A Ghost of Justice Read online

  "Why is that?"

  "She was always so quick to get mad. She seemed to enjoy it. I could kill him right now." That thought led to the obvious next one. More heatedly, she said, "I'll be ready to gun him down any second. That's the way Mom would be. She wouldn't think about anything else until Hardy was dead." That said, she added, a little calmer, "Or locked up forever like they used to do."

  Eric said nothing for several minutes. Emily thought maybe he wouldn't talk about it anymore. She was almost right.

  "Are you disappointed in me, Em?"

  The question caught her by surprise. She hadn't meant to belittle him. Quite the contrary. She was trying to find a precedence or rationale for her own feelings.

  After a brief, stunned silence of her own, she hastily said, "No. Not at all. I… well… Steve wouldn't do it at all…if he were the one doing this. It wouldn't be right to him. I just…" She sought for the words. They wouldn't come easily, and they didn't seem adequate. "Dad. I've only been trying to figure out why I feel this way."

  Eric parted his lips to speak. She expected something more, but he only said, "You just feel the way you do. That's all."

  The silence then dragged out uncomfortably. Eric seemed to need to fill the void. He switched on the radio and found the North Maryland University station. It was in the middle of the Peer Gynt Suite.

  The strains of Asa's Death were too depressing and struck too close a chord.

  Emily changed it until she had some jazz out of Jersey State. The jazz wasn't right, either. She turned it off.

  Eric started to protest but she cut him off. "I'm sorry, Dad. I didn't mean to start an argument."

  "There was no argument."

  "Don't be evasive. There was. And I caused it."

  "No, you didn't. Don't worry about it. No argument."

  "Yes there was," Emily said sharply. She caught herself before continuing, reminding herself that you didn't shout when you were apologizing. Quietly she added, "And I didn't mean to imply that I was better, or anything, you know, for knowing what I'd do."

  "That's okay, Em. I never thought--"

  "No," she interrupted. "Hear me out. It seemed like I was comparing us, saying it in a way that hurt you. I'm sorry. I didn't realize that was what I was doing, Dad. But I do now. And it's not what I meant."

  Eric held up his hand. "I know, Em. You said you were only trying to understand yourself. I never once thought you were putting me down. No apology."

  "Then why were you so quiet about it?"

  He chewed his lower lip as he thought of what to say. "I was worried."

  "Worried?" Again her father said the unexpected.

  "You've got it wrong, Em." He gave her a long glance, then back to the road.

  "What?"

  "You're not like Rose. Steve was like Rose. She was quick to anger, true. But there wasn't a violent bone in her. You're far more like me."

  Emily blinked and her mouth opened. Once she'd slapped a man in a public park, hard, for beating his dog. Just an instant reaction on her part. At the time Eric told her she was lucky the man didn't take out charges against her. And now, though she'd never known him to do more than raise his voice, he was saying she was just like him.

  "Don't be surprised," he told her. Then, "I thought you knew."

  "What? Because I went into archeology, too?"

  "No. No. Not that. The other thing. Because…" His voice trailed off. "Maybe it wasn't so obvious to you. Rose and I would talk about it so much I guess I took it for granted that you saw it, too." Briefly he glanced at her again. "You're almost exactly like I was at your age."

  "And that makes you worried?"

  "Yes."

  "Why?"

  "Because…well…your mother would frequently worry that I'd do something rash or careless."

  "Like what? You're the most careful supervisor I've ever seen at any dig."

  "Yeah. Well. Now. That's not the way I've lived my entire life. I did pretty stupid things in Bagdad."

  He paused. She waited for him to go on.

  "Sometimes, when I wasn't on duty, I'd change into civs and go out into the city, even though it was off limits to do so, on our own, while I was there. Against orders. Every now and then with some other crazed out guys, but usually alone. Not really looking for trouble, but not caring if we found it. Sometimes we, or I, would look for it. Like I said: stupid."

