by Polly Iyer
“It could be him. I don’t know. I wouldn’t want you to depend on my identification.”
“Without invading your privacy, why did you bring suit against Edward Slater after willingly donating money?”
Highsmith leaned back in her chair, eyes on Lucier. She was obviously weighing whether to answer his question, and if so, deciding if she’d tell the truth.
“Let’s just say the action stemmed from the weakness in a woman’s vanity. I mistook Edward’s interest in me as more than that of a benefactor. It wasn’t. I’m embarrassed to say my pride was hurt, so I retaliated where it hurt him the most―in his pocketbook. I’m not proud of what I did, Lieutenant. I offered to pay his court costs, but he declined.”
Highsmith’s answer took Lucier by surprise. “Thank you for your honesty. I’m sure you’re not the only one to have been deceived.”
She shook her head slowly. “You don’t understand. Edward never deceived me. It was I who misinterpreted his feelings. Oh, there’s something mysterious about him to be sure, but he never made an improper advance or gave me reason to think we enjoyed anything more than friendship. He might be gay, but he seemed rather, how shall I say, more asexual.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not an unattractive woman, Lieutenant. That may sound immodest, but one knows into which category one falls. You, I’m guessing, couldn’t help knowing you’re a good-looking, sensual man. You carry that appeal in the same way you carry your badge―with confidence. I have no trouble attracting men. If I show interest, they usually respond. I found Edward captivating. A handsome man with no ego except in regard to his intelligence.”
Focusing on a sheaf of papers on her desk, Highsmith picked at the corners, but Lucier could tell her thoughts were elsewhere. She smiled, as if remembering something pleasant.
“We enjoyed long discussions about philosophy and religion, about mysticism and mythology. I have a doctorate in psychology, so that entered into our discussions as well. He’s very into that sort of thing. He’s an atheist, so we spent hours discussing our beliefs. But no matter how he tried, mine were too strong for me to be swayed.”
“Did he try to sway you?”
“Not overtly, but I always felt if I bent even a little, he would have considered it a conquest. The women who pass through the mission would do anything he asked. He was kind but not effusive. Believe me when I say I tried everything to tempt him into a more amorous relationship, but he never yielded. The more he resisted, the more I tried. It became something of an obsession for me. He never rejected me openly―he was too much of a gentleman for that―but he avoided my overtures as if I were infected with the HIV virus. You know the rest. Like I said, I’m not proud of what I did. He is the most intellectually stimulating man I’ve ever known and one of the most enigmatic.”
She was telling the truth, Lucier concluded. No woman lied about being rejected. “He mentioned he’d chosen the name Osiris because, like the figure in mythology, he was cut into little pieces before―how did he put it―having the good fortune to be repaired. Do you know what he was referring to?”
“A traumatic experience darkened Edward’s past. Whatever happened, he chose not to share it with me; and even if he had, I wouldn’t betray his confidence.” Jeanine Highsmith pushed the papers on her desk to one side, leaned toward Lucier. “It seems, Lieutenant, that you’re far more interested in Edward than in finding this kidnapping suspect.”
“Just covering all my bases, Dr. Highsmith.”
When Lucier left the professor’s office, he wondered what it was about Edward Slater that gnawed at his gut. Highsmith saw it, even pointed it out. Was it Slater’s smooth above-it-all demeanor or the way he focused on Diana, drawing her in, inviting her to discuss subjects of mutual interest? Subjects out of Lucier’s realm of experience. Did he detect a chemistry between them? Is that why he was searching for clues to involve Slater, or Brother Osiris, or whatever the hell his name was? Clues that any good cop knew weren’t there.
He answered his cell on the way back to his office.
“A patrol cop just picked up Deems near Audubon Park,” Beecher said. “The cop followed for a while to make sure he had the right guy. Deems had shaved his beard and head but he wore the brown jacket. The cop didn’t want to make a mistake, but he didn’t want to let him get away either. Said he was willing to make a wrongful arrest.”
