Warren Murphy: Murder Ward

"Will you please? We do know that five of the seven, if there were seven, had had attempts made on their lives and that these attempts were unsuccessful, thanks to police efforts. But one died anyway of kidney failure, two of cerebral haemorrhage, one cardiac arrest…"

"C'mon, c'mon, get to the point."

"Well, we've just lost this man Boulder who was doing important IRS work. Heart failure during surgery. According to the doctors the appendectomy was a success; the patient died. There's another man in his line of work that we'd like to keep alive and we think we might have trouble doing that."

"Sure," Remo said. "I'll do it. Easy. I'll make sure he keeps a low cholesterol count and exercises regularly. Then I'll reinforce his heart and lungs."

"That's not the point. I just want to make sure that a building doesn't fall on him or a car doesn't hit him."

"And what happens if he has a heart attack?"

"We're not sure about those acts of God I mentioned. We want you to find out. We want you to keep this man alive. We want you to protect him from forces known and unknown. You will make sure over a period—let's say a month—that nothing happens to him. If someone does attempt something, stop it, perhaps run it to its source, pack your bags and go back to your rest. Clear?"

"As it's going to be. Clear as it's going to be. If it gets any clearer to me, I'll need a seeing-eye dog to find it."

"You know, Remo, as you grow older I understand you less and less."

"I was about to say that of you, Smitty."

"I haven't changed since I was fifteen, Remo."

"I believe that," said Remo, and then got the fix on the man he was supposed to protect. His name was Nathan David Wilberforce and he lived in Scranton. With his mother. He didn't like loud noises.

CHAPTER THREE

There were three excellent reasons why the treasury agents should leave the Wilberforce household immediately. Mrs. Wilberforce said she would make them perfectly clear, if the agents would sit down—no, not on the couch, couldn't they see it had a dust cover on it, no, not on the hideabed, that was for company—well, then, if they must, stand.

"You have come into my house, bringing filth from the streets, putting your hats wherever they fall and using vile and obscene terms in front of Nathan David. You stressed there were dangers to Nathan David and you were protecting him. But who will protect Nathan David from dirt, untidiness and obscenity? Certainly not you three," said Mrs. Wilberforce in righteous indignation, her massive breastworks rising under the flopping brown boucle dress like unscalable fortifications. She stood six-foot-one and weighed, according to the agents' best guesses, a healthy two hundred and forty pounds. That she had not played defensive tackle for the Pittsburgh Steelers, said one of the agents outside her hearing, was that she probably didn't like the untidiness of the locker rooms.

"Ma'am, your son is an assistant director of the IRS. He is a very important person and we have reason to believe his life may be in danger."

"I know he's in danger. From riff-raff."

"We discovered someone working on the front of Assistant Director Wilberforce's car last month. He was not installing a new muffler, ma'am, if I may be blunt. He was working on the brakes."

"You don't know what he was installing. You didn't catch him."

"We stopped him, ma'am."

"Good for you. Nathan David will take buses from here on in. If that will make you happy?"

"Not exactly, ma'am. We just want to be sure. We have our orders to function as sort of a screen for Assistant Director Wilberforce. He is working on very, very sensitive projects, and we would appreciate your cooperation. It's for his own good."

"I will decide what is good for Nathan David."

"We have our orders, ma'am."

But when the agents checked with the office that afternoon, they found that their orders were changed, and they assumed that Mrs. Wilberforce, of 832 Vandalia Avenue, had some form of influence. They were yanked from the case immediately.

"Don't ask me," said their supervisor. "The change came from higher up. I can't explain it."

When the three agents said goodbye to Assistant Director Wilberforce in his office, Wilberforce was interviewing a new employee, a thinnish sort of man with high cheekbones and very thick wrists.

"We just came in to say goodbye and wish you luck, Mr. Wilberforce."

"Oh, thank you. Thank you very much," said Wilberforce. "Thank you. I'd shake hands, but you're at the door already."

"You never shook hands, Mr. Wilberforce," said the agent who acted as spokesman.

"Well, why start now?" said Wilberforce and smiled nervously. He was a neat, plumpish man in his middle forties and his desk was painfully neat, as though the papers had been placed there with surveying instruments.

When the agents had left, Remo put his feet on the desk.

"Sir. Uh, sir. That's my desk," said Wilberforce.

"Good. I'll just sit here and not bother you."

"I believe that if you are going to work for me, we should at least come to some sort of understanding. I like things neat."

Remo looked at his shoes. They were shined. He looked up to Wilberforce, puzzled.

"My desk. Your feet are on my desk."

"Right," said Remo.

"Would you mind taking them off?"

"Uh, yeah," said Remo softly.

"Would you please take them off?"

"No," said Remo.

"Well, then, I insist you take them off. I can get very physical, Mr. Remo. And it would do very little good for your government career if I should be forced to take extreme measures."

Remo shrugged and his feet rose a quarter of an inch above the desk while he continued to sit in front of it. Wilberforce was confident this new employee would have to lower his feet to the floor. Even a dancer couldn't keep them raised like that for more than a minute or two. But as the interview went into its second hour, the feet did not lower and the new employee seemed unstrained. The feet remained there, that quarter-inch above the desk, as if they were nailed in space.

The new employee had a special function. He was a time-study man. It was his job to find out why Mr. Wilberforce's unit worked so well and then make this information available to others. He would have to stay fairly close to Mr. Wilberforce to see how he allocated his time and rest, even to the hours he slept.

Wilberforce asked about Mr. Remo's background in time study, but got vague answers. He asked about Mr. Remo's training but got vague answers. He wanted to phone his director and register a complaint about insolence on the job, but he never seemed to be free of this man long enough to make a private phone call.

As usual, Wilberforce worked late, so that when he left, the outside office was dark. The hallway on the eighth floor of the federal building was dark. Black. The hallway smelled of fresh disinfectant from a recent evening mopping.

"The elevator is down there to the left," said Wilberforce.

"There are usually lights in the hallway, aren't there?" asked the time-study man.

"Yes. Don't be nervous. Just hold on to my han… uh, stay close to the wall and follow my voice."

"Why don't you follow me?" said Remo.

"But you can't see the elevator."

"Don't worry. I see more than you."

It was then that Wilberforce realized he could not hear the new employee's breathing. He knew this was strange because he could hear his own so well. He did not even hear the employee's steps on the marble floor, yet his own sounded like rifle shots in the silent hallway. It was as if the employee had disappeared in the darkness.

Wilberforce moved toward the elevator and when he went to the other side of the hall to feel for the elevator button, he heard feet moving rapidly. Perhaps two or three men close by, and then he heard what sounded like the puncturing of paper bags, a throat gurgle and one fast flight of birds. Right by his head.