The Tower of Evil bbm-1

by Robert A. Liston

  “Have you someone to stay with you?”

  “My sister is driving up from LA. She should be here soon.” Lorna smiled. “I’m better now, thanks to you, DeeDee.”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Yes, you did. You were a sympathetic ear.”

  “Not sympathetic, believing.”

  Lorna crossed the room and hugged her. “That’s what makes you so special. I’ll be okay, really, you needn’t stay if you have something to do.”

  DeeDee glanced at her watch. “I did promise to baby-sit for one of my employees.”

  “Then by all means keep your promise.”

  5: A Valuable Kid

  Walter Byerly parked his car beside Doreen’s, then strolled out the driveway to the mailbox. Doreen always left this task for him, because she knew he liked to ponder their good fortune to live on beautiful Monarch Lane.

  Named for the butterfly which nested in nearby trees in the spring, the street was a cul-de-sac off Butterfly Beach with a dozen or so homes, each distinctive in style and color. Their place was only a story and a half, a cottage really. Supposedly painted Federal blue, but somebody got the mix wrong. He called it secessionist teal. They bought it a decade ago, when real estate prices were depressed. Now in a booming market it could go for a million dollars.

  “No mail today, not a syllable.”

  Byerly looked across the road at his neighbor. Never could remember his name. “The purveyors of junk mail are surely derelict.”

  “Don’t you dare tell them.” The neighbor hesitated. “Say, Byerly, isn’t that bougainvillea of yours getting a bit out of hand?”

  He turned to look back. The magenta-colored vine covered the whole side of the house facing the street. He had to keep a tunnel cut through her so they could use the kitchen entrance. “I call her Big Bertha. If you don’t see me for a few days, you’ll know she ate me.”

  No laughter. His neighbor was a bit on the literal side.

  “I’ve always wondered, Byerly, is that the front or the back door to your house?”

  “I’ve never figured it out. There’s another door to the right, down the drive, but nobody ever uses it. We always go in and out through the kitchen. Big Bertha wouldn’t have it any other way, she gets lonesome.” He chuckled. “Stop in sometime, I’ll show you around.”

  Byerly walked back up the drive, checking out his landscaping. In truth he was amazed. Apparently one could stick anything in the ground in California and have it grow. That poinsettia was a Christmas gift years ago. Now Carmen was a high as his head.

  He wasn’t sure how he got started naming plants. Probably a sign of approaching dementia, but they sure thrived on it. The verdant hibiscus with the yellow blossoms was Flossie, the rambling morning glory on the fence was Gladys. Gus, the huge live oak, towered overhead. The grass was Hector. Thirsty all the time and terribly vain about his crewcut. “You look fine, Hector, don’t rush it.” He sometimes thought of hiring a gardener, or someone to help him, but he wouldn’t till he was forced to. Mowing and pruning kept him out of trouble.

  Byerly passed through the tunnel in Bertha and at once heard happy squeals and laughter. He found Doreen in the kitchen with two male toddlers. She wore sneaks, jeans, a baggy sweatshirt, and looked frazzled.

  “I used to be a good grandmother. I’d sit Billy and Robin for hours, no trouble at all.” She made a gesture of futility. “I’ve had these two less than an hour and I’m worn out, can’t keep up.”

  “How old were our grandsons when you worked these wonders?”

  “This age. Billy was three and Robin four.”

  “And how many years ago was that? The last time I saw those young men they were high school linebackers.”

  “Oh God, was it that long ago?”

  “Uh-uh, and now you know why the young have children.” Both boys stopped what they were doing and stared at him as though he was an extra from the movie Aliens. One lad had dark hair, the other blond. “Who are your young friends?”

  “This is Tommy, Karen’s boy.” She pointed to the dark-haired one. “And this is-”

  “Jamie, yes. Hi, men.” He extended a hand to shake two tiny ones. “May I ask how you men happen to be here?”

