Murder in the 11th House

by Mitchell Scott Lewis

  “The 3rd House also rules siblings,” said Melinda. “Maybe her sister had something to do with it?”

  “Yes, possibly. They seemed to have a strained relationship, and their charts are anything but passive. Also, the sister’s husband is unemployed and their money problems will be solved for now with her inheritance. I have not ruled her out.”

  He pinned the chart to his bulletin board and sat back. “Where’s Mort?”

  “Upstairs somewhere,” said Sarah.

  “Find him, will you?”

  “Yes, boss.” She went up the stairs.

  Melinda looked worried.

  “Try not to fret,” said Lowell. “We may be closer than we think.”

  Mort entered the office. “You’re looking for me?”

  “I want you to follow some minor leads. We’re missing something, something small and seemingly insignificant.”

  “The devil is in the details, isn’t that what they say?”

  “And here’s the proof of that saying. How are you coming with that hard drive?”

  “I got through some of the defenses. Here are the file names I’ve been able to extract so far. Nothing dramatic or I would’ve called you in the car yesterday”

  He handed Lowell a folder holding several sheets of paper. Lowell glanced quickly through it.

  “Doesn’t seem to be much here. Mostly financial records and what looks like some court business. Hardly worth hiding behind so elaborate a defense system.” He picked up a pen and circled several entries, and then handed the folder back to Mort. “What do you think these stand for?”

  “P.C.” read Mort. “Don’t know. Maybe someone’s initials?”

  “They show up quite a number of times. Maybe they’re connected. I think you should start there.”

  “Already have,” said Mort, with his impish grin. “I thought you might suggest that.”

  “So what’s next?” asked Melinda.

  “Let’s look at Larry Rosen’s chart again,” said Lowell. He worked the computer for a few minutes. “The corrected birth information for Rosen shows a personality much more capable of subterfuge and underhanded actions. I might have missed the deception had I not been aware of the discrepancies.”

  “Mistakes in astrology?” asked Mort.

  Lowell shook his head. “Astrology never makes mistakes. Astrologers on the other hand…”

  He worked the computer for a few more minutes.

  “What about his relationship with Judge Winston?” asked Melinda.

  “This composite chart of Rosen and Farrah Winston is also much different than the one I drew with his wrong birth information. There is a Sun Venus conjunct in a tight square to Pluto. It clearly shows some hidden agenda and the deterioration of their relationship.”

  “So you were right,” said Mort. “Rosen must have given you the wrong information on purpose.”

  “I suppose so. There was a powerful connection between them that one would expect. After all, he was her clerk and close associate for several years. But there was more going on than could be seen on the surface.”

  “Can you tell what it is?”

  “It had a lot to do with their philosophies on life. The ruler of the composite 9th House sits on the ascendant. I’ll need to work with this for a while. I’ll do it later tonight.”

  “And now?” asked Melinda.

  “Now we push and pull until the pieces fall into place and the jigsaw reveals its picture. Mort, let me know when you open some of these P.C. files.”

  “All right. What are you going to do?”

  “Gaze upon my grand estate.”

  Mort laughed. “If you get lost, I’ll send out the hounds.”

  Lowell went into the back room and sat in his armchair looking out the window at his tiny patch of land. Melinda followed a few moments later.

  “What are you thinking about?” she asked.

  “Oh, just remembering the years of struggle and frustration, with little fondness, I might add. I guess I’m still a bit amazed at my success.”

  “You don’t seem like a rich man. You don’t feel settled or comfortable at all. Money is supposed to make someone content, at the very least. You somehow seem even more displaced as the years go on.”

  A sycamore hung over his property from the next, the branches swayed slightly in the brisk autumn wind. Lowell stood up, opened the window and breathed in a jolt of cool air. Then he sat back in the chair.

  “Don’t forget, I was almost fifty when I finally started making a decent income. Before that, the time and effort wasted scampering for rent and food was trivial and counterproductive.”

  “I thought struggle strengthens us?”

  “Perhaps in youth. In middle years it only wears you down and steals your faith. In fact, my real work only began when my fortunes improved. Now maybe I can make a tiny difference. What I see happening around me in our society becomes more disturbing as time goes on. How could I relax once I had money?”

  They continued to look out the window.

  “I remember how beautiful it was here last year when it snowed. I spent a long weekend with my college roommate, Jill, during that blizzard in January. We built a snowman and you built a fire and Julia just spoiled us terribly. I think I gained ten pounds in four days. But it was so nice to have that feeling of being in a home, with a private backyard right in the middle of the city. I felt like I was ten again.”

  He nodded. “I hope we have many snowy days here for years to come.”

  He paused.

  “Maybe you’ll even bring your children.”

  Melinda laughed. “Took you long enough to get to that one.”

