Jonathan Kellerman - Alex 04 - Silent Partner

by Silent Partner

  We stepped onto a long, covered patio, supported by gray-brown turned-wood columns and paved with rust-colored Mexican tile. Thick-trunked bougainvillea rooted in clay pots wound their way around the columns and up to the roof, where they spread. Straw baskets of donkey-tail and jade plant hung from the rafters. A large round table was covered with sky-blue damask and set for two: earthenware dishes hammered-silver flatware, crystal goblets, a centerpiece of dried herbs and flowers. He'd been sure of my "choice."

  A. Mexican waiter appeared from nowhere and held

  out my chair. I walked past him, crossed the patio, and stepped out into the open air. The sun's position said dusk was approaching, but the heat was midday strong.

  I stepped back far enough from the building to take it in entirely: long, low, single-storied, textured mock-adobe walls, windows trimmed with the same gray-brown wood used for the columns. Flagstone walkways cut a swath through an acre or two of lawn bordered by yellow gazania. Beyond the grass was dry dust and an empty horse corral. Past the corral, more dust, miles of it, the biscuit-colored monotony broken only by clumps of aloe and Joshua tree, and paint-by-number splotches of ashen shadow.

  And backing all of it, the source of the shadows: granite mountains. Majestic, black-tipped, knife-edged against a sapphire sky. Picture-postcard mountains, so perfect they could have been a photographer's backdrop.

  My eyes swept downward, to a particular spot on the lawn, seeking out a wooden garden bench. Nothing. But my memory placed one there anyway.

  A posing spot.

  Two little girls in cowgirl suits, eating ice cream.

  I looked back at Vidal. He'd sat down, was unfurling his napkin, saying something to the waiter as his wine glass was filled.

  The waiter laughed, filled my glass, and left.

  The former Billy the Pimp held his hand out to my chair.

  I took another look at the mountains, saw only stone and sand now. The play of light and shadow on inanimate surface.

  All the memories wiped out.

  Vidal beckoned.

  I walked back to the patio.

  HE ATE, fiercely, obsessively, an impeccably mannered cobra. Striking at his food, cutting it into tiny pieces and tenderizing it to puree before ingesting. Guacamole ostentatiously mixed tableside by the waiter, using a rough stone mortar and pestle. A salad of wild greens and marinated onions. Homemade corn tortillas, newly churned butter, barbecued swordfish steaks, six kinds of salsa, pork loin roast in some kind of sweet, piquant sauce. A Char-donnay and a Pinot Noir he took pains to inform me were estate-bottled at a Sonoma winery run by Magna exclusively for its own consumption.

  A couple of times I saw him wince after swallowing, wondered how much of his pleasure was gustatory, how much appreciation that his mouth still worked.

  He'd accepted a second portion of pork before he noticed my untouched food.

  "Not to your liking, Doctor?" "I'd rather be educated than eat."

  Smile. Dice. Puree. The human Veg-O-Matic.

  "Where are we?" I asked. "Mexico?" "Mexico," he said, "is a state of mind. Someone witty once said that, though for the life of me I can't remember who—probably Dorothy Parker. She said all the witty things, didn't she?" Cut, chew. Swallow. I said, "Why did Sharon kill herself?" He lowered his fork. "That's an end point, Doctor. Let's proceed chronologically." "Proceed away."

  He drank wine, winced, coughed, kept eating, sipped some more. I looked out at the desert as it darkened to madder-brown. Not a sound, not a bird in the sky. Maybe the animals knew something.

  Finally he pushed his plate away and tapped his fork on the table. The Mexican waiter appeared, along with two heavy black-haired women in long brown dresses. Vidal said something in rapid Spanish. The table was cleared and each of us was served a pewter bowl of green ice cream.

  I took a taste. Cloyingly sweet. "Cactus," said Vidal. "Very soothing." He took a long time with the dessert. The waiter brought coffee flavored with anise. Vidal thanked him, dismissed him, and dabbed his lips.

  "Chronological order," I said. "How about starting with Eulalee and Cable Johnson."

  He nodded. "What do you know about them?" "She was one of Belding's party girls; he was a petty crook. A pair of small-town hustlers trying to make it in Hollywood. Not exactly major league dope dealers."

  He said, "Linda—I always knew her as Linda—was an exquisite creature. A diamond in the rough, but physically magnetic—that intangible something that can't be bought at any price. Back in those days we were surrounded by beauties, but she stood out because she was different from the rest—less cynical, a certain pliability."

  "Passivity?"

  "I suppose someone in your line of work would look at it as a flaw. I saw it as an easygoing nature, felt she was the right woman to help Leland."

  "Help him with what?"

  "Become a man. Leland didn't understand women. He froze up when he was around them, couldn't... perform. He was far too intelligent to miss the irony — all that money and power, the country's most eligible bachelor and still a virgin at forty. He wasn't a physical person, but every kettle has its boiling point and the frustration was getting in the way of his work. I knew he'd never solve the problem by himself. It fell upon my shoulders to find a... guide for him. I explained the situation to Linda. She was amenable, so I arranged for the two of them to be together. She was more, Dr. Delaware, than a party girl. "

  I said, "Sexual favors for a fee. Sounds like something else."

