A Breath of Dead Air (The Mysteries of Bell & Whitehouse Book 8) (14 page)

R
ick showed
the pictures of the gardeners to a couple of his colleagues, but none of them had ever seen the men before. Finally he decided to drop by his editor’s office. The old man eyed him querulously when he knocked and immediately entered without waiting for an invitation.

“Dawson!” he growled. “When will you ever learn how to knock?!”

“Hopefully never,” Rick said as he took a seat on his editor’s desk.

Suggs Potter’s scowl deepened. “And get your butt off my desk,” he grunted, picking up a stapler. “Unless you want me to cause you grievous bodily harm with my office equipment!”

Rick grinned and slid into the opposing chair. He and Suggs went way back. He’d worked for him for years when Suggs fired him at the request of Murphy Roops, who owned the New York Chronicle. Suggs had always regretted it, and had felt he should have stood up to the owner, but then he would have probably lost his own job. In the end, it had all worked out, when Suggs had rehired his star reporter, adding another war story to his belt.

“I’m still looking into this Senator Vickar murder, chief,” Rick announced, now putting his feet up on the desk. He slid his phone across, and it skidded to a halt against Suggs’s impatiently drumming fingers. “Take a look at those goons. They were hanging around outside the Vickar place the day before he was killed. Any idea who they are?”

Suggs leaned back in his chair, after scowling at Rick’s feet for a moment. He snatched up the phone and flicked through the pictures. “Nope. Never seen these ugly mugs before,” he confessed. “But they look like they mean business, and I don’t mean of the horticultural variety.”

“I’m starting to think these bozos took out the senator. Only problem is finding out who they are and, more importantly, who their paymaster is.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” said Suggs. “Did you show these to the cops?”

Rick hesitated. He was loath to inform his editor he was now a possible suspect, even though Bo had supplied him with an alibi. This Detective Garfield, however, seemed keen to keep him at the top of his suspect list and wasn’t likely to accept his help cracking the case. “Well, um…”

“Ricky. You know the drill. Withholding evidence is a serious offense.”

“Well, I was actually thinking of having them published. Ask the public to help us solve the case.”

Suggs raised a bristling eyebrow. “Are you nuts? Publish a picture of the suspects? Cops will be all over us. Innocent until proven guilty and all that.”

“I wouldn’t mention the Vickar murder, Suggs. I’d publish them in the Missing Persons section. Say these bozos have been declared missing by their mommies, and they want their baby boys back.”

Suggs chewed his bottom lip for a moment. “That could work,” he admitted. “But you could get into a lot of trouble for this, Ricky. You’d be showing your hand. If these guys are the killers, they’ll come after you next.”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” he said, sounding a lot more brave than he was feeling. “Besides, it’s not as if I’m going to add my byline to these pictures. They’ll never know it was me who published them.”

“All right. Run them as missing persons and we’ll see what turns up.”

“Thanks, chief,” said Rick, well pleased.

The chief planted his elbows on his desk and gave his star investigative reporter a serious look. “I want to catch these bastards as badly as you do, Ricky. I liked Senator Vickar. He was a personal friend of mine. And I liked his ideas about doing politics the old-fashioned way: with integrity and honor. It’s a damn shame he’s gone, cause he would have made a big difference in Washington had he been allowed to carry out his revolutionary ideas.”

Rick agreed wholeheartedly. He’d only met the senator the day before, and then only briefly, but the man had made a huge impression on him. Which reminded him… “I want to spend some more time on this piece about the senator’s murder, chief. Really nail it. That all right with you?”

“Take all the time you need, Ricky. If you manage to solve this crime, the New York Chronicle will have the scoop, and the senator will be vindicated.”

After he left his editor’s office, Rick dropped by the editorial desk of the Missing Persons section to drop off the pictures and go over the copy. He decided to run a report on all three of the thugs, hoping John Q. Public would come through. It was probably a long shot, but it might just work.

