A Ghost of Justice Page 6

  Emily saw her father's hand clench. He muttered something she couldn't hear.

  Baker continued. “We've got some of 'em locked up on a charge of second degree. Can't kill someone for who you think he is."

  "They told us that in Greensboro," Eric snapped. "Is there anything else in that report for us?"

  Baker stared at Eric over the holo for a second, then back at the display. "Well, we have two possibilities. One in D.C. and one in Tennessee, ah…Knoxville. I'd try D.C. if I were you. Not just because it's closer. Hardy is supposed to have grown up in Richmond. I doubt he'd run somewhere he didn't know. But I doubt he would run home, either."

  Eric sighed heavily.

  Emily said, "We've only just started, Dad. We can't really expect to get him this easy."

  "Yeah," he said gloomily. Standing, he said to Baker, "Thank you. You've probably saved us a lot of time."

  "Nothing to it. Just my job. I wish I could have told you the punks got your guy. You seem like a decent man, Mr. Sheafer. I hope you can stay that way."

  The rain was falling steady when they stepped out, harder than when they arrived. Eric glanced at Emily's short jacket. "Here," he said, handing her the umbrella. Before she could respond, he pulled his coat up to cover most of his head and started walking.

  "Wait a minute," she shouted. Running to catch up, she didn't open the umbrella until she was next to him.

  Cold rain dripped off her hair and down her back, some of it on the inside under her jacket. She shivered. Grabbing her father's arm, she held the umbrella over them both.

  "I was fine. This thing's not big enough to cover the both of us. You're gonna get soaked. Don't you have anything like an overcoat?"

  "No," Emily admitted. "I never wanted one. They're heavy and make me look dumpy."

  "Oh?" He looked down at her legs. She knew he was judging how slender they were. "How?"

  "They just do. Never mind. Let's just get to the car. This wind is freezing," she added as their portable shelter was tugged by a stiff breeze which blew the rain in on them. Looking around, she saw the vendors had closed their storefronts against the storm. And the sidewalk beggars had vanished. Only one diehard was still shouting about his terrific hotdogs from under his awning.

  When they reached the Volvo, she darted out from under the umbrella and around to the left side, digging the keys out of her pocket. "My turn," she declared and punched the unlock button.

  For a fleeting moment Emily saw her father smile. Then, as he looked down and opened the door, his face re-clouded.

  She felt the pain, too. It was a constant presence riding just under the surface.

  14

  The rain stayed with them until Emily left the Interstate at Silver Springs.

  "Why here?"

  "'Cause it's after one and I'm hungry and it's as good as any exit."

  Eric said, "Oh," and went back into the silence he'd maintained for essentially the entire drive down.

  Up ahead she saw an H&F. Plain old cafeteria fare sounded good right then. She didn't ask her father's preference; she just turned in when they got there.

  To her relief, as they were going down the line, he selected a balanced meal. Maybe he was coming out of whatever darker mood Philadelphia had put him in.

  "What hotel did you make reservations for?" Emily asked as they sat down.

  "I didn't."

  "Which one are we going to try first, then?"

  "None." Eric picked up a fork.

  "Ah…Dad, we left the tents in Africa. So where are we staying?"

  "Wally's. Oh, sorry. Dr. Luptman's."

  "I know I should know who that is," she said as the name did sound familiar. "But I can't remember."

  Eric had taken a bite, but he mumbled an answer anyway. "Ol' fren'."

  Emily thought while he chewed. It came to her. "Yeah. Dr. Walter T. Luptman. Of the Smithsonian. Should've known. Why didn't you know somebody we could stay with in Philly?"

  "Don't anymore. Used to, but one's dead and the other is now in Colorado. I'll remember that if we end up out there."

  "Right." Emily realized they were actually both enjoying the meal. First time since… She forced the thought to remain unfinished.

  Her father continued between bites. "I'll call him before we leave here. He should be in his office now. Then I want to do some looking."

  "We ought to call the police, too."

  "Humpf! Lotta good that did in Philadelphia."