  He refused to be offended. "Everything has its price, Doctor. She was simply doing, thirty years ago, what a sexual surrogate would do today."

  I said, "You didn't just pick her for her personality."

  "She was beautiful," he said. "Likely to stimulate."

  "That's not what I meant."

  "Oh?" He sipped his coffee, said, "Tepid," and rapped his spoon on the table three times. The waiter appeared out of the darkness with a fresh pot. I wondered what else was concealed out there.

  He drank the steaming liquid, looked as if someone had poured acid down his throat. It took several moments before he tried to speak, and when he did I had to lean forward to hear: "Why don't you tell me what you're driving at."

  "Her sterility," I said. "You picked her because you thought she was unable to bear children."

  "You're a very bright young fellow," he said, then raised his cup to his lips again and hid behind a cloud of steam. "Leland was a very squeamish man—that was part of his problem. Not having to worry about taking pre-

  cautions was a point in her favor. But a minor factor, a bit of messiness that could have been dealt with."

  "I was thinking of something a bit messier," I said. "An heir born out of wedlock."

  He drank more coffee.

  I said, "Why'd you think she couldn't conceive?"

  "We did background checks on all the girls, had them undergo complete physical exams. Our research revealed that Linda had gotten pregnant several times during her youth but had miscarried almost immediately after conception. Our doctors said it was some sort of hormonal imbalance. They pronounced her incapable of bearing children."

  Animal husbandry in reverse. I said, "How'd she do with old Leland?"

  "She was marvelous. After a few sessions he was a new

  man."

  "What were his feelings toward her?"

  He put down his cup. "Leland Belding didn't feel, Doctor. He was as close to mechanical as a human being could be."

  Ellston Crotty's words came back to me: Like some frigging camera on legs. I remember thinking what a cold bastard he was.

  "Even so," I said, "patients and surrogates usually develop some sort of emotional bond. Are you saying none developed between them?"

  "That's exactly what I'm saying. It was like tutoring— learning French. Leland received her in his office; when they were through he showered, dressed, and resumed his business and she went about hers. I knew him better than anyone and that wasn't much—I never felt I h
ad access to his thoughts. But my guess is he saw her as another of his machines—one of the more efficient ones. Which isn't to say he disparaged her. Machines were what he admired most."

  "What about her feelings toward him?"

  A moment's pause. A fleeting look of pain. "No doubt she was impressed with his money and power. Women are

  drawn to power—they'll forgive anything in a man but helplessness. And she also saw his helpless side. So I'd imagine she viewed him with a mixture of awe and pity, the way a doctor might regard a patient with a rare disease."

  He'd framed his words theoretically. But the pained look kept pushing through the charm-facade.

  I knew then that Linda Lanier had become more to him than a harem girl on assignment. Knew I couldn't touch that.

  "Theirs was purely a business arrangement," he said.

  "Cozy, until brother Cable stepped in."

  The facade slipped another rung. "Cable Johnson was despicable. When he and Linda were adolescents he sold her to the local boys for money—she was fourteen or fifteen. That's how she got pregnant all those times. He was pure filth."

  One procurer damning another.

  I said, "Why didn't you consider him a risk factor when you set Linda up as a surrogate?"

  "Oh, I did, but I thought the risk had been dealt with. At the time I hired Linda, Johnson was locked up at the county jail for theft—facing a stay at the penitentiary as a repeat offender. He was dead-broke, unable to come up with ten dollars bond on a hundred dollar bail. I obtained his freedom, got him a job at Magnafilm at an inflated salary. The idiot didn't even have to show up for work—the check was mailed to his rooming house. All that was required on his part was staying away from her. A very generous arrangement, wouldn't you say?"

  "Not compared to a piece of the Belding fortune."

  "The fool," he said. "There wasn't an iota of a chance of his getting a penny, but he was a compulsive criminal, couldn't stop conniving."

  "Enter Donald Neurath, M.D. Fertility expert and meal ticket."

  "My, my," siad Vidal. "You're a thorough researcher yourself."

  "Was Neurath in on the extortion scheme?"

  "He claimed not, said they presented themselves as a married couple—poor, childless Mr. and Mrs. Johnson. He insisted he hadn't been fooled, had sensed something wrong about them and refused to take her on as a patient. But Johnson convinced him, somehow."

  "You know how," I said. "A trade. The porn loop in exchange for hormonal treatment for Linda."

  "More filth," he said.

  I said, "Still, Neurath knew too much. You had to finish him off somewhere out in Mexico—not far from here, I'd bet."

  "Doctor, Doctor, you give me too much credit. I've never finished off anyone. Donald Neurath drove down here voluntarily, to offer information. He owed money to loan sharks, was hoping for payment. I refused. On the way back, his car broke down—or so I've been told. He died of exposure—the desert does its damage quickly. As a medical man, he should have been more prepared."

