Matt shook his head. “Boy, I thought school was tough — but if you need a doctor’s note for this!”
His half-punchy comment got a laugh out of Martin Gray. Then the expression on the police officer’s face sobered.
“Yeah, well,” David’s dad said. “On the other hand, Mr. Saunders isn’t really going to care about it, now…is he?”
Leif was lying in bed, surrounded by books about the Callivants, when the chimes announcing an incoming call began to ring. He swung both feet to the floor and activated his bedroom console. A second later a holo image swam into view — a very pink-faced Matt Hunter. Before he could speak, Leif erupted in a thunderous sneeze.
“I guess I wasn’t the only one who was out in the weather,” Matt said, massaging his cheeks. “I still can’t quite feel my face.”
“Sounds charming,” Leif sneezed again and scrabbled for a tissue to wipe his runny nose.
“Not as charming as what you’ve got,” Matt shot back with a grin. “You don’t look your usual suave self.”
Leif looked down at the old sweatsuit he was using as pajamas, his nose wrinkling from the pungent scent of the herbal rub his mother had insisted on slathering over his chest. “Just be glad you can’t smell me.” He looked keenly at his friend. “What sent you out into the howling blizzard? Is it something to do with your problems?”
Matt nodded. “I’ve got a new one now. Ed Saunders is dead and the cops are investigating.”
Leif stopped dabbing at his nose. “You think one of your playmates resented this deadline of his that much?”
“Who knows? As far as I can tell, he didn’t let us know how things had turned out. When I tried to call, I got his automatic message system. Dad and I finally took the Metro, hoping to talk this out face-to-face. We were half a block from his address when we found him — literally in the gutter.”
“What happened? Murder most foul? Hit-and-run? A falling icicle?” Leif was downright disappointed when he heard that Saunders had most likely been the victim of a fatal slip on the icy sidewalk.
“David’s dad has no sense of drama,” Leif complained.
“I’m sure that’s the last thing he wants in his job,” Matt agreed. When he went on to describe the letter and the attached list, Leif’s interest quickened.
“The List of Ed Saunders,” he said in a throbbing voice. “No, it’s not going to work as a title. “The List of Edward Saunders. Or maybe The Curious Case of Edward Saunders.”
“Be hard to top the book you’ve got in your hand,” Matt replied. “What is that? Political Crimes and Misdemeanors?”
Leif held up the book he’d brought along with him. “Just something I borrowed from Mrs. O’Malley,” he said. “It’s got some stuff about the death in Haddington.”
“That’s the last thing I have to worry about,” Matt said. “Right now I have to see how this death in Washington affects what’s going on with the Callivant lawyers.” Matt hesitated for a second. “I got a look at that list you were kidding about.”
“Really? I don’t suppose there was anybody you recognized.” Leif grinned. “I always figured Maj Greene for a secret Lucullus Marten fan.”
Matt shook his head. “No friends, no enemies, no obvious murderers. Just a bunch of unknown names.”
Leif looked expectantly at his friend’s image. “So did you copy them all down? We could check them out.”
“I got one name and address, and one more name.” He looked embarrassed.
“That’s it?” Leif asked.
“Hey, I’d just struggled through a storm with a lawsuit hanging over my head, I found a body and gave CPR to a cold corpse, and when I was just about frozen stiff, then I was put as a possible homicide suspect into a police car with the heater doing overtime. I had just about zonked off when David’s dad started talking to me.”
“At least you got two out of five.”
Matt scowled. “More like one out of five. Do you know how many K. Joneses there are in this city?”
Leif laughed, then coughed. “Not to mention the surrounding suburban counties. I take it that’s the name that didn’t have the address?”
Matt nodded. “The other is T. Flannery.” He reeled off the rest of the address.
“Decatur Place?” Leif closed his eyes, calling up a mental map. “That’s a street up by Dupont Circle. Pretty nice address.” The area was in Northwest Washington, where developers now waged a continual war with people who wanted to preserve the old buildings in the neighborhood. “Have you checked it out?”
“There’s no listing for a T. Flannery at that address,” Matt replied.
“And why would anybody give an unlisted connection, even for a noncommercial test sim like Saunders was running?” Leif felt his lips twitch into a smile. “I begin to see why you decided to call me.”
Still maintaining his connection with Matt, Leif warmed up his computer and began giving some orders. Besides communications codes, he had access to a wider range of trace programs and databases — some of them even legal — than Matt did.
“The city directory doesn’t show a T. Flannery living at that address,” Leif announced, looking at the print display now floating beside the image of Matt’s head. “No rent records, or condo mortgages. But I’ve got clear indications of electrical bills, water bills, and sewage lines going to the property. It’s not empty land. So who owns that chunk of D.C.?”
A second later, and he was taking in the results of his search, frowning.
“What is it?” Matt said, leaning forward as if he could peer around Leif and see whatever he was reading.
“The owner of the property at 2545 Decatur is the Roman Catholic Diocese of Washington. It’s St. Adelbert’s Church.” Leif glanced at his friend. “Which means you either misread the list — or T. Flannery is using a fake address.”
“The list was printed out,” Matt said. “That address was probably the only part of the letter that hadn’t been scratched over and edited.” He thought for a moment, then shook his head decisively. “I don’t think I messed it up.”
“Then we have somebody hiding behind a church. Somebody—” Leif’s triumphant speech was interrupted by another sneeze.
“Gesundheit,” Matt said. “I’m glad I’m only here in holoform. I’d hate to catch what you’re spreading.”
“Thanks for all the sympathy,” Leif said with considerable irony. “We’re looking here at somebody who would maybe make a reasonable suspect for prying around in sealed records,” Leif pressed on, then went for broke. “Somebody who might even have a reason to shut Saunders up — permanently.”
“Oh, please!” Matt burst out. “That was an accident. Tomorrow’s news reports are going to be full of the statistics from this storm. X number of inches of snow. X number of car accidents. So many people injured by mishaps on the ice.”
“And so many dead.” Leif tilted his head, a look of grudging admiration on his face. “If you wanted to get rid of somebody, it would be a perfect time.”
“Even David’s father hinted that he didn’t see anything more than an accident — and he’s a homicide detective.” Matt crossed his arms, the man with the proof.
“A homicide detective called to a scene where usually you get a couple of patrol cops, the local sergeant, and somebody from the medical examiner’s office. That’s the way they do it in New York.” An elderly neighbor of the Andersons had abruptly dropped dead in their condominium lobby. Although she was wealthy — anybody who lived at that address would have to be — that was as far as the NYPD went on a case of doubtful death.