“Good man. Where’s Deems now?” Lucier asked.
“Interrogation. He’s not saying a word and hasn’t lawyered up. And Ernie, he’s very strange.”
“I’m parking now.” Lucier hurried inside and went straight to the interrogation room. He was stoked. If they could get Deems to confess, they might break up this babynapping ring. He spied through the one-way glass. Deems, face and head hairless, sat with his eyes closed and arms folded across his chest. He didn’t move when Lucier entered. The odor, though faint, hit Lucier immediately.
Almonds.
Cyanide.
“Son of a bitch.” He ran to the door. “I need an EMS team,” Lucier shouted. “STAT! Tell them we have a cyanide poisoning.” Touching Deems’s neck, he detected a slight pulse. He moved the body to the floor and started CPR. Putting his handkerchief over Deems’s mouth to protect him from the poison, he began mouth-to-mouth and alternated with a series of chest compressions.
Within a few minutes the paramedics arrived, one older, one barely shaving. The older medic quickly broke an ampule of something between two pads of gauze and placed it over Deems’s airway while the younger medic administered an intravenous solution. After thirty seconds, the first medic removed the gauze.
“Amyl nitrate,” the paramedic told Lucier.”
“Can you save him?” Lucier asked.
The medic didn’t answer for a minute. “Doesn’t look good. His pulse is fading.”
The two men worked feverously. “Sometimes high doses of oxygen can―shit, he’s convulsing!”
The other paramedic gave him an injection, and Deems stopped jerking and lay still. “Nothing’s working,” he said.
“Move over. I’m going to give him CPR.”
Lucier watched for ten minutes as medic worked feverishly, pumping his chest. The other guy administered a second shot. When Deems didn’t respond, he rested his hand on his partner’s shoulder and spoke softly. “He’s gone.”
“Damn,” Lucier said. “Damn, damn, damn.”
Within a few minutes, the two men hoisted Deems onto a gurney and covered him. “Sorry,” the older medic said. “Stuff works fast. He was a dead man the minute he bit down on that capsule.” They rolled the dead man from the interrogation room.
“You did your best,” Lucier said.
“We emptied his pockets and patted him down,” Beecher said when they left. We thought he was clean.”
“You couldn’t have known. Who walks around with a cyanide pill in his mouth?” Lucier rubbed the back of his neck. “What the hell do we have here, Sam? A guy steals a baby, then commits suicide rather than be interrogated. He didn’t steal this baby for money. No ransom, no calls. Nothing. I want to go over his personal effects. Maybe we can find something that’ll lead us to the babies.” Lucier rubbed his chin. “Son of a bitch.”
He picked up the bag with Deems’s belongings. A wallet, no driver’s license or credit cards, six dollars and change. And a key. He called Diana, told her what happened. “There’s a key in his personal effects.”
“And you want to see if I get a reading.”
“Yeah, I do. Maybe it will lead us to the house you saw in your vision.”
“Are you sending someone to pick me up?”
“Stay there. Cash will come for you. I’m still worried about that note.”
“I’ll be ready by the time he gets here.”
* * * * *
Diana’s heart pumped a few extra beats when Cash ushered her into Lucier’s office. He had that effect on her from the first time she saw him. After a quick smile in his
direction, she took her usual seat. The key sat on the desk in front of her. She stared at it.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“Only one way to find out. You know I might not get any reading at all, don’t you?”
“I know. Feel no pressure.”
She laughed. “No, of course not. It’s just a baby.” She gingerly picked up the key. “Does the Captain know I’m doing this?”
“He said he’s going to have to put you on the payroll.”
“That’s an idea. I’m out of work.”
“Not lately.” He clicked on a tape recorder, identified himself, and gave the date. “Diana Racine channeling a key found on Ridley Deems.”
She wasn’t sure she liked the word channeling, but what else could he call what she did? Glancing at Lucier, she tucked the key in the palm of her hand and made a fist. “Here goes.” She drew a deep breath and closed her eyes. A few minutes passed before she spoke.