  “I told Karen I’d-rather we’d-babysit so she could go out to dinner and patch up things with her boyfriend.” She sighed. “I can’t keep up with them, and I don’t know what to do. I bought some toys, but they only lasted minutes. You have to help me, Walter.”

  He grinned at her. ”Very well, Star Fleet to the rescue.”

  “Star Fleet?”

  “I don’t think kids are into the Lone Ranger or Jack Armstrong these days.” He turned to them. “What say, men, let’s head for the beach?” At once he earned delighted squeals and the clatter of four little feet heading for the door.

  “The beach, why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Got to burn off their excess energy, then they’ll play quietly.”

  She stared at him. “When did you become such an authority?”

  “I remember vividly. I was lying awake one night, when this person, an apparition really, came to me and-”

  She pushed him toward the door. “I saw the same guy and he told me never to babysit more than one child at a time.”

  He walked along Butterfly Beach holding Doreen’s hand while the boys made a game of trying to avoid the incoming surf, squealing when the chilly water caught their bare feet. Suddenly he stopped, reached skyward with both hands, did a full circle on the sand, letting the wonder of it all soak into him. “God, I wish I could paint.”

  “What would you paint?”

  He made a sweeping gesture. “All this, you and me, at least two old folks, playing on the beach with two little boys-an orange beach with a tangerine sun sparkling across dusky water.” He raised his arm again. “There would be a turquoise sky and…look, Doreen, look, it’s happening.”

  “Yes, the purple mountains majesty.”

  “Only happens for a few minutes at dusk. How could I ever capture it?”

  “You’d think of something, love. What else would you paint?”

  “Oh, the white stucco buildings and the red-tiled roofs, all nestled among the lush green foliage. I’d want to paint the riotous colors of the flowers, oh, just everything, Doreen.”

  “It would be a beautiful painting, darling.”

  He nodded. “I keep thinking about the essence of this place we’ve chosen. What is it that makes it special?”

  “Why do I have a feeling you know the answer?”

  “An idea, maybe.” They strolled along. He picked up a handful of sand, let it sift through his fingers, bending a bit in the breeze as it fell. ”By living amid beauty you become beautiful-at least a better person. When all you see in Franchise City are muffler shops, junk food emporiums and a neon forest, something wilts within you. Money becomes everything.”

  “All I know is I’ve never been so happy as here. Thank you for insisting we move.”

  He turned her toward him, kissed her. “We’d better catch up to the boys.” They resumed their stroll.

  “I’d forgotten the worry and effort that goes into being a mother. I only remember the good stuff.”

  “You always did make it harder than it was. When I babysat the kids and their pals, I figured my job was to keep them from being hit by a car. Don’t play in the street. I said yes to everything else. We got along fine, no problems.”

  “And how often and for how long did you work this indulgence?” They stopped to watch the boys. Doreen picked up a heart-shaped stone. “I went to see Lorna Gould this afternoon. She’s distraught.”

  “How do you know her?”

  “I don’t know, I just do. She’s a friend.”

  “What kind of friend? Is she someone you clutch to your bosom, shake hands with or nod at uncertainly?”

  “Really, Walter, does it matter? I went to see her and she was glad to see me.” Doreen dropped her stone on the sand as not w
orth keeping. She turned to face him. ”The police got it wrong. Harry Gould was no suicide, he was murdered.”

  “Sweetheart, love of my life, he was found face down, hole in his right temple, gun in his right hand, with a suicide note nearby.”

  “He just passes the bar, hangs out a shingle and gets his first big case, so he decides to blow his brains out with a gun he doesn’t own and is terrified of ever since his father used one on himself years ago.”

  Byerly stopped and stared at her. “Put that way, love, you may have a point.“

  “A college chum was in town visiting him. It doesn’t make any sense for him to kill himself.”

  “Male or female?”

  “Lorna doesn’t know, but we ought to be able to find out.”

  “He or she will probably come forward to the cops-unless he or she plugged Gould. I’ll mention it to Lupe Hernandez. She’s not on the case, but she’s watching it for us.” They were near the boys now. Jamie, the abandoned one, ran over to them. He didn’t say anything, just stood there, his blue eyes soulful. Doreen knelt and hugged him. He ran back contentedly to help with the sand castle.

