Murder in the Eleventh House

by Mitchell Scott Lewis

  “What can we do?”

  “I’m not sure yet. But don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”

  “He’s,” she hesitated, “a very large man. I want you to be careful.”

  He kissed her on the forehead. “Thank you for worrying, but I’ll be fine. I just have to be prepared, that’s all.”

  “Your favorite piece of advice. So what about Johnny? What’s going to happen to her once this is all over, even if we do, by some miracle, get her off?”

  “She’ll go back to her life. Our job is to prove her innocence and then put her back on her path and send her on her way.”

  “And that’s it?”

  “How about if she moves in here permanently as my personal bartender?”

  “Will you be serious?”

  “You are not responsible for every stray cat that crosses your path.”

  “There’s got to be something we can do for her.”

  “We’re trying to save her life.”

  “You know, speaking of which,” said Melinda, “Johnny did save your house, and probably your life.”

  “I know.”

  “And she’s going to need a hand no matter how this turns out.”

  “As I told you when you first showed me her chart, this is a complicated person with some difficult manifestations of her neuroses, including alcoholism, a gambling problem and rather loose sexual morals.”

  “Oh, don’t be such a prude,” said Melinda. “She also has a strong sense of honor and duty and seems to have earned the respect of her coworkers.”

  “I’m just letting you know that I am aware that her difficulties extend beyond her current situation.”

  “And are you planning on doing anything about it?”

  Lowell sighed a deep, resonating moan and shook his head. “I suppose you’re right. She did save our house.”

  “Our house?”

  “Of course. When I bought it after the divorce I put it in both our names. Your mother gets more than enough from me as it is. I thought you might like to live here someday, you know, when I croak.”

  “Oh, Dad.”

  “And it’s not money, so you don’t have to feel guilty about taking it. If you don’t take it, the probate court will, and that would be a shame. I just can’t think of anyone who would enjoy it and take care of it the way you would. And I’ve grown quite attached to my urban castle.”

  “You know I love this place, too. The neighborhood, the backyard; what’s not to love about it?”

  “So you’ll do it? You’ll take over the place when the time comes?”

  “Well, all right, but I can’t promise that I’ll live here the rest of my life.”

  “Still can’t make a commitment, can you? I’ll be dead, f’chrisake; it’s not like I’m about to call you up and wail, You promised to live there. What the hell are you doing in Anchorage? You can do what you want to then. Just agree to it now.”

  “Anchorage?”

  “It would serve you right to go there if you didn’t live here.”

  She laughed. “All right, Dad.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The sidewalk in front of the courthouse was getting busy. It was nearly lunchtime on Monday, and a dozen food carts offering a diverse selection of affordable culinary treats stood in a row on Centre Street waiting for the noon rush. Aromas mixed and mingled together, tempting to the choosiest palette. A few early birds came by and were rewarded with quick service, insuring a relatively leisurely meal. It was still ten minutes before noon, when the crowds would emerge from the buildings and swoop down on these portable restaurants like crows in a field of sweet corn. These vendors made the vast majority of their income each day in that one hour between noon and one. A few rainy weeks could ruin them. Today it was sunny, and they were happy.

  A blond man in a long overcoat was leaning against a tree in the park across the street, watching the courthouse. He held a newspaper, occasionally turning the page. But his eyes never left the building. He glanced at his watch and shifted to the other side of the tree.

  At noon the courthouse doors opened, and throngs of people exited, the food trucks suddenly surrounded by the hungry.

  Johnny and Melinda came out about ten after twelve. They were met by Andy, and the three walked across Centre Street to the park.

  Three children were playing tag around a giant tree. Melinda watched them. This was not a residential neighborhood and she absently wondered whose children they were. No parental figure was near by.

  “Everything okay?” asked Andy, as they sat on a bench.

  “Fine,” said Melinda. “It’s just some paper work we have to take care of. We’ll finish up after lunch. It shouldn’t take much longer.”

  Johnny looked miserable.

  “Are you hungry?” asked Melinda.

  Johnny sighed. “Not really, but I guess I should eat something.”

  “What would you like?”

  “I don’t care much. Any kind of sandwich would do.”

  Melinda took out some money and handed it to Andy. “Would you mind getting us all something for lunch? Just get a variety.”

  “Sure. But it might take a few minutes for this crowd to thin out.”

  He got up and walked over to the row of trucks and stood on the shortest line.

  “How do you think it’s going?” asked Johnny.

  “I think everything is going fine.”

  Johnny kept rubbing her hands together nervously. She watched the children for a few moments. The little boy had a ball, which he repeatedly offered to the little girl only to pull it back again and again. The girl started crying, and then the boy gave her the ball. She stopped crying and smiled.

  “I haven’t seen your father all day.”

