[Lady Justice 25] - Lady Justice and the Spy Page 4
He nodded.
She squeezed harder. “How about you spread the word for me? Can you do that?”
He nodded again. “P-P P-PLEASE! Let go of me.”
She released her grip and he fell to the floor whimpering.
Sarah picked up her suitcase and headed to #8. A black man about her age was standing in the door. From the look on his face, he had seen the incident down the hall.
“You must be Willie,” she said, smiling.
“Yes, Ma’am,” he replied, giving her a wide berth. “I’se all done here, and jes so you know, I don’t do no partyin’.”
Sarah smiled as she closed the door. They had gotten the message. She wouldn’t be bothered.
She looked around the room. A bed, a dresser, and a chair. Cleaner than she had expected. She had been in a lot worse, Baghdad, Bogota, Kabul. This would do.
She had found the perfect place to hide while she looked for her daughter.
CHAPTER 9
With Ox’s news about Clarence the Clown, I figured it was time for another pow-wow.
I dialed. “Kevin, I have news about our clown and it’s not good. Can you round up the girls and bring them over?”
“Will do.”
“Oh, yes. If either of them have a ’97 yearbook, have them bring that along.”
An hour later, the four of us were in my office.
I told them about the brick wall the authorities had run into tracking the elusive clown.
“So where do we go from here?” Kevin asked. “We can’t just wait around until the guy whacks another classmate.”
“That’s why I asked the girls to bring a yearbook. Twenty years is a long time. I thought maybe looking at some photos would trigger something.”
“Good idea,” Cathy said, opening The Hearld, the Westport High yearbook.
“There you are, Veronica,” Cathy said, pointing.
I looked over her shoulder. Veronica had certainly matured at an early age. It was easy to see why she had no trouble getting dates.
“There’s Ricky and Chuck. Remember when they got in trouble for tipping over the porta-potties?”
Cathy giggled. “I do, and there’s Jared. I was with him the night he had his first beer. He puked all over the back seat.”
I could see this little trip down memory lane was getting us nowhere. “May I see it?” I asked.
Cathy handed it over and I started thumbing through. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for until it hit me right between the eyes.
There was a page listing all the class notables, best dancer, best dressed, most likely to succeed. You get the picture.
The last entry was the one that caught my eye. Class clown. Under the photo of a goofy-looking guy was the name, Hobie Darling.
I tapped the photo. “Tell me about this guy.”
“Little Hobie,” Veronica replied. “Always cracking jokes, always making fun of himself. He also did magic tricks ---.”
“What did you just say? Magic tricks! Class clown! Magic tricks! Ring any bells?”
“Holy crap!” Kevin said. “Do you suppose ---?”
“Think!” I said. “Did Hobie ever date?”
“Not that I remember,” Veronica replied.
“Oh, no!” Cathy said, biting her lip. “My senior year. Hobie asked me to the prom. I had just started dating Mark and I turned him down.”
“I wonder how many other times the poor kid was turned down,” Kevin muttered. “I’ll bet at least four that we know of, Jane, Marcia, Louise and Anita.”
“Cathy,” I said. “You were in charge of finding addresses for the reunion. Did you find Hobie?”
“Not a trace,” she replied.
“I’m not surprised. If Hobie is Clarence the Clown, aka Emmett Kelly, he doesn’t want to be found. I’d better give Ox a call.”
“Ox, we may have a lead. See what you can find on Hobie Darling. He may be our guy.”
“I don’t get it,” Kevin said. “If this Hobie character is our perp, what’s with all the clues he’s leaving behind? Clown songs! Surely he knows somebody will put two and two together.”
“Maybe that’s what he’s counting on,” I replied. “Think about it. In school, nobody paid attention to him. He was just a goofy little kid who couldn’t get a date. Now, he’s in control. He can’t be ignored. He won’t be ignored. At last he’s the center of attention.”
“I guess that means we should cancel the reunion,” Cathy said, disappointment on her face.
I thought about it for a moment. “No, quite the contrary. I think you should have the reunion as soon as you can get it together. Right now he’s bumping off your classmates one by one. I think he’ll continue to do so until he’s caught. The problem is that we have no idea where he will strike next. He’s been all over the country, Seattle, Nashville, Miami, and now right in our own back yard. We need to draw him out in the open, and I think the best way is through the class reunion.”
“Sounds like you’re using us as bait,” Veronica said.
“In a sense, yes, but isn’t it better to have you all together where we can control the situation, rather than having you spread out so he can knock you off one by one?”
“I guess that makes sense.”
“How fast can you put the reunion together?”
“It’s not up to us,” Cathy replied. “I’m just the secretary. We’ll have to clear it with the class president, Mark Campbell.”
“Do you have his number?”
She nodded.
“Call him!”
A few minutes later, she hung up the phone. “What a prick! He said he was busy and didn’t give a rat’s ass whether we had a reunion or not. He said to do whatever we wanted as long as we didn’t bother him.”
