The Pandora Directive: A Tex Murphy Novel (27 page)

I shook the last drops out of my glass. “I was beginning to wonder.”

The young man smiled.

“My wife and son and I moved here not too long ago. I work at the paper mill. It took a while for us to fit in. This isn’t a tourist town, and the locals are always suspicious of anything new.”

“Tell me something. What was that reaction I got when I mentioned Elijah Witt? I felt like I’d mentioned the evil dragon that descends on the town and eats everyone who isn’t bolted into their house.”

The young man shook his head. “He’s a queer one. Mr Witt. He lives outside of town in a huge mansion. Only a few people have ever seen him. You should hear all the rumours flying around about him. Some say he has aliens living there with him. Others swear they’ve seen strange lights in the sky up around his place. Still others say he’s a communist.”

“My God. A commie?”

The young man shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t believe any of the wild stuff. I guess he’s written some books about UFOs that have got everyone spooked.”

“I guess it doesn’t take much around here.”

He shook his head in agreement. “Ignorance breeds fear. But I just wanted to talk to you before you left Richfield thinking that everyone here is unfriendly.”

“I appreciate it. Want a drink?”

“No. My son’s waiting out in the truck. I gotta get home for dinner.”

He got up to leave. I decided to join him. We stepped outside. “By the way, could you point me in the direction of Mr Witt’s place?”

“Sure. Take Main Street down to Elm and take a right — “

“No, I just need the actual direction. I’ve got a speeder.”

He craned his neck to check out my vehicle. After admiring it for a minute, he turned back and pointed. “Due west.”

I was still unsure of how I would get in to see Elijah Witt. As I navigated my speeder out of town and over the densely forested terrain, a sprawling mansion came into view, nestled into the side of a pine-covered hill. It had to be the place I was looking for. I landed on a spacious cul-de-sac at the front of the mansion. Half-expecting to be overtaken by a pack of salivating guard dogs, I got out and walked to the door. The only sound in the air was the rustling of the trees and chirping of birds.

I rang the doorbell and waited for several minutes. Just after I’d rung a second time, the door was opened by a decrepit-looking old man, wearing a herringbone jacket and a bow-tie.

“Mr Witt?”

The old man gave me a look as dry as day-old meat loaf. “Hardly.”

He spoke with a clipped English accent and stiff upper lipped manner of a man still bitter about losing the American Revolution. With my mongrel American facial features and homespun Midwestern accent, I probably represented everything this guy hated about the colonies. I resisted the urge to slip into my Southwestern drawl and really irritate him. “Is Mr Witt in? I’ve come a long way to see him.”

The old man made no attempt to be subtle as he looked me over like a suspect in a police line-up. After a long silence, he looked up at me disdainfully. “Whatever it is you’re selling, sir, Mr Witt is not interested. Good day.” he started to close the door, but I’d come too far to give up that easily.

I stuck a foot in the door, causing me old man to look at me as though I’d slapped him lightly across the face with a pair of white calfskin gloves. Maybe some humour would lighten the situation. “Are you sure I can’t interest you in a few magazine subscriptions? If I sell three more, I when a free trip to Knotts Berry Farm.”

With unspeakable contempt, the old man looked at me, then at my foot, then back at me. He was apparently in no mood to be cajoled. “That was just a joke.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Look, I don’t mean to be impertinent, but it’s very important that I at least get a message to Mr Witt. I’ll be happy to wait outside if you’ll at least take it to him.”

The limey looked down at my foot again, then seemed to decide that I wasn’t going to go away unless he least made a pretence of helpfulness. “Very well, sir. What is your message?”

I rooted through the pockets of my overcoat and found a nearly empty book of matches. Taking a pen from my inner pocket, I jotted down the words merge the four rare cases to see maps, then handed the matchbook to the old man. “This is very important.”

“Of course it is.”

He folded the matchbook and waited for me to remove my foot before closing the door. I turned away from the door and dug for my smokes. There was no guarantee that the old brute would even bother to speak with Witt, but I was planning on camping out at the front door until I got an audience with him. I was just crashing out a Lucky Strike on the flagstone walkway when the door opened behind me. “Mr Witt will see you.”

“Great. Listen, I sure appreciate your help. Love your accent.”