  “He had some research to do. But he’ll be at the townhouse later.”

  Johnny smiled. “Good.”

  Melinda turned away so Johnny couldn’t see her joker’s grin. “You like my father, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do. He’s a very smart man, and you’ve both been so wonderful to me I don’t know how I can ever repay you. It’s just so unusual to me. Everyone I meet wants something, usually money or sex. But you guys don’t seem to be looking for anything. What is it you get out of helping people?”

  “Well, it’s just the right thing to do, that’s all.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Johnny, “I just don’t understand.”

  “I think you do. Why did you risk your life to save your comrades?”

  “But that’s different. They were people I knew. And it was my job.”

  “Well, sometimes life puts us in each other’s path and we are forced to act how our conscience dictates. Now we know you. And this is our job.”

  Johnny thought about that for a moment and then nodded.

  Andy returned with three sandwiches and sodas.

  “I got tuna, chicken salad, and turkey. I’ll eat any of them, so you two decide.”

  “I’d like the tuna, if that’s okay,” said Johnny.

  “Give me the turkey,” said Melinda.

  They ate their meal in silence for a few moments.

  When they’d finished their meal Johnny wanted to walk around a bit, but Andy said no, so they returned to the courthouse.

  The blond man watched them leave, and then turned and began walking uptown on Centre Street. After a few blocks he pulled out his cell phone and made a call. “Yeah, it’s me. I got them marked, all except that Lowell guy. I can take them out anytime. You just let me know.”

  He hung up and walked up Lafayette Street through Chinatown, Little Italy and into Soho. At Spring Street he went into the subway and took the 6 train uptown to 42nd Street. He got off, walked down Lexington to 38th Street, and stoppe
d in front of a small building on the side street midway between Lex and Park.

  He carried himself with an air of self-assurance, never once looking over his shoulder or he might have noticed that Sarah had followed his every step.

  The man took out a key, opened the door, and entered the building.

  Shortly thereafter, Lowell, who’d been Sarah’s back-up, but too recognizable to take a chance tailing the man directly, picked her up in a cab and they headed uptown.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Mort was bouncing in his chair when Lowell got back to the townhouse office.

  “I found out some interesting things about the late Judge Winston.”

  “Do tell.”

  “She disappeared for two weeks in August. Nobody knew where she was, not even her watchdog, Larry Rosen. Although she was officially on vacation, it was apparently unlike her to just vanish. There were several inquiries at the time through official but discreet channels, but apparently nobody found out where she had gone.”

  “And you were able to find all this out how?”

  “They weren’t that discreet.”

  “Ah, the good old Internet,” said Lowell. “The invention that ate humanity.”

  “She came back in time to return to work, and that’s the end of the trail.”

  “According to Mark Milford, that would be about the time she broke off her previous affair. So what could happen on a romantic vacation that would lead to a total break-up?”

  “What if she was becoming too involved with someone, maybe someone with a wife?”

  “They did go great lengths to hide their involvement.”

  “Maybe she was losing control over her emotions,” said Mort. “What if she was too much in love and wanted to end an untenable situation? And what if the lover didn’t want to end it?”

  “That’s a lot of what-ifs.”

  “So just who is this mysterious lover?”

  “I don’t know.” Lowell picked up Judge Winston’s chart. “But I think it’s about time we found out.” He tugged on his ponytail. “Are you getting any feelings about it?”

  Mort scrunched up his face. “It was someone in the legal profession, but otherwise I’m not getting much.”

  “Well, that at least narrows it down a bit.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Someone involved in this mess had an affair with the victim that ended suddenly shortly before her murder. I’m going to find out who it was and why it ended.”

  “Going to do some of your astrology hocus-pocus?”

  “Seems the only way.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  “I need the birth information of all of the players in this drama, including the birth time, whenever possible.”

  “You’ve got Rosen’s and Milford’s, who else do you need?”

  “If I knew that, it would be easy. I want every man associated with her, and with this case.”

  “Everyone?”

  Lowell nodded. “I want her clerk’s clerk, her legal secretary, the other judges, everyone.”

  “How about if I start with you and me?”

  “I think you can probably skip us.”

  “Just trying to be thorough.”

  Mort worked on the computer the rest of the day and evening compiling the necessary information. Most of the birthdates of those working at the courthouse including the judges and clerks were easily accessible on the Internet. But some of the information took a bit of hacking.

  Once Lowell had a partial list of prospective men he began. It was mostly a matter of grunt work. He had to punch up all of their charts and draw a comparative and a composite with Farrah Winston’s. He took each person associated with the case and compared his chart with the victim’s. Then he computed the midpoint chart of the two, creating a composite chart, he then computed the Davison relationship chart, and made his notes on each. There were a number of separate charts for each individual, and it took time.

