The Tower of Evil (Bye-Bye Mysteries)

by Robert A. Liston

  “On Monday, the day before I was…brought here.”

  “The word is kidnapped,” Doreen said. “It’s okay to use it.”

  Byerly laughed. “Darling, I didn’t know you were so good at calling a spade a—”

  “Is abduction a better word?”

  “Not much.”

  “Please, you two, I trying to find out—”

  “We’re sorry, Lupe,” he said. “You saw Harry Gould on Monday?”

  “We worked out plans with Mr. Dragon for the next day, then he left. Harry said he had to go to his office, then work out at the gym. He’d meet us later for dinner. That’s the last I saw him. “

  “He never met you for dinner?” Lupe asked.

  She shook her head. “Nor the next morning. He was supposed to go with Jamie and me to meet…Jamie’s father. He never showed up. That’s why I became frightened, hid Jamie, and tried to get away.”

  “I’ve heard enough, detective.” Buster Brogan stepped forward. “You did good work.” He turned. “Mr. Dragon, I want you to come downtown with me.”

  “Are you arresting me?” His face registered both fear and defiance.

  “I will, on suspicion of murder.”

  “I murdered no one.”

  “You were the last person to see Harry Gould alive. You certainly have a lot of explaining to do.”

  “You phoned Harry at the gym,” Lupe said. “You got him back to his office to kill him. Sounds like premeditation to me.”

  “I’m sure the DA will ask for special circumstances, Dragon. That means the death penalty.”

  “Don’t forget kidnapping, sergeant,” Lupe said, “and other charges, too, I’m sure.”

  “Yes.”

  “And what about Mrs. Kinkaid?” Lupe asked. “She was part—”

  “What about her indeed.” Dragon said. “The whole idea was hers.”

  “Oh shut up, you asshole!”

  “I’m not taking the fall, Joy, not for you.”

  “You never did have any balls, Victor.”

  Doreen laughed. “My, my, a lovers’ quarrel. The last time I saw you the bed was—”

  “Oh shut up, you old bitch!”

  “I’m taking both you and Dragon in,” Brogan said.

  Dr. Joy turned to her husband. “Karl, are you going to let them do this to me?”

  “It seems to me you did it to yourself.” He looked up. “Wheel me out of here, Josh.”

  27: Watchful Waiting

  DEEDEE INSISTED Mandy and Jamie stay with them as long as they wished. Unwinding from the excitement, discussing the case, getting the pair fed and tucked in kept her occupied until quite late. But she was not so busy that she failed to notice the blinking light on the answering machine when they came home. Or, Walter listening to it surreptitiously, then quickly erasing it.

  Walter went upstairs a little ahead of her and was fast asleep when she got in bed. She lay awake awhile worrying about the mysterious message, but soon fell asleep herself.

  The next morning she waited till he shut off his electric razor, then asked, “So what was the message on the machine last night? A telemarketer offering low-cost, do-it-yourself divorces?”

  He looked at her and grinned. “That’s good, honey. Actually he was selling a book on ancient Aztec love practices, including 87 positions never before known to European man—or woman.”

  “Just what we need, dear, I hope you bought it.” She kissed his smooth cheek. ”What was the message?”

  “I didn’t want you lying awake worrying.”

  “A dentist drilling my teeth couldn’t have kept me awake. Was it Phil Van Zant?”

  “The lab tests are in, he wants to talk to me.”

  “Sounds ominous.”

  He looked at her sharply. “Why say that?”

  “If the tests were negative, he’d have said so. This way he gets to practice his bedside manner.”

  “You don’t know that. He may want to tell me—”

  “Not you, darling, us. I’m tagging along—whether you want me or not.”

  Lupe now loathed the tanned face she once thought so handsome. Victor Dragon was an evil man, a murderer and kidnapper. Worse, Victor Dragon knew the law and how to reduce his sentence, if not escape entirely.

  “I’ll happily tell you what happened in Gould’s office, Detective Hernandez—in exchange for immunity.”

  It had been going on most of the night. She had slept little and felt tired, her nerves raw. “We already have you for kidnapping. Two women and a little boy will say—”

  “It was all a misunderstanding, detective. No one was harmed, no ransom demanded. You’ll never get a kidnapping charge to stick.”

  “You employed Harry Gould to entice Amanda Sykes out here to Santa Barbara. She saw you and Gould together. Witnesses heard you phone Gould at the gym and saw him leave for his office to meet you.”

  He sighed. “One more time, I did not kill Harry Gould.”

