The Tower of Evil (Bye-Bye Mysteries)

by Robert A. Liston

  “And Victor is fornicating with Dr. Joy. I saw them together, morning-after eyes and all.”

  Lupe glared at them. “You might have told me what you were doing. It’s dangerous.”

  “No time,” Walter said, “and the risk is tolerable.”

  “Are you sure? The last man to see Harry Gould alive was Victor Dragon.”

  21: Dumb Dora

  BYERLY HAD STAYED CLOSE to the tower, hoping to catch a glimpse or hear a voice from above. Nothing. But all the beds marked for transplanting were finished in that area, so he was forced to move his wheelbarrow further afield. Bending and kneeling for more than a few minutes wasn’t his thing, but he had to admit the sunlight was gorgeous and the odors of grass, earth and flowers rapturous.

  “I have such good news, darling. You’re going to be so pleased.”

  The voice startled him and he looked around.

  “We’re going to clear a quarter mil on the dinner, just think of it.”

  The subject matter more than the voice made him realize it was Joy Fielding. But where? He saw an open Elizabethan window above and to his right.

  “We sold every seat. I just wish we’d taken a bigger hall. The local yokels are delighted to pay ten grand to shake hands with the handsome, debonair—” Pause. “Of course issues are important, but the locals are too star struck for that.”

  Too bad he didn’t have a recorder. This would play well on the evening news.

  “Of course you can confide in me, Justin. What’s bothering you?”

  So it was Justin Wright on the phone. The silence continued for a time. Apparently she was listening.

  “There can’t be anything to it, darling. The woman is out of your life, if she was ever in it.” She made a scoffing sound. “So, someone mentioned Amanda Sykes. No need for you to get upset about it.”

  Oh yes there is.

  “Who did you say you were to phone? … Byerly! That old coot! He’s just a local busybody, pay him no mind.”

  So Wright phoned Joy Fielding to see if it was okay to phone me. Great Chief Executive material!

  “On the contrary, Justin, I think it might do a great deal of harm. I urge you not to do anything foolish until you’re here and we can talk. It’ll only be a couple of days. Your advance men are already in town, staying here. … Please do as I say, Justin. This matter requires a lot of thought…. That’s a good fellow. Yes, I feel the same way about you. See you Friday, bye.”

  He heard the phone bang on the cradle, then, “That pipsqueak hasn’t the backbone of melted butter—and less brains.”

  “Good morning, darling.”

  Victor Dragon. He heard the unmistakable sounds of lips smacking in a kiss.

  “Who has no backbone or brains?”

  “It seems that nosy Walter Byerly got a message through to Justin that he has information about Amanda Sykes. He wants Justin to phone him. The idiot actually considered doing it.”

  “He’ll mess us up something awful.“

  “I think I got him calmed down.”

  “We can’t risk it. We have to get rid of the woman and the brat. Nobody will miss them or trace them here.”

  “Those two busybodies know you have the kid.”

  “All they know is I got a court order for his mother.”

  There was a long pause. “Let’s wait till the fund-raiser is over and Justin is back campaigning. He’ll forget all about his one-time inamorata.”

  Byerly heard a heavy sigh of resignation, then, “Okay, darling, till Saturday, then we give them over to Dirk.”

  “That’s what I like about you, Vic, you got balls.”

  A rustling sound. “Not too hard or I’ll sing soprano…. That’s more like it.”

  Byerly stood up, intending to move away, but dropped his trowel. It clattered on the flagstone path.

  “What’s that noise?” It was Dragon’s voice. “Somebody’s outside.”

  Byerly lifted the wheelbarrow and shuffled forward.

  “Hey you, down there.”

  He ignored it.

  “Hey, I’m talking to you.”

  He felt forced to look up.

  “What are you doing there?”

  He gave his best el Viejo imitation, including the most elaborate shrug of his life. “No comprendo, Señor, no hablo Inglés.” He had to hope Dragon’s Spanish wasn’t any better than his.

  “Maybe he didn’t hear anything.”

  Byerly heard the window close and lock above him.

  “Another case is closed, Hernandez.”

  She neither saw nor heard Buster Brogan approach, but there he was at her desk. “Oh?”

  “That missing blond kid I told you about turned up. He’s back safe with his mother.”

