“Maybe,” she snapped, “this will help you see better.”
Nick closed his eyes as she brought her foot crashing down onto his face.
Chapter 24: Another Lead
Saturday, 1:00 PM
Shane hung up the phone and rubbed his face.
“Who was that?” Carl asked.
“Captain Thompson. He’s almost here.”
“How is Jack?” Carl inquired.
Shane shook his head, chuckling. “Jack? My, aren’t we familiar.”
“Unlike you, my young friend, I have no great qualms about being polite.”
“It’s not a matter of being polite,” Shane replied. “It’s a matter of you being dead. Dead people don’t get to be on a first-name basis with living people.”
“Rude, Shane.”
“Occasionally,” Shane chuckled.
“Tell me, what did he have to say?” Carl asked, taking a seat across from Shane.
“It seems,” Shane began, “that the sunglasses may have made their way to the Laton Hotel here in Nashua.”
Carl frowned with revulsion. “Is the establishment any better now than it was in my time?”
“Nope.”
The dead man shook his head.
“Anyway, turns out that the attendant for the morgue who had the sunglasses before and had been burgled had registered his game system, and that game system was one of the items stolen out of his apartment after his death,” Shane explained. “A system was found at the Laton Hotel in the room of a junkie who happened to tumble out of his third-story window while fighting with another resident. Solid detective skills say the junkie was the one to take the system and the glasses.”
“Were the glasses there?”
Shane shook his head. “Nope. No such luck. However, a gentleman in a suit was reported wandering into the Laton, and then exiting a short time later.”
“And was anyone able to identify him?” Carl asked, hopefully.
“Of course not,” Shane laughed.
“You seem to be in a surprisingly good mood,” Carl stated, narrowing his eyes. “Were you drinking?”
“No,” Shane answered. “So, it gets better. Thursday, a man was shot to death by his wife, who then died of unknown reasons in her kitchen.”
“How is that better?” Carl asked.
“Jack found out that this newest dead man, Zeke something-or-other, was a regular of the Dunkin Donuts on Canal Street across from the Laton Hotel. Not only that, but he got the shop to let him peek at the video footage, and there’s Zeke going into the Laton Hotel. So, this evening, Jack’s going to come down, and he and I are going to Zeke’s house to see if we can’t find the damned sunglasses.”
“And what about your trip to Connecticut?” Carl asked. “Master Victor and Tom, they are well?”
“As well as can be expected,” Shane replied. “I did get some information from Warren Thorne, so I’ll be acting on that in the next day or two.”
Carl raised an eyebrow and waited for Shane to continue.
“I have a name,” Shane told the dead man. “Someone in Manchester, no less. I’ll be having a chat with him.”
Carl frowned. “A chat? Why? I thought you were going to execute him when you found him.”
“Oh, yeah, that’ll happen,” Shane confirmed. “According to Warren, this guy, Marty Feldman, he’s working for someone else. I want to know who it is. Who’s trying to get their hands on all these items, and I want to know why.”
Eloise stepped into the room.
“Hey, doll,” Shane grinned. “Everything okay?”
She nodded. “Your friend, the Captain is here. The sisters and I saw him.”
“Great, thanks.” Shane got to his feet, and with the two ghosts trailing, he went to meet Jack Thompson at the door.
***
Saturday, 3:00 PM
Shane watched Jack pull away from the curb, leaving Zeke and Linda Driscoll’s house. Leaning against the side of his car, he smoked a cigarette and tempered his frustration with the knowledge that something would come up.
The house had been empty of information regarding the dead woman.
Both Shane and Jack, with the knowledge that a ghost was involved in the deaths, had been able to look at the homicide scene through a different lens than those investigating the crime officially. Neither Shane nor Jack was concerned with the why of the crime, only the number of participants.
Shane had no doubt that Miriam Shaw was involved.
Linda was no slouch, Shane reasoned. She attempted to fire five rounds. Three were solid shots. One had to be ejected from the chamber. No signs of panic. Only one round went through a window at about chest height. And I don’t think that round was wild. I think she was trying to shoot Miriam.
Which might explain why Linda was killed in the kitchen.
She was trying to get away.
Shane had a sudden, overwhelming desire for a drink. It gripped him and stiffened his spine. His mouth went dry, and he stuffed his left hand into his pocket to stop the trembling that erupted.
The need lasted for only a few seconds, but it left a brutal swath through the center of his thoughts.
What the hell was that about? Shane thought, letting his breath out in a slow, controlled fashion.
He went to take a drag from his cigarette, and he saw it had gone out. Shaking his head, he reached for his pack, took it out, and discovered it was empty. He field-stripped the butt, leaned into the open window of his car, and opened the glovebox.
There weren’t any more cigarettes.
Are you kidding me? Shane let out a bitter laugh, closed the glovebox, and straightened up. He popped the trunk, found an old sweatshirt, and in its front pouch, he located a crumpled pack of Lucky Strikes. When he opened the pack, he saw there were several mangled, but useable, cigarettes.
Shane closed the trunk and nearly jumped.
A young Chinese boy, perhaps ten or twelve, stood a short distance away. His hands were clasped behind his back, and he wore a gray, hooded sweatshirt that was several sizes too large. The boy’s slacks were black and pressed, his shoes highly shined.
“Good afternoon,” Shane greeted, taking a cigarette and lighting it.
“Good afternoon,” the boy responded. “Are you investigating the murder?”
Shane smiled. “I am at that.”
The boy nodded. He glanced back at the house to the left of the Driscoll home. Shane waited. After a moment more of silence, the boy continued. “I am visiting my friend from summer camp,” the boy informed him. “He is sick right now, and so I must be outside for a bit. The fresh air will keep me well, his mother assures me. My mother will be here in forty minutes, should traffic move along quickly.”
Shane smiled. “I’m Shane Ryan,” he said, introducing himself. “What’s your name, kid?”
“I am Jimmy Hsu,” the boy responded. Jimmy hesitated before he asked, “Do you believe in ghosts?”
“Yes,” Shane answered. “I most definitely believe in ghosts.”
“Do you believe they can hurt people?” There was caution in the boy’s voice, and Shane could understand why. Too many people suffered the delusion that ghosts were benign beings caught between worlds, or nothing more than memories imprinted upon a space or an item.