  “Oh yes, Joy Fielding did. Very clever, you blame her, she blames you. But it doesn’t matter. You are both accomplices, both guilty.”

  “Only if you prove it, detective. You can’t without evidence from me.”

  “Oh yes I can. Even as we speak, experts are digging into Harry Gould’s PC and resurrecting his files you erased.” It wasn’t true, but it could happen. “Those files will prove how you used him, your motive for killing him.”

  He blinked, hesitated, then recovered. “They will prove I tried to help out a young lawyer by throwing a little business his way.”

  “God, you’re despicable, worse than some gang-banger or doper. You know right from wrong. You just don’t give a damn. You know the law, but use it to escape punishment.”

  He laughed. “You’re just jealous, detective.”

  She left the interrogation room and returned to her desk. “Nothing’s changed, Sgt. Brogan. He wants immunity. How is it with Fielding?” They had switched interrogations.

  “She doesn’t know nothin’ about nothin’.” He shook his head. “Why do these rich bitches figure they can get away with anything?”

  “Have we found Dirk, the muscle man?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I should’ve kept my eye on him. He could tell us a lot about the murder.”

  “He won’t get far.”

  A strange voice interrupted them. “Don’t tell me you’re Detective Lupe Hernandez, of whom I’ve heard so much?”

  She looked up and saw lots of teeth, bright brown eyes, two arms outstretched toward her. She recoiled. “Yes, but—”

  “¡Si hubiera sabido que eras tan hermosisima, me hubiera acercado mucho mas antes a ti!”

  His spate of Spanish only made his leering grin worse. She shook herself loose from his hands on her shoulders. “I’m afraid I don’t speak Spanish.”

  “You certainly look like you do. I said if I’d known you were so gorgeous, I’d have rushed over to meet you sooner.” He laughed now. “I’m Carlos Light.”

  She stared at him. A Latino named Light? Then she knew. “Carlos as in C. K. Light, the deputy DA? We’ve talked on the phone?”

  “The very same. And you really are beautiful. Bellisima. Eres tan preciosa.”

  He was a bit on the short side and stocky, even burly, with dark curly hair. He was not really handsome, no Jimmy Smits or Benjamin Bratt, but he sure thought he was the original Latin lover, grinning and strutting and coming on to her. Who needed him? The type disgusted her.

  “Tell me, guapa, how you can look Latina and not know Spanish?’

  She shoved the question aside. She didn’t want to hear it.

  “I’ll bet I know. Your father was Hispanic, but your mother was Anglo and spoke only English. It is the exact opposite with me. My father is Anglo, my mother Latina. I have the best of both worlds.” He laughed. “And now I have met you, guapa.”

  Buster Brogan had taken all he could. “Look, you two can engage in courtship rituals on your own time. We’re in the middle of a
police investigation. We need charges, Light.”

  She was glad of the interruption. Carlos Light’s ego was a threat to law enforcement. “We’re at an impasse, Mr. Light. Joy Fielding isn’t saying a word, and Victor Dragon won’t talk without immunity.”

  His grin faded. His whole demeanor changed. “Tell me what you have.”

  She and Buster both reported their evidence. She had to admit Carlos Light listened attentively and asked good questions. He was apparently something more than a foolish fop and sexual predator.

  “Let’s go talk to him,” he said.

  Inside the interrogation room, Carlos Light turned inquisitor. His voice took on an edge. “The good sergeant and the adorable Miss Hernandez have you cold-cocked, Dragon. There’ll be no immunity, my friend. Nothing I like better than bringing down a hotshot lawyer. If you don’t believe it, try me. Even if I lose the case, you’re ruined.”

  Despite his tan, Victor Dragon’s face blanched.

  “I lied, Dragon. There is one thing I like more—bringing down a holier-than-thou advice columnist. You help me do that and maybe I’ll consider a plea.”

  She watched Light. There was a slight smile on his face, an expectant look in his eyes. When no answer came, he closed his briefcase, stood up and headed for the door. “See you in court, counselor.”

  Dragon’s voice was barely audible. “I was supposed to shoot Gould. I had the gun in my hand, aimed. I thought I was ready, but…. Joy swore at me, took the gun. She pulled the trigger. I couldn’t do it….”

  “Will you say that in court?”

  Dragon hesitated. “What do I get if I do?”

  “First degree manslaughter.”

  “Second degree.”

  “No way, Dragon, first degree, eight years minimum. And only if you blab everything about everything. I’m being kind to you.”

