The Pandora Directive: A Tex Murphy Novel (8 page)

Breakfast or sleep? Food generally takes a back seat to almost everything. I took a taxi back to my office and caught a quick power nap. When I woke up, it was late afternoon, and my initial hunger had passed. It was just as well; I always think more clearly on an empty stomach. After firing up a pot of Java and breakfast Cubana, I sat down at my desk and ran through a mental list of things to get done.

I needed to find out the identity of the man I’d run into last night. For now, I’d call him…Bob. between the clandestine caller at the Twilight and the photographs of Sandra Collins, I had to conclude that Bob was not just a run of the mill pervert. The fact that he appeared to have been searching Emily’s apartment implied another agenda besides serial killing. And what about the mysterious Black Avatar speeder? No, Bob was a part of something bigger. Much bigger.

I also needed to make a stop at the Fuchsia Flamingo. I needed more information about Malloy, and it seemed Emily was the only person I knew who could help. And what about the object Bob had been carrying last night? Something told me that it was important. Maybe Emily could give me a lead on it. What kind of shape would she be in after last night’s experiences?

My voice messaging unit beeped. I took a sip of coffee and leaned over to check the display. Five messages. I hit the play button and settled back into my chair.

The first voice was Chelsea’s. “High, Tex. Chelsea. I just wanted to see how you’re doing. Bye.”

The next was a hang up.

The third was from Fitzpatrick. “Hello, Mr Murphy. Please call me at your convenience.”

Number four was Chelsea again. “Hey, Tex. Just wanted to see if you got my first message. Call me.”

The final message was from Lucas Purnell. “Got something for ya. Get a hold of me ASAP.”

I hit the reset button and finished my cup of coffee. Three more things to do. I prioritised: clients first, love interests second, informants third. After refilling my coffee mug, I pulled out Fitzpatrick’s business card and entered the phone code.

“Hello?”

Fitzpatrick’s disconcerting eyes and transparent face flashed onto my view hearth screen.

“Mr Fitzpatrick. I just got your message. I assume that you called to get an update on the investigation.”

“If it’s not too much trouble. I certainly hope I’m not inconveniencing you.”

“Not at all. Keeping the client informed is a part of the deluxe investigative package.”

“Wonderful! So tell me, how are your efforts progressing?”

“Very well. I’ve been able to track down a girl Malloy was seeing recently. I’m about to go see her. I have high hopes that she’ll give us some useful information.”

“Excellent! Anything else?”

I paused to take another sip of coffee. I have several other leads, but I won’t know how valuable they are until I track them down.”

“Well I won’t take any more and more of your time. If it’s not an annoyance, I’d appreciate it if you’d keep me informed as you progress.”

“I’d be happy to.”

“Thank you, Mr Murphy. Goodbye.”

The screen went black. Fitzpatrick’s obvious impatience was equalled only by his monumental politeness. Though he’d never said anything about a time limit, his tone implied that there was one. My PI instinct said the Fitzpatrick hadn’t told me everything. Not by a long shot.

Chelsea either wasn’t home or wasn’t answering. I left a short message. Concise, yet caring. Romantic, yet non-committal. I liked Chelsea a lot. Hell, maybe I was even in love with her. Unfortunately at the moment I was too occupied to decide. Anything had been so much easier back when she’d just blow me off every time I asked her out. This new phase in our romantic development was throwing me for a loop. Maybe she should move to Phoenix for a while. Give us time to sort things through. Besides, I couldn’t stop thinking about that knockout at the police station — even though she hadn’t seemed too knocked out by me.

I’d think it over later. For now, I was working. I found Pernell’s card and punched up the phone code. Two chimes, and the journalist’s haggard mug appeared on the screen.

“Just got your message. What’s up?”

“Big doin’s, Murphy. You got some time?”

I glanced at my watch. It was still pretty early. “Sure. Where?”

“I’ll let you know,” he growled. “I hate talking on the damn vid-phones. Too easy to wire.”

“Okay, but make it soon. I’ve got a full dance card today.”

“No problem.”

I filled and down my third cup of Joe, satisfy my USDA-recommended caffeine requirement. I was wide awake and rearing to go. The fax machine beeped and belched. I tore off the sheet. Liverpool Club. 15 minutes.