  He might be back with his mother, but he definitely wasn’t safe. She knew only Victor Dragon could have told Brogan he was.

  “You can quit looking for him, if you were.”

  She bristled at the insinuation, started to protest, then thought of a better way. She smiled. “Don’t I always do everything you tell me, sergeant?”

  He seemed surprised, unsure how to react, then mumbled, “I just wish all our cases were solved so easily.”

  Crawl into bed with Victor Dragon and maybe they would be. “I learned some interesting info about the Gould case.”

  “You did or your buddies the Bye-Byes did?”

  “I said I did.”

  “The case is closed or very nearly so. An obvious suicide.”

  She shook her head. “So, you don’t want to hear anything that might—”

  “What is it, Hernandez” He wore his impatience like a suit of armor.

  “I spoke with a young woman over at the gym on West Carrillo, the Olympic Fitness I think it’s called.”

  “Yeah, been there a couple of times. What about it?”

  God, he was awful. “The woman knew Harry Gould, rather well, I gather. They worked out together. She said Harry was there the night he died. He got a phone call in the middle of his workout, then left, saying he had to go back to his office.”

  “So?”

  “The phone call was from Victor Dragon. Lots of people heard his name mentioned.”

  Brogan blinked. His jaw went slack.

  “That would make Dragon one of the last people to talk to Harry alive.”

  He strode a couple of paces away, his hand stroking his lantern jaw. Now he turned back. He’d thought of a reply. “Probably didn’t mean a thing. They’re both lawyers, probably working on a case together.”

  The very thing Victor Dragon would say.

  Brogan smiled at her, Walter Cronkite again, encountering a misbehaving brat. “In any event I’ll look into it, detective. Thank you for telling me.”

  She said nothing. Buster Brogan was digging his own grave. If he insisted a murder was a suicide, his pension was at risk.

  “How’d you happen to be in that particular gym talking about Harry Gould?”

  He had no right to ask, but she smiled. “I go there for the same reason you do.”

  She had walked by the doorway many times. It was one of four in the passageway leading from the kitchen to the dining room. But she had been looking for a doorway in a curved wall, and the passageway was straight. Then she saw Uberreich struggling with a heavy tray while trying to unlock the door.

  “Let me help you, Mrs. Uberreich. “

  “I can manage, thank you.”

  She persisted, holding the heavy door open while Uberreich stepped inside.

  “I said not to bother. Let the door close itself. Go tend to your chores.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She saw stairs curving sharply upward. The way to the tower. At last. She kept her hand on the knob, holding the door slightly ajar, listening to Uberreich mount the stairs. A lock turned. A door closed.

  DeeDee opened the passageway door, looked up. No sound from above. Now she studied the lock. It worked automatically. No way to leave it unlocked. It was just a simp
le depression lock, not a deadbolt, but a metal guard prevented use of a credit card to open it. Damn! She’d never get the key from Uberreich.

  Then she remembered something from the Watergate scandal of the 1970s, at least the movie about it. Yes. She slipped out of her loafer and used it to keep the door ajar. Then she dashed into the kitchen, returning with scotch tape. Was it heavy enough? Had to be. She taped the latch closed and stepped back into her shoe, letting the door shut. She pulled the knob. The door opened. Good. Above she heard the key in a lock. Better hurry. She let go of the door and hurried into the kitchen.

  For the next hour she and two other women set and decorated tables in the great hall for the Wright dinner, all under the close supervision of Hildegard Uberreich. Talk about picky! Would she ever leave? Finally Uberreich headed upstairs, most likely at Fielding’s summons.

  DeeDee hesitated. Her stomach knotted. This was her best chance. Go for it. She hurried toward the kitchen, paused at the tower door. No one in sight. Do it! She opened the tower door and slipped inside.

  She counted the stone steps as she mounted them, 15, 27, 42, reaching a landing before a heavy oak door. No sound anywhere. She shivered, couldn’t help herself. Now she gripped the iron handle to the door, pushed. It didn’t budge. Locked. She put her left ear to the door, held her breath, listening. Not a sound came through the heavy wood. She rapped, but gently, afraid to make too much noise. Again. No reply. Damn. She rapped a little harder. Nothing

  Better go. Can’t be caught up here. Then she heard a tap at the door, almost inaudible, but there. Someone was inside! She started to tap on the door again, then thought better of it. It would only waste time. If only she knew Morse code. She slipped down the stairs and out the door.

