The Chemtrail Conspiracy Set (Lady Justice Book 22)

by Robert Thornhill

  Mary volunteered to be in charge of the food and assigned each of us dishes to share in pot luck fashion. Jerry was to be the emcee and plan the program.

  “Uhhh, sure. As far as I know, everything’s a go.”

  “Great! Make sure you and Willie get the folding tables over here early so I can get the food and drink tables set up.”

  Swell! I had totally forgotten I was half of the table committee. “I’m on it,” I lied. “We’ll be there bright and early.”

  I had to quickly shift gears from conspiracy mode to party mode.

  One doesn’t want to get on Mary Murphy’s bad side.

  Thankfully, the day was bright and the sun was shining.

  As promised, Willie and I had the folding tables at the hotel at eight o’clock. We had just finished unloading when Ox showed up with a huge grill. He was in charge of hot dog, brat and hamburger production.

  Kevin and his squeeze, Veronica, arrived with coolers filled with ice and all kinds of soft drinks. We had considered the possibility of this being a BYOB party, then nixed the idea given the fact that most of the tenants were either recovering alcoholics or problem drinkers.

  Dad and Bernice had stayed up late baking cookies and other treats. I saw Dad slip a Tupperware container to Ox and I suspected that, in spite of our ‘no booze’ policy, it contained Jell-O shots, one of Dad’s specialties and one of Ox’s vices. I just hoped he wouldn’t overindulge and set himself on fire at the grill.

  Throughout the morning, people drifted in, bearing their favourite dishes to share with the group.

  Mary had brewed ice tea and whipped together a cooler of lemonade. Once she caught Benny Finkle from room 12 trying to slip some vodka into the lemonade.

  “You try that again, I’ll hit you so hard it’ll wake up your dentist!”

  Benny gave her a big toothless grin. “Somebody done beat you to it.”

  Not to be outdone, Mary retorted, “Then I’ll just punch you so hard you’ll have to put toothpaste up your ass to brush the few teeth you have left!”

  Apparently that convinced Benny and he stalked off.

  Finally, just after twelve, everything was ready.

  Jerry assembled everyone together and asked the Professor to offer a word of prayer.

  As I looked at the group, I marvelled at the diversity. A retired university professor, a private eye, an ex-hooker, a real estate agent, a stand-up comic, twenty guys clinging to the bottom rung of the social ladder and two cops who would likely be arresting them under different circumstances. Where else but in America?

  After the prayer, everyone lined up next to Ox’s grill where he had been labouring diligently to have a stack of everyone’s favourite meat ready to go.

  With plates filled, people drifted off to find a shady spot to enjoy their meal. For many of the tenants, I suspect this was the best they had eaten in months.

  When everyone had finished and tossed their paper plates into the trash can, Jerry called us to the porch. It was entertainment time.

  I held my breath. You never knew what Jerry the Joker might come up with. He once celebrated Mary Murphy’s birthday with plastic dog poop on her front step and a plastic ice cube with a bug in her glass of punch.

  He asked us all to stand, then nodded to Mr. Beasley who opened the door to the hotel.

  I was shocked as old man Feeney came through the door proudly carrying the American flag. A white sailor hat sat jauntily on his head. Then I remembered the old guy was a World War II veteran and had served on a destroyer in the South Pacific. I also knew he had few possessions in his tiny sleeping room, so the hat he wore must have been very special for him to have kept it for so many years. Around the hotel, Feeney was the butt of so many jokes because of his ability to stop up the plumbing, and his aromatic deposits were legend. I suddenly saw Mr. Feeney in a new light, knowing he was one of the many who had given years of his life in service to his country, and we were standing here today because he and the men of his generation had fought to preserve our way of life.

  Jerry asked us to join in the Pledge of Allegiance, and when we were finished, he asked us to take a seat.

  He solemnly picked up a sheet of paper and began to read.

