Moon Music

by Faye Kellerman

  "Rukmani's fine."

  "Doesn't she have grown children?"

  "Yes."

  "Doesn't that bother you?"

  "Why should it bother me? They don't live at home."

  "I mean that she's so…she's Stephen's age, isn't she?"

  "A little older, actually."

  "And that doesn't bother you?"

  "No."

  "What happened to you?" Alison teased. "You used to be so picky."

  "I'm still very picky. Why are you asking questions about Rukmani? You've never been interested in my girlfriends before."

  Alison tensed. "I was just making conversation. Forgive me if I touched a nerve."

  Poe laughed. "Like you'd care a heap even if you did. What else can I get you?"

  "How about a good lay?"

  "Alison—"

  "You never deliver on the real important issues."

  "Au contraire, I did deliver at one time. But that was then and this is now. What has gotten into you today? Virus must have gone to your head."

  Alison folded her arms in front of her chest and sulked, waiting for him to initiate conversation. When he remained silent, she tried another tactic, trying to sound as casual as a summer's eve. "How's the case coming? The one that reminded you of the Bogeyman case."

  "I have a few leads. We'll solve it. It'll just take time."

  "Nice to have such confidence. They never solved the Bogeyman case, you know."

  "I know. But I wasn't on the force back then."

  Alison laughed—tinkly and light. When she smiled, she was so beautiful. Again, she kept her voice airy. "So what do you know about it?"

  "My case or the Bogeyman case?"

  "Both."

  Poe regarded her. "A couple of weeks ago…when we talked. You told me you remembered the Bogeyman quite well."

  "Yes."

  "Do you know for certain how many victims he took down?"

  "I told you I thought he had killed at least two. If my mom…well, then maybe it would have been three."

  Poe scratched his head. "Interesting. I only found one case file in his time period that matched the Bogeyman's MO."

  Abruptly, Alison turned pouty. Poe sighed. "What did I say this time?"

  She shook her head.

  He stood. "So don't tell me—"

  "Did you look up my mother's file?"

  "No." He regarded her. "I wouldn't invade your privacy."

  "Just that I told you that she could have been his victim. I thought maybe—"

  "You thought wrong."

  Alison inspected him with hard eyes. "Considerate of you to be thinking about me instead of your case."

  "That's me. Just one heck of a considerate guy." Poe checked his watch. "Steve should be coming home. I'd better go."

  "Didn't he send you over here in the first place?"

  "It doesn't mean he wants to see me when he gets home. Refresh your drink before I go?"

  "Not unless you add vodka to mine like you did to yours."

  "I can indulge." Poe smiled. "I'm not sick."

  "Not yet."

  "What is that supposed to mean?"

  "Just that I hope my virus isn't contagious."

  Without thinking, he leaned over and kissed her on the lips. "Hope not. Good night."

  She didn't answer.

  "I said good night, Gracie."

  Alison turned away, refusing to acknowledge his departure.

  He shrugged and walked out of the room, making a mental note to look up her mother's suicide file.

  TWENTY-TWO

  POE WATCHED as suds from his beer dripped over the rim of his glass and onto his fingers, thinking: I don't want to go home. I really don't want to go home.

  Honey said, "I think you need a napkin." Tenderly, she wiped his hand, then kneeled before him, her long pink peignoir sweeping over the floor like a bridal train. She looked up with those oh-so-concerned eyes that could only belong to professional call girls delivering TLC at $250 an hour. She placed her hands on his knees, her nails long and red. "Tell me how I can make the boo-boo better."

  "You just did." Poe was full of self-loathing. The pathetic call he had made to Rukmani: It's taking a little longer than I expected. A lame excuse, as if Rukmani hadn't seen through it. She had said nothing over the phone, but her former words kept chastising his war-weary brain. This isn't about blow jobs, it's about responsibility.

  He said, "I think I'm getting married."

  Honey broke into a bright smile. "That's wonderful." A pause. "Are you happy about it?"

  "Very."

  "Rukmani?"

  "Yes."

  "You two are a great couple."

  "I think so."

  Honey hedged. "Tolerant of each other's needs."

  "Up to a point."

  "Ah!" She paused. "So is this your finale?"

  Poe sipped beer. "Maybe. Anyway, if you don't hear from me, at least you'll know it had nothing to do with you."

  "I'm egotistical enough to assume it never has anything to do with me." She tapped his knees, then stood. "Rukmani's so…accomplished. Especially when you consider where she came from. I wish you two lots of happiness."

  "Thank you."

  "When's the big day?"

  "I don't know."

  She cocked her head in a coy manner. "Tentative, are we?"

  "It's mostly for her. Her first marriage was more bondage than partnership. She's a little commitment-shy."

  "And you?"