  Mort entered and cleared his throat. They turned from the window.

  “I think I found something interesting.”

  “Do tell.”

  “I opened one of the files marked P.C.”

  Mort handed Lowell a legal size piece of paper upon which was some sort of diagram.

  “What is this?”

  “That is a blueprint of some sort.”

  Lowell looked at it for a few moments. “I don’t know what I’m looking at.”

  Mort shook his head. “Neither do I.”

  “Obviously it’s the outline of some sort of complex; there are some buildings and this looks like a road.”

  “Maybe this is something our elusive P.C. was working on,” said Melinda.

  “Maybe. Mort, run through the judge’s records and see if anyone with those initials comes up. And keep working on those other files. We must find out who this P.C. is and what he or she had to do with the victim.”

  Melinda’s cell phone rang. She left the room.

  She returned a few minutes later.

  “Well, that was interesting.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “Judge Thompson called.”

  “The same Judge Thompson who is presiding over Johnny’s murder trial?”

  “He wants to see me in his chambers at 11:30.”

  “So?”

  “With you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yep.”

  “That is interesting.”

  “I assume this meeting has to do with my name being on your witness list.”

  “I suppose so. We’ll find out soon enough.”

  Johnny came into the room. “I’m getting a little, you know, stir-crazy.”

  “If you want to, you can come with us to the courthouse and wait in the limo with Andy,” said Lowell.

  “Yeah, anything. Just so long as I get out of here for a little while.”

  ***

  Andy pulled up in front of the courthouse and watched vigilantly as Melinda and her father walked up the st
eps. Johnny stayed in the back and watched TV.

  They took the elevator to the fourth floor and were ushered into the judge’s chambers, where they were met by Judge Thompson and Greg Harris, the prosecuting attorney.

  “Ms. Lowell,” said the judge, “I’ve called this meeting at the request of Mr. Harris. He has some questions regarding Mr. Lowell’s name on your witness list. Could you elaborate a bit?”

  “Certainly. I intend to call David Lowell to the stand.”

  “But in what capacity?” interjected Harris. “Is Mr. Lowell testifying as a private detective or as an astrologer?”

  “Ms. Lowell?” asked the judge.

  “As both, your honor.”

  “Then I strongly object,” said Harris. “Are we going to bring up psychics and palm readers next?”

  “Precedent has been set,” said Melinda,

  “It has?” asked the judge.

  “Yes, your honor, it’s all in my brief.” She handed the judge a file. “I refer to New York Criminal Reports, Volume 32, The People vs. Evangeline Adams. You will find the references right there.”

  Judge Thompson picked up the papers and glanced at them. “Are you familiar with this case?” he asked Harris.

  The prosecutor shook his head. “No, I’m not.”

  “I took the liberty of printing a copy for you as well.” She handed him a file.

  “Well,” said the judge, “since it’s almost lunch time, let’s reconvene at one o’clock. I’ll take a look at this and give you my decision at that time.”

  ***

  Lowell and Melinda stopped by the limo and picked up their client, and then hurried to a nearby restaurant to grab a quick lunch. When they were seated Melinda spoke.

  “Do you think he’ll accept the Evangeline Adams case as precedent?”

  “You know the law better than I, what do you think?”

  Melinda just shrugged. “I think it’s fifty-fifty.”

  “Who is Evangeline Adams?” asked Johnny.

  Melinda was perusing the menu. “She was an influential astrologer in the early part of the twentieth century. She had her own radio show and had many important clients, including J.P. Morgan and other wealthy financiers. Evangeline Adams was arrested and put on trial in 1914 for fortune-telling, which is against the law in New York State.”

  “What happened?”

  “Well, she demanded that they put astrology itself on trial to prove that it was not fortune-telling, but rather a well studied and respected science. By explaining how it works, she successfully convinced the court that astrology was in fact a science and was acquitted of all charges. She went on to predict many future events, some that she did not live to see, including the stock market crash of 1929 and the Second World War.”

  “But then, she was a fortune teller, wasn’t she?”

  “What she proved in court was that knowing the position of the planets and interpreting their potential results is quite different than stating for a fact that something will happen. What she was able to do in life was predict quite a number of important events. And yes, frankly I would call that fortune-telling.”

  “Can he,” she nodded toward Lowell, “predict things like that?”

  “Oh, yes. My father has written of many world events well in advance. You’ll probably hear about some of them if he gets on the stand.”

  “So what happens now?”

  “That depends upon the judge,” said Melinda. “If he agrees with the argument set out in my brief, he will have to allow my father to testify.”

  “And if not?”

  “Then we will have to find another way of introducing any evidence we uncover.”

  Lowell glanced at his watch. “Okay, let’s get back there.”