  They drove a while without speaking, her thinking about what had been said. It was something totally new to her about him and she didn't know what to make of it.

  A sign flashed by, announcing five more miles to Philadelphia.

  It acted like a trigger to make Eric speak again. First he said, "Two o'clock." Just a noncommittal observation. But then his voice came out dry and strained. "Em?"

  "Yes?" she answered quickly.

  "Promise me you won't do anything rash? You won't do anything careless, or stupid?"

  She saw him staring rigidly down the highway. Then he turned to face her. She met his eyes and nodded. "I won't," she confirmed.

  Eyes back on the highway, he extracted another promise from her. "And please don't do anything without letting me know? I can't coddle and protect you from bad things like when you were little. I know that. But I don't think I could take it if anything happened to you, too."

  Emily thought it over for all of a second. "I won't, Dad, as long as you promise me the same. We don't do a thing without the knowledge and consent of the other."

  "Deal."

  "Deal," she echoed.

  When they entered the city limits, Eric asked, "Shall we go on to the police station?"

  Emily listened to her travel-weary bones. "Please, no. Let's go to the motel and get some sleep."

  Eric sighed, long and tired. "I suppose you're right. I'm probably too tired to handle that right now myself."

  He aimed the car for their hotel.

  12

  The grass and trees glistened wetly, but the rain had finally stopped. John Hardy shivered, not only from the cold (though it was bitterly cold) but also from the memories of that other night.

  This night's character was almost the same. All he needed was to add her blood to his shirt. One set of images invariably led to the other. Hardy shook his head, trying to erase the pictures of the trial from his mind's eye, but it also played through to the end.

  Again he cursed himself, wondering why he was here. Some damned neighborhood sentinel would probably see him wandering through, a man out of place, must be dangerous. Bums don't come into neighborhoods. They would call the cops. Damned stupid, coming here.

  But he continued anyway, not knowing why, not able to stop.

  Like some night animal, he stayed away from the lights. And when he couldn't avoid them, he tried to walk natural, as if he belonged. Most of the time he scurried along, bending low against being seen and holding his jacket close against the wet cold.

  It was about two-thirty when he got to Jackson Square. Traffic was non-existent this late (or should it be called early?) so he went onto the wide, tree-covered median and continued down its center among the shadows. Soon he was there.

  For long minutes he stood, leaning against a tree, looking across the lane at the ground-level condo. He search for signs of activity through the windows of the only lit room. Were they even still living there? The curtains were closed. A dim vague shape of something was there. But he thought he would recognize the silhouette, if it was one of them.

  So what if they are still here, he asked himself. Would they help him? Could they help him? Even if they did, it would be in violation of that damned law. Would they, anyway? Or, rather, would he help?

  Fruitlessly he strained to see beyond the curtain. The light was steady, so the t-vid wasn't on. Probably the light was left on and the people were already in bed.

  Concentrating, he tried to remember what Dad's sleeping habits were, wondering if they had changed: up late, up early. It wouldn't matter about the woman. She'd never c
onsider seeing him. God, how she had screamed at him that last time.

  He'd always felt closer to his father. Maybe it was contrary to what experts said, but John Hardy had never felt any real warmth from the woman that was his mother.

  He kept staring at the window, willing for some movement to appear, for a figure to show so he could know if they were home. Still no detail from the shape. With mounting frustration, he left the doubtful security of the median and cautiously crossed the out-bound side of the street.

  From the sidewalk he was only ten yards from the window. The shape was now clearly the back of a chair, and above it rose what seemed to be a person's head. But the image was too dim to be sure.

  Then, to Hardy's astonishment, the 'head' grew into a familiar lithe form with various projections. It arched in the classic pose of a stretching cat. He could have laughed at how he had been fooled, but he truly wished it had been his father's head.

  As John Hardy watched, a person's shadow bobbed onto the curtain, first large, blurred and indistinct, then condensed down into a sharpened form. That of a man.

  His father?