“Perfect!”
“How’s that perfect?”
“Because now you’re in charge and we can put this together the way we want. The way that will lure the perp into a trap. Let’s get busy.”
“But there’s so much to do. I’ll have to get a committee together and ---.”
“Actually, we already have a committee. You won’t find a better one anywhere.”
“But who ---?”
“The four of us, Maggie, Willie, Mary, Dad, Bernice and Jerry. Your job, Cathy, is to get the invitations out. Oh, yes, somewhere in the invitation, tell your classmates to stay away from clowns!”
CHAPTER 10
As I expected, my geriatric reunion committee tackled the task with enthusiasm.
A few years ago, my 50th reunion was held at the Hilton Inn in Independence. The meeting room was just the right size, the Hereford House restaurant on site catered the food, and by having it at the hotel, it was perfect for out of town guests. My suggestion received unanimous approval and I volunteered to make the arrangements.
Once a date was set, Cathy sent out invitations, and as I advised, she included an admonition to avoid clowns at all costs.
As Kevin had feared, Veronica volunteered his services on the decorating committee, along with Dad and Bernice.
Jerry, of course, was the unanimous choice for the entertainment committee.
Maggie was to co-ordinate the whole affair and produce the final program.
I shared our plan with Ox, hoping to enlist the aid of the Kansas City Police Department, but with nothing but conjecture regarding the appearance of the elusive clown, they decided it didn’t warrant the manpower.
Nevertheless, Ox and his wife, Judy, volunteered to join Willie, Mary and me on the security detail.
Everything proceeded according to plan with a few minor hiccups, of course.
I checked with Kevin to see how the decorating was coming along.
“I hate these damned balloons!” he muttered. “I blow them up and they’re all wimpy by the next day. Is there some kind of balloon Viagra?”
“You’re not blowing them up by hand are you?”
“Is there any other way? I think I hacked up a lung yesterday.”
/> “Kevin, go to Party City and rent a compressed air cylinder. It has a little valve you slide the balloon on, push the valve, and presto, all done. You can blow up all the balloons you’ll need in a half hour on the day of the reunion.”
“Well, damn! Now you tell me.”
“I’m surprised Veronica didn’t tell you.”
“I’ve barely seen her. She’s been busy with your wife making name tags and other party crap.”
“Hang in there, Buddy. If you like the balloons, you’re gonna love the crepe paper.”
“Swell, just swell.”
One afternoon, Dad came knocking at my door. “Son, you gotta help me talk some sense into Bernice. I can’t get her out of the kitchen.”
“What’s she doing?”
“Baking cookies! Hundreds of cookies!”
I followed him to Bernice’s apartment, and sure enough, the place smelled like a Hostess bakery.
“Bernice, why all the cookies?”
“There’s going to be a party, isn’t there? You can’t have a party without cookies.”
After crossing the ninety threshold, Dad’s sweetie was still alert and full of vim and vigor, but sometimes just a few fries short of a Happy Meal. Also, more set in her ways. We’d learned that once she got something in her head, as long as it wasn’t dangerous, we might as well go with it.
“The restaurant is going to cater the meal. Don’t you remember?”
“Oh, I remember all right, but I bet they won’t have Snickerdoodles. Everybody loves Snickerdoodles. You can’t have a party without Snickerdoodles!”
I looked around. Every flat surface was covered with the tasty pastries.
I turned to Dad. “Looks like we’re having Snickerdoodles at the reunion.”
Bernice poked Dad in the ribs. “Help me finish up, and then I have a special tart just for you.”
Dad gave me a wink. “Can’t pass up a deal like that.”
I made a quick exit, trying to keep my imagination in check.
All things considered, the committee was functioning as well as could be expected.
I just knew it would be a reunion that no one would ever forget.
Hobie had been keeping an eye on Cathy Carter.
He knew that the class reunion would be coming up, and as class secretary, Cathy would be right in the middle of it.
When he saw her and Veronica, together, he knew plans were being made.
Veronica! The best looking girl in school. She had dated every guy in their class --- everybody, that is, except him! His blood boiled and he wanted to take her like he’d taken the others, but it would have to wait. He’d have his chance.
He was watching Cathy the day she drove to the post office with a large box of envelopes --- the invitations to the class reunion. He knew there would not be one addressed to him. He had done everything possible to conceal his identity and whereabouts.
The next day, he parked in front of the home of one of his classmates and waited until the postman had deposited the mail in the rural box.
He had seen the family leave, so he knew he had plenty of time. He sliced open the envelope, scribbled down the information, sealed the envelope with a piece of tape, and wrote on the front, “Sorry, delivered to wrong address. Opened by mistake.”
The family would never know the difference.
Now that he knew the details of the reunion, he could put the rest of his plan in motion. Very soon, his classmates would ignore him no more. He would be the center of attention, and they would rue the day they laughed at Hobie, the class clown.