  Twas on this date in ‘76

  Many years ago

  That five brave men told old King George

  That he would have to go.

  And thus was born our country

  Free from tyranny.

  A new land of prosperity

  From sea to shining sea.

  In years to come there would be others

  Who’d take our freedom away.

  But none could conquer this mighty nation

  That was born this special day.

  We cannot take for granted

  The freedom won that day.

  For evil men throughout the world

  Would take our gift away.

  So we must join together

  With those who’ve served before

  To keep those who’d do us harm

  Away from our country’s door.

  We love our lives of freedom

  But the cost is never free.

  It’s bought with the blood of heroes

  Who’ve died for you and me.

  So on this very special day

  Let’s pledge ourselves anew,

  To fight the fight for freedom

  For the red, the white and the blue.

  So that those who follow in our steps

  May someday stop and see

  That we have given all we have

  To preserve our legacy.

  We must stand fast together

  So that we might save

  Those precious things that make us

  The land of the free and the home of the brave.

  I saw old man Feeney wipe a tear from his eye and he wasn’t alone.

  Jerry reached back, punched a button on his boom box and the air was filled with Lee Greenwood’s beautiful, God Bless the USA.

  We all sat in silence listening to the stirring words.

  And I’m proud to be an American

  Where at least I know I’m free

  And I won’t forget the ones who died

  Who gave that right to me

  And I gladly stand up next to you

  And defend her still today

  Cause there ain’t no doubt I love this land

  God bless the USA

  It was the perfect ending to a perfect day. Good friends, good food, good fellowship.

  I was feeling happy and proud to be with these people and enjoy the blessings of life that we have, then I looked up into the blue sky and I saw six white trails crisscrossing from one end of the horizon to the other, and dispersing into a hazy cloud.

  Suddenly my euphoria turned into apprehension and I remembered the words of Wil Durant, “A great civilization is not conquered from without until it has destroyed itself within.”

  I didn’t understand what was happening, and it scared me to death.

  CHAPTER 15

  With the holiday over, it was time to get back to work.

  Although there was little chance we would find Louise Shipley, I had promised her mother I would try.

  We knew from the time stamp on the video, the time Louise had left the sports bar, but because the parking lot camera had been damaged, we had no idea what kind of vehicle might have carried her away.

  The spot we had found her cell phone led us to believe the vehicle, whatever it was, had travelled north on Blue Ridge Cutoff. Geno Ferelli at Missing Persons pulled up traffic cam footage of Blue Ridge for a thirty minute period starting from the time she left the hotel. Ox and I ran the footage in slow motion, looking for any sign of Louise.

  “There!” Ox said, pausing the video. “See that black SUV? It’s just like the one that followed us from the restaurant the other night.”

  “Can you get a plate?” I asked.

  Ox twisted dials and viewed the SUV from
every angle available on the video, but the license plate never came into view.

  “Nope, can’t get it. Without a plate, it could just be a soccer mom taking her kid to practice.”

  We continued scrolling and I spotted something. “Hold it right there. The old Chevy. Isn’t that Paulie?”

  Ox isolated the Chevy and adjusted for a close-up view of the driver. The picture was grainy, but there was no doubt it was Paulie the Pervert.

  “So he’s heading north, right by where the cell phone was tossed.” Ox said.

  “But it fits with his alibi,” I replied. “He said he was going to Harvey’s Tavern on Highway 40, and that’s north.”

  “Pretty convenient,” Ox observed. “Who was his alibi again?”

  “Gus the bartender,” Ferelli chimed in. “I gave him a call and he confirmed that Paulie was there.”

  “What’s Gus’s last name?” Ox asked, punching some computer keys.

  “Grinder,” Ferelli replied. “Gus Grinder.”

  “Well, whadda you know,” Ox said, staring at the screen. “Mr. Grinder is on the state’s sex offender list. Got busted for taking photos up women’s dresses with a toe camera. Whadda you bet that Gus and Paulie are peeping buddys?”

