A Game of Ghosts

  The girl turned a corner and was lost from sight, breaking the spell.

  ‘Huh?’ said Richard.

  ‘I said, “What do you think?”’

  ‘I think we should do it,’ said Richard. ‘That’s why we’re here, right?’

  ‘Okay, then,’ said Sumner. ‘The sooner it’s done, the sooner we’re home.’

  With luck, he and Richard would be back by nightfall.

  74

  Michelle Souliere’s property was alive with police. A curious crowd had gathered on the sidewalk, and various neighbors were leaning on gates and watching the comings and goings.

  It didn’t take the Waterbury PD’s Criminal Investigation Bureau long to finish nibbling at Valenzuela and move on to the entrée represented by Parker. After speaking initially with the first responding officer, he’d been placed under the care of the second uniform that arrived, before being passed on to CID. Following a brief conversation with a detective named Alicia Kohner and her partner, Emile Rolde, he wasn’t entirely surprised to find himself in the back of an unmarked car being taken to the Waterbury PD on East Main, where he was placed in a room with a table, a couple of chairs, and a cup of lukewarm coffee. He wasn’t cuffed, and it was made clear that he wasn’t under arrest, but he was still sitting in a room behind a locked door, waiting to provide what were likely to be unsatisfactory answers to some very direct questions. He’d spent a lot of time in rooms like this, on both sides of the table. He enjoyed being the questioner more than the questioned, but it wasn’t really much of a contest.

  His phone had been taken from him, which made him glad that he’d deleted Angel’s number from the call list. Parker wondered if Angel and Louis had managed to get to Tobey Thayer and apprise him of the trouble he might be in. He’d find out when he next got the chance to call Moxie Castin.

  The subject of Moxie brought him back to Ross, and his continued reluctance to involve the police in the search for Jaycob Eklund. Parker knew that Ross was protecting his own back, but despite their earlier conversation, the Eklund situation had changed with the discovery of Michelle Souliere’s body. It was entirely possible that Eklund might have killed Souliere. Even if he hadn’t, he would become a suspect the moment Parker mentioned his name to the police.

  Yet Ross had also suggested that it might be better for Parker if the police didn’t take an interest in Eklund’s whereabouts. But Parker had never met Eklund. Their only point of connection was through Ross. He could only conclude that he was possibly being royally screwed over by Ross, a man who might now constitute a rogue element within the FBI. Parker wondered what the penalty was for aiding and abetting the undermining of a federal institution: probably something really bad, and without a view.

  The door to the interrogation room – hey, call it what it is – opened, and Kohner and Rolde entered. Both carried pens and writing pads, but the room was certainly wired for recording anyway, so any notes were simply for their own information, or for show. He hadn’t been Mirandized, since he wasn’t under arrest, but he still needed to talk to Moxie Castin, if only to confirm that he was free to stretch the principle of privilege to breaking point.

  Kohner was pretty in a blond way, and Rolde was handsome in a dark way. Both were of a similar age, and at least a decade younger than Parker. If they ever decided to hook up, they could make beautiful children together.

  The dance began. Rolde asked Parker to explain again what he had been doing at Michelle Souliere’s house. Parker asked to speak with Moxie Castin. Kohner spoke up to remind him that he wasn’t under arrest, and had no need of a lawyer. Parker in turn pointed out – as he’d explained before they put him in a car and drove him over here – that he had been engaged in a professional capacity through a lawyer, and was obliged to clarify with Mr. Castin what he was permitted to say about the client. A brief debate on the nature of privilege followed, but Parker held firm. Eventually he was led to a phone and allowed to call Moxie. He was put through as soon as he identified himself to Moxie’s secretary, which he took as either a very good or a very bad sign.

  ‘You,’ said Moxie, without preamble, ‘are a troublesome and troubling man, and your work brings you into contact with individuals of dubious principles and low character. And I think you know who I’m talking about.’

  ‘Did you receive some paperwork?’

