Moon Music

by Faye Kellerman

  "On what grounds do we file the warrant?"

  "Loo, Parker screwed Brittany Newel—"

  "Sergeant, we're going round in circles. Brittany Newel did not have grass under her nails. You want a warrant, find something that can link Parker to Yarlborough."

  "I'd ask Yarlborough's pimp about it except Ali Abdul Williams died in a freak accident with twenty grand worth of fresh bills. Know what I think? After Parker popped Yarlborough, he paid Williams off to keep his mouth shut. But even with the payoff, Parkerboy didn't like loose ends."

  Weinberg said, "And following your logic, Lewiston must have set up Williams's car accident?"

  "Lewiston could have rigged the car."

  "Maybe he did rig the car. But even Lewiston couldn't guarantee Williams's death." Weinberg tried to remain patient. "Poe, your head is full of conjectures. Nothing wrong with that. But I can't ask a judge for a warrant based on a fertile imagination. Being sworn officers of the law, we gotta follow due process."

  Poe said nothing.

  Weinberg said, "You know, Lewiston's been around these parts forever."

  "So what does that have to do with anything?"

  "Don't get snappish," Weinberg whipped back. "All I'm saying is that I've never heard a rumor that he liked the underage set. Have you heard something different?"

  Poe shook his head.

  "So he's suddenly changed his taste in playthings?"

  Poe regarded the lieutenant while he analyzed the question. The response came in a sudden rush of loose thoughts. He tried to organize his words. "Lewiston is a gambler from the get-go."

  "So?"

  "He's reached his pinnacle, sir. The man has gambled and won in the ultimate city for gamblers. Lewiston made it to the top in Las Vegas. He owns four casinos, he owns celebrities, he owns sports arenas as well as sports figures. He's got a slew of material playthings and hookers. The man has the Midas touch—everything turns to gold. A risk-taker like him, sir, a man who has built himself up on dares and challenges…what does he do for thrills now?"

  "He plays golf."

  Poe chuckled. "Right."

  "You sneer. But he plays four days a week—"

  "Golf may be a way for him to pass his time, but it doesn't get his blood pumping. Because in golf, you have to play by rules. Lewiston doesn't follow rules, sir, he makes them. The ultimate—playing by your own rules. And maybe that means raping underage kids and getting away with it. Especially thrilling because it's such a vile thing to do. And maybe even the underaged sex wasn't enough. To get the charge, he had to get away with murder—"

  "You really don't like this man, do you?"

  "No, I don't."

  "Okay, Poe. Let's assume the man is trying to get away

  with something. Get me evidence. Then we get the warrant."

  Poe was frustrated, but said nothing. His limbs ached and his head was swimming in a very choppy ocean. Plus, he still had to call Alison's shrink.

  "I'm tired, Loo," he announced.

  Weinberg stood, grateful to get away from the bag. "Anything I can do for you, guy?"

  "No, I'll be fine. Thanks for coming out."

  "My pleasure. You did me the favor, actually. As a Jew, I did my good deed for the day."

  "What's that?"

  "Visiting you." Weinberg patted Poe's wiry shoulder. "Heal up, Sergeant." He hesitated, then pulled a cigar from his pocket and tucked it into Poe's bedcovers. "When you're feeling better…a Cohiba."

  "I must rate," Poe said. "Thanks."

  "Get better. I mean that."

  As soon as he left, Poe's head hit the pillow. He closed his eyes, trying to think about the case. Thinking about Lewiston's office…he needed to get a sample. A small sample of grass. Had to skirt the law. He had to find a link….

  The dungeon was driving her crazy. She had to get out.

  Because there was work to be done. Her research files moldering. Had to get out, had to do it. If only she had the energy to do it with her powers. But they had sapped her with their binds. She was just too tired. Plus the moon wasn't right.

  How to get out?

  The most expedient way was to cooperate. Say the right things, and behave the right way. At least talk to the shrinks. But she didn't want to talk. Not to these idiots who didn't understand her powers and her quests and what she needed to do—

  "Alison?"

  The voice was in the medium range. Not the nurse's squeaky voice. It sounded like one of her shrinks. The new one—the redheaded woman.

  Of course, Alison wouldn't answer her. She didn't even move, remaining immobile in her bed, swathed in a clean white cotton gown, staring at her mittened hands. They had done that to her, encasing her hands in padded gloves so that she couldn't hold a spoon even if she had wanted to eat. They tried to feed her, shoveling in food that she let drip out of her mouth. Claiming that they had been worried that she might hurt herself.

  Again, the voice spoke. "Alison, there's someone on the phone for you."

  She refrained from moving physically. But the fact that the shrink was allowing her to talk on the phone…to someone on the outside. It wouldn't be Steve. Steve would have come in person. And they already knew that she wouldn't talk to Steve. Not that Steve anyway. Not even any Steve—the new one or the old one.