  “He’s very insecure.” Doreen said.

  “He keeps looking at me as an oddity. I don’t think he’s used to having a man around.”

  She laughed. “Maybe he thinks you’re his father.”

  “My urologist would be so proud.” They sat in the sand. “I have some information for you, only I’m afraid you’d add 2 and 2 and get 22.”

  “That’s the right answer sometimes. What have you got?”

  He hesitated, mostly for effect. “Last Tuesday morning a young woman was forced into a black limousine, apparently against her will.” He watched her eyes widen. “I knew it, a conclusion has been leapt to.”

  “Last Tuesday, that’s when Jamie was…where did this kidnapping happen?”

  “If you asked for the source of my information, you wouldn’t be so sure. It comes from Henry Clay, one of my homeless and not noted for his mental agility. He probably saw somebody getting into a cab beside the library.”

  “He can tell colors, can’t he? A long black cab?”

  “So she likes to ride around in style.”

  “What did the woman look like?”

  “Don’t even bother to ask. I should report to you, madam, that no one else saw this alleged kidnapping. The police never heard of it.”

  “It’s Jamie’s mother. She told Karen she had a job interview, went downtown and-”

  “Which gets us not one iota closer to knowing who Jamie is or what’s to become of him. Has anyone had the good sense to call Children’s Services?”

  “I’m not going to if I have to keep him myself. And don’t you dare either. This is a mystery for us to solve. The woman left Jamie with Karen La Rocca, a total stranger, simply because she was going to meet-”

  “Her doom?”

  “Could be. She obviously tried to hide the boy from someone.”

  “His real parents?”

  “She knew she would meet someone who would stop at nothing to find out where her son was.”

  He looked at her and grinned. “Tell me, Nancy, last name Drew, precisely why is that young man over there so valuable?”

  She looked at him, eyes wide, mouth slack, then over at the boys. “I have no idea.”

  “We’re losing the light, we’d better get back. C’mon, men, supper time.”

  Doreen did the shoes, he helped a little, then all four walked back home in deepening twilight. It was his favorite time of day, palms, yuccas, Norfolk pines and other exotic trees silhouetted against a lilac sky. He put his arm around Doreen’s shoulder and felt her nestle against him. “Magical, just magical,” he whispered.

  “Strange, though. Not a cloud in the sky and it’s supposed to rain tonight.”

  A few steps further along she said, “A chorus from Handel’s Messiah keeps going through my head, ‘Unto Us a Child is Given.’ Do you know it?”

  “Sure, but only the bass part. I don’t think you got it quite right. It’s Isaiah, ‘For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given’.”

  “Same difference, I feel blessed.”

  Was she already too attached? He decided to say nothing.

  While Doreen fixed scrambled eggs for the boys, he went upstairs to shower. When he came down both were fast asleep on the couch in the den. “You finally did them in,” he said.

  “Wearing out an old woman is hard work.” She looked in the fridge. “My night to cook. What will you settle for?”

  “Oh, some rainy day fare.”

  “What a love you are. How about a TV dinner?”

  “I think our marriage is strong enough to withstand it.”

  They sat at the kitchen counter swallowing the less than tasteless food. “Confess, love, did you really know Lorna Gould?”

  “Must I confess?” She sighed. “All right, I knew her, more than slightly I think, enough to know she talked all the time about her son. As soon as I heard he was killed, I just had to go to her.”

  “Very thoughtful of you, love-and typical.” He forked peas into his mouth, swallowed. “Among this vast circle of friends of yours, do you happen to know one Karl Kinkaid?”

  “I know of him, who doesn’t?”

  “I pride myself on being one of the select few. What do you know about him other than he is rich, powerful, mysterious and lives in a castle?”

  “Lupe tell you that? It’s close to the mark. It seems Mr. Kinkaid owns this big estate in Montecito, but seldom uses it, largely because he’s rarely in town. I think he has something to do with politics-or maybe it’s oil, OPEC and oleomargarine.”