  ‘I received a lot of paperwork, and I’m still not entirely sure what it all means. What I do know is that none of it will protect either of us in a court of law, but it contains enough flimflam and doublespeak to tie experts in jurisprudence up in knots for weeks, maybe months. For what it’s worth, until someone starts pulling at threads, you are employed on a third-party basis by this firm to pursue inquiries relating to the disappearance of one Claudia Sansom and the subsequent discovery of her remains in a shallow grave. This firm has, in turn, been subcontracted by the Federal Bureau of Investigation to follow up – quote “at your discretion”, unquote – all relevant leads and contacts relating to the Sansom case.’

  ‘Does it explain how Sansom falls under the jurisdiction of the FBI?’

  ‘She disappeared in Massachusetts, and was found in New Hampshire. Geography is our friend.’

  Parker had to concede that it was clever of Ross. It would allow him, if necessary, to explain how he had ended up at Souliere’s door, and to mention Eklund without admitting that Eklund himself might be under investigation. Eklund had provided professional assistance to Oscar Sansom. He had also spoken with Souliere. Parker had simply been trying to establish if Souliere knew anything about the Sansom case. He was doing what any good investigator, police or private, would do: chase down every lead, reinterview every witness, if only to rule out their testimony as irrelevant.

  ‘What about Angel and Louis?’ he asked. ‘Have they been in touch?’

  ‘Your lunatic friends? No. Should they have been?’

  Kohner appeared in the hallway and tapped her watch. Time was up.

  ‘I think we need to ensure the safety of a man named Tobey Thayer. I asked them to take care of it.’

  ‘You could pass on this information to the police.’

  ‘I might be mistaken.’

  ‘Nevertheless.’

  ‘It’s complicated.’

  ‘You mean FBI complicated?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘I’ll call Angel and Louis. When I know something more, I’ll get back to you. I take it the Waterbury PD has your phone?’

  Parker gave him the names of the two detectives, so Moxie would know whom to contact.

  ‘Call me,’ said Parker.

  ‘I will,’ said Moxie. ‘And don’t end up in jail down there. I charge mileage.’

  The coffee was replenished. Parker put the issue of Angel, Louis, and Tobey Thayer to the side, and concentrated on the questions being put to him. Kohner did most of the talking, Rolde interjecting when required. They might have looked neat and clean, but they were bright too. Parker could tell they smelled something off in his story about Eklund, but they couldn’t figure out what it was. It helped that Parker didn’t have to lie, except by omission. When he found himself on treacherous ground – for example, Rolde homing in on why he would have come all the way to Connecticut to interview a woman who appeared to have no direct connection to the case in hand when a simple phone call might have served just as well – he referred the detectives to Moxie Castin.

  ‘So in all this, you were just doing what Mr. Castin asked?’ Kohner offered.

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘Following orders,’ said Rolde.

  ‘But not in a Nazi way.’

  ‘Does that count as one of your principles?’

  ‘If it does, it’s not much of a boast.’

  ‘Mr. Parker, we know exactly who you are, and what you do. We’re also aware that no law enforcement agency has ever received a straight answer to a question directed at you. You appear to be allergic to transparency.’

  ‘Maybe I’m turnin
g over a new leaf with you,’ said Parker. ‘You have to believe in a man’s capacity for change and personal development.’

  Kohner snorted. It was kind of cute, in a gross way.

  ‘Tell us about Jaycob Eklund,’ said Rolde.

  Back to Eklund. Rolde, in Parker’s opinion, had moved from ‘smart’ to ‘really too smart for his own good.’ The only consolation was that the system would eventually knock it out of him.

  ‘I don’t know a great deal about Eklund, apart from what I’ve discovered from walking in his footsteps.’

  ‘Were you aware that he’s believed to be missing?’

  ‘I’ve never spoken with him.’

  ‘That’s not answering the question.’

  ‘I only know that he hasn’t been around in a while.’

  ‘He hasn’t been seen at his home or office in over a week. He doesn’t answer calls. His mailbox hasn’t been emptied. Curiously, though, the receptionist at his serviced office building remembered receiving a call from him during that time, asking two men to be permitted entry as soon as they arrived. What’s odd about it is that Eklund doesn’t actually appear to have been in the building when the call was made. What do you think about that, Mr. Parker?’