  Later, after both Fielding and Dragon were booked, she said to Carlos Light, “Why do I feel like we’ve made a pact with the Devil?”

  “Because we did. We couldn’t’ allow both to go free. This way he gets some time, Dr. Joy lots of it.”

  “I suppose.”

  “How about coffee and a churro, guapa, I’m buying.”

  “I do wish you’d quit calling me guapa.”

  “How about bellisima?”

  He was grinning at her, but the leering, insouciance was gone. He merely teased her now. She thought a little better of him. “I’ve been up all night, I need to go home.”

  “You need to relax, then sleep. Trust Dr. Light, he is never wrong.”

  He was a good lawyer. He had handled Dragon and Fielding like a pro. She liked that. And he certainly was good-looking. “I-I have to….”

  She felt his hand on her elbow, turning her toward the door. Why not? What was wrong with a cup of coffee with a colleague? She pulled her arm away. “I’m sorry, I can’t, I have to go.” She ran from him.

  Both set out to spend the day normally. Doreen went to her shop, while he drove the homeless around in the Care Wheels van. He’d even been distracted—some.

  In mid-afternoon he picked her up at the shop and drove across town to Van Zant’s office. Neither had anything to say. That was okay, except the silence wasn’t particularly comfortable.

  Strange. He could usually read Doreen’s thoughts. Not today—probably because he couldn’t fathom his own. Is this what it’s like to contemplate one’s doom? A morass of disorganized thoughts and silence? Try as he would, he could not think of dying. He didn’t even know how to start, and he’d always been a rather resourceful person. Do you tote up your accomplishments and regrets? List things to do? Plan a fling? Contemplate one’s Maker—and how do you do that?

  He glanced at Doreen. What was she thinking? Pondering the joys of widowhood? No, that’s nasty. She was capable and self-reliant with a life of her own. But they sure would miss each other.

  Stop it, Byerly. You haven’t even picked out the undertaker yet.

  The wait in Van Zant’s office really wasn’t very long, but it seemed eternal. Doreen had brought her knitting—it always did calm her, she said—but her knuckles were white against the needles. A blood vessel throbbed in her temple. He’d never noticed that before.

  “The doctor will see you now, Walter.”

  The nurse held a door open. Doreen charged through it. Van Zant sat at his desk, looking down at some papers.

  “I know you don’t want me here, doctor, but he’s my husband, this is my life and—”

  “Of course I want you here, DeeDee.” He smiled at both, motioned to chairs across from his desk.

  Byerly sat, Doreen didn’t.

  “It’s cancer, isn’t it?” she said.

  “Wouldn‘t you rather sit first, DeeDee?”

  “Stop pussy-footing around. Tell me the truth.”

  “Very well, yes, a carcinoma was found.”

  “I knew it, I knew it.” She clasped her hands over her mouth. “Oh God…” She breathed deeply once, twice. “Oh God, how much time do we have?”

  Phil Van Zant looked at her, started to laugh, then suppressed it. “Why don’t you have a seat, DeeDee?”

  “I don’t want a seat, dammit. How long does Walter have?”

  Now he laughed, quite heartily. “How would I know, DeeDee? He could be hit by a car leaving my office. Maybe lightning will strike as we sit here. There are always coronaries and strokes, various contagions that take a man when he least expects it. Shoot, Walter might even die of cancer.”

  She gaped at him. “But you said….”

  “Walter has prostate cancer, but chances are he’ll die of any or all the aforementioned before his prostate does him in.”

  Byerly pulled Doreen down into her chair. “I’m on Doreen’s side, Phil. How can I have cancer, yet—”

  Doreen jumped up. “I know, you’re going to operate, take it out, He’ll be okay then, right?”

  Byerly pulled her down again. “Please, Doreen, with you talking, who can learn anything?”

  She glared at him. ”Maybe you can take cancer in your good ol’ male chauvinist stride, but I’m fighting for my life, my life with you, my…happiness.”

  Phil Van Zant laughed again. “You’re doing a good job of it, DeeDee. And I thought I was the bearer of good news.”

  “Good news?’

  “Yes, DeeDee, Walt’s cancer is of a very slow growing variety. Chances are he’ll die of other causes before it gets him, as I tried to tell you.” Van Zant looked at him. “I thought you’d be more pleased, Walt.”

  “I am, I guess. I just don’t understand.” He sighed. “Maybe I don’t like having a foreign growth inside me. Isn’t there some kind of treatment?”