Garden of Evil

by Graham Masterton

  ‘I had nothing to do with any of those killings. Nothing at all. I’ve been telling you that for three hours solid.’

  ‘Well, to be fair, that’s what our CSIs said about the first two homicides, your daughter and your gardener. First of all, there was no forensic evidence of any kind to suggest that you might have been involved in either of them. No fingerprints, no footprints, no blood, no fibers, no DNA. Second of all, that you couldn’t have nailed them up like that, either of them, without some kind of mechanical assistance like a hydraulic lifting platform, and even then you couldn’t have managed it on your own.’

  ‘This third homicide, Mr Kaminsky . . . it’s still too early to say anything for sure. But there’s always the possibility that you were copying the other two homicides in order to make it look as if you had nothing to do with killing him, either.’

  Jim slowly shook his head from side to side. ‘What possible motive could I have had for nailing Ricky Kaminsky to my bedroom ceiling, especially when I was intending to bring a girl in there?’

  Detective Brennan took a large bite of donut and when he spoke his left cheek was bulging. ‘OK – even if you didn’t have a motive, maybe you can think of somebody else who might have? Maybe it’s somebody with a weird kind of a grudge against you – killing your daughter, and then your gardener, and then this artist guy who lived downstairs from you.’

  ‘That doesn’t make any sense at all,’ said Jim. ‘I didn’t even know I had a daughter until Bethany was murdered. I didn’t know the gardener personally, not at all, except to say “buenos dias” to. And Ricky – sure, I liked him, and we sometimes went out and had a few beers together, but we weren’t close friends.’

  ‘Well, your stories check out. You were drinking at the Cat’n’Fiddle like you say you were, and you went back to West Grove College around two a.m. to collect your cellphone, even though you shouldn’t have been driving after so much drinking. Then you came back and asked Ms Summer Parks to come up to your apartment with you.’ He paused, and then he added, ‘For whatever reason.’

  Jim said nothing. He had lied to Detective Brennan about accidentally leaving his cellphone in his desk, and going back to the college to retrieve it. But he hadn’t wanted to say anything about the Silences until he had found out much more about the Church of the Divine Conquest, and their promise to bring back Paradise. In his Paradise, Bethany and his father would both come back to life, and he didn’t want to jeopardize the possibility of that happening, not before he understood how the Silences were going to do it and what it was going to cost.

  Not only that, he hadn’t told Detective Brennan that Ricky had described ‘two guys in white’. Nor, especially, that Ricky had claimed that they could fly. He doubted very much that Detective Brennan would treat either claim as anything except the hallucinations of a dying man. Especially a man who had not only been dying but drunk, and high on Peruvian grass.

  ‘Who else has access to your apartment, other than you?’ Detective Brennan asked him. ‘Anybody else hold a key? Old girlfriend, maybe?’

  ‘Only the rental agency. Maybe the maintenance guy. Nobody else that I know of.’

  ‘There was no indication of forced entry, Mr Rook. There were no signs of a struggle. And there were no indentations in the carpet which might have indicated that a stepladder or some kind of framework was set up in order to nail the victim and all of those cats to the ceiling.

  Detective Brennan pushed the last piece of donut into his mouth and then sat back, fixing Jim distrustfully with those glittery near-together eyes.

  ‘Let me put it this way, Mr Rook. I’m not a great one for hunches. I’m not like that goddamned Mentalist on the TV. But in your case I have this very, very strong feeling that you know a darn sight more about what this all means than you’re telling me.’

  He stuck up four fingers and then bent one of them back down again. ‘Three ritual homicides. Well, we’re assuming that they’re ritual homicides but we don’t have the first idea what kind of a ritual we’re talking about here. People nailed to the ceiling and halfway up trees? Each of them surrounded by eight white cats? I’ve Googled it, and come up with zilch, except a couple of people who have multiple white moggies to find a home for, because their owner has kicked the bucket.

  ‘But I’m thinking that maybe you have an inkling. After all, you’re into all of this supernatural malarkey, aren’t you? Lieutenant Harris used to say that you make John Edward look like he wouldn’t know a spirit if it gave him a smart kick up the rear end.’