“I see a large Victorian house with a turret covered with decorative shingles. The house is pink with white trim, and there’s a black wrought iron fence, the kind with spear-like tops.” The vision clarified. “Brass numbers 107 are on the right side of the front door.” Before long, she opened her eyes. “That’s all I see, Ernie. I don’t know if it’s the same house with the pink room.” She replaced the key on the desk, but she couldn’t shake the ominous feeling the vision generated.
Lucier patted her back. “Good work, Diana.” He flipped his intercom. “Willy, Deems was near Audubon Park, right?”
“Yeah, on Charles Street.”
“Pull up all the addresses in the area with the number 107.”
“I’m on it,” Cash said.
Lucier turned to Diana. “If he finds anything, will you go with me to check it out?”
“You know I will.”
After Cash came back with half a dozen hits, Lucier and Diana, along with Detectives Halloran and Cash and crime scene protective wear, set out to see if one of them was the pink house. They started with the address closest to Charles Street and hit pay dirt when they drove up to a pink Victorian with a shingled turret, enclosed by a black wrought iron fence.
“This is it,” Diana said, craning to look out the window.
The house sat at the end of a cul-de-sac, a few blocks from Audubon Park, and the afternoon sun reflected off brass numbers on the door―107.
Halloran waited with Diana while Lucier and Cash scaled the few steps to the front door. Lucier rang the bell. Nobody answered. He banged on the brass knocker, shaped like a crescent moon. Still no answer. He glanced at the key, turned toward Cash, shook his head, and returned to the car.
“No way am I going to screw this up,” he said. He called Beecher. “Sam, get a judge to issue a search warrant. I don’t want evidence tossed later because we entered without proper authority. The words kidnapped babies should do the trick.” He gave Beecher the address.
“What’s the matter?” Lucier asked Diana when he disconnected the call.
“I feel uneasy. I don’t know why.”
Halloran made a coffee run. They drank while they waited for Beecher. He drove up with the warrant an hour later.
Lucier cautioned his men to don latex gloves and booties. “You too, Diana. I don’t want this place compromised before the crime scene unit goes over it.”
Diana donned the booties and gloves and waited at the car while Lucier tried the key in the lock. It fit. He waved her forward, but she was frozen to the spot, unable to move past the gate.
Lucier descended the stairs as the two detectives slipped inside. “What’s the matter?”
“Something’s not right.”
“Lieutenant, we’ve found something,” Cash called from inside.
Lucier took her hand and led her to the opened gate. “I’m not leaving you out here alone. Come on.”
With every step, a sense of foreboding intensified. “There’s evil here, Ernie.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just what I said. This house is evil.” Her grip on Lucier’s hand tightened.
“Up here, Lieutenant,” Cash said.
She stopped.
Lucier touched her cheek. “You’re with me. Nothing can happen.”
Though his words meant to reinforce she was safe, she still couldn’t shake the darkness that filled her heart. As much as she wanted to flee from the house, her curiosity drew her forward, up the stairs to where Cash stood at the doorway of a baby blue bedroom. Two cribs sat empty. The only other furniture was a rocking chair and changing table.
A strange force beckoned her across the hall to a room painted cotton-candy pink, with the same furniture as the blue room. She took in the high ceiling and the leaded glass windows. The room was the identical to the one she’d seen in her vision. Halloran’s call from down the hall broke her concentration.
Then Lucier was beside her. “Same room?”
She nodded.
“Come on. Let’s see what Halloran found.”
“Looks like a bunch of symbolic stuff, like from witchcraft, Lieutenant.”
Diana stepped inside the room, unable to hide a shiver. Drawings covered one wall. The room started to spin, and a queasy sensation roiled inside her. She leaned heavily on Lucier.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“This is the evil I felt downstairs. Those are symbols of devil worship, the adoration of Lucifer.” She turned to face Lucier. “This place is home to a Satanic cult.”
