Death in the 12th House

by Mitchell Scott Lewis

  She took hold of his arm. “I’m supposed to say something, but I don’t know if I can. This has been all too much for me.”

  “You do what you can. Everyone will understand.”

  The service was interesting, to say the least. Whoever wrote the speech that the funeral director read was obviously a big fan. When he mentioned what a great humanitarian Freddie was it took a full minute for the crowd to stop laughing.

  The whole thing ran a bit long, with a childhood friend of Freddie’s going on forever about their first bikes, girls, and bad behavior. Bobby James was perfect, however, speaking briefly about music, loss, and cruel ends.

  Vivian wanted to get up to say something, but when she tried to stand, her emotions overwhelmed her, and she realized she would just fall apart.

  When it was over Lowell called Andy and led Vivian down the block to his waiting limousine.

  “Andy, would you take Ms. Younger wherever she wishes.”

  “Sure boss.”

  “You’re not coming?” Vivian didn’t hide her disappointment.

  “There are a few people I need to talk to here, and frankly I can get it done more discreetly and with less fanfare without you. I’ll meet you later, if you’d like.”

  “Yes. I would like that very much.”

  As he watched Andy drive her away he wondered once again what uncovering the truth about her father’s death might ultimately mean for her.

  He walked back to the chapel just in time to run into Bobby James.

  “Hey, David,” said Bobby. Lowell liked the piano-playing musician.

  “Any new thoughts about Freddie’s death?” asked Lowell.

  “Not really. Nice service though, didn’t you think?”

  Lowell was looking around at the crowd leaving the chapel. “Any of these people important enough in Freddie’s life to be suspects?”

  “There’s Freddie’s second wife over there. I guess she would qualify. Of course he had three, including the current widow.”

  “And where is she?”

  “Actually, she’s right behind the second one, and it looks like they’re both headed over here.”

  Moments later two women, one blonde, and one brunette, approached.

  “Bobby, it’s so nice to see you again,” said the blonde.

  She was about forty, tall and beautiful with a powerful persona, something the astrologer found quite common in the show business clique.

  Lowell knew all about her. She was a model when they married, had two children with Freddie and, after their divorce, one with a film director she never married. She lived quite nicely on the money she received in her divorce from Freddie. Now that he was dead her children stood to inherit a great deal more. They were eight and six, so of course she would have control of it for many years.

  “Hello, Tracy,” said Bobby. “How are things?”

  She came over to him, tried to put her arms around his ample waist, pulling him in for a very intimate kiss, thought Lowell.

  The brunette gave Bobby a kiss on the cheek.

  “Hi, Rose,” he said. “Are you holding up okay?”

  “I’ll survive.”

  She was shorter than Tracy, about five six, but just as beautiful. Her dark features were magnetic, tantalizing, and forbidding at the same time.

  Lowell knew about her as well. A struggling actress who specialized in soft-core horror films, their relationship had begun while Freddie was still married to Tracy. Although still legally married at the time of his death, their relationship had long since turned sour. Freddie had apparently learned his lesson from his first two marriages. They had no children, and her pre-nuptial agreement would have left her with only a small payout in case of divorce. He wondered how much she would get now that he was dead.

  “And who is this gentleman?” asked Rose.

  “David Lowell.”

  “Oh yes, the astrologer. I’ve read about you in the papers. You’ve been looking into Freddie’s murder.”

  “Mrs. Finger, I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

  He extended his hand, which she took briefly.

  “And to you as well, uh, Mrs. Finger,” he said to the blonde.

  “Please, call me Tracy,” she said, seductively. “An astrologer, huh? What do you think of Libras?”

  “I don’t do astrology work at funerals.”

  “Oh, well, maybe you could do my chart sometime.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Didn’t I see Vivian here earlier?”

  “She went back to her hotel,” said Lowell. “I think the stress was too much.”

  “Without saying hello to her step-mother? That’s not like her,” said Tracy.

  Rose laughed. “Step-mother.”

  “I’m sure it was an oversight,” said Lowell. “I’ll be seeing her later and would be happy to bring her a message.”

  Tracy furrowed her brow as if in deep thought. “Just tell her that “mom” says hello and I hope to see her while she’s in town. If there’s anything I can do to help you catch his killer, please let me know.”

  “I may have some questions for both of you.” He handed each a business card. “Would it be all right if I called upon you in a day or so?”

  “Of course,” said Tracy, “I’ll do whatever I can to help.” She looked over at Rose. “Even if it means airing dirty laundry.”

  Rose’s eyes seemed on fire. “Are you making some sort of accusation, Tracy? You know what accusation means, don’t you? If you need time to look up any of the words I’m using, please let us know.” She turned to Lowell. “You know how hard it can be for blondes.”

  “I’m just saying that the police should look into every possibility, that’s all. Just how much will you get now that he’s dead?” asked the second Mrs. Finger.

  “Not as much as you took him for,” said the third.

  “Yeah, but more than you would have gotten if he had the chance to throw you out like he was planning.”

  “You mean like he did to you?”

  “At least I had children with him. What did you do for him?”

