Read Online A Specter of Justice by Mark de Castrique - Free Book Online

rehashed the grisly courthouse shooting as the backdrop for the Atwood twins’ fundraiser. There was another piece about the Asheville Apparitions and their steering committee organizing the event. Someone had told the reporter I was responsible for security, which made me look like an incompetent bozo, not the best image for a professional investigator to project.
    My unflattering publicity was inconsequential compared with the story about the custody fight for Jimmy and Johnny Atwood. Hewitt Donaldson figured prominently as did Tom Peterson. Clyde Atwood’s mother, Nelda Atwood, was quoted as saying the fundraiser had been planned by Helen Wilson in an effort to buy off the courts with the help of Satan worshipers. Nelda claimed the death of Molly Staton was a sign that her grandsons needed to be raised in a God-fearing home and not with a person who made deals with the devil.
    A preacher named Horace Brooks said the custody battle wasn’t for the earthly lives of the twins but for their eternal souls. “Helen Wilson might have that hotshot Hewitt Donaldson but the Atwoods have Jesus,” the preacher proclaimed. I wondered how Tom Peterson felt about having Jesus as his senior counsel.
    The upshot of the clamor was that Helen Wilson and her grandsons were once again at the center of a storm not of their making. And, sadly, the other person neglected in all the name-calling and custody histrionics was Molly Staton. Hardly a word was printed about her.
    I left the newspaper on Nakayla’s desk and noticed the message light flashing frantically on her phone. Ignoring what I suspected were the calls of desperate reporters, I retrieved water from the sink in the men’s restroom and started a pot of coffee in the small Cuisinart brewer Nakayla kept atop one of her filing cabinets.
    Bolstered with a mug of java, I quickly sped through the voicemails that began at nine the night before and ended at one-thirty in the morning. Each message began with the man or woman touting journalistic credentials ranging from local radio stations to CNN and ended with a plea to return the call as soon as possible. I had no intention of speaking with any of them and each message was promptly deleted. Each message, that is, except the last one. A whispery male voice said, “Mr. Blackman. You have crossed Helen’s Bridge into the valley of the shadow of death. You and your black harlot. Be warned that the scythe of justice is sweeping away all who are found guilty.”
    My first thought was who the hell uses the word harlot these days? My second thought was he made a threat against Nakayla and that wouldn’t stand. I pulled my cell phone from my belt, activated the audio app, and recorded the man’s voice. Then I e-mailed the file to Detective Newland with the short text— Got this at the office at one-thirty this morning . I knew he had bigger fish to fry, but I wanted him aware of everything that might have any connection to Molly’s murder.
    I pulled a clean legal pad from my desk drawer and started writing the names of those people who knew Molly Staton would be at Helen’s Bridge. Our organizing committee had the most detailed information. They also had ironclad alibis. Nakayla and I were on the scene with a busload of Japanese witnesses. The same held true for Angela Douglas and Collin McPhillips. Hewitt Donaldson and Tom Peterson had been transmitting from their assigned locations and Lenore was in place for her role as The Pink Lady at the Grove Park Inn. Shirley and Cory were coordinating the entire event from their headquarters at Pack Square. Jerry Wofford had been checking in with the food and drink vendors positioned along the walking route downtown. The other person with in-depth knowledge was Nathan Armitage, but he was manning the communications network at the same site as Shirley and Cory.
    We’d kept the identity of those playing ghosts a secret to add to the impact when