Chapter Eleven
A Mixture of Purity and Evil
Lucier phoned Captain Jack Craven and filled him in on their discovery.
“We need to keep the satanic element quiet, Ernie. If this gets out, all hell will break loose.” Craven paused. “Pardon the pun.”
“Agreed, Captain. I’ll make sure everyone keeps a lid on it.” He broke the connection and found Diana standing in front of the drawings.
“The aura in this house is mixed,” she said. “Yes, evil exists but so does purity.” She pointed to the inverted star inside the circle. “The sigil of the Baphomet, the principal symbol of Satan. Could the babies be some sort of ritualistic offering to Satan? Sacrifices?”
“No one sacrifices babies, not even Satanists. Animals, maybe, but not humans.”
She squinted at the wall. “Why else would they steal infants?”
Lucier didn’t answer, because he didn’t have one. In light of the investigation’s direction, neither mentioned the ominous note Diana received with the picture of the star and the crescent moon. Whoever was behind this had targeted Diana. Was he trying to draw her in or scare her off? If the latter, he didn’t know who he was dealing with.
“Do you feel the babies were harmed?” he asked.
She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. “If they were, it wasn’t in this room.”
“The CSU is here, Lieutenant,” Halloran interrupted.
Lucier wiped a smudge of mascara near Diana’s eye. “Come on, let’s grab a bite to eat while the unit does its job. Then I’m taking you home.”
“Time is important.”
“I know. A team’s checking out the neighborhood, and we’re running a check on who owns the house. Whoever it is chose this location because it’s set off from the others on the street. Hopefully, someone saw Deems and others too, because more than one person is involved.”
* * * * *
The next day in Lucier’s office, Cash said, “The house is owned by a corporation doing business out of the Caymans. Agent Stallings said he’d look into it.”
“Caymans, huh? Why am I not surprised? The feds have better resources to untangle corporate shenanigans. He running the prints too?”
“Yup,” Cash said.
A few hours later, Special Agent Ralph Stallings popped his head into Lucier’s office. “I was in the neighborhood, Lieutenant. Hope you don’t mind my dropping in.”
“Not at all. Wanted to talk to you anyway. Have a seat.”
/> “I wanted to let you know that Deems’s prints were all over the house, along with eight other sets.” He sat down and took his time before unloading the bombshell. “The most interesting is Silas Compton.”
The name took Lucier by surprise. “The industrialist?”
“The same. His prints are on file because he’s worked on government projects. My guess is that Compton owns it, but proving it quickly won’t be easy unless he fesses up. He’s been on our watch list for years. He’s anti-government but doesn’t have a problem taking government contracts.”
“A lot of people have no problem criticizing on one hand while grabbing all they can with the other.”
“Well, Compton’s taken his share. He complies with what he has to, but he owns a battery of lawyers to keep his private life private and his money hidden. If an employee breaks his confidentiality agreement, he’s fired, and Compton pays so well that rarely happens. He controls his empire from a building he owns in the business district. Next to him, Howard Hughes looked like a publicity hound.”
“Any indication of religious deviation?”
“You mean the satanic symbols on the walls?”
“Yeah.”
“No, but he sure as hell wouldn’t make it public if he did.”
“What about other prints?” Lucier asked.
“We’re still checking.”
“Agent Stallings, now that your tech people are finished, do you have any objection if Diana Racine goes back into the house?”
Stallings shook his head. “None. With her track record, I’ll be interested to see what she comes up with. We couldn’t legally act on her impressions, of course, but we could…check them out.”
Lucier extended his hand. “I’ll keep you informed. Oh, and I’m glad you’re running the case. About time we put our heads together without a turf war.”
“Whatever it takes when the lives of children are at stake. Just as long as we both keep each other in the loop.”
* * * * *
Diana stood in front of the pink house, acclimating herself to its aura. “Do you mind if I go in alone, Ernie?”
“You sure you’ll be all right?”