  “How about getting him sober and saving his life,” said Rose.

  “Kidding yourself as always. I thought you were in therapy?”

  “Nice to see you again, Tracy.” said Rose. “Try not to trip over your tongue.” She turned to Lowell. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Lowell. Please feel free to call me anytime,” she looked over at Tracy, “especially if you want to know the truth about things.”

  “Can you think of anyone who might want Freddie dead?” he asked.

  “I can’t think of many who didn’t.”

  She handed Lowell her card and departed.

  Tracy also said her goodbyes and walked off in the opposite direction. She didn’t give Lowell anything.

  “Well,” said Bobby, “what did you think of that?”

  Chapter Ten

  It was proving difficult to get Tracy’s correct birth information. All Lowell knew was that she was a Libra. She had lied about her age so much that every website gave a different year. He somehow doubted she would be more forthright in person.

  The second Mrs. Finger lived in a new high rise on West 89th Street. She came to the door dressed in a pink and white chemise and a matching skirt. They were both sheer and quite see-through.

  Lowell tried to look at anything but her as they sat in her living room.

  “How do you take it?” she asked.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’ve made some fresh coffee.” She pointed to the table near the couch. “How do you take it?”

  “Oh. Milk and sugar, please.”

  She mixed his beverage and handed it to him.

  The apartment was large and furnished with obviously expensive pieces. Ceiling to floor windows let the early sunlight pour in. Although visibly a woman of means with several staff, a sense of disarray was on display. Papers were scattered around, magazines lay open on tables, and there were a few articles
of clothing strewn around. Evidence of her children was also present everywhere. Toys and coloring books lay on the floor.

  “I suppose you want to know what that was all about, yesterday.”

  “Well, I did notice a certain amount of hostility between you two, but I’m really only interested in things that are directly connected to Freddie’s murder.”

  She sipped her coffee. “Isn’t this a beautiful view? I paid almost a million more to have the southern exposure.” She stood up and walked to the window. “It’s such a repressive city without a good view, don’t you think?”

  She turned toward Lowell and smiled. The outline of her body was quite visible with the morning light behind her.

  He cleared his throat and looked down at his coffee. “Tell me about your disagreement with Rose.”

  “That woman is a little gold digger. She was nothing but a two-bit actress who couldn’t get a real gig so she set her sights on Freddie, hoping to cash in. But he was too smart for her and made her sign a pre-nup.”

  “I assume you didn’t have such an arrangement with Freddie?”

  “No, we were in love and trusted each other.”

  “That didn’t work out too badly for you, did it?”

  “I was with him for ten years. I put up with his cheating and his drugs and all the rest of it. I got just what I deserved in our settlement, nothing more.”

  “So why is there such animosity between you and Rose?”

  “She’s the little bitch that stole my husband. Did you know they were involved while I was still married to him? He met her in LA while they were on tour. From what I heard she stalked him for weeks until he finally gave in.”

  “That must have made you mad.”

  “You bet it did. I could have killed them!”

  She paced back and forth in front of the window.

  “Hey,” she said suddenly, “I didn’t mean I would actually kill him. I didn’t do it! I think she did it.”

  She sat on the couch next to him, her leg touching his. “Don’t you see? She wouldn’t get anything if he divorced her. Maybe a million and change. This way she can contest any will he made up and throw the pre-nup out the window. She did it, you can count on that. Maybe I could help you in your investigations?” she purred.

  The intercom rang.

  “Damn.” She got up from the couch, walked over to the house phone and picked it up. “Yes, what is it? Oh crap, I remember. Let me change and I’ll be right down.”

  She hung up and turned toward Lowell. “I’m sorry, I promised to chair a fundraiser this afternoon and they’ve come to pick me up. Perhaps we could get together later and compare notes?”

  “Perhaps. I need your birth information. I’m having a bit of trouble finding it.”

  “I was born October 21st.”

  “And the year?”

  “Oh, a lady never tells her age.” She walked him to the door.

  ***

  The third Mrs. Finger lived on West 10th Street in a townhouse she’d owned jointly with Freddie.

  Dressed in a conservative black pant suit with a ruffled shirt and black flats, she was the antithesis of Tracy.

  “Please come in.”

  Lowell entered the townhouse. The first thing he noticed was the meticulous order with which everything had been arranged. There wasn’t a crooked picture, a magazine out of place, or anything that could hint at disorganization.

  They sat on matching chairs in the living room. A maid came in and brought coffee and tiny cup cakes. He ate one and sipped the coffee.

  “You spoke to Tracy, I assume.”

  “Yes, I was at her place this morning.”

  Rose took a sip of coffee. “Did she wear any clothes?”

  “Barely.”

  “That’s what I thought. What did she tell you, that I stole Freddie away from her?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Nothing could be further from the truth. They were finished long before I came into the picture. You saw the way she dressed. Their marriage didn’t have a chance from the beginning.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Between Freddie’s whoring and her trampy ways it was tempestuous from the very start.”

  “Your marriage wasn’t?”