  I said, "Is that how you connected him to Cable's scheme?"

  "No. Linda came to me saying she could no longer work with Leland. Bearing a to-whom-it-may-concern note written on Neurath's stationery. In it he claimed she'd contracted some sort of vaginal infection. At first, I didn't suspect anything. Everything looked bona fide. I gave her ten thousand dollars' severance pay, and wished her well. Later, of course, I put it all together."

  "How did Belding react to her leaving?"

  "He didn't. By that time he was feeling his oats, testing out his newfound confidence on other women. As many as he could get his hands on. Eventually, he began to flaunt it."

  Belding's transformation from recluse to playboy. The timing fit.

  "What happened next?"

  "Nearly a year later, Cable Johnson called me. Informed me I'd better meet with him if I knew what was good for Leland. We met at some tawdry downtown hotel, Johnson drunk and gloating like a top dog, strutting

  around, very proud of himself. He told me Linda had given birth to Leland's babies. He'd taken her to Texas to do it; now they were back and 'the squeeze was on.'"

  Vidal raised his coffee cup, thought better of it, and put it down. "Oh, he thought he was a smart one. Had it all figured out. Cuffing my shoulder as if we were old friends, offering me cheap gin from a filthy bottle. Singing rude limericks and saying that now the Johnsons and the Beldings were going to be kinfolk. Then he told me to wait, left the room, and came back a few minutes later with Linda and his little gifts." "Three gifts," I said. He nodded.

  Triplets. All that hormonal tinkering doing strange things to the egg, increasing the chance of multiple birth. Common medical knowledge today, but Neurath had been ahead of his time.

  "Port Wallace's sole claim to fame," I said. "Jewel Rae, Jana Sue. And poor Joan Dixie, born blind, deaf, paralyzed."

  "The pathetic little thing," he said. "Some sort of brain damage—the place he dragged Linda to was primitive. Joan almost died at birth." He shook his head, closed his eyes. "She was so tiny—not much bigger than a fist. It was a miracle she survived. Linda carried her around in a basket, kept cooing at her, massaging her limbs. Pretending her twitches were voluntary movement. Pretending she was normal."

  "Something like that would be tough for a squeamish man to take."

  "All three of them disgusted him. He'd always despised children; the idea of triplets made him ill. He was the ultimate engineer-accustomed to machine specifications, precision. Had absolutely no tolerance for anything that deviated from his expectations. Of course, Joan's deformities were an additional insult—the implication that he'd taken part in creating something defective. I knew him, knew how he'd react. I wanted to keep all of it from him, work things out in my own way. But Cable wanted it

  all, right now. Kinfolk. Linda had held on to a key to Leland's office. She went there one night when he was working late, brought the babies."

  He shook his head. "The poor, stupid girl, believing the sight of them would ignite his paternal pride. He listened to her, told her what she wanted to hear. The moment she was gone he phoned me and ordered me over for a 'problem solving session.' Not that he wanted my input—he'd come to a decision: All of them would have to be eliminated. Permanently. I was to be the angel of death." "The babies were supposed to be killed?" He nodded.

  "All the villainy foisted on a dead man," I said. "Some good storm trooper carried out the order."

  He drank, hacked, pulled a squeeze bottle out of his pocket and sprayed his throat.

  "I saved those babies," he said. "Only I could have done it; only I had enough of Leland's trust to disagree with him and get away with it. I told him infanticide was absolutely out of the question. If it ever came out he'd be ruined—Magna would be ruined." "A pragmatic approach."

  "The only one he understood. I pointed out that the babies could be given up for adoption in such a way that any link to him would be permanently obscured. That he could draft a new will specifically excluding any blood relatives, known or unknown, from inheriting a dime. At first he didn't want to hear it, kept insisting the only way out was the 'unambiguous option.' I told him I'd carried out his assignments without questioning, but I'd quit before carrying out this one. And if those babies died, I couldn't guarantee my silence. Was he prepared to eliminate me, as well?

  "That angered—and shocked—him. From childhood no one had ever told him no. But he respected me for standing up to him, eventually agreed to my plan."

  "Nifty plan," I said. "Including a consolation prize for your sister."

  "It was just after Henry's death. She'd sunk into a deep

  depression—widowhood, childlessness. Had been in seclusion since the funeral. I thought having the girls would do wonders for her. And she's not an imaginative woman. Would never ask where they came from, never want to know."

  "Was Joan included in the deal?"

  "No. That Hope couldn't have handled. The corporation purcha
sed a sanitarium in Connecticut, and Joan was placed there. She got excellent care. In the process, we learned about health care management, ended up buying up several other hospitals."

  "New names, new lives," I said. "Except for the Johnsons. Was it you or Belding who thought of the dope dealer angle?"

  "That... it wasn't supposed to happen the way it did."

  "I'm sure Linda and Cable would be comforted to know that."

  He tried to speak. Nothing came out. Atomized his throat, waited, and produced soft tones dry as a death rattle.