  Shrink was talking, "…is Romulus Poe. You know Romulus, don't you?"

  Alison remained quiet. But her eyes must have given away something. Because Redhead continued talking.

  "He wants to talk to you," she said. "Because he likes you, Alison. He's your friend."

  Her heartbeat had quickened. If he was calling her, well then that was a good sign. It meant he wasn't dead.

  "Would you like to talk to him, Alison? He'd like to talk to you."

  Alison didn't respond; she wouldn't dare give that bitch the satisfaction of seeing her want something. This place had nothing to offer her. Nothing. For the millionth time, she cursed her husband. Why didn't he just let her ride it out? She always got better.

  "…put it next to your ear. You don't have to talk if you don't want to. But it might help if you listened. You might like hearing a familiar voice."

  Alison continued to be silent.

  Then that awful pause. The shrink giving her that little exasperated sigh. She had to be new to the profession. Seasoned shrinks would never, ever sigh. Seasoned shrinks would have endless patience. Because her condition wouldn't be frustrating to them. Because they'd seen it all, done it all.

  Why'd they give her someone so inexperienced? Maybe they didn't think she was sick enough to merit a real shrink.

  "…don't even have to listen if you don't want to." Another sigh. "But since you're not talking, I can't know what you want or what you don't want. So how about if I just hold the receiver up to your ear."

  Her heartbeat was racing. Did she really want to hear Rom's voice?

  The shrink was approaching her.

  No, don't hit her. Don't slug her, don't push her, don't scratch her. You can't do that. That would be bad. Just let her be, let her be, let her be.

  The shrink put the receiver up to Alison's ear, leaned over, and spoke into the mouthpiece. "Sergeant Poe, I have the receiver up to her ear. You can talk now."

  Poe saying, "I'm okay. Say something."

  Alison stayed silent.

  Poe said, "Dr. Braverman, can you hear me?"

  "Yes, I can hear you."

  "Do me a favor. I know her hands are protected. Can she hold the receiver at all?"

  "Probably." Dr. Braverman put the phone to her own ear. "The thing is, Sergeant, I don't think she wants to hold the receiver."

  "Then just drop it on the bed and leave. I'll shout and hope she can hear it. I need to talk to her in private."

  "I really shouldn't do that…leave the phone here—"

  "Alison won't talk if people are scrutinizing her. Give me five minutes with her in privacy."

  "This is unorthodox."

  "I realize that," Poe
said. "But you're not having any luck. Give my idea a try."

  "All right…but not too long."

  "Agreed."

  Dr. Braverman put the phone on the bed, but she remained in the room.

  Poe shouted, "Is she gone?"

  No response.

  Poe said, "Dr. Braverman, I know you're there. Please give my idea a whirl."

  He waited, then heard a robust sigh over the line. Footsteps, then a door slamming. Poe counted to ten.

  Again, he said, "Is she gone?"

  Alison muttered something.

  "Pick up the phone, Alison."

  Nothing.

  Poe tried to be patient. The woman was fragile. "Alison, if you can, please pick up the phone and tuck it under your chin. I'll wait for you."

  He heard nothing, then static over the line, loud crackling sounds as if the receiver was being manhandled. Then, abruptly, it stopped.

  "Are you there?"

  Nothing.

  "Alison, listen to me. I'm not mad. Could I ever stay mad at you?"

  Again silence. Poe decided to wait her out. He sat up on the mattress, changing position to avoid bedsores.

  She whispered, "How are you?"

  Poe said, "All right. It's good to hear your voice."

  She started to cry. "They have my hands tied up. They won't let me see the boys. I'm afraid."

  One of the few times Poe heard sincerity in her voice. Because Alison was terrified of losing her sons. He said, "Ali, listen to me. You're in on a seventy-two-hour hold. That means they're going to reevaluate you. You know the drill. If you want to leave, you have to talk to them. You have to convince them you're okay. That you're not going to hurt yourself."

  She was silent. Poe could picture big tears running down her cheek.

  "Look, you want to see your boys, right?"

  "Steve's poisoned them against me—"

  "No, no, no, no, no," Poe blurted out. "I don't have much time to talk before Dr. Braverman returns. You want to get out, you can't talk about people being against you. You have to be positive…say things like…like, 'The breakdown was good. Because now I realize how much I need help. And I intend to get therapy—'"

  "But Steve has poisoned them against me. He's also poisoned the nurses against me. He's evil, Rom. He's out to get me. He's always been out to get me. Because he wants his whores and I'm in the way. He wants me out of the way."

  Conveniently ignoring the facts: that she had torn up his face, and flown off in a rage. That she had been found babbling in the mountains at four in the morning. Did she remember any of it? Yet her accusations made sense on a superficial level. Jensen did have whores. He had always claimed that he had taken on women because Alison had never been available to him. Which was probably half true.

  Alison said, "You know the man who attacked me in the alley behind New York—New York?"