  Rose was concise in everything she did. There wasn’t a movement out of place or a wasted moment. She moved one of the cupcakes from the edge of the plate to the center creating a more symmetrical design. Her birth information was not in question. Every mention of her gave the same date. She was a Virgo, born September 10th, 1977 about nine-twenty in the morning. She had a Moon–Venus conjunct in Leo in sextile to Pluto, and an early Scorpio rising sign. Her sexuality bubbled just under the surface.

  “I had no illusions about Freddie. When I married him I never expected to have children and I wasn’t in it for the pension. I hoped we could have fun for a few years and that maybe it would help my career.”

  “You’re not the jealous type?”

  She laughed. “If you want to marry a rocker you can’t be, unless you want to make yourself crazy.”

  “Like Tracy?”

  “Bingo. She expected Freddie to be a husband. He wasn’t capable of it.”

  “His cheating bothered her?”

  “Certainly it did.”

  “But you say she was promiscuous as well.”

  “So? Haven’t you ever known someone who demanded faithfulness while out whoring around? That’s what Tracy was like, still is, I assume. She’s a spoiled little princess who expects men to lose their minds once she drops her drawers.”

  “Freddie didn’t lose his mind?”

  “Freddie didn’t give a damn about any one woman. Since he was a child he had always attracted females.”

  They sipped their coffee in silence for a moment.

  “But you could inherit much more than what your pre-nuptial agreement states.”

  “I could, if I planned to sue. But I don’t. I get several million dollars, this townhouse, and a home outside of LA. I have quite a bit stashed away from our years together, and that’s more than enough for me.”

  “You’re not planning to contest the will?”

  “If you think I’m going to spend my time fighting Tracy and all the other cockroaches that are about to come out of the woodwork to lay a claim on Freddie’s money, you’re crazier than she is.”

  “So why would Tracy give me the impression that you are in it for the money?”

  “Because it’s the only way she can compete with me. Freddie left her because of who she is, not because of me or any other woman. All Tracy cares about is money and status. If she believes that I really don’t care about these things then she has lost the high moral ground, and she looks like the money-grubbing whore that she is.”

  Chapter Eleven

  It was time to compare notes, so Lowell paid a visit to Lieutenant Roland. He found the cop sitting at his overcrowded desk, coffee cup in hand, looking through a file. Framed pictures of Ronald Reagan and George H. W. Bush hung on the wall behind him. When Lowell came in Roland closed the file and gestured toward the vacant seat.

  “What have you got for us?”

  Lowell sat. “I’m following a couple of leads. First, I need the answers to a few questions.”

  “All right, if I can.”

  “Who owns the townhouse where Freddie was found?”

  Roland took a sip of his coffee. “It’s owned by a company called Ridgewood Holding in the Cayman Islands. The company recently went belly up and they’re trying to dump the property. There are several bids on the place, all of them legitimate.”

  “Can I have a list of the bidders on the property, as well as any bidders who recently dropped out?”

  “Sure, if you’ve got the time to sift through it all I’d be delighted for any information you come up with.”

  Lowell pointed to the stack of files on his desk. “Lieutenant, you’ve got dozens of unsolved cases. I’ve got one case, at the moment. Ob
viously I’m going to be able to concentrate better on this case than you can. I’ll be happy to share my knowledge.”

  “I’ve got a theory of my own that seems to hold water.”

  “Oh?”

  “Well, all evidence points to Freddie’s murder being one of opportunity,” said the policeman.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Freddie was probably killed by someone who had a grudge against him, a boyfriend or husband.”

  “Or maybe an ex-wife or widow?” said Lowell.

  “Ah, I see you’ve met two of the Mrs. Fingers. Are you looking into their activities?”

  “They are in the active file. Although I doubt that either of them could have done this alone.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time a wife got help disposing of an unwanted husband, or ex.”

  “I’ll follow up on it.”

  “The way I see it,” continued Roland, “someone else killed Gene and Wally, maybe two different people for two completely different reasons. Remember, at first we weren’t even sure if Gene had been murdered at all or if it was an accident. Someone saw an opportunity to get back at Freddie for some sexual misconduct, and figured this would be a good time to kill him and throw us off the track, making us think it was related to the others. And it worked, for a while.”

  “And you feel this way, why?”

  “Well, except for the fact that they are all rock stars, and that they were all killed in New York City, these three have nothing in common. They weren’t personal friends, they didn’t see the same shrink, and even their music was totally different. Gene sang ballads, Wally spewed rage, and Freddie was a head-banger rocker.”

  Lowell nodded. “Go on.”

  “In each case the modus operandi was unique. The weapon used was different each time. Gene was pushed out a window, Wally was stabbed, and Freddie was shot. No, these murders were not related, I’d bet my reputation on it. In fact, with the public screaming for some resolution I may go public with my ideas later today.”

  Lowell sighed. “Listen, Lieutenant, I wouldn’t do that so fast if I were you. I’m not sure these murders weren’t all committed by the same person or persons. These crimes are an extension of a financial matter, of that I’m certain. And they are all connected. You may be right about there being an emotional element involved, especially in Freddie’s case, but why don’t you give me a few days before you go public with anything?”