  “If Paulie nabbed Louise, it wouldn’t be a stretch to think he might have shared his good fortune in exchange for an alibi,” I said. “I think we should pay Mr. Grinder a visit.”

  Harvey’s was the typical sports bar with TV screens tuned to the latest sporting events.

  A huge guy was polishing glasses behind the bar.

  Ox moved toward the bar. “Are you Gus Grinder?”

  “Who’s askin’?”Grinder replied.

  “I am,” Ox said, holding up his badge.

  “Yeah, that’s me. Whadda you want?”

  “Paulie Spiegel. You said he was in here a few nights ago. That true?”

  “Yep, Paulie was here. Stayed about three hours, then took off.”

  “And you both were here the whole time?”

  “That’s what I said. If you don’t believe me, ask Junior. He was here too.” Gus motioned to a guy already blitzed, slumping in a corner booth. “Junior! Me and Paulie was both here the other night. Right?”

  Junior opened one eye and nodded, “Yeah, right.”

  “See!” Gus said, arrogantly. “Told you so.”

  I was pretty sure if Gus had asked Junior if he had seen the pink ponies in the bar, he would have answered ‘yes.’

  “Mind if we take a look around?” Ox asked.

  “Look all you want,” Gus replied. “I got nothin’ to hide.”

  We poked around the back room of the bar and found nothing to suggest Louise Shipley had ever been there.

  I had no doubt she had been abducted, but by whom? Was it by paid assassins to keep her from sharing secrets about Monsanto’s involvement in the chemtrail conspiracy, or Paulie the Pervert, the twisted peeping Tom?

  We might never know for sure.

  When I got home, I checked my email. I hadn’t done it for a few days because I had been totally wrapped up in getting things together for our Fourth of July bash.

  There was a multitude of the usual, people wanting to give me money and notifications I had won this or that lottery, but the one which caught my eye was from Jack Carson.

  It read, “Hi Walt. I really wanted to meet with you in person to discuss some new developments in our case, but I knew you were tied up with family things. Hope you have a great time. FYI, I have been doing some digging online and I found sixteen Facebook groups with over 63,532 members, dedicated to getting the word out about chemtrails and geoengineering. It gave me a big lift to know I was not in this alone and that others have seen the handwriting on the wall, or to be more specific, in the sky. Once I get my story done, I’ll post it on those sites. Think about it. If each of those people share my story with only 50 friends, over 3 million people will finally see the truth. Let’s get together after the holiday. Jack.”

  I definitely wanted to tell him what we had found, or rather what we hadn’t found about Louise Shipley’s disappearance, so I called his cell. It went straight to voicemail. I tried his home number and got an answering machine. Then, as a last resort, I called the number of his new burner phone. There was no answer.

  I looked up the number, called the Kansas City Star and asked to speak to Jack.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Carson isn’t in.” said a sweet young voice. She hesitated a moment. “Actually, he hasn’t been in for two days. Have you tried his cell phone?”

  I thanked her, hung up, and retrieved the last two days papers out of the recycle stack. I thumbed through both and discovered there were no bylines mentioning Jack’s name. On a normal day, there would be at least a half dozen.

  I put the papers away, climbed in my car and headed downtown to the Star building.

  The city editor, Mike Gross, was a busy man, but took a few minutes to visit with me. I introduced myself and explained I had been working with Jack on a story, but couldn’t reach him.

  “Me either,” he said, disgusted. “He’s my #1 guy on the crime beat and he doesn’t show for two days. I’ve had to send rookies out to get the stories. By the way, what story are working on with him?”

  “The one about chemtrails and geoengineering.”

  “Holy crap!” he exploded. “Not that conspiracy thing again! He’s come to me several times wanting to run the thing and I’ve nixed it both times. He’s just wasting his time pissing up a rope and he’s gonna get some very important people’s panties in a wad. I told him to drop it and concentrate on the real stories. There’s plenty of them out there, for Christ’s sake.”