T
hey arrived
at the senator’s house, and Alice had still not been able to get a hold of Reece. It was frankly starting to worry her. Normally the actor always picked up his phone, and now it was as if he’d simply switched it off, her call going straight to voice mail, which was highly unusual for him. She tried not to be alarmed, for they had more pressing matters to look into, and she knew there could be any number of reasons Reece was not responding.

They walked up to the front door of the Vickar house, which was, once again, being guarded by a very burly, very bored-looking policeman.

“Hi there,” Alice caroled cheerfully. “How are you?”

“No visitors,” replied the policeman promptly. “Police business.”

“I’m the senator’s daughter,” said Bo, producing her driver’s license.

The officer looked Bo up and down. “You look a lot like… Jezebel Baskerville, Miss Vickar.”

“Jezebel Baskerville is my stage name.”

The cop’s pasty face split into a wide grin. “My wife loves that show! She’s always watching it. It’s uncanny, but so far she’s managed to pick out every loser, I mean every guy who decided to cheat on his wife.”

Bo smiled politely. “Kudos to your wife, officer.” It was obvious from her subdued demeanor that chatting about Temptation Town wasn’t foremost on her mind on the day her father was murdered, though.

The policeman finally seemed to realize his faux pas, for he quickly stammered, “I’m sorry, Miss Vickar… for your loss. I’ll, um, I’ll check with the detective in charge about giving you access to the house. Hang on.”

While he got in touch with his boss, Alice looked up and down the street. Senator Vickar’s house was located at the end of a cul-de-sac, along with a couple of other equally nice houses, all with a front yard, and all built along the circular street, a patch of lawn with a single tree in the middle. She thought back to the pictures of the gardeners and clearly saw where their van had been parked: on that small patch of greenery and next to that single tree.

“You know what’s weird?” she now asked.

“What’s that, honey?” Fee responded.

“This is a very small community, right? Very private.”

“Right.”

“So if a couple of gardeners were hovering around outside the senator’s house, they must have been gardening someone’s garden, otherwise they would have been seen and reported by one of the neighbors, right?”

“Uh-huh?”

“So… gardeners don’t just show up. You have to make an appointment, sometimes months in advance. Just like with plumbers or electricians.”

“So?”

“So one of the neighbors must have their contact information.”

“I’m sure Detective Garfield had the area canvassed, honey. A couple of plainclothes officers must have talked to all of the neighbors.”

“But what if they didn’t mention the gardeners? Like they wouldn’t mention the plumber or the electrician? Because they’re obviously not suspicious?”

“I’d say you’ve been watching too many cop shows.”

“I watch the same ones you do.”

Fee eyed her uncertainly for a moment, then yelled, “Bo, we’re going to have a chat with the neighbors, all right?”

They first approached the house to the left. An elderly lady opened the door but was at a loss when asked about the gardeners. Whatever they were doing there, it wasn’t for her, as her garden was kept by her son, she replied a little snappishly before closing the door on them. The house to the right belonged to a young couple. The wife answered the door, cradling a newborn, and confirmed the gardeners had done some work in the front yard.

“My husband takes care of all that stuff,” she said apologetically when Alice asked if she had their card. “I don’t even know what they were called.”

“Could you ask him?” Alice asked.

“It’s important,” Fee added.

The woman nodded. “Is this in connection with Senator Vickar’s death?”

“It is,” said Alice after a pause.

“I thought so. Saw you guys arrive just now.” She shook her head as she fished out her phone. “Terrible tragedy, isn’t it?”

“Did you know the senator well?” Fee asked.

“We went to his neighborhood barbecue a few times. That man could cook a mean steak. And when he was out of town we used to walk his dog for him.” Her phone connected, and she turned away while Alice and Fee hovered in the doorway. Alice stared at the wallpaper. It sported a fish motif. Big fishies, little fishies… The woman finally returned, clicking off her phone. “Well, my husband doesn’t remember hiring them. Which doesn’t make sense, because they told me that he did.”

“So your husband never contracted them?”