The Liverpool Club was a hidden gem in an open slag heap. It was more of a social club than a bar, though I didn’t hold that against it. Solid oak billiard tables, boar-bristle dart boards, tin panelled ceilings. A nice place. If I hung out with Pernell for any length of time, I might get to know every watering hole in the city. Not an unpleasant thought.

Pernell was lurking in a dark nook. He seemed to have an aversion to bright lights. A lot of my business associates had photophobia. Two bourbons were already breathing on the table. It was a little early for the hard stuff, but I decided to call it lunch and move on to more important things.

“What’ve you got?”

Purnell’s voice hissed out of the corner of his mouth. “Remember the story I told you about Kettler?”

My mouth was full of bourbon. I nodded.

“I’ve still got a contact down in Nevada. He found a cop that knew enough to be useful and was willing to talk. It’s huge.”

“Unbelievable. And unethical cop. In Nevada, of all places.”

“Well, it cost us a bit, but he came through. I’ve got a copy of his sworn statement locked away in a safe deposit box. I’d let you see it, but I enjoy being alive. If certain people caught me with the goods, I’ll be pushing up daisies by the weekend.” Pernell took a hearty slug off his bourbon. His hands were shaking. I couldn’t tell whether it was fear or excitement. Probably both.

“Our cop was in on Kettler’s arrest. He also sat in on the initial questioning, before the Feds showed up. Ketter confessed to everything. The local boys made up a deposition, and Kettler signed it. The problem is, after the Feds took over, the deposition disappeared, never to be found.”

I tried to sort out what Purnell was saying. The Feds knew that Kettler was guilty but didn’t want that information to get out. It didn’t make sense. It did seem to connect to the curious fact that the Black Arrow Killer, who was dead, had supposedly gone back into business, this time in the Bay area.

I gave Purnell a run-down of what had happened the night before, hoping that bouncing it off him would give me a fresh perspective, a new lead or two. He listened avidly through another round of Jack Daniels. When I finished, Purnell leaned back and stared up at the ceiling. “Can I bum another cig off ya?”

I handed one over and lit it for him. He smoked like he’d just had sex with Marilyn Monroe. And Jayne Mansfield. At the same time.

“You know who uses Black Avatars? The military.” He blew out a long stream of smoke and rejoined the ranks of the carnally deprived. “Tell me again about what this guy, Bob, was doing in the girls’ apartment.”

“Like I said, he came out of her bedroom, holding an object of some kind. Then he hid by the door and waited for her.”

“And this object… it wasn’t a jewellery case or something similar — something of value?”

“Didn’t look like it. A plain metal box. Like a box you keep recipes in.”

“But the girl had valuables in the apartment?”

I tried to recall. “I think so. I seem to remember some jewellery, a couple of things worth stealing.”

Pernell leaned toward me. I could hear the wheels turning. “So the bottom line is, his primary reason for being in the apartment wasn’t to murder the girl. He wasn’t even to rob the place. It was to find this object.”

It seemed logical. Then a thought occurred to me. “Well, if that’s the case, why didn’t he just leave? He had what he came for. Why would he try to kill Emily?”

Pernell thought it over and shrugged. “She knew about the box. Maybe the guy wanted to kill her to keep anyone else from finding out about it.”

The implications were huge. If what Pernell had told me was reliable and Kettler had been the serial killer, some group was mimicking the crimes in order to cover the murders they committed in the course of doing their business. And it was possible that some branch of the Government was that group. And I’d become a fly in their ointment. I looked around. I already knew that someone had been watching me. I wondered just how many eyes were on me now.

“I’ve gotta checkin with Emily. Thanks for the drinks.”

Pernell was scribbling furiously on a steno pad. He didn’t seem to hear me.

The Fuchsia Flamingo hadn’t opened yet, and the doors were locked. I pounded a few times and waited. A minute later, the door swung open, revealing Gus Leach’s massive frame. He looked beat.

“Come on in.” I’d never imagined the mutant could sound so friendly.

The room was dark, except for a soft white light emanating from behind the bar on the far side. I followed Leach to the light and pulled up beside him on a sparkling purple bar-stool. The drink in front of him was at least a triple. He raised the glass to his mouth and reduced it to a shot. He shivered slightly and turned to face me.