  Jim said, ‘I swear to you, Detective, if I had the slightest clue what this nailing up was all about, I’d tell you. I’ve Googled it, too, and I have dozens of books on magic and religious rituals. But I’m still as baffled as you are.’

  ‘OK, Mr Rook, let’s leave it at that for now. The CSIs tell me they’re going to need your apartment for another forty-eight hours at least. Where are you going to stay in the meantime?’

  ‘Well, Ms Parks has generously offered to let me sleep on her couch for the next couple of days.’

  ‘I see. Her couch. Very generous. Just make sure you don’t go back into your own apartment and contaminate the crime scene. And – Mr Rook . . .’

  Jim was already opening the door. He stopped and said, ‘Yes, Detective?’

  ‘No more DUI, got it? I think we have enough dead people to deal with as it is, without you adding to the sum total.’

  Jim arrived at college a few minutes after two p.m. He could hear the noise that Special Class Two were making from the opposite end of the corridor – laughing and shouting and scuffling and singing. He recognized Jesmeka Watson and Rebecca Teitelbaum singing a Rihanna song in screechy harmony; and he could hear Tommy Makovicka honking with laughter like a walrus, while DaJon Johnson was slapping out some grime rhythm on the bench in front of him.

  Jim came in through the door and immediately the class quietened down, although there was still a lot of shuffling and whispering and giggling. He went to his desk and put down his briefcase and then he turned to face them. The first thing he noticed was the absence of Simon Silence.

  ‘OK,’ he said, ‘I guess you all know what’s happened – why I’m late.’

  ‘A guy got crucified in your apartment,’ volunteered DaJon Johnson. ‘I seen it on the news this morning. That’s some freaky shit, man. I mean, sir.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Jim. ‘I found a neighbor of mine nailed up on my bedroom ceiling when I came home early this morning – the same way that unfortunate girl was nailed up in my classroom and my gardener was found nailed up in the cypress tree outside.’

  ‘That is so gross,’ said Hunni Robards. ‘You must have barfed.’

  ‘Do they know who done it?’ asked Rudy Cascarelli. ‘Must be like some serial psycho.’

  Jim said, ‘The police are looking into it, obviously, but right now I don’t know any more about it than anything that you’ve seen on the TV. Less, probably.’

  ‘It seems to me like you are having a run of very bad luck, Mr Rook,’ said Joe Chang. ‘But not such bad luck as some of the people close to you.’

  ‘Let’s change the subject, if you don’t mind,’ said Jim. ‘I wouldn’t have come into college at all today if I hadn’t needed urgently to talk to you about this.’

  He went to the blackboard, picked up a stub of red chalk, and wrote, in large letters, PARADISE. Then he turned back to his class, smacking his hands together.

  He didn’t say anything for nearly fifteen seconds. Gradually, his students began to settle. Kyle Baxter loudly blew his nose but nobody laughed or made any ribald comments like they usually would have done.

  Jim looked from one student to the next, and said, ‘You were all here in the middle of the night last night, with Simon. Ever since Simon joined this class, there’s been a lot of talk about Paradise, and everybody getting what they want for themselves.

  ‘I’m not sure if getting everything you want for yourself is a great thing, or a
good thing, or a bad thing. It could turn out to be a truly evil thing. Maybe you’ve heard that saying that “power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.” From the way you guys have been talking, I’m beginning to think that you could say the same thing for Paradise.’

  ‘But how can it be evil, sir, to get everything you ever dreamed of?’ said Jesmeka Watson, with the colored beads shaking in her hair.

  ‘I don’t know, Jesmeka,’ Jim told her. ‘I’m just opening this up for discussion. But I’d like you to tell me what happened here last night, and what you expect to happen next.’

  Rebecca Teitelbaum put up her hand, from the back row. Nudnik the bear was still sitting next to her, with a mournful expression on his face.

  ‘Simon said that it was no secret, sir, and that we should tell you all about it if you asked.’

  ‘I see. Go on, then. Please. Tell me.’