“No, this is the first he’s heard of them. I—I naturally assumed when they said he’d hired them to do some work around the garden, that—” Her eyes suddenly widened. “You don’t think—they couldn’t possibly be—”

Alice grimaced. “I’m afraid so, Miss…”

“Bennett. Jackie Bennett.” She covered her mouth with her hand. “You think these men were… They had something to do with the senator’s death?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Fee said.

“Did you mention the gardeners to the police?” Alice asked.

“No—actually before you asked I’d completely forgotten about them.”

The woman couldn’t give them any more information, so they walked back over to the senator’s house.

“Very ballsy,” Alice remarked. “She could have called her husband for confirmation.”

“Yeah, but why would she? If three gardeners show up, clearly ready, willing and able to do the work, why would she call her husband to give them the go-ahead? It’s hard enough to get an appointment. She must have assumed he simply forgot to tell her.”

“Still, she might have asked him, and then what?”

“Then they’d have told her there was a mix-up and tried another neighbor. Or they might have gone to work on that bit of city green in the center there. Anything to keep an eye on the senator’s house without arousing suspicion.”

They’d arrived on the senator’s porch again, and saw that Bo had entered the house. The policeman still stood rooted to the spot. When he saw them, he said, “Sorry, I have strict instructions not to let the two of you in.”

“Let me guess,” said Alice. “Detective Garfield?”

“That’s right. He said you should…” He checked his notebook and cleared his throat. “You should keep your noses out of his investigation.”

Alice sighed. Being sidelined by the police. The story of her young life.

“We better get Bo out here again,” said Fee. “Without us, there isn’t much she can do in there.”

“Unless the senator has finally decided to show himself to her?”

“Let’s ask him, shall we?” Fee suggested.

They walked back to the van, and before long were both asking the senator’s ghost to appear.

“Oh, Senator Vickar!” Fee called out.

“Paging the ghost of Senator Vickar!” Alice echoed.

“Come out, come out wherever you are.”

They waited for a moment, but no Senator Vickar appeared.

Alice frowned. “Weird. Where can he have gone off to?”

“Maybe he’s already passed beyond the veil?” Fee suggested.

“Surely not before his own murder has been solved.” And as Fee tried a few more times to get in touch with the deceased, Alice checked her phone again. Still no message from Reece. She tried his cell, but no response.

She shook her head. “I don’t like this, Fee.”

“Reece?”

She nodded. “This is so not like him.”

“You’re right. Something’s going on.”

They shared a look of worry. “I hope nothing’s happened to him.”

“I’m sure he’s fine, honey. Why don’t we ask Bo to focus her attention on Reece for a moment? See if she can find out what’s going on?”

A quick phone call to Bo produced the senator’s daughter. She came hurrying out of the house and panted a little as she stepped into the van.

“No sign of my dad,” she said, sounding disappointed.

“He’s not showing himself to us either,” Fee said, then nodded to Alice.

“We have another problem,” the latter said. “It’s Reece.” She held up her cell. “He’s not answering his phone, and I’m getting worried. Could you perhaps…”

“Of course,” Bo said, and closed her eyes. Then her face took on a serious look, and she suddenly gasped. “Oh, God, no!”

Alice felt an icy hand close around her heart. “What? What is it?!”

Bo slowly opened her eyes and looked at Alice, a pained look on her face. “He’s with those men—the same men who tried to run us off the road. The same men… who murdered my father!”

“
I
’ve always admired you
, Job.”

“And I you, Jack.”

The president smiled, noting that the mutual admiration society was clearly in session. Odd that he was now talking to the ghost of his friend, yet on the other hand, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

“You know, for a moment there I thought that you had me killed, Jack.”

Jack frowned. “Me? Have you killed? Whatever gave you that idea?”

He’d mixed himself a drink and was just about to start pouring Job a scotch when he remembered his visitor wouldn’t be drinking anymore.

The man’s next words confirmed this. Job was staring sadly at the crystal tumbler. “One of the things I’ll miss the most,” he muttered. Then he blinked. “Well, you were always so vocally opposed to my bill, remember?”

Jack shook his head. “The
president
was opposed to your bill, Job. Jack Gnash has always been completely in favor.”

“What’s with the schizophrenia, Jack? You
are
the president.”