The old man groaned audibly.

I was ushered into a foyer with a ceiling high enough to practise punting in. On the far side of the room, by a fireplace big enough to throw a bookcase in to, was a heavy-set figure sporting a pipe. As I crossed the room, the figure turned toward me, and for the first time I laid eyes upon the intimidating countenance of Elijah Witt. I strode forward, hand extended and face lit up like a No Vacancy sign.

“Mr Witt! Pleasure to see you again!”

The ornately carved pipe protruded from Witt’s full, ruddy face like a pump handle. Dark-brown eyes surveyed me intently from beneath bushy white eyebrows. The eyes didn’t leave me as he took a match from the book I’d given his lackey and set it to the and nest of tobacco in the bowl of his pipe. Witt nursed his Captain Black to a full boil, then wagged out the match and tossed it casually, along with the match book, into the roaring hearth. “What’s the meaning of that message?”

My gaze automatically went to the fireplace as I quickly thought up something clever. “Well, it’s kind of a long story.”

“It may not seem like it to you, but I’m a busy man.”

“I know that, sir. I won’t take much of your time.”

“Where did you get the message?”

I felt like I was on the witness stand. Witt’s piercing presence was akin to that of the erudite Perry Mason, his very demeanour caused the most callous criminal to break down in the trial scene at the end of every episode. I considered coming clean and telling Witt was happening, but I had a pretty good idea that he’d just as soon spend an evening bowling and eating chilli dogs as hand over the box Malloy had sent him. Besides, even if Malloy had trusted Witt, I had no reason to.

Nonetheless, the box would be safer with me or Fitzpatrick. It was just a matter of time before the NSA tracked down Witt and pried the box from his rigour-mortised hand. Rationalisation is a way of life.

“Ever since I took your class at the University, I’ve been a big fan. I read somewhere that you do anagrams, so I was playing around the title of your latest book which, by the way, I’ve really enjoyed. I thought that sending you an anagram message might interest you enough to see me.”

Witt looked at me like the liar I was. I’d gone from really nervous to downright panicky when he finally spoke. “What’s your name?”

“Murphy. Jake Murphy.”

“Do you believe in coincidence, Mr Murphy?”

The question caught me off guard. “Uh… sure. As a matter of fact, one time I’d just come out of the supermarket with a gallon of sherbet — “

“I don’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“You say you’re a student of mine?”

“When?”

“Let me see… it would have been fall quarter, 2027.”

“You know, Murphy, I never forget a face, and I don’t remember yours.”

My heart started pounding, causing my eyes to bulge and my face to slowly turn red. “Well, I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I cut class quite a bit back then.”

Witt took a step toward me, a stream of pipe smoke trailing over his right shoulder. “I don’t believe you Mr Murphy — or whatever your real name is.” he moved another step closer. I tried to stand my ground and keep up my increasingly shabby pretence, but his unrelenting stare was becoming painful. “Who are you really? Come clean with me, boy.”

“I, uh… well, I — “

“Let me guess. Journalist, right? Sent up here to do a story on that odd fellow Elijah Witt. Is that it? My God, you people won’t take no for an answer.”

I hung my head in faint resignation as a sudden wave of relief swept over me. Witt had had me on the ropes, but now he’d dropped his left. All I had to do was throw a subtle right cross. I lifted my head and gave Witt my best “caught-with-my-hand-in-the-cookie-jar” expression. “I didn’t want to come, Mr Witt, I swear. It’s just that I’m the new kid down at the paper, and they always stick me with the rotten assignments. Three months ago they sent me off to Oakland to do a story on the gang wars. I didn’t get out of intensive care for three weeks.”

For the first time, Witt smiled around his pipe stem. If there was one thing I was good at, it was sounding pathetic. “What’s your name, son?”

“It’s Murphy, actually.”

“Who sent you up here?”

“Pernell. Lucas Pernell. The rotten bastard.”

Witt’s expression shifted from amused to thoughtful. “Purnell, eh? You work for the Bay City Mirror?”

“Yes sir.”

“Pernell’s good. He’s one of the primary reasons I get the paper sent up here. Done some damn fine investigative reporting. If he’d come up himself, I might even give him an interview.”