  He smiled. "More like tentative." He thought a moment. "Honey, how long were you with Parker Lewiston?"

  She was taken aback. "Where did that come from?"

  "Just curious."

  She wagged her finger at him. "A good woman never kisses and tells."

  "I'm not asking you for details, just a time frame."

  Honey chuckled. "We were together around two years."

  "And he was good to you?"

  "The best."

  "Kinky?"

  "Sergeant, I do believe that falls under kissing and telling."

  Poe plowed on. "And his taste in women…"

  "Was excellent."

  "He didn't hide some nasty perversion in the closet?"

  "Why are you so interested in Parker Lewiston?"

  "Remember about two weeks ago, I showed you a picture of a murdered hooker?"

  "How could I forget? You shoved it in my face."

  "Supposedly she was one of Parker's."

  "And?"

  "He denied knowing her."

  "So?"

  Poe finished off his Dos Equis, then debated having another brew. Honey's was stocked better than most bars. "Just wondering why he'd lie like he did."

  Honey poured herself a cup of coffee. "Could be a number of reasons. You could have gotten your information wrong. Or Parker might not have remembered such a cheap little slut."

  "You just said his taste in women was excellent."

  Honey frowned. "His taste in his real women."

  "Ah!" Poe smiled. "I see."

  But Honey was still pissed. "Perhaps Parker just didn't want to get involved in your sleazy little affairs, Rom."

  "My sleazy little affairs?" Poe was incredulous. "You mean murder?"

  Honey stiffened. "All the more reason for Parker to keep his mouth shut. He didn't get where he is today by making mistakes."

  "Mistakes like wielding a knife."

  "My, you're feisty today. I think you're going through Honey withdrawal."

  Back off, Poe. "Probably."

  She drank her coffee, then softened her tone. "If you want my opinion, I'd say that the little tart didn't seem like his type. He prefers women who are not only beautiful but sophisticated and clever. He enjoys talking. When we were together, I do believe I dispensed more advice to him than he did to me."

  Don't flatter yourself, babe. You're nothing but a whore. And you, Poe, are nothing but a jerk!

  He stood up. "Thanks, Honey. Thanks for everything."


  She beamed. "Can I kiss you good-bye?"

  "I'd be insulted if you didn't."

  She gave him a long, passionate kiss. It tasted like poison.

  It was only a forty-five-minute diversion, but it felt like hours. He dragged his body into his house, where the lights were as dim as his spirits. A bespectacled Rukmani, garbed in a flowing purple dress, was seated in a chair, reading papers by his batteryoperated lantern. A sweaty sheen covered her nutmeg skin. His house had no air-conditioning, only a moribund battery fan which kicked up a hot wind and blew it from one side to the other.

  She looked up from the sheaves, wiped her face with a tissue. "She's sleeping. I opened the couch. I figured that was okay."

  Poe stood at the doorway, perspiration dripping from his forehead, his eyes feeling like fire. He swabbed his face with his sleeve. "I went to Honey's."

  "I figured as much. Come in, but leave the door open. The circulation feels good."

  He walked inside and pulled up a stool next to Rukmani, pausing before he sat down. "I don't even know why I did it."

  Rukmani shrugged. "Asserting your independence against me. Evading the crushing responsibility of caring for a sick parent. You're a horny guy. Take your pick."

  He was silent.

  Rukmani said, "Just don't lie to me, Romulus. You never lied before. Don't start now."

  Poe looked at his lap. "I'm sorry."

  "Life is short. People aren't perfect. Forget it."

  He noticed the papers she was reading. "I see my mother must have told you about her condition."

  "She knew you had told me something. So she filled in some details. The rest…" She held up a thick pile of records. "Working my way through the medical muck."

  "Remus doesn't know. She doesn't want me to call him." Again, he wiped sweat from his face. "I have to, Ruki. I owe him that."

  "I agree."

  "I'm tired now. I figured I'd do it in the morning."

  "Sounds logical."

  He started to speak and realized there was a lump in his throat. He coughed in his fist, then said, "I don't want her to die."

  Rukmani took off her glasses. "Let me tell you the situation from a medical standpoint. Because before I started certifying deaths, I did a lot of plain old microscopic pathology. So I know what I'm talking about."

  "You always know what you're talking about. Go on."

  "First off, I've been going over these diagnoses. She does have some form of lymphoma slash leukemia, but an unusual presentation. Not cut-and-dried, but what in life is? Anyway, without being able to examine the biopsies and peer at the cells, I'm forced to extrapolate. So none of this is carved in stone."

  "I understand."

  "The most accurate description seems to be chronic lymphocytic leukemia with a systemic profusion of moderately well differentiated cells. Which is actually very good."

  "Really?"