Jack took a swig from his drink while Job watched wistfully. “You’ve been in politics as long as I have, Job. You know how it is. Even though as a person I’m one of your greatest admirers, as the president I had to object fiercely to that Pinocchio Bill of yours. All part of the role.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” said Vickar quietly.

“So they got you, huh?” Jack asked, taking a seat on the edge of the Resolute Desk. “Dammit, Job. You should have been more careful.”

“I didn’t know the threats were so serious.”

“You were driven off the road. How more serious can you get?”

Job lifted his hands ineffectually. “I just figured they were trying to intimidate me. I never thought they’d go so far as to actually—”

The door to the Oval Office suddenly swung open, and Jack’s secretary Nancy Repton appeared. She was a small, bespectacled woman with an abundance of frizzy hair. “Are you all right, Mr. President?” She looked around uncertainly. “I… I thought I heard voices…”

“Welcome to the club, Nance. I hear them all the time.” He grinned as he held up his tumbler. “Must be the ghosts of presidents past, huh?”

She gave him a reproachful look. “No, really, sir. I actually heard voices, and since Mr. Wince already left and nobody else arrived, I naturally assumed that…” She hesitated, clearly not sure what she naturally assumed.

“That I was talking to myself? It happens, Nance. One of the disadvantages of old age. I’m not as young as I used to be.”

When Nancy had left them again, after another reproachful look at the president, Vickar asked, “Wince was in here just now?”

Jack winced at the mention of the name. “Yeah. Rubbing my nose in it, as usual. Did you know he actually called me his slave? First time he was so blunt about the whole sordid deal. Must be dying to get rid of me next year.”

Job was eyeing him thoughtfully. “You don’t think he’s the one who set this up, do you?”

“Well, he certainly wasn’t shedding any tears in mourning, that’s for sure.” He frowned. “Do you think he knows about your nickname?”

“He might have heard it mentioned. It’s not as if it’s a big secret.”

Job had told him about the note, which struck him as ominous. He was probably the only one who called him Bucky. Wince might very well have had his hand in the murder, and decided to mention the name ‘Bucky’ to make sure the president kept his mouth shut by implicating him in the crime.

“You know I envied you this position, Jack?” said Job, quite surprisingly.

“You’ve got to be kidding. You were the one who said I was selling my soul to the devil, remember? At least that’s what you said when I asked you to be my running mate.”

“I know. And I did think you were getting in way over your head. But you managed to get some great things done as president, Jack.”

He eyed the other man somberly. “I could have done more. A hell of a lot more, in fact. I only did what they allowed me to get away with.”

“You did what you could, my friend, and I respect you for that.”

He smiled and moved to slap his old friend’s back, only to see his hand sail right on through. “Dammit,” he muttered.

Job lifted his shoulders apologetically. “Pretty weird, huh?”

“Yeah, it is a nuisance. How long are you going to be around?”

“No idea. It’s actually the first time this has ever happened to me,” the senator joked, “and I’m still not sure about all the rules. I actually met two couples who might help me with that. They’ve worked with people in my particular situation before. Ghosts, I mean.”

Jack took another swig of his drink. “Anyone I know?”

“Well, one of them is Reece Hudson.”

“The actor?”

“Yeah, and then there’s Rick Dawson.”

Jack nodded. “New York Chronicle. Good man.” Suddenly, as he thought about the Chronicle, something occurred to him. Wince had told him to back off and not get involved in any of this, but that didn’t mean somebody else couldn’t dig a little deeper. “You know? Why don’t I get in touch with Dawson? Feed him some information about Wince and the others?”

Job’s face broke into a wide smile. “Don’t you think that’s too risky?”

“Well, Dawson can be trusted to keep his sources confidential, right?”

“Absolutely. He interviewed me yesterday, and he’s been looking into my murder for the Chronicle. He’ll be happy to get some inside information.”

The two old college roommates shared a cheeky grin, then Jack raised his glass to the ghostly senator. “We’re going to catch these bastards, Bucky. This time, they’ve gone too far.”