him away. He did apparently love David Holloway. He might throw out a few hints, but…

“You said that you wanted to know all of us who were close to the Holloways,” Blake said.

“That I did. Thank you.”

Jackson opened the second door, and walked in.

There was a woman at a large desk, offering the usual: computer, medium-size screen, a picture frame, intercom and an appointment book by the side. The desk spoke of hard work.

The woman, Lisa Drummond, he assumed, wasn't what he had expected. She wasn't in her twenties, or even in her early thirties. She was attractive, but nearing forty, thin, with a short
businesslike haircut to her light blond hair and an attractive, if not beautiful, face. From the pictures he had seen of Regina Holloway—in life, not once her skull had been shattered and her neck broken—she had been far more attractive than the secretary.

“Hello, what can I do for you?” she asked Jackson, smiling, but studying him carefully. Senator Holloway might have a bodyguard, but this woman was looking out for him as well.

“You're Lisa Drummond?” he asked her.

“Yes?”

He smiled, offering her his hand. “I'm Jackson Crow. I'm working on discovering the truth behind Mrs. Holloway's death.”

“Oh, yes, of course! How do you do?” she said. She seemed pleased to meet him, and slightly nervous at the same time.

“Fine, thanks,” he told her. “I was wondering if I could get a minute or two of the senator's time,” he told her.

She frowned. “I thought he went out to see you,” she said.

“Yes, he did, and we were grateful.”

“He just hates that house, you know.”

“I can imagine,” Jackson said. He waited politely. She kept staring at him.

“Do you think it's possible for me to see him again now?” Jackson asked.

“Oh, let me just ask,” she said. She didn't use the intercom. She leaped to her feet. She was slim with the right combination of business and femininity in a two-piece suit and white blouse. She wore heels, and her legs were nicely formed. Of course, the idea that the senator might have had an affair was definitely making him take note, even though an affair didn't have to be with a man's secretary.

She disappeared into the office. Jackson heard the two of them talking. Lisa had an edge of fear to her voice. The senator's replies were low—so low Jackson only knew that he was replying because of her responses. He couldn't make out Lisa's words.

The door to the inner office opened. Lisa looked at him nervously, patting her short hair. “Come on in, Mr. Crow, please,” she said.

Jackson walked on in.

“Jackson,” the senator said, standing. He offered his hand. “So, you've come to see my New Orleans offices.”

“Yes, I just wanted to ask you a few more questions, if you don't mind,” Jackson said.

“Of course, I don't mind. I've brought you here,” the Senator said. “I pestered the right people to get Adam Harrison to find someone to do something about this situation. I'm here to serve you in any way. Please, have a seat.”

Jackson sat across the desk from the senator. Lisa Drummond hovered nervously by the edge of his desk.

“Can we get you anything, Jackson? Coffee, iced tea? Something stronger?” the senator asked.

“No, I'm fine, thank you,” Jackson said.

“Thank you, Lisa,” Holloway said. His tone was gentle. His words were dismissive.

With no other choice, Lisa smiled and walked slowly out of the room.

“What can I help you with, Mr. Crow?”