For Sarah Savage, the Three Trails Hotel seemed the perfect place to hide from the relentless pursuit of the agency operatives, but just to be sure, she never strayed from the building for the first two days.
From her front-facing room, she constantly watched the traffic along Linwood Boulevard, looking for a car that lingered a bit too long, or a passerby who paid too much attention to the old rooming house.
Satisfied that she hadn’t been followed, she walked the few blocks to the lot where she had left her car. It was possible, but not likely, they had found her old Toyota at the Oakley, Kansas car lot and were looking for the Escape. She couldn’t take the chance, so she traded again, this time for a Jeep Cherokee.
That done, she began the search for her daughter in earnest.
She had always regretted the day that they took her child. She vowed she would keep track of her and watch her grow from a distance, but it wasn’t to be. Her work as an assassin for the government, and the secrets she knew, spelled danger for anyone she loved or cared for. If she was ever captured, she knew she would die before she would betray her country, but what if her captors knew she had a daughter and threatened her life? What then?
Knowing this, she distanced herself from her own flesh and blood, and for thirty-eight years she wondered what had become of the precious child she had borne.
The skills she had developed working for Con Ops to track and neutralize enemies of the state, she now employed to find her daughter.
The trail was cold, but she was persistent. She followed lead after lead. Some were fruitful, others a dead end.
Then one day, there she was! The moment she saw her, there was no doubt. Something deep inside her stirred. She had found her daughter!
Her first impulse was to run to her and hold her close, but she knew that would be foolhardy. After all, the woman had never known anything about her. All she had ever known were her adoptive parents.
No, she would have to wait and watch. Learn as much about her child as possible before confronting her with the shocking news that she was her birth mother.
And watch she did, every waking moment, learning about her friends and family, and what was important in her life.
If she was patient, the time would come, and she was confident she would know when the time was right.
CHAPTER 11
It was the day of the class reunion, and we were ready.
The decorating committee arrived at the hotel early, and as soon as the tables were in place, they began the arduous task of transforming the huge room into a 1997 school gymnasium.
Per my suggestion, Kevin had rented a compressed air tank filled with helium and was busy blowing up the multi-colored balloons. Every once in a while, he would gulp a lungful of the gas and give us his best Donald Duck impression.
Crepe paper adorned every stationary object in the room and tables were set with centerpieces. Once the placemats and flatware were in place, Bernice insisted on placing a Snickerdoodle at every place setting. While somewhat unorthodox, none of us were about to object.
By four o’clock, everything was done. The guests were to arrive at five.
We had pulled together the class reunion in record time, and as far as we knew, no more classmates had fallen victim to the evil clown.
We surmised that if he had more mayhem in mind, the reunion would be the place to strike, and we were ready.
If Clarence the Murderous Clown was indeed Hobie Darling as we suspected, there was no way he could have known we were onto him.
The plan was for us to be spread throughout the ballroom so that we could have eyes on every guest at every table.
Mary and Judy were servers. Kevin, Ox and I were busboys. Willie was part of the custodial crew. Being dressed as hired help, we could move freely about the room without drawing undue attention to ourselves.
Veronica, Cathy and Maggie were at the reception table, handing out nametags and giving a close look at anyone entering the building.
By five-thirty, everyone who had registered was in attendance. There was no sign of Hobie Darling.
Jerry took the mike and got the show on the road.
“Welcome alumni of the Westport High School Class of 1997!”
A cheer went up from the crowd amongst chants of “Go Tigers! Go Tigers!”
“In order to put the evening’s activities into perspective,” Jerry continued, “I’d like to rea
d a poem. I was going to write one myself for the occasion, but I happened to find this one online, and I realized there was no way I could say it any better. It was written by Jo D. Stockwell in 1988 for her North Kansas City High School 40th class reunion. See if you recognize yourself or any of your classmates.”
Every ten years, as summertime nears,
An announcement arrives in the mail,
A reunion is planned; it'll be really grand;
Make plans to attend without fail.
I'll never forget the first time we met;
We tried so hard to impress.
We drove fancy cars, smoked big cigars,
And wore our most elegant dress.
It was quite an affair; the whole class was there.
It was held at a fancy hotel.
We wined, and we dined, and we acted refined,
And everyone thought it was swell.
The men all conversed about who had been first
To achieve great fortune and fame.
Meanwhile, their spouses described their fine houses
And how beautiful their children became.
The homecoming queen, who once had been lean,
Now weighed in at one-ninety-six.
The jocks who were there had all lost their hair,
And the cheerleaders could no longer do kicks.
No one had heard about the class nerd
Who'd guided a spacecraft to the moon;
Or poor little Jane, who's always been plain;
She married a shipping tycoon.
The boy we'd decreed "most apt to succeed"
Was serving ten years in the pen,
While the one voted "least" now was a priest;
Just shows you can be wrong now and then.
They awarded a prize to one of the guys
Who seemed to have aged the least.
Another was given to the grad who had driven
The farthest to attend the feast.