A Ghost of Justice Read Free Page A

hard on him."
    "He's a Sheafer," Eric Senior said.  "He can handle it.  Handled Rose's death, you know."
    Phil nodded again.  He remembered.
    "Comes from me.  I was a company commander at the embassy in Saigon.  Got a Purple Heart and DSC, you know.  After losing Rose,  Eric went on to finish raising those kids…"  The old man paused.  Then he cried out, "Good God, Phil!  Steve was my first-born grandchild."  He beat on the armchair with a wrinkled fist.  Tears ran into the folds of his cheeks.  "There's no sense to this law.  No sense at all."
    Phil Lindley walked over and knelt by his old friend and client.  "I know.  I agree with you.  But that's the way it is.  What we must do now is help Eric all we can, any way we can."  Phil touched him once on the arm and retreated back to the desk.  He was a
    sensitive man, and right now he needed to remain strong for this family. 
    He watched the four men leave his office after their goodbyes.  Thinking of old Eric's bitter anger, he realized that it was just the reaction the designers of the Vigilante Act had intended.  If Eric was like his father, John Hardy was already dead.

 
     
     
    4
     
     
    Dr Albert Evans-Thomas, chairman of the Archeology School at Cambridge, and consortium co-director, kept office in a warehouse on the northern outskirts of Siwah.  At least he did when he couldn't be in the field.  He came out to greet them.  Solemnly.
    Eric stepped out of the land rover behind Emily.  "What's this all about, Albert?"
    "Could we go in to my office?  I would think that more appropriate," he said.  The director's face was grave.  "Inside, please,"  he said, gentle but insistent, holding his hand out.  "Eric.  Emily."  Then he turned and went in.
    They had no choice but to follow.  After the hour-long ride the cool interior should have been inviting.  Emily hardly noticed the shelter from the heat.
    Albert gestured for them to sit once they were in his office.  They didn't.  He took a small flat package, obviously a book or document, and handed it to Eric.  One end was jaggedly torn open.  A simple label only said, 'Cambridge Egyptian Consortium.'  "It, ah, came like this."  The British professor began to look about.  "I'm sorry.  I-I had t-t-to open it to see what it was about.  So, I-I-I, ah…"  He stumbled to a halt.
    It wasn't normal for him to stutter so.  And it seemed he was trying to apologize for something.  Either for reading her father's correspondence or…what else?
    Albert found his words.  "It came scuffed and all, addressed just to the consortium.  I-I-I didn't know it was for you.  Not until I read…"  His voice faded again.
    She turned and saw her father staring at the page, sunned face strikingly pale.  He reached out to a sconce on the wall to steady himself.  "Dad?"
    He seemed not to hear.
    "Dad, what is it?"
    He looked up from the top page.  She recognized the expression.  She had seen it when her mother died.  He held out the package, having only looked at the single sheet.
    "Grandma?" she asked, taking the bundle, which was heavy.  Glancing in, she saw it was all hard copy.  No n-pad.  She briefly scanned his eyes, but he wasn't going to tell her; didn't seem capable of speech.
    Afraid of it, but drawn to it, she looked down.  It was simple.  Just a few lines on a sheet with Phil Lindley's letter head at the top.
    Emily scanned over it, barely reading, looking for the news that had rocked her father.  And found it:  'With most regret I must tell you that your son and daughter-in-law were murdered February 17 th .  They were buried two weeks ago.
    'The responsible party has been tried and convicted.  Documents related…'
    She couldn't read any more.
    Just like that.  No more brother.  She had a brother just a few months ago.  The whole family, including him, all went to Carolina Beach.  She thought she had a brother
    this morning.  A few terse words and he was gone.
    She had a