“Actually, he didn’t ask me to get an interview.”

Witt ignored my comment as he clenched his teeth on to the stem of his pipe and reflected for a moment. “Tell you what, why don’t you get him on the phone, and we’ll set up a time when I can meet with Mr Pernell.”

“Well, I don’t know if — “

“The phone’s over there, son.” he pointed to a nearby desk. I hesitated. My good fortune was making a sharp U-turn. If I called Pernell, my whole charade might be exposed.

“See, the thing is, Pernell wants me to do a story on UFO sightings, and he said that you had the best collection of source material on the subject.”

Witt was adamant. “You can help yourself to what I’ve got, but first let’s get Pernell on the horn. Go on.” he waved me toward the phone, his air that of a man accustomed to rapid and thorough obedience. I dug through my pockets to find Pernell’s number.

“What’s the problem? Can’t remember the number?”

“Like I said, I’m the new guy at the Mirror. Plus my short-term memory is shot. I can’t remember what I had for breakfast.” I turned back. “This is a long-distance call, you know.”

“Good God, son, you want me to help you make the call?”

I found Pernell’s business card and punched in the code. After several beeps, Pernell’s face materialised on the screen. I could hear Witt walking up behind me. “What’s going on, Murphy? Got something new for me?”

“Listen, Pernell, I’m here with Elijah Witt. Just like you told me. Except he wants you to do the interview.” I could have been speaking Swahili as far as Pernell was concerned. His face looked like a nun had just sworn at him.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Witt was now looking over my shoulder. My armpits were passing from the clamminess stage straight into outright dampness. “Remember? You sent me up here to see if Witt would let me look through his library for source material on the UFO story I’m writing down at the Mirror.”

Pernell gave me a blindingly vacant stare. My left eye was winking like a strobe light. After a lengthy pause, the journalist finally caught up. “Oh, yeah. Sorry. Slipped my mind. I’ve been real busy with the NSA story. You do have that additional information for me, don’t you? You know, the stuff we discussed at the Twilight?”

The bastard had me over a barrel, and he wasn’t about to do me a favour gratis. But I wasn’t in a position to barter. “Yeah I’ve got it. I’ll send a copy to you as soon as I can get free.”

Pernell smiled and leaned back in his seat. “So what’s the situation?”

Witt pushed me aside and stepped up to the vid-phone. “Good to meet you, Mr Pernell.”

“Likewise.”

“I understand you’d like to set up an interview with me.”

“Well, I know you’re busy man.”

“I’ll make time to meet with you. I’ve been an admirer of your work for some time.”

Pernell’s smile widened. “Well, that’s just fine. When’s a good time for you?”

“Anytime between now and the end of the month.”

Pernell flipped through a date book on his desk. “Tell you what, why don’t you let me check through my schedule, and I’ll get back to you. In the meantime, I’d take it as a great personal favour if you’d do what you can take care of my assistant.”

“Certainly. Pleasure to finally meet you, Mr Pernell.”

“The pleasure’s all mine. See you soon, Murphy.”

My shirt was a little damp, but somehow I’d survived unscathed. Witt led me from the foyer down a long hallway and through a massive set of open doors. The library was a vast, octagonally shaped room with a high, domed ceiling and bookshelves stretching up as far as the eye could see. Some of the sliding ladders were so tall, I was surprised that Witt didn’t ask me to sign a no-fault waiver in the event of a back-breaking fall. There had to be ten thousand volumes in the room, none of which I had the slightest interest in browsing through. I don’t know what had made me think of asking for access to source materials, but it had seemed brilliant at the time. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do now.

“So, what kind of information are you looking for?”

The image of Malloy came into my head, and I thought back to our conversation. “Roswell. I’m researching the UFO crash at Roswell and the government’s and disinformation campaign.”

Witt puffed on his pipe, his eyes twinkling. “Interesting subject, but what do you plan on writing about? Everything’s come out already, as far as everyone knows.”

“That’s what everybody’s telling me, but I think there’s more to it. It’s always been an obsession of mine.”

“Well, we have something in common, Mr Murphy.” he gestured grandly around the room. Feel free to look through whatever you can find. In the meantime, I’ve got some correspondence to take care of. If you don’t mind, I’ll leave you to your own devices.”