  "Really. The more differentiated the cells, the better. Rom, she's not saddled with a death sentence. We've got bona fide protocol and treatment which has proven highly successful."

  She held up two fingers.

  "Two things. First, I've got to run some extensive tests to figure out if she has more of a lymphoma or more of a leukemia. Treatment is a little different depending on which disease is the more pronounced. There seems to be lots of blurring. She has disseminated cancer cells indicative of leukemia as well as localized neoplasms in the organs of the immune system—which points to lymphoma."

  "So that's weird?"

  "It's not unheard-of for lymphomas to convert to leukemias and vice versa. The fine tuning can be taken care of by meticulous lab work and a personally designed protocol. The trick is…"

  She sighed.

  "The trick is to get her into a hospital. She doesn't want modern medicine. She wants an Indian faith healer."

  "I know."

  "She's been over this with you?"

  "Yes. Truthfully, I was too stunned to argue. Not that it would have done any good."

  "I'm all for holistic medicine. We Hindus believe in some wayout stuff. And I've seen mystics work miracles with my own eyes. But on a day-to-day basis, I'm real big on Western medicine—things like vaccinations and antibiotics. They've saved lots of lives, and I'm not one to argue with empiricism."

  "You don't have to convince me." He licked his dry lips. His armpits were drenched in sweat. "Could you talk to her?"

  "I'd be happy to, except I think I'd be viewed as the establishment. Should come from someone else. Does she have any relative that she looks up to?"

  Poe thought for a moment. "There's Y."

  Rukmani gave him a thumbs-up sign. "Brilliant. Do you think he'll be cooperative?"

  "I think he'd help." He looked at his watch. Ten to eleven. It felt like midnight in hell. "It's not that late. I bet I can find him."

  "Why don't you call it a night, guy? You look so tired."

  "I'll be fine." He kissed her hand. "Again, I'm sorry."

  She let out a small laugh. "I didn't realize you had such a capacity for guilt. If I were the type, I could really milk this." She kissed his hand back. "I do care, actually. Just not all that much. You're going to do it again. So will I. Fidelity will take time for both of us. Take me home now? I'd invite you for the night, but I fear you're already spent."

  She was right about that. "I have to look for Y."

  "How convenient." She stood up, stowing Emma Poe's medical records in a plastic bag. "I'll take these home if you don't mind."

  "Thanks for everything."

  "How's Alison, by the way?"

  "As crazy as ever."

  Rukmani waited a beat. "I know she's gorgeous, Romulus. But she's also manipulative and very disturbed. It can't be all physical. What do you see in her?"

  Dashed hopes. "She's as close as I have to family here."

  "She's dysfunctional, Poe."

  "My entire family is dysfunctional." He looked at her. "And you're so normal all of a sudden?"

  "Sure, I have problems. Who doesn't? But I am able to operate in a social context. And I do perform a useful service for society." She grinned. "And let me tell you something. I must do a bangup job. Because my patients never complain."

  TWENTY-THREE

  THE NIGHT had retained most of the desert heat, so Poe found it pleasurable to be anywhere air-conditioned. Each year he swore he'd buy a generator. But when push came to shove, he was either too busy or too tired to make the effort. He plodded through the Mojave's inferno summers, rationalizing that sweat was a good thing. It cleansed the body. Certainly he could use a good scrubbing now.

  By the time he located Y, it was close to one in the morning. Wearing jeans and a red buckskin tank top, the old man was manning a poker machine at the Flamingo Hilton, his flabby arms feeding the insatiable money chute. His head was encircled with a beaded band. Poe had come prepared, presenting him with four rolls of quarters. Y glanced at the cylinders, pocketing them in one fluid motion.

  Poe said, "How's your luck been holding?"

  "Steady enough."

  "Good for you."

  "What do you want?"

  "A favor."

  Y waited a beat, then continued playing. The pause was Poe's indication that Y had heard him.

  "It concerns my mother." He waited for Y to get his electronic poker cards. "She's sick, Y. She needs some tests, but doesn't want to go into a hospital. Actually, she doesn't want any Western medicine. She wants an Indian shaman."

  "Shamans are Western medicine. We were in the West long before the marukats came and stole our land."

  Poe kept his patience. "I realize that. Nobody's claiming righteousness for what was done hundreds of years ago. I'm talking about a very sick woman who can be helped by modernday drugs."

  No one spoke for a minute. Then Y said, "How sick?"

  Poe wiped his face with a tissue. "Sick enough to need real help. Not that I'm putting anyone down. Give her the shaman, too. But Rukmani thinks that Mom has a good shot
with Western treatment. Being as I'm a bettin' guy, I go with the proven odds."

  Y pulled in a straight against the machine's two pair. The contraption started dinging up a storm. "What does she have? Cancer?"