  ‘I think you’ve been hard at work while I was sitting here all alone.’

  ‘As has already been suggested, I don’t believe you’re being entirely forthcoming with us. Are you looking for Jaycob Eklund, Mr. Parker?’

  ‘I’m looking into the disappearance and death of Claudia Sansom. Eklund was close to her husband. As part of my investigation, I’d be interested in speaking with him. So far, I haven’t had a whole lot of luck.’

  ‘Were you recently at Eklund’s office building?’

  ‘I made inquiries about him, just as you did.’

  ‘Did you gain entry to his office under false pretenses?’

  ‘No,’ Parker lied. Good luck to them with tracing the call that supposedly came from Eklund, and he hadn’t broken any laws by entering the building, or not in any way that could be proved. It was only when he got to Eklund’s office door that the trouble started.

  ‘You’re sure about that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Eklund’s office building was run as a cheap operation, with minimal security camera coverage, and he would bet good money that the young receptionist wouldn’t be able to conclusively identify him if the police decided to show her a photograph. He wasn’t happy about lying to the detectives, but it was the first real lie he’d been forced to tell, and a calculated gamble. If he admitted wrongdoing, he could potentially find himself having another awkward conversation in another euphemistically titled ‘interview room’, this time with the Providence PD.

  ‘Could Eklund have killed Michelle Souliere?’ Kohner asked.

  ‘I don’t know any reason why he would,’ said Parker, which was true, but still didn’t mean that Eklund wasn’t a suspect.

  He could see that Kohner and Rolde were growing frustrated. At least they could say he hadn’t confounded their expectations.

  ‘I know it doesn’t seem like it,’ he said, ‘but we’re on the same side here. I’m not sheltering Eklund. I don’t know where he is. If I find him, I’ll inform Mr. Castin, and he will, in turn, pass those details on to law enforcement. Neither of us has any interest in obstructing the course of justice.’

  Kohner snorted again. It wasn’t quite as cute the second time around. She looked at her partner. He shrugged. Parker had committed no crime in the city of Waterbury or the state of Connecticut, as long as one glossed over the matter of any small lies told to the police, and as many more sins of omission. They couldn’t hold him, and they knew it, but that didn’t mean they had to look happy about it.

  ‘Then I guess you’re free to go,’ said Kohner.

  She led him to the door and opened it for him. Rolde stayed where he was while Kohner escorted Parker from the building. Along the way, she said softly, ‘Seriously, and between us, what the fuck are you doing here?’

  Parker didn’t break stride, but he decided that it was worth leaving some bridges unburned in Waterbury.

  ‘Looking for Eklund.’

  ‘Is he suspected of a crime?’

  ‘He wasn’t until I saw Michelle Souliere’s body.’

  ‘Will Castin be straight with us?’

  ‘He’s a lawyer: he couldn’t be straight if you tied him to a rack. But he’s one of the good ones. He’ll tell you what he can.’

  ‘And you? Will you be straight?’

  Parker paused. They were at the final door before the main lobby.

  ‘I don’t want to see what happened to Michelle Souliere go unpunished.’

  ‘Then I guess that’ll have to do, won’t it?’ said Kohner.

  ‘I guess it will.’

  75

  Parker’s phone and gun were returned to him. Connecticut did not have a reciprocity agreement recognizing pistol permits from Maine, but Parker had nonresident permits for most states. His weapon was not an issue, but Kohner had advised him that they’d checked his status, just to be sure. The news didn’t make him feel any more loved in Waterbury.

  No one had offered to give him a ride back to his car, which remained parked near Michelle Souliere’s house. It wasn’t too much of a schlep: the Waterbury PD building was on East Main, and from where he stood he could almost see the spire of St. Anne’s Church on South Main, just across the Yankee Expressway. He could get back to Souliere’s house on foot, but it wouldn’t have killed Kohner or her partner to save him the walk.