  Eric's tone surprised her. "I think it was helpful. It did save us a lot of time. You said so yourself."

  He scowled at her, eating in silence.

  Emily quietly endured the sullenness as he slowly chewed, alternately looking at her and at his plate. She kept staring at him, not saying a word, not touching her own food.

  Finally he put his fork down. "Damn. That's the same thing your mother would do. Maybe you do have a little of her in you."

  Emily maintained her silence.

  "But she never carried it this far. All right. I'll call the police. We're supposed to anyway."

  Emily smiled, but kept staring.

  Eric's face softened. "Yeah," he relented. "It really did help."

  Eric activated his PerDatum device when they were back in the car. A quick call to Luptman set up their sleeping arrangements. And he made the call to the Capital Police. Unable to get a live person, he conversed with a sim-officer on the Interstate Squad. The sim had little news for him, but took his information with artificial avidness. Eric added the number for Dr. Luptman's home to the data he gave the e-cop. All he got in turn was a pair of poor detail reports of another D.C. sighting of Hardy and one more in Tennessee.

  After disconnecting, he said, "How do you be on a squad if you don't really exist?"

  "High-level AI, Dad. The e-cop can be programmed to do any sort of task on the net, just by asking. Any ideas where we're going?"

  Eric grunted. "A hunch," he declared. "That's all. Not much of one, but all I've got right now." He keyed the engine and the electric turbine whined to life.

  Without prompting, he explained. "I think he might try to blend in with a crowd most of the time. Since cash made its comeback, he might even try to pick pockets to support himself. By now, even in this cold, there’s bound to be enough tourists to do that. Especially the foreign ones with lots of money."

  "Makes sense. A lot of petty crime going around."

  The drizzle had finally given up, but the gray skies made the Capital dreary, particularly among the stately gray and brown of Pennsylvania Avenue. The clean gleaming look of the White House was the only visual relief.

  Small knots of people stood across the Avenue, holding signs urging the administration to 'Secede from Wall Street,' and 'Hang the Bankers.' Other signs pleaded, 'Please TAX The Rich,' and 'Feed Our Babies Before Congress Gets Raises.' One sign was very different from the others, reading, 'Repeal Amendment 57, Reverse Citizens United, End The One-Party Tyranny And Free The Voters - the 2POTAI.'

  Emily wondered briefly at these problems and how the government continued to ignore society's overall condition. Then she said, "What's the 2POTAI?"

  Eric hesitated a moment as he thought, then answered. "The Peoples' Party Of Truth and Integrity."

  "And the 57th Amendment?"

  "Um… I think the one that set a minimum amount of donations before a party could run a candidate in national elections about a dozen years back."

  Never one to worry that much about politics before, Emily pondered that for a moment, but returned to scanning the streets.

  The protestors weren't the only ones about. Numerous small but thick huddles of tourists moved about the national landmarks. For most of them their clothes matched the dull scenery. Only a few foreign visitors stood out with their brighter, richer garments.

  Emily looked out on the drabness, nearly uniform but for where some of the non-government and non-lobbyist property was worse: in need of cleaning, painting, repairs or all of the above. "You
're right, Dad. He could blend in."

  "Yeah. But scientific deduction stops there. This is a damn big tourist trap. He could really be here and we may actually see him and not know it. Got any ideas?"

  Emily shook her head. "Not a one."

  "Well." Eric sighed with resignation. "Let's find somewhere to park. We're going to have to get out among the crowd to find him if he's here."

  Not far from the old red Smithsonian Castle, they found a parking garage. Eighty-five dollars an hour made Eric grumble, but they used it anyway.

  "We only need it this once," he rationalized. "Can take the Metro after today."

  Matching his swift pace leaving the garage, Emily thought the weather wasn't too bad for now. As long as the wind didn't blow too much and it didn't rain, then she simply felt cold versus chilled to the bone. The fast walk helped to warm her.

  They headed for the Capitol Building. Two large crowds waited at its steps. In one were a couple of school groups, easily identified by the holographic flags above both teachers and children. The blue class would soon enter, while the yellows passed time with various activities. She thought she could hear teachers shouting for order. Soon a comparative calm came over the yellow group.