  In her usual monotonous gabble, Rebecca said, ‘Today is September twenty-seventh which is the anniversary of the day when God told Adam’s first partner Lilith to get out of the Garden of Eden and never come back. God was angry with her because she believed that she was equal to Adam, and not just put on this Earth to have Adam’s children and do whatever Adam told her to do. Lilith also believed that she and Adam should be able to know everything there was to know, so that they could choose for themselves how they wanted to live their lives, and so that they could make their own decisions instead of God making all the decisions for them.’

  ‘And what do you think about that?’ asked Jim.

  ‘I think good for her,’ put in Hunni Robards, shifting her chewing gum from one side of her mouth to the other. ‘Even if wimpy Adam didn’t stand up for himself, at least Lilith had the stones to do it.’

  ‘And you, Rudy, what’s your opinion?’

  Rudy Cascarelli gave a one-shouldered shrug. ‘It’s OK by me, women being treated equal and everything. At least you can let them think they are. Where’s the harm in that? They still got to do the cooking and the cleaning and have all the babies, don’t they?’

  ‘Booo!’ said Rebecca Teitelbaum.

  Rudy Cascarelli shook his head and laughed. ‘Boo all you like, darling. Do you know any guys who can get themselves knocked up? Because I sure don’t!’

  Jim said, ‘You all said some prayers last night, right?’

  ‘That’s right, sir, yes,’ said Al Alvarez. ‘There was three prayers altogether. One about God, and one about Jesus, and one about the Holy Ghost. Simon read them line by line out of that book of his, and we had to say something back to him at the end of each line.’

  ‘You mean like responses? Like the priest says in church, “the Lord be with you” and everybody says “and also with you”.’

  ‘I guess so, yes. He said something like, “God took two handfuls of mud and squished them into, like, people.” Well, not exactly that but something that meant that. And we all had to say “OK” and a few other words in, like, Greek or something.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘That was about everything. He said the prayers would help his dad to change the world back the way it should have been, because his dad could raise up this special power.’

  ‘And when is this supposed to happen?’

  ‘Before the end of today, that’s what he told us. He said it was all explained in that book of his, what’s going to happen.’

  ‘The Book of Paradise?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  Jim looked around the classroom. ‘So where is Simon now?’

  ‘He was here in class this morning, Mr Rook,’ said Kyle Baxter. ‘But he said he had to take the book back to his dad’s church because it’s unique and it’s the sole copy and it’s the only one there is.’

  ‘He told you that his dad is going to change the world back to what it should have been, sometime before the end of today, but he didn’t tell you exactly how his dad is proposing to do that?’

  ‘He said one thing,’ Joe Chang put in. ‘He said we would know when it was starting to happen because everything would go real dark, like an eclipse, you know? But after a while everything would come back light again.’

  ‘That sounds pretty apocalyptic, don’t you think? Aren’t any of you scared?’

  ‘Not if it’s going to be Paradise, sir,’ said Jesmeka Watson.

  ‘So you do believe that it’s actually going to happen?’

  ‘Why not? We’ll soon see, won’t we? If it doesn’t, it doesn’t, and we’ll be stuck with the same old crap lives like always.’

  ‘But even if it does happen – when it gets light again – do you think it really will be Paradise?’

  ‘If we all get what we want, Mr Rook, then for sure.’

  Jim thought: Somehow, Simon Silence has convinced all of these kids that from sometime today the rest of their lives are going to be blissful. And they all believe him. Just like I believe in my heart of hearts that the Reverend John Silence can give me the power to bring Bethany and my father back to life. It’s madness. It should be impossible. But I believe it.

  Sometime today, September twenty-seventh, everything was going to lock into place, like the mechanism of a giant clock. Bethany’s death, Santana’s death, Ricky’s death. His dead father appearing on the seashore, drowned and bewildered. The dark hooded figure, smoky at first, but appearing more and more solid every time that it appeared. The Reverend John Silence, vanishing from his bar stool. Simon Silence, always smiling, but whose face gradually appeared to be changing into something strange and cold.

  All of these different parts were coming together, and they were coming together sometime today.