  The man picked up the cat, cradled it, then moved away from the window. A porch light blazed into existence.

  Instantly Hardy ran to some bushes, away from the intruding and revealing brightness. Just as he slid behind the bush, he heard a door open. Peering through the branches, he saw his father set the cat down.

  His voice drifted to Hardy's ears, but he spoke too low to catch the words. The cat rubbed against the man's legs. The voice was unmistakably his father's.

  A little twig flipped off the one Hardy was holding, barely making any noise, but the cat was vigilant. It looked right at him, back hairs rising.

  "What is it, Pete?" he heard his father say. The man glanced in his general direction, then turned back to the family cat. "What is it, boy?" James Hardy looked up the street, beyond the bushes, unable to see much because his eyes were dazzled by the bare bulb. "Must be those damned loose dogs, again. Well, you don't need to go out, boy." Reaching down to collect Pete, he said, "Come on. Let's go back in."

  The door was pulled closed sharply, but John Hardy didn't rise from the bushes until the porch light went out. Then he stood, watching the apartment. Pete hopped up onto the chair back. Instead of settling, he pushed between the curtains, looking out the window to the left and right.

  Hardy realized his old animal friend couldn't see him, but his resolve suddenly left. He started running, running back the way he had come. Back into the night and away to hide. It was the only thing to do. Hide.

  13

  The warm shower brought her slowly alert. Drying off, Emily wrapped a towel around herself and stepped out to get some clothes. She was greeted by her father's wide yawn. "Did you sleep all right?" he asked.

  "Okay, I guess. I don't remember much."

  "Yeah. You nearly fell asleep at check-in."

  Emily made a face at him. She picked up her clothes and started back to the bathroom.

  Eric held up a hand. "I need to go in there. You can dress out here."

  Twenty minutes later they were standing out front looking about for a breakfast place. They finally settled on a deli nearby. Choosing was easy. The other restaurants they could see were closed, most for good.

  The meal went quietly, the food rather good. Emily figured they were both busy inside their own heads, wondering what today would bring.

  A part of her was the anger. She guessed it always would be. A part was frightened. Sure, Darlene Jacobs had said Hardy wasn't the most dangerous of types. Sure, his profile indicated he likely might run from danger. But maybe the assumptions were wrong. Records may show not a single EOR had been killed by a fugitive, but some had been hurt. And there was always that first time. And he had killed.

  Then there was that other part of her, the one that frightened her about herself: the eagerness, thrilled with the prospect of this hunt. Not a hunt of an animal. She and her brother shared an abhorrence of hurting animals. But humans were different, especially one that needed to be hunted and knew he was hunted. That made the difference. That made this strange side of her exhilarated.

  She had touched this side of her personality before. A tip of it always surfaced whenever she felt near to a discovery. She never dreamt it capable of such depth of feeling, hadn't known it could go in this direction. This must be what her father meant. She resolved not to discuss it with him. Better to not worry him more. She also resolved to keep this maverick inside herself under control.

  Back in their room, Eric called home. It was short and to the point.

  Hanging up, he said, "Bless that Andrea. Bob gave me a fine sister-in-law when he married her."

  Emily looked up questioningly.

  "He said she had found a place for Anthony to stay so we can use the house when we get back. She thinks of everything. He said she was even going to prepare a room where we can put Hardy should we bring him back instead of killing him right away."

  "Why the hell should we do that?"

  "Who knows what's ever going to happen in any given event." Eric shrugged. "I don't expect to keep him alive. Do you?"

  "You know how I feel."

  "Yeah. Andrea is just being thorough, as usual." Eric glanced around the room, noticed she had already packed everything. "Ready?"

  Emily nodded.

  Driving into Philly-proper they discovered that signs for stops, yields, street names and other important information, were all but non-existent. The paint denoting lanes was nearly as rare. Twice they almost collided with some cursing local and had to stop for directions once, even with the GPS. Traffic was worse here than anywhere they'd been, except, maybe, southeast Asia or India. Police Administration turned out to be in an old building made of twin circular wings connected by an inward-curving center.