  It didn’t last. By the time she and her father reached the steps she could plainly hear individual teachers screaming again.

  The other crowd was restive, made of a motley mass of people. More signs were among this group, saying many of the same things she saw earlier. Police stood close to this one, the officers' eyes darting about nervously.

  Emily forced her attention away from the two groups. There was work for her here. It occurred to her that the distraction caused by the students and protesters was perfect for a pickpocket. Maybe…just maybe.

  Four hours later they had covered the eastern end of the Mall, including the inside of the Capitol, the Supreme Court building and the Library of Congress. Nothing to show for it but feet and legs wanting a rest, bodies wanting warmth.

  Emily couldn't even remember much of the interiors of the famous structures.

  Just an endless search for scruffy male faces, all studied to see if they were the right age, size and general appearance to be John Hardy. One she remembered clearly: a man she lingered on for a moment because he was rather distinguished in profile and of uncertain lineage. Then he turned, saw her staring and blushed. She had quickly turned away, as embarrassed as he. She decided she had probably been ogling some lawyer or congressional staffer. Or worse, maybe some young ambassador from an emerged African or Arab nation. Now he'll go home and complain about how rude the poor American women are.

  "Come on, Em," Eric said, looking up. "Those clouds are getting heavy again and it's going to be dark soon. Let's go bail the car out."

  Emily checked her watch. "I've got a better idea. We're going to get charged for another hour anyway, so why don't we stop at that McDonald's on the way. I'm starving and I need to sit down for a while."

  Eric thought for a second. "Okay. But if we get caught in a storm, it's on you."

  "Deal. Meals don't cost that much."

  "I mean the parking fee."

  "Isn't there some consideration for ability to pay?"

  "Nope. Your idea, your bill. I figure you want to miss out on a supper offered by Wally's wife, then you must be willing to pay the price."

  "Wait a minute. You never said anything about home cooking. That changes everything." She picked up the pace. "Let's get the car."

  15

  They pulled up to an elegantly modest Arlington town home. A straight-forward, three-story affair, with the lowest level sunk to the sills, it was surfaced with vari-tone brown brick, glistening under its Gen-paint. The overall effect was pleasing; certainly better than any hotel.

  Inside it rather reminded her of their home in Greensboro. The furniture had age, but was still good. She had no eye for colors and décor, so long as there wasn't anything garish or tacky. None of that here.

  The same could be said for Ruth Luptman, an attractive, no nonsense woman of practical mien. Emily had a hard time picturing her entertaining in the Washington way. That suited her fine. She also disliked functions or socials, and had no use for them now.

  Ruth's meal was perfect, simple, exactly what the Sheafers needed. Emily was glad the fast food burger languished, unordered by her father or herself.

  Walter Luptman was another thing entirely. But then his chatter may have been thoughtful in a way. At least he didn't ask all the questions he could have. Going on about the Smithsonian politics and inner workings certainly gave them a chance to rest, eat and listen without responding. That is, until it got interesting.

  "I tell you, Eric," he said. "Crowder is a fine administrator. And when it comes to procurements, he's the best there is. Unbeatable. Got a stealth orbiter for the Aero-Space back in thirty-two. The Air Force is still having spasms over that. It's a veteran ship from Second Korea, too. To this day I don't know how he does it. All he'll say is he knows 'this or that staffer for so-and-so,' and, like a magician, he conjures up what he's wanting."

  "You're not so bad at that yourself, Wally," Eric said. "One minute the Denver Museum is firing you as their curator of collections and then the Smith is hiring you as their curator of the American History unit. You never have told me why Denver gave you the sack."

  "And I never will, old friend. Some stories are best left untold. Rest assured it was nothing professionally related. At least not in the strictest sense." With that Luptman burst out laughing, a crazy hyena kind.

  Eric chuckled, a knowing look in his eyes.

  Ruth added, "I think the fact that I'm his second wife may be a hint."

