The Last Witness (34 page)

He was planning to go by himself.

“This rally will be the first time I ever speak in public about what happened to me when I was a boy,” Jack said.

“You were on that show Talk Back.”

“This is different. The Mayor is going to be there. There’s going to be all kinds of people. I have to do this.”

“But why the interview today?”

“They want to talk to me about the rally. Everyone will see it.”

That is exactly what worried Hodgson, so he decided to tell Jack a little more about Brett Krust and the group he belonged to. The United Front.

“They’re wackos and they have chapters all over the world and one right here in New York. These people talk to each other all the time. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“No.”

“Do I have to spell it out for you?”

But Hodgson didn’t want to tell Jack everything he knew. He didn’t want to upset him any more than he already was. Hodgson didn’t want to tell him what Kathy Sottario had learned, that Krust had been in touch with The Cobra. He first contacted the editor of the ezine Voices of Dissidence in Atlanta, and working through that person then got hold of Jon Creeley. Kathy tried and failed to break into their exchanges, but she did know there was direct contact between the two and that was enough for Hodgson. Hodgson also didn’t want to tell Jack what they now knew about Creeley. That he was a man who had been questioned about the murder of a holocaust survivor in 2035. And again two years later when another survivor had apparently drowned in the Hudson River. Then there was the woman in the Jewish Home for the Aged. She had a visitor who looked like Jon Creeley on the night she was murdered. According to Kathy, it was him. All
three of these people were holocaust survivors, and it made Hodgson wonder how many survivors were left.

He could think of only one.

“Jack, I want to put an officer on you. For precaution.”

Jack said it wasn’t necessary. But Hodgson knew the chances of sticking a cop on Jack were slim. With budget cuts and manpower stretched to the limit, an old man in a seniors’ home wasn’t going to merit the resources of a police officer around the clock. And why? Because some crazy police lieutenant figured people were going around murdering holocaust survivors?

Not likely.

“Lieutenant Hodgson, can I be straight with you?” Jack said.

“Sure.”

“What else can the world do to me? I’m just an old man. But now I have a chance to do something and tell people. I promised Emily Silver I would speak at her rally and I’m going to and if I don’t do this interview today I might as well not go to the rally either. But it’s important. So this afternoon I’m taking the ferry to Liberty Island to do that interview.”

Jack looked at Hodgson. Straight in the eye.

“And I’m going there whether you like it or not.”

50

The last ferry from Battery Park to Liberty Island ran at 4:30 every afternoon and left the island at 6:00 sharp when everything closed down for the night. The reporter had arranged to meet Jack at 5:00 outside the entrance to the monument. They would do the interview, leaving ample time to make that last ferry back to the mainland. There was no way Hodgson would let Jack go alone, so he came along and would have liked to bring some backup. But there was no backup. It was just the two of them.

This was Hodgson’s first time on water since his knee replacement and it didn’t take long to see that anything other than stable ground wasn’t good for the new joint. The knee, his right, didn’t feel solid like the left one.

It was the last ferry of the day, and it being the middle of December, the crowds were sparse, which was good because fewer people were on board. On the other hand, it wasn’t good because there was more space with everything out in the open. On the ferry to the island Hodgson kept looking around. Checking.

“There’s a big guy at the back,” he told Jack. “A real muscular fellow.”

“I saw him,” said Jack. “He’s big but not as big as you, Lieutenant. I bet you have a hundred pounds on him.”

Jack had a cane with him, ‘society’s cane’ he called it, but lately it had become less of that and more of his. With two falls at the Greenwich Village Seniors Center, he was now on a watch list, and those who deal with such things every day know that the third fall is always the worst. After getting off the ferry, it was a good walk to Liberty’s entrance. The pair of them stood
out – Hodgson for his gargantuan size and Jack because of the stark contrast in a slight old man standing next to such a behemoth.

“You must be Mr. Fisher.”

The reporter, a young woman with a small 3D camera perched on her shoulder, said they would do the interview by the entrance so she could get shots of the statue in the background. She didn’t pay any attention to Hodgson, which was fine with him, but Jack was a man who valued introductions.