“I’m glad you came by. I hope you didn’t have any problems with the police.”

“Nothing serious.”

Leach nodded and got up from his seat. He walked wearily around to the back of the bar. “Want a drink?”

“Sure.”

“Bourbon, right?”

“How’d you guess?”

“Physiognomy. It’s a hobby of mine.”

He filled a glass, neat. Just the way I like it. “You can tell almost anything about a person from their facial features.”

“Really? So I have a bourbon face?”

“Something like that.” Leach poured himself a quadruple Bacardi, straight. I tried not to stare. “I really want to thank you for what you did last night. You saved Emily’s life.”

“How’s she doing?”

“It shook her up pretty good, but she isn’t hurt. If you’d shown up any later…” he shook his head. “She’s upstairs, trying to get some rest.”

I took a deep drink. Leech had given me the good stuff. I swirled it around and took a delicate sip. I raised my glass, but he was looking away.

Then I turned to see Emily coming down the stairway. Leach set his string down and walked over to meet her.

“I’m fine, Gus. I just couldn’t sleep anymore.” She walked toward me and settled onto a bar stool. She was wearing a green, crushed velvet robe. Despite the dark circles under her eyes, she was still stunning.

“Gus told me what you did. I don’t know how to thank you.”

I could think of a few ways, but it probably wasn’t the right time to go into detail. “It was a close shave. I’m just glad you’re OK.”

Leach was behind the bar, mixing a Bloody Mary. He tossed a celery stalk into the concoction and placed it in front of Emily.

“Thanks.” She took a sip. She didn’t look like she was in the mood to answer questions, but I didn’t have the luxury of delaying my investigation.

“Listen, Emily. I need to ask you about a few things, if you don’t mind.”

Leach leaned on to the bar. “C’mon, Murphy. She’s been through enough. The cops already grilled her last night. Give it a rest for a while.”

“It’s OK, Gus. I owe him. Answering a few questions isn’t any big deal.”

She turned to me and took a deep breath. “Go ahead.”

“The man who attacked you took something from your apartment. A box of some kind. What was it?

“I don’t know. I mean, I don’t know what was in it. It was a weird box… it didn’t open. At least I couldn’t figure out how to open it.”

“Where did it come from? Do have any idea why someone would want to steal it?”

Emily glanced up at Gus.

“You don’t need to tell him anything. It’s none of his business.”

Emily looked pensively into the tomato juice and stirred it with the celery stalk. After a long pause, she turned and looked straight into my eyes. “The box was sent to me by Thomas. Thomas Malloy. My husband.”

I picked up my bourbon and took a long drink. This was just a fine how-do-you-do. Everything I’d seen and heard over the past few days had suddenly shifted around 90 degrees.

“Pardon me for being stupid, but let me get this straight. You’re Thomas Malloy’s wife?”

“We were married about a year ago. I used to work at another club here in the city. Gus was the manager. That’s where I met Thomas. He used to come in and watch me sing. He was so sweet and lonely.”

“So where is your husband?”

“I don’t know,” She said quietly.

“But he sent a box you.”

“That’s right. It came yesterday.”

“And there was no indication where he’d sent it from?”

Emily shook her head. “The box was wrapped in plain brown paper. There was no return address, no letter or anything inside. Just the box.”

“How do you know it was from your husband?”

“I recognised his writing on the outside.”

I wanted to take a look at the paper the box had been wrapped in. Even without a return address, something about the wrapping might help me track down Malloy. “What did you do with the paper?”

Emily shrugged. “I threw it out, I guess. I don’t know where it is.”

I’d look for it later. For now, I needed to keep Emily talking.

“Why did Malloy leave? Did he give you any reason for not telling you where he’d be?” the muscles around Emily’s mouth tensed, and Leach half rose from his chair. Immediately, I knew I’d crossed into sensitive territory. I quickly rephrased the question.

“Do you think your husband left because he was in danger?”

Emily didn’t respond, but the look on her face said enough.

Everything fell into place. I turned to Leach. “You’re a friend of Malloy’s, right? He left Emily here and asked you to take care of her until he came back.”

Leach glanced nervously Emily. When he looked back at me, he nodded. Suddenly, I was the only one talking. “Listen, all I want to do is find Malloy. I’m not one of the bad guys.”