Free The Pandora Directive: A Tex Murphy Novel by Aaron Conners Page A

PI instinct said the Fitzpatrick hadn’t told me everything. Not by a long shot.
    Chelsea either wasn’t home or wasn’t answering. I left a short message. Concise, yet caring. Romantic, yet non-committal. I liked Chelsea a lot. Hell, maybe I was even in love with her. Unfortunately at the moment I was too occupied to decide. Anything had been so much easier back when she’d just blow me off every time I asked her out. This new phase in our romantic development was throwing me for a loop. Maybe she should move to Phoenix for a while. Give us time to sort things through. Besides, I couldn’t stop thinking about that knockout at the police station — even though she hadn’t seemed too knocked out by me.
    I’d think it over later. For now, I was working. I found Pernell’s card and punched up the phone code. Two chimes, and the journalist’s haggard mug appeared on the screen.
    “Just got your message. What’s up?”
    “Big doin’s, Murphy. You got some time?”
    I glanced at my watch. It was still pretty early. “Sure. Where?”
    “I’ll let you know,” he growled. “I hate talking on the damn vid-phones. Too easy to wire.”
    “Okay, but make it soon. I’ve got a full dance card today.”
    “No problem.”
    I filled and down my third cup of Joe, satisfy my USDA-recommended caffeine requirement. I was wide awake and rearing to go. The fax machine beeped and belched. I tore off the sheet. Liverpool Club. 15 minutes.
    The Liverpool Club was a hidden gem in an open slag heap. It was more of a social club than a bar, though I didn’t hold that against it. Solid oak billiard tables, boar-bristle dart boards, tin panelled ceilings. A nice place. If I hung out with Pernell for any length of time, I might get to know every watering hole in the city. Not an unpleasant thought.
    Pernell was lurking in a dark nook. He seemed to have an aversion to bright lights. A lot of my business associates had photophobia. Two bourbons were already breathing on the table. It was a little early for the hard stuff, but I decided to call it lunch and move on to more important things.
    “What’ve you got?”
    Purnell’s voice hissed out of the corner of his mouth. “Remember the story I told you about Kettler?”
    My mouth was full of bourbon. I nodded.
    “I’ve still got a contact down in Nevada. He found a cop that knew enough to be useful and was willing to talk. It’s huge.”
    “Unbelievable. And unethical cop. In Nevada, of all places.”
    “Well, it cost us a bit, but he came through. I’ve got a copy of his sworn statement locked away in a safe deposit box. I’d let you see it, but I enjoy being alive. If certain people caught me with the goods, I’ll be pushing up daisies by the weekend.” Pernell took a hearty slug off his bourbon. His hands were shaking. I couldn’t tell whether it was fear or excitement. Probably both.
    “Our cop was in on Kettler’s arrest. He also sat in on the initial questioning, before the Feds showed up. Ketter confessed to everything. The local boys made up a deposition, and Kettler signed it. The problem is, after the Feds took over, the deposition disappeared, never to be found.”
    I tried to sort out what Purnell was saying. The Feds knew that Kettler was guilty but didn’t want that information to get out. It didn’t make sense. It did seem to connect to the curious fact that the Black Arrow Killer, who was dead, had supposedly gone back into business, this time in the Bay area.
    I gave Purnell a run-down of what had happened the night before, hoping that bouncing it off him would give me a fresh perspective, a new lead or two. He listened avidly through another round of Jack Daniels. When I finished, Purnell leaned back and stared up at the ceiling. “Can I bum another cig off ya?”
    I handed one over and lit it for him. He smoked like he’d just had sex with Marilyn Monroe. And Jayne Mansfield. At the same time.
    “You know who uses Black Avatars? The military.” He