  "What about him?"

  "Steve sent him. He did, Rom, honestly. He sent someone to hurt me. So he could have the boys and his whores and no more Alison. That's why he did it…sent the someone to attack me. He did, you know."

  Poe felt his heart sink. She didn't want to get out. She didn't want to get better. It was beginning to dawn on him that just maybe she was incapable of getting better. Perhaps she was where she belonged. The thought threw him into a blue funk.

  "He's behind it all." She was blabbering now. "It's all his doing. Everything. Even those dead girls."

  Poe sat up. "What dead girls?"

  "Your cases. His cases. He did it."

  "Did what?"

  "The murders. Your cases. He's the one you're after. I know about the hat, you know."

  That got Poe's attention. "What hat are you talking about?"

  "Don't play innocent, Rommie, because I know everything. You know who owns that hat? Steve owns that hat. He bought it for a costume party four years ago."

  Poe realized he was breathing hard.

  Not good. Slow it down. Think, Poe. Think!

  Delving deep into his mind. Jensen had mentioned something about owning a bowler hat. Something about buying it for a party. Could Jensen have mentioned it to throw him off? Could she possibly be telling the truth?

  Poe, you idiot! She's sucking you into her delusions. Mildly, he answered, "Really?"

  Alison talked with animation. "Yes, yes, he did, he did own a hat! Check it out, Rom. It's his hat."

  "Alison, I don't have a hat in my possession. Any idea where it might be?"

  "Me? No, I don't know where the hat is. All I'm saying is, if you did have the hat, it would be Steve's hat! I swear to God, it's his hat. Find that hat and check it out."

  She made a slurping sound over the phone.

  "You know, Rommie, the man who attacked me wore a hat. So look where I was attacked. See if you can find the hat."

  Poe said, "Alison, are you telling me that your own husband attacked you?"

  "Oh no!" Alison responded. "Steve didn't attack me. He sent someone to attack me."

  "So…someone else attacked you. Not Steve."

  "Of course. He wouldn't be stupid enough to attack his own wife."

  "And the person who attacked you also wore Steve's hat?"

  "Yes. Steve gave it to him. After Steve murdered those two girls."

  Weirder and weirder. Poe said, "Steve murdered two girls?"

  "That's what I'm saying! Steve murdered those two girls! Mind you, not the Steve that I married. No, the man I married didn't kill the girls. It was my new husband, the evil Steve. He killed the girls."

  "The evil Steve."

  "Yes. The evil Steve. He murdered those two poor girls."

  "Both girls?"

  "Yes." A pause. "Well, I don't know about the second one. But the first one for sure—Brittany Newel."

  Her delusions were peppered with facts which threw him for a loop. Why was she pinning Newel's death and not Yarlborough's on Steve? Poe licked his parched lips. "Are you saying that Steve killed the first one and not the second one?"

  "Well, he could have done both. But I only know for certain about Newel. They had a thing going. Newel was pressuring him to marry her. Steve didn't like that. Brittany told me the whole story, you know."

  Poe put the pen down. "When did you talk to Brittany Newel?"

  "I dunno. Right before she died. Before he did it. He didn't want to be with her anymore." She dropped her voice to a whisper. "Maybe she was pregnant."

  Poe bit his lip. If Newel had been pregnant, Rukmani would have discovered it. "Alison, you should have told me all this way back when. Why didn't you?"

  "Why do you think? I didn't want to implicate my husband in murder. But now it's different. Because not only does he want to hurt all of them, he also wants to hurt me, too."

  Hurt all of them. Poe said, "Who else does he want to hurt?"

  "Oh…just me, Rom. I'm telling you. You've got to realize that he's trying to hurt me."

  Crazier and crazier. Still, she was making some kind of bizarre sense. "Alison, if Steve wanted to hurt you, why would he lock you up? It would be easier for him to hurt you if you were under his roof."

  "Rom, he doesn't want to kill me. I'm the mother of his children…of the old Steve's children. He just wants to tame me. Because I have the power. It's true. He's jealous."

  "I see."

  "He is jealous, Rom. He's always held the power. But now, I have it. You don't understand. He is really an evil person! Are you coming out to visit me?"

  The last question said in the same breath as the accusations. Her mind was running wild. Poe answered, "I'll be out as soon as I can."

  "Why can't you come now?" A pause. "What is it, Rommie? Got a date with your girlfriend?"

  Her mentioning of Rukmani, even if not by name…it sent chills up his spine. "No, Alison, I don't have a date. I'm in the hospital. I'm still recovering—"

  "I didn't scratch you that hard!"

  So she did remember! His head felt like bursting. "I got bitten by a diamondback rattler—"<
br />
  She gasped. "Omigod, omigod."

  "Alison, I'm okay."

  "Omigod—"

  "I'm okay," he shouted over her.

  She stopped chanting.

  Blessed silence.