“This is Lieutenant …”

Hodgson stuck out his hand. “Jack Hodgson,” he said.

“Lieutenant?” said the reporter.

“I’m a good friend of Jack’s and sort of looking out for him.”

Hodgson had done scores of media interviews, homicides mostly, and these things became awfully mundane over the years. Do you have any suspects? We’re following up on every lead and if we find anything of interest to the public we’ll let you know. Was there anything about how the body was found that can tell you why this crime may have been committed? As I said we’re following up on every lead but that’s all I can say right now. It was like a scripted scene from a 3D drama, each side saying their lines by rote, but they both had jobs to do. Hodgson knew the reporter didn’t want him interfering with the story, and would rather he wasn’t around at all.

“I’ll just stand back here,” Hodgson said. “I won’t be in your way.” He retreated to the edge of the walkway running around the octagonal base supporting Lady Liberty.

The wide neck and broad shoulders of the strapping Adonis who was at the back of the ferry were bursting through the leather jacket. He was ripped. All muscle. On the trip to the
island he and the nondescript character beside him had spotted the old man with the cane and the bulky colossus by his side. Colton Brock had been in enough bars and brawls to recognize bouncers and bodyguards, and could tell Hodgson was neither. But he didn’t know he was a cop. When all the passengers disembarked from the ferry, he and Jon Creeley made sure to keep their distance from the pair, and by the time they hit the walkway on the island they had split up.

The interview didn’t begin until camera angles were studied and meter readings taken, and then the reporter and Jack went over the questions to be asked. So it was 5:15 before things got under way. It took only ten minutes and if Jack was lucky one minute would make air time and two might go cyber. The interview done, there was barely a half hour before the last ferry would leave the island. Not much time to make the long walk back for a one-hundred-year-old man with a cane.

Hodgson was standing off the edge of the walkway near the water, a good distance from where Jack and the reporter just finished the interview, and didn’t notice someone creeping behind him. Before he knew it, an arm with the weight of a tree trunk wrapped itself around his chest and came up under his left elbow, pushing it up and over his shoulder. The first thing that occurred to Hodgson was to get his own arm down and fast. For a man six-five and over three hundred and twenty pounds, it shouldn’t have been a problem. But not this time. Hodgson couldn’t move his arm. Whoever was standing behind him was just too damn strong.

Hodgson’s shoulder hurt, and if his arm went up any more his shoulder would pop and he would be toast. Up ahead he could see the reporter parting ways with Jack and then Jack all by himself at the entrance to the monument when a stranger approached him. Hodgson recognized the man immediately. It was Jon Creeley. He had seen Kathy’s images of him – in 2D and 3D – and there was no mistake. It was him.

“What do you want?” Hodgson said to whoever was behind him.

Nothing.

“Do you realize you’re assaulting a …”

Two fingers dug deep into his armpit and Hodgson started going numb. Whoever was behind him knew the body’s pressure points, but Hodgson couldn’t pass out. Not now. Jack was standing there with Jon Creeley.

“What do you want?” Hodgson said again.

Nothing.

The next thing the dazed Hodgson knew, he was being led away with that muscular arm encircling his chest. He still couldn’t see who it was. The man, his equal in height, marched him over to a bench and sat him down. Then he took the spot beside him and draped his tree-trunk arm over his shoulders as if the two were good friends. Hodgson was about to get a look at him when those big fingers dug into his armpit again, and he blacked out. The last thing he saw was Jack and Creeley walking through the entrance into the base of Lady Liberty.

51

The man had come out of nowhere and started talking with Jack. He said he was going to take him up the Statue of Liberty. He said there wasn’t much time because it would close soon. He had two tickets that would allow them to go to the observation deck and then on to the crown at the very top.

“Why do I want to go up there?” Jack said.

“It’s a free ticket.”

Jack wondered where Hodgson was, but Creeley told him not to worry. He said he spoke to his friend and that his friend would wait for them.

“You spoke to him?”

“Yes I did.”