  It was obvious Mr. Gross didn’t share Jack’s enthusiasm about the story. I saw no need to press him further. “Do you mind if I look at Jack’s desk?”

  “Help yourself,” he said, pointing to an empty cubicle, “but you aren’t going to find anything. Jack worked on the run. Did everything on his laptop and sent his stories in by email.”

  I thanked him and strolled over to the cubicle. He was right. There was nothing there but a few pens, paper clips, a candy bar wrapper and a box with two stale donuts.

  My next call was to Kevin. We had both been to Jack’s apartment when Kevin found the listening device in the smoke alarm. I asked him to meet me there with his lock picks.

  We knocked quietly, but there was no answer.

  Kevin went to work with his picks and soon had the door unlocked. Pressing his finger to his lips to remind me someone was listening, we entered the apartment.

  Everything was pretty much like we had seen it before. I suspected Jack didn’t spend much time there. There were no signs of a struggle and no notes left for someone to find. We searched everywhere, but found no laptop. If it wasn’t at his office at the Star and it wasn’t here, it had to be with him, wherever that was.

  We slipped out, pulling the door closed behind us.

  Back in my car, I was overcome with a feeling of dread.

  First, it was Dale Fox who had died in a mysterious car accident, then Frank Katz of a suspicious heart attack. Most recently, Louise Shipley had vanished, and the one thing they all had in common was that they were going to tell the world about a covert government operation spewing poisons into our sky.

  Now it was beginning to look like Jack Carson was missing too.

  CHAPTER 16

  My next stop was back to Missing Persons.

  Geno Ferelli looked up in amazement. “Jesus, Walt. What now? You’re running me ragged.”

  “You’re Missing Persons aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, so what?”

  “So I’ve got another missing person, Jack Carson, a reporter at the Kansas City Star.”

  Ferelli smiled. “I’m way ahead of you. Took the report this morning from his city editor, a Mike Gross. He’s really pissed. Wants Carson back on the job ASAP. I’ve already turned it over to Homicide.”

  “Homicide? Is Jack Carson dead?” />
  “Not that I know of, but it’s probably a good bet considering what he’d been into lately.”

  I assumed Ferelli was talking about the conspiracy theory and said as much.

  “Don’t know nothing about that,” he replied. “Talk to Blaylock. He’ll give you the scoop.”

  Derek Blaylock was one of the best detectives in the Homicide Division. As I headed to Homicide, I thought about my five years on the force. He and I had worked numerous cases together and developed a mutual respect.

  “Walt, good to see you. What brings you to Homicide?”

  “Jack Carson. Ferelli said he sent the case to you. What’s going on?”

  “Ahhh, yes, Jack Carson. Good reporter, but he couldn’t just report the news. He always had to dig a little deeper and often found himself in deep doodoo.”

  “Any particular case come to mind?”

  “Absolutely! Carmine Marchetti, which is why Ferelli sent the case over to me. He figured if Carson had bought the big one, Marchetti probably had something to do with it.”

  “How so?”

  “Marchetti has always been on our radar. Everyone in town knows he’s one of the Dons in the Kansas City mafia, but we’ve never been able to pin anything on him. On the surface, he’s clean, but we know his legitimate businesses are just a front for his illegal operations. Some snitch supposedly gave Carson a tip which would connect Carmine to the protection racket in Northeast, and he jumped on it like a duck on a June bug. Bottom line, the snitch mysteriously disappeared and Carson came up empty, except, of course, for the lovely Calinda.”

  “And who might that be?”

  “That’s Carmine Marchetti’s little girl. Carson met her during his investigation, and rumour has it the two of them hit it off pretty well, if you know what I mean. You can imagine Carmine wasn’t exactly pleased when he found out the guy who was trying to write a story about his illegal operations was banging his daughter.”