  They flew, Jim. They fuckin’ flew.

  Jim checked his watch. Then he said, ‘I’m sorry, class. I have to be someplace. I’m going to hand out some worksheets on plurals. Once you’ve answered them, you can go.’

  ‘Oh, no, sir,’ said Jesmeka Watson. ‘We’re all going to stay here till Paradise comes.’

  ‘Right, OK, do whatever you like,’ Jim told her. ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come too late, and you have to wait up for it.’

  He tugged a sheaf of test papers out of his briefcase and gave them to Kyle Baxter to distribute around the class. Then he hurried away along the corridor, down the stairs, and out of the front entrance.

  He nearly collided with Sheila Colefax, who was coming up the steps.

  ‘Jim!’ she exclaimed. ‘I heard what happened!’

  But Jim said, breathlessly, ‘Can’t stop!’ and jogged across the parking lot until he reached his car. He opened the door, flung his briefcase into the passenger seat, climbed in, and started up the engine.

  He pulled down the sun visor and stared at his face in the mirror. He looked wild and unkempt and he still hadn’t shaved. But there was no time for that. He swerved out of the parking lot, down the driveway, and hung a howling left on to Sunset, provoking a barrage of protesting car horns.

  He just hoped that he could make it to Lookout Mountain Avenue, and the Church of the Divine Conquest, before it grew prematurely dark, and it was time for the arrival of Paradise.

  SEVENTEEN

  Traffic on Sunset was down to its usual crawl, so by the time he had reached the intersection with Laurel Canyon Boulevard and driven the two miles up to Lookout Mountain Avenue, it was only five minutes shy of four p.m.

  Lookout Mountain Avenue was narrow and bright and dusty, with some ramshackle houses and rickety home-built car shelters and overgrown front yards. Jim drove slowly, trying to pick out house numbers.

  He was feeling calmer now, but even more determined to find out what the Silences were doing. More to the point, he wanted to find out who they were, or what they were. Had it really been them who had nailed Ricky to the ceiling, and how could they possibly fly? Or had Ricky simply been delirious?

  As creepy as they were, Jim had been forced to recognize that both of the Silences exerted a strong personal magnetism. Father and son seemed to be able to draw people toward them –
not only because they offered them everything that they wanted most. The two of them had some other allure, too – an allure that was quite indefinable, like the sweet-and-sour taste of their Paradise apples.

  Jim knew that he was very close to giving in to them. You can bring back Bethany, and your father, and they can live out the rest of their lives as if nothing has happened to them. Who can it hurt?

  But he was still nagged by his natural skepticism, and his principles, and his logic. His common sense told him that there can never be such a thing as a Paradise for all, because one person’s Paradise always turns out to be another person’s Hell. That was why he needed to ask the Silences one burning question before the darkness descended. What was this all going to cost, and who would be paying for it? Morally, spiritually, and every other way?

  He came to a long, high wall on the right-hand side of the road. It was rendered with maroon-painted cement and overgrown with creepers. Halfway along the wall there was a pointed archway, with a cast-iron gate. Over the gate, raised yellow lettering said Church of the Divine Conquest.

  He parked his car on the rough, weedy verge on the opposite side of the road, and climbed out. There was nobody in sight, and the only sounds were the ceaseless murmur of traffic, the flacker-flacker-flacker of a distant helicopter, and the chirruping of cicadas.

  The cast-iron gate gave a groan of protest as he opened it. Once inside, Jim found himself in a brick-paved garden. It was quiet, and shady, but it was badly neglected. The urns and planters contained only shriveled-up weeds, and although there was an ornamental stone fountain of a nymph, dancing, the fountain was dry and the nymph herself was covered all over with scabs of yellow-and-black lichen.

  He walked through the garden until he came to the church building itself. It was a pale, sun-faded pink, and looked as if it had once been the home of a minor movie star, or a moderately successful director. It was built in the Spanish style, with pantiled rooftops and shady colonnades all around it. The only sign of life was a cluster of quail, sitting on the ridge of the main building and occasionally letting out their squeaky-toy mating calls.