“He knows we’re going up there?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“But why do I get a free ticket?”

“We know who you are and about the rally. We thought the least we could do was give you a ride up Lady Liberty. It’s all about freedom, right?”

Then they were at the turnstiles. Creeley stopped to have a word with the attendant, who looked Jack’s way and gave him a friendly wave. Jack thought nothing of it and waved back. Creeley handed over the tickets and the two of them went into the elevator. No one was with them. The place was closing soon.

“Do you work here?” Jack asked Creeley, as the elevator doors shut.

“Yes.”

“But you’re not wearing a uniform.”

“For security we don’t wear uniforms anymore.”

“But the person who took our tickets had one.”

“He works inside. I work outside. On the grounds.”

The cramped elevator made Jack uneasy. He was never comfortable in close quarters.

“How long does it take to get up there?” he asked.

“Not long,” said Creeley. “People take the stairs but there’s too many stairs for a man your age. I figured we would take the elevator. But when you’re inside the crown I’m afraid you have to climb some stairs. It’s the only way to get to the top.”

“Are there a lot of them?”

“You mean stairs?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be with you.”

When the elevator stopped at the observation deck, Creeley led Jack by the arm. Another attendant had the two of them scanned, and then he checked their tickets and reminded them about the closing time.

“Thank you,” said Creeley.

Jack looked up at the winding, spiral staircase in front of him. “I can’t go up there,” he said.

“Sure you can,” said Creeley and he gave him a little nudge.

Jack took the first step and then the second and the third, and with each one there was a sharp
clunk
from his cane. After a dozen steps, he had to stop to catch his breath. This wasn’t going to be easy.

“Are you sure this is the only way up?” Jack asked Creeley.

“Yes,” Creeley said with a nod. He gave Jack a moment to rest before nudging him in the side again. “Keep going,” he said.

Jack went up another twenty steps and another twenty after that. The winding staircase was steep, always turning to the inside, and going around and around like that made him dizzy. Jack would grip the handrail and step up, first one foot then the other, and follow with his cane.
Clunk. Clunk. Clunk
. After a few more minutes and another two stops on the way, he was dead tired. He started to sweat and was worried about his blood pressure getting the better of him.

“I can’t do this,” he said.

“Keep going old man.”

Creeley was two steps below him. By this time his jacket was off and he had it draped across his shoulder. One of his arms was on the railing. That was when Jack saw the tattoo of the snake. Something wasn’t right.

“Who are you?” said Jack.

“A friend.”

“I don’t know you.”

“But I know you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Keep going.”

Higher and higher they went and the steps kept coming at them. This spiral staircase was turning into a marathon. Jack’s breathing was getting shorter and shorter, and if not for the cane he wouldn’t have made it this far. He had to stop again.

“I can’t do any more,” he said.

“Yes you can. You’re a determined old man. You can do anything you want.” Creeley nudged him in the side. “Keep going.”

Jack took another step.
Clunk
. And another.
Clunk
. A few minutes more and he felt his legs were ready to give. Then there was a noise. Someone was bounding up the stairs from below. Far below. The sound of feet clomping and clanging on the metal steps reverberated up the staircase.

“Coal is that you?” Creeley called out.

It was almost an echo.

“Yes,” came the distant reply.

“Did you take care of him?”

“He’s not goin’ anywhere.”

“What are you talking about?” said Jack.

Creeley was one step below him now. He looked up at Jack. “Your friend. He’s not going anywhere.”

The sound of someone coming up the stairs kept getting louder and louder, and Jack thought just then about hollering for help. But he didn’t have the energy. He was breathing too hard. Besides, no one else was there anyway.

“Look. I can’t do this anymore,” he said through his teeth, but Creeley nudged him yet again. He wouldn’t let him stop.

Clunk. Clunk. Clunk
.

“Go on. We’ll be there soon,” Creeley said.

This is insane, Jack thought. Why was he doing this? It was only the two of them, but someone was coming up the stairs and it was someone this man knew. Jack kept doing Creeley’s bidding, going up those stairs one by one. Each step taking a little longer than the last.