  ***

  “All right, Ms. Lowell,” said the judge, “I’ve read your brief on The People vs. Evangeline Adams. After serious consideration and with some trepidation I will allow into evidence the testimony of Mr. Lowell. But I reserve the right to stop this examination if it gets too far out of line. Do I make myself clear?”

  Melinda and Lowell both nodded.

  “Your honor,” said the prosecutor, “I must strongly voice my objections to this entire procedure. This is simply silly; there’s no other word for it. We are modern, enlightened people, living in the twenty-first century.” He turned to Lowell. “This nonsense belongs in the middle ages with pagan rituals and witches. There is no scientific foundation for the belief in astrology. It is used to dupe the simple-minded and create self-fulfilling prophesies.”

  “Objection noted,” said the judge. “You’ll have your chance in cross-examination. Now let’s get on with this, shall we?”

  “By the way, I’ve looked at your chart, Mr. Harris,” said Lowell.

  “I’m not interested in that drivel.”

  Lowell nodded. “I understand. It’s just foolishness.”

  “That’s right.”

  “By the way, how’s that diabetes?”

  “It’s much better,” said Harris. “It only bothers me when my blood sugar is…your honor!”

  “Mr. Lowell,” said the judge, “please.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  After leaving the judge’s chambers, Lowell, Johnny, and Melinda were in the limo when the phone rang.

  “Are you on the way back to the townhouse?” asked Mort.

  “Why, what’s up?”

  “I managed to open another of the files titled P.C. I think you’d like to see it.”

  “Ah, and do you know who our elusive P.C. is?”

  “It’s not a who. It’s a what.”

  “We’re on our way.”

  He turned off the speakerphone. “Andy?”

  “I heard.”

  ***

  Mort held a single piece of paper. “P.C. stands for Pilgrim’s Cavern, a small town in Utah. It’s so small it isn’t even on maps or on the state’s website. I’ve gone through the usual searches, but so far I haven’t been able to get much information at all. It’s almost as if it never existed.”

  “Isn’t that a little strange?” asked Melinda.

  “Not really,” replied Mort. “If a town is small enough or just wishes anonymity it might be able to avoid the prying eyes of our compulsively curious society. Someone has to bother to enter the data into a computer bank for it to show up. Maybe nobody thought it was important enough to do so.”

  “Or maybe they just didn’t want to be bothered by the outside world,” she said.

  “If so,” replied Mort, “it looks like that will no longer be the case.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Lowell answered. “Whatever the ultimate outcome of this, Pilgrim’s Cavern will most likely get more publicity than it ever dreamed of.”

  “Or wanted, I’m sure,” replied Melinda.

  “In fact,” said Mort, “there is so little data in the file I opened that I’m surprised Judge Winston even bothered to encrypt it. It just gives the town’s name and location, and mentions something called P.D.I. I don’t know what that stands for, but I’ll follow up on it.”

  “Obviously she was taking extreme measures to protect a secret of some sort. So that’s the diagram we were looking at the other day?” said Lowell.

  “I would guess so,” said Mort.

  “That didn’t look like the outline of an old town.”

  “I know. So far I can’t even get any background information. I’ll do a little surfing this afternoon. There are still two files marked P.C. that I have to open. I hope they will enlighten us some more.”

  “Okay, so what has this town in Utah have to do with our case?”

  “I don’t know. You’re the detective. Detect something.”

  L
owell turned to his computer screen and typed feverishly for about fifteen minutes. “According to Google, Utah State Senator Smith dropped dead recently.”

  “Is that right?” Melinda nodded as she digested this news.

  “Just about a month or so before Judge Winston was murdered.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  Lowell opened a file and took out the victim’s astrology chart. “Farrah Winston was born on August 26, 1976, in a suburb of Salt Lake City, Utah. Did Rosen tell us that she was about to move back to Utah?”

  Mort nodded. “That’s right.”

  “What does that mean?” asked Melinda.

  “I don’t know. But at least we have a direction. All right, Mort, get me anything you can about Pilgrim’s Cavern, Utah, the late Senator Smith, and any connection between the two and the victim.”

  “Will do.”

  “And keep working with that hard drive. I think it holds many more secrets.”

  “But just like the women in my life, it has no intention of giving them up without a struggle.”

  “Well,” said Lowell, “let the seduction begin.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Lowell was putting in his morning trades. “Roger, tell me what you know about real estate.”

  “In what capacity?” Roger’s voice squawked over the speaker phone.

  “I’m looking into big land deals in a specific area of the U.S.”

  “Oh, so you’ve finally gotten that rich, huh?”

  “It has to do with a case I’m working on.”

  “Well, I’m having lunch in The World Financial Center with George Morris from Goodman, Roth and Morris today. He’s the best real estate lawyer I know. Why not join us? It’ll finally get you down here. Besides, he’ll be able to answer any questions you have.”

  “Well, I…”