  Parking was another matter. Eric finally found a spot four blocks away.

  A light, cold rain started as they got out. Emily retrieved the umbrella from the back seat and opened it.

  Looking around as they walked, she got impressions of gray sky, gray and brown buildings, and gray- and black-cloaked people. Not-too-harsh nasal accents assaulted her ears from open shops and street vendors. And, softer, often sounding embarrassed, pleas in a variety of accents from ragged people along the sidewalks.

  And the cold. Eric had warned her, and she had dressed warmly, but three months in the Egyptian sun had acclimated her for dry heat, not wet cold. She pulled her heavy jacket tighter, shivered, and wished she had a scarf.

  Inside the police building she saw it was even older than it looked, with several repairs in progress. The desk sergeant directed them down the corridor to their left. The room turned out to be at the end of the long hall, inside one of the circular wings. Beyond the door it proved to be another of those old-style cavernous areas divided by little cubicles.

  A uniformed woman officer walking by noticed them and offered to help.

  "Um, yes," Eric said. "The desk sergeant said the Interstate Coordination Officer was here."

  "Yeah," she said, pointing down an aisle. "Baker. He's in cube sixteen-eleven." She resumed her errand, hollering out as she left, "Two to see you, Cory!"

  They headed down the green-carpeted aisle in the indicated direction. Coming to number sixteen-eleven, they found Cory Baker waiting for them at his cube. "There you are," he said. He was a large man with an engaging smile. "What can I do for you?"

  "Officer Baker. I am Eric Sheafer and this is my daughter, Emily," Eric said as they sat down. "We are from Greensboro, NC, and are here after the man who killed my son and his wife. He is a Vigilante Fugitive named John Hardy. I am the EOR. I'm sure you can find him in the data base. The case was closed March 5th this year, and he was released on the 9th under the State Utilization Provisions Act."

  "And how is it he managed to come all the way up here without you catching him?"

  Emily saw the muscles in her father's face tighten. She heard the t
race of bitterness in his answer.

  "Because we were out of the country when it happened?"

  "When what happened?"

  "Everything. The murders, the trial and conviction. The day he was released we had only heard about the whole damned thing."

  Baker noted the irritation. "Why is that?" he asked with a trace of concern.

  "We, my daughter and I, were at the Alexander Project outside of Siwah, Egypt. We're archeologists.”

  "Go on."

  "Our satellite coms and radios were hacked up. Either the batteries, solar storms or civil disruptions. I don't know. But we finally got word on the ninth. We returned by the next suborbiter only to learn on Saturday morning that he had been released Friday night. We spent the rest of the weekend learning it was all in accordance with the law, and what our duties were under that law. The county Sheriff’s Department told us he may have been spotted here. So we drove up yesterday. Now we need more detailed information."

  Baker was nodding while Eric finished. Swiveling in his chair, he said, "I understand completely. Let me check PeopleWatch." He touched a small square on his desk and the screen for his holographic n-puter popped up, scrambled on their side so that only he could see it.

  "PeopleWatch?"

  "Yes," Baker explained as he worked the holo keypad. "The national network that takes in data and reports of missing persons."

  Emily remembered a news story several years ago. "Oh, yeah. I didn't know it was used for cases like this."

  Baker smiled. "It's excellent for these situations: runaways, fugitives, kidnapped persons. That sort of thing."

  Eric said, "I don't remember anything about that."

  "You were too busy lecturing and getting published when it came out," she said.

  "Oh." He was quiet for a moment while Baker worked his search. Then he pulled his cuff back and looked at his watch band with the built-in PerDatum. "I wonder if this thing can hook in to it."

  "Sure. It's a public site."

  "Here we go," Baker said with a modest air of triumph. Then, subdued, "Oh. Sorry. It's not your guy. A bunch of punks thought it was, so they deleted him."