  “What are you doing?”

  Uberreich’s snarl shattered her. She jumped, couldn’t help it. “Goodness, you scared me, Mrs. Uberreich.”

  “I asked what you were doing up there?”

  “Nothing, ma’am, just curious.” She found a smile. “There’s a big old door up at the top of the stairs, just like an old movie. Kind of spooky.”

  The housekeeper looked at her a long moment. “How’d you get up there? This door is locked. Did you steal a key?”

  “No key, Ma’am. I just opened the door. I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to.”

  “You did what!” She pulled at the door. It opened. “But this isn’t possible!” She seemed dumbfounded. Then she saw the tape on the lock. “How did this get here?”

  “I have no idea, Mrs. Uberreich. It looks like scotch tape.”

  “Somebody deliberately tampered with this lock. Was it you?”

  “Me? Ma’am, I wouldn’t know how to tamper with a lock if—”

  “Well, somebody did.” She pealed off the tape, closed the door and tested it. Then looked at her hard. “You’re supposed to be setting up the hall. What were you doing up there anyway?”

  “I had a call of nature, ma’am. I’ll get right back to work.”

  “What on earth possessed you, Doreen? We already knew people are in the tower.”

  “I wanted to check it out.”

  “You already knew how to get up there. You took a risk for—”

  “Don’t scold, darling. It’s all right. Uberreich bought into my Dumb Dora act.”

  “I hope so.” He sighed, letting go of his peeve. “I guess it doesn’t matter, you’re not going back again.”

  “I have to, Walter. I’m expected to help serve the banquet, and I certainly think I should be present to help with the rescue.”

  He grimaced. “I suppose, but I don’t like it. Just be careful, will you?”

  “Of course, darling. Did Dr. Joy really call Justin Wright a pipsqueak?”

  “Also spineless and brainless. If I ever wished for a tape recorder, that was the time.”

  “If she thinks so little of him, why kidnap a little boy for him—”

  “And maybe murder Harry Gould.” He shook his head. “I can’t explain her actions except as the Dragon Lady. “

  “Power, darling. Helping to put a man in the White House—”

  “You mean controlling the bastard. We’ve got to stop the whole lot of them.”

  “We will.” She patted his hand. “Are you going back to the castle?”

  “No point in my digging up any more petunias.”

  “I think you should rest. All that bending and lifting can’t be—”

  “Somebody has to.”

  He made a face at that. “I’ve plenty to do, setting our scheme into motion.”

  “While I drudge away in the castle kitchens. Life is so unfair.”

  22: Captives

  WALTER DROVE DOREEN to Elite in her car, then met Lupe Hernandez for breakfast. They lived on opposite sides of town, so they agreed to meet at The Daily Grind, a popular coffee haven at Mission and De La Vina. They sat outside in the morning sun.

  “What’s your plan for rescuing Jamie?”

  He told her.

  “Is that the best scheme you two could come up with? It’s grade school stuff, Walt.”

  “If you have a better idea, now’s the time. Jamie and his mother are held in a tower 40 feet off the ground. It is accessible only by a locked door, make that two locked doors. We have to find some way to force them to open them.”

  “I still don’t like it.”

  “I sent a message to Justin Wright, appealing to his decency. He never replied. Amanda Sykes apparently means nothing to him. I don’t know what else to do, Lupe.”

  “I still don’t like it.” She sighed. “What are you going to do today?”

  “Some fine tuning mostly, make sure Josh Kinkaid is still on board, then work out the details with Doreen’s friend Gertie to get inside.”

  Uberreich confronted her the moment she entered the kitchen. “Come with me, Irene.”

  “Yes, ma’am, but what for?”

  “Just follow me, you’ll see.”

  She was led into the downstairs study. Joy Fielding sat at the desk, Victor Dragon stood beside her. No negligees and morning-after eyes this time. Both were dressed and ready to pounce. Two of the Ninjas entered after her. They guarded the door. There was no escape.

  “Mrs. Uberreich tells me you were in the tower yesterday.”

  “Not in the tower, ma’am, just up the stairs. There’s a second door and it was locked.”

  “Don’t be impertinent. I’m quite acquainted with the layout of this house.”