  He still had his cell phone in his hand, ready to call Angel and Louis, when he saw the car. It was a black 1966 Chrysler Imperial, in perfect condition. For a moment, Parker was worried that he might just have experienced a blow to the head, and would soon find himself with a hallucinatory version of the Green Hornet standing before him. Then the tinted window on the passenger side rolled down, and he realized, if he hadn’t already, that this was to be one of those days in which he was destined never to catch a decent break.

  Mother was sitting in the back of the car.

  Parker stared at his phone. He really, really wanted to talk with Angel and Louis, but it seemed inadvisable to keep Mother waiting, although she hadn’t as yet glanced in his direction, and if the cold breeze blowing through the open window was bothering her, she didn’t show it. Still, the implication was clear: his company was required. At least, he figured, he now had his ride.

  The driver got out as Parker approached. Parker didn’t recognize him, as he hadn’t been part of Philip’s coterie back in Providence. He was in his fifties and broadly built. He appeared old-school hard, the kind of guy who had delivered so many threats and beatings in his life that he could no longer even take communion without looking intimidating. He put out a hand like a shovel and waited. Slowly, Parker removed his gun, ejected the clip and the round in the chamber, put the ammunition in his jacket pocket, and restored the gun to its holster.

  ‘That’s as good as you get,’ he said. And more than I wanted to give, he might have added.

  The driver looked to Mother for confirmation that this was acceptable and received it in the form of the barest of nods. He opened the door for Parker, and closed it again behind him before returning to his seat. The window rolled up, and the car pulled away from the curb. The interior smelled faintly of old leather and Mother’s scent.

  ‘I thought you might like us to take you back to your vehicle,’ said Mother.

  ‘As long as the two hundred and thirty mile round trip isn’t too far out of your way.’

  In the rearview mirror, the eyes of the driver shifted to Parker, as though to warn him against inappropriate displays of humor in Mother’s company.

  ‘I heard about the Souliere woman,’ said Mother. ‘Did you have the opportunity to speak with her before she died?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. I’m not sure that you’d have learned much more from her than Eklund alread
y had.’

  Which confirmed to Parker that Mother, or someone close to her, must have gone through the material in Eklund’s home before, or shortly after, Parker commenced his own search of the property with Angel; before, most probably, as Mother didn’t strike him as the kind of person who liked playing catch-up. He doubted that it was Philip who had been entrusted with the task. Philip would have left a mess.

  Parker watched Waterbury go by. He felt as though he needed a shower. Being stuck in an interrogation room, in any role, always left him feeling unclean. Perhaps it was something that emanated from one’s pores under stress, or maybe it was just three people in close proximity in a room where too many others had sweated before them.

  ‘Just in passing, I’m still not sure what I should call you,’ he said.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘As I said before, I can’t really address you as “Mother”.’

  He knew her name, thanks to Ross, but he didn’t want to confirm to her that he’d made inquiries about her, even if she must have realized that he would.

  ‘It’s not an issue,’ she replied. ‘We’re never going to be close.’

  Parker tried not to look hurt. It was easier than he’d anticipated, and he’d anticipated that it would be very easy.

  ‘So how far have you progressed in your inquiries?’ Mother asked.

  ‘They’re ongoing.’

  ‘Don’t be facetious, Mr. Parker. I don’t have the patience for it.’

  ‘The last time I looked, I wasn’t employed by you.’

  ‘When last we met, you declined my offer of employment, and I advised you that I’d continue to take an interest in your activities. My obligations to Mr. Webb remain in place, and therefore they also affect you.’

  Parker gave up.

  ‘I believe that somewhere out there are individuals connected to the Capstead Martyrs, or the Brethren, or whatever you or anyone else might choose to call them,’ he said. ‘For some reason, they don’t want people delving into their history, and that’s why Souliere was killed. If Eklund is dead, then he died for the same reason. If he’s not dead, then it’s possible he may have killed Souliere. While he’s missing, he’ll remain a suspect, for the police if not for me.’