  “Thanks a lot, I can do better on the internet. Do you happen to know a Mrs. Kinkaid?”

  “I talked to his housekeeper once. She ordered flowers, roses and cymbidiums as I recall, lots of them.”

  “The man can’t be altogether bad.”

  “Why do you ask about him?” She listened. “If you know the ex-daughter-in-law, why not talk to her?”

  “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  Karen La Rocca came about 10, all dolled up and looking smashing. With her was a young man introduced as Marco Musante, dark, hirsute and bulging. He had muscles even God had forgotten, and he was proud of every one. Doreen took them into the sleeping children. Both were cooed over, then carried out to the car.

  “That went well,” Doreen said. “Apparently Marco no longer minds if Karen keeps an extra child.”

  “Tonight, anyway. Karen’s bod in a cocktail dress will do that to a man.”

  “No accounting for lust.”

  She went upstairs to shower, while he watched the news. It didn’t take long until he heard, “Got any more of that wine?”

  “Just a sec. I want to hear this.” He listened a moment and laughed. “That idiot Justin Wright wants all unwed teenage mothers locked up in juvenile detention centers until they get their family values straight. Can you imagine him in the White House?”

  When this earned no reaction from her, he turned in his chair and saw her standing there in a red raincoat, matching umbrella raised over her head. She twirled it like a vamp, a devilish grin on her fact.

  “Don’t get wet, dear.”

  He swallowed. “What do you have on under that raincoat?”

  “Yours to find out.”

  He slowly rose from his chair.

  6: A Forbidding Place

  Byerly sat across from Phil Van Zant, wondering if all young doctors really looked alike or did it just seem that way. They all came with a certain smug self-assurance, probably a result of being young, handsome, slender and healthy. Cholesterol never accumulated in their arteries. Or maybe the smugness came from their power to force you to drop certain garments while they probed a seldom-shared orifice.

  Phil’s desk was a barrier between them. Couldn’t have that. “Say, Phil-” He refused to call young doctors “doctor.” They didn’t call him “professor,” not tha
t he wanted them to. If he was Walter to a near stranger, Phil was Phil to him. “How’d you get into urology, anyway?”

  Phil Van Zant ignored him a moment while he perused a page of computer printout. “I was dating a girl in medical school. She was insatiable, near as I could figure, so I thought I ought to learn all I could about…” He let the sentence trail off.

  “Plumbing the depths of manhood?”

  “Good way to put it. Actually, it was a choice between urology and proctology.”

  “Therefore easy to make.” He was surprised by Phil Van Zant’s wit. He always looked like an undertaker-hardly a mien to inspire confidence.

  “How’s your urination, Walt? Is the new medicine working?”

  “Pretty well, but I’m glad for indoor plumbing, especially at night.”

  “How often do you have to get up?”

  “Once always, occasionally twice. I can live with that.”

  “That’s good news.”

  Byerly eyed him. “Having you look for good news is hardly good news to me. Is there a problem?”

  Phil Van Zant glanced at the paper in front of him. “Could be, Walt, your PSA is elevated.”

  Fear stabbed at him. The words no man wants to hear: your PSA is elevated. Prostate Specific Antigen. The blood test was a major breakthrough in early detection of prostate cancer. Your PSA is elevated. What the words really meant was a major alteration in his lifestyle. That’s what frightened him.

  “How high?” His voice sounded pretty good, considering.

  “Enough for us to run some tests and see what we have.” Phil Van Zant actually smiled. “Walt, I hope you’re not going to ask how much time you have left. Elevated PSA can mean lots of things besides cancer. Even if you have cancer there are all kinds, ranging from-”

  “You know that, Phil, and I know that. The problem and what scares me is does Doreen know that.”

  “Do you want me to talk to her?”

  “Heavens no, that will really scare her.”

  Van Zant arose and snapped on a rubber glove. “Let’s start with what I believe is sometimes called-”

  “A finger wave. I was afraid of that.”