  Most of them were superficial in their diagnosis; enough connection to work together or for frivolous socializing, but not for anything more serious. It takes a lot of karma for a meaningful relationship to develop between two souls, and in composite astrology charts that connection would not be easily mistaken.

  Mort went to bed about midnight. Lowell worked well into the morning hours, finally falling asleep on the small sofa in his office.

  But not before finding what he sought.

  ***

  Melinda tapped Lowell’s shoulder as he lay on the couch. Charts were scattered haphazardly on his chest and on the floor.

  “I’m awake. Just my eyes are closed. Look at these, would you?” He handed Melinda the clutch of papers in his hand. “Farrah Winston’s lover is one of these.”

  She looked at them one at a time. “It’s not this one. Mars is in the 2nd House conjunct Saturn. Ugg, not a sexual connection.” She looked at another. “Not this one either, with Venus and the Sun in the 11th House chart, probably good friends, not lovers.”

  She picked another one up. “Oh boy, the Sun conjuncts Mars and Jupiter in the 8th House of sex. This would be my guess.”

  He smiled, eyes still closed.

  “I noticed you didn’t put any names on these. Who is it?”

  He told her.

  “Oh, my God.”

  ***

  Lowell took a quick shower, tugged a brown turtleneck over his head and pulled on matching socks and neatly pressed jeans.

  Melinda was sitting on the couch in the basement office, staring at the charts. She looked up at Lowell as he came down the stairs cradling a cup and saucer.

  “What are you going to do with this information?”

  “Confront him.”

  “Well, we could…”

  “Without you,” he interrupted.

  Before Melinda could respond Mort came in holding several papers in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. “I traced that address you gave me for the hitman. The building is managed by a small real estate firm. They rented it to a company called World Wide Markets, which doesn’t seem to have a permanent address, just a p.o. box. I was able to trace the check they used to pay for the box.”

  “Let me guess—it’s a phony.”

  “Yep. The bank account was closed the next week.”

  He pulled out another piece of paper. “They sent their paperwork though a shell company with only a mail drop. There isn’t much of a trail but I’m used to that. Everyone leaves breadcrumbs behind if you know where to look. I’ll find them.”

  “At least we now know what P.C. stands for,” said Lowell, “whatever good that does us.”

  “What a tangled web,” said Melinda.

  “But if you gently pull the threads, it all untangles.”

  “Well, you’d better pull them quickly,” said his daughter, “or it will be a moot point if Johnny is convicted.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Judge Thompson sat behind his massive desk. Lowell sat facing him.

  “Mr. Lowell, I have a very few minutes to spare. What can I do for you?”

  “It involves the Winston murder case, your honor. Some new evidence has come to light that I think you should be aware of.”

  “This is a matter for the DA’s office. Why are you bothering me with it?”

  “I think you’ll understand by the time I am finished.”

  “All right, get on with it.”

  “Before I begin, I wish to explain a little of what I do, as many people have a preconceived notion about astrology. I practice both personal astrology and what is called mundane, or world event astrology. I am also an astro-economist.”

  “A what?”

  “Over the past twenty years I ha
ve been employed by various banks, hedge funds, and other financial institutions as a market analyst. Because I and other traders use astrology as one of our main tools in commodities trading we have coined the term astro-economist. It has been used a number of times in Barron’s, the Wall Street Journal, and other financial publications where I am periodically interviewed or quoted. My list of personal clients has included well known artists, financiers, and government officials.”

  “What has any of this to do with this case?”

  “I feel it necessary to list some of what I have been able to accomplish using astrology as a precursor to my main point.”

  The judge waved his hand in a dismissive manner. “Just make it brief, Mr. Lowell. I’m a very busy man.”

  “Quite briefly then: I predicted the rise of oil to well over a hundred dollars a barrel when it was trading at $32 a barrel years in advance, the collapse of the mortgage business and the housing market, the decay of the banking industry, and the onset of the recession and subsequent market crash. I only mention these events in case you are a non-believer in the celestial arts.”

  “All right, I am duly impressed. And again I ask what has this to do with this case?”

  “I have charted the horoscopes for most of the people involved in this case and cross-referenced them via what we call composite and comparative charts. These charts show the potential a relationship has. It can not predict if the two will ever meet, but it can determine the type of relationship that would occur if they did. I believe I can show that there were others with a much stronger motive to kill Farrah Winston than the defendant’s.”

  The judge was silent.

  “There were several people whose charts demand we further investigate their connection to the victim. One was a lover she had taken about eighteen months ago.”

  “And you plan on introducing this as evidence in my courtroom?”

  “Yes, your honor.”

  “Over my dead body. What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Trying to save an innocent woman’s life.”

  “By dragging other innocent people into the spotlight? I don’t think you realize just what your prodding may produce.”