  "Now, my love," Luptman said as his laughter subsided to intermittent chuckling. "Nothing like that really happened."

  "No, you beast. But everyone thought so."

  "Gossip mongers, all! And they all only thought what Muth told them to think, the ignorant, sycophantic bastards." He laughed again.

  Emily's curiosity had grown to the point that she asked, "Why is it so funny if it cost you your marriage, Dr. Luptman?"

  "Oh. That. Well, Elaina was really just a rich society brat. True, her father's connections got me on at Denver's, but the job was boring, she was boring as hell, and I'm so much better off now than I ever would have been there." He reached over and clasped Ruth's hand. "A lot better off."

  "Keep telling yourself that, dear," she said. "And maybe I'll stay. I can always change my mind about believing you, you know."

  Both Sheafers laughed.

  Luptman snorted. "I just hope Crowder continues to believe me."

  "Crowder didn't hire you in spite of your alleged infidelity. He just doesn't care."

  Luptman was perplexed for a second. "I don't know if I've been insulted or complimented." Then he made a complete change of subject. "Which reminds me. Did I ever tell you about the time Old Crow - that's what we call him, got jet black hair, wears it slicked to the nape - nearly ruined an appropriations meeting? It's all because he won't learn how to use modern technology. He gets the latest junk, but refuses to believe he may need lessons in their use. Got himself one of those brand new imbedded personal data managers made by InTouch. The latest thing. They're so easy that a quick lesson and any jerk can use them. But there's the problem. Crow may be opinionated, stubborn, brilliant. But a jerk, no. He makes a call on the thing, right before the meeting, to his daughter, speaks a while to his grandson, closes the video, then goes on in. The meeting goes on like normal, but as the GAO rep starts making her case for budget cuts, we hear this maniacal giggling coming from Crow. Only it's not him but his grandson. He had forgot to turn his PDM off." Luptman broke off to laugh that same hyena cackle.

  As for herself, having doubtless heard the story many times, Ruth started gathering plates, saying, "I think these two would like some needed rest."

  Luptman came out of his hysterics and agreed. "Of course. Please," he said to the Sheafers. "Make yourselves comfo
rtable in the den. We'll join you shortly."

  Minutes later, after they were done clearing away the dishes, the Luptmans came in. Walter lit the fire (a real wood fire) he had laid and they settled in.

  Listening to the luffing as the fire caught, Emily began to surrender to the exhaustion of three days of much anguish and effort and little sleep. Dimly she heard the voices of her father and Luptman droning on about their days at Chicago U. Then Luptman penetrated her lethargy with a personal question to Eric.

  "Okay," he said. "It's been what, fourteen years, Eric? How come you haven't remarried? You know you aren't the single type."

  Emily opened an eye and saw her father sitting back in one of the stuffed chairs, legs stretched out. "Hell, Wally," he said. "You know how it is. After Rose died I had Emily at home, Steve…at UNC-G and also still at home. They weren't what held me back, though. Just too busy, I guess. The department was just then beginning to expand. So I buried myself in work and family."

  "Okay. I'll buy that. For then. But what about the past five years or so?"

  "I don't know. Out of the habit, maybe. Dated several times. Always with a faculty member, except for that once with an old friend of Rose's. It's just there never seemed to be anyone that was more than a good friend."

  Luptman made a small nod to Ruth. "What do you think makes a good marriage, when it's boiled down to the bare bones?"

  "Yeah. But…let's just say the right set of bones hasn't appeared yet."

  "Well," Luptman said with a chuckle. "Okay. Enough of prying into your personal life. Feel like a game of chess? I think the last time was over two years ago."

  "At least that long. Not tonight, Wally. Em and I need to do a little planning for tomorrow. Thanks."

  "Sure. I should help Ruth with the clean-up. That's one way I keep her as my friend."

  "Damned right," Ruth confirmed.

  "Downstairs is all yours while you're here, Eric. Has its own entrance at the driveway. Put your car there off the road. There's a good chance of it getting hit if you leave it on the street."