GODDESS OF THE MOON (A Diana Racine Psychic Suspense)

by Polly Iyer

  “I wouldn’t like someone asking me to fetch, so I doubt anyone else would either. Now if one of my men asks if I want a cup or if he brings me one, I won’t turn it down. But I don’t ask.”

  “Nice boss.”

  “Bad history.”

  Stallings nodded, took a gulp, and placed the cup on the table. “Note’s just like the last one. The paper is common variety sold in almost every chain store, and the envelope is self-stick. No DNA. The message was typed on a computer and printed on a laser printer. No prints, nothing traceable.”

  “What I expected.”

  “How’s Ms. Racine? I can’t imagine she spooks easily, considering her former profession.”

  “She’s taking it in stride. This is nothing compared to what she went through recently. At least I hope that’s the case

  “Since I was sidetracked by the note, I never asked about your visit with Compton. Did Ms. Racine get any vibes?”

  “She had an interesting experience when they shook hands, but nothing tangible. Call it psychic channeling or telepathy or clairvoyance―whatever―but when she gets those feelings, she’s usually right. I’ve seen it firsthand.”

  “Man, I’d hate my wife to have that talent. How can you stand her knowing what’s in your mind all the time?”

  “She only does it through touching someone she’s reading.”

  Stallings stopped in mid-sip and peeked over the rim of his cup.

  Lucier shrugged. “She says not. At least I hope not. I wouldn’t want her to know what I’m thinking during―hmm, better not. I don’t know you well enough.”

  Stallings laughed. “’Nuff said. She’s an attractive lady. I saw her show this year for the first time, before the killings. Now I wish I’d seen her every time she performed in New Orleans. Very entertaining.”

  “Compton asked for a private reading.”

  “Is she going to do it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Gutsy. And Slater?”

  “She’s clearer on him than I am. Something about the guy irks the hell out of me. Did the Bureau turn up anything on him that’s not out there for us mere mortals?”

  “Nothing federal, just the drunk charges in Texas years ago. He’s cleaned up his act since then. As far as we can tell, Sunrise Mission is the only association he has with Compton. They don’t exactly travel in the same circles.”

  “Compton admires Slater’s work. Maybe Diana will find out more when she reads him.”

  The two cops drank their coffees and discussed the still unbelievable prospect that some of the richest men in the state―in the country―were involved in a satanic cult. After a lot of headshaking, Stallings left.

  Cash passed the agent as he barreled into the office. Beecher followed. “Lieutenant, I got an idea and did some checking.”

  “Go on.”

  “I wondered if the babies had anything in common. Five babies. Why those particular ones? I checked their families’ backgrounds. Except for one, both parents of each kidnapped infant are brainiacs. They’re either scientists, mathematicians, or doctors, each renowned in his or her field.” Cash put his findings in front of Lucier. “Those babies were chosen.”

  Lucier flipped through the five histories. “For their genetic makeup?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I think,” Cash said. “Why else? Deems worked at each hospital on average of six weeks. He was waiting for the perfect babies before he snatched them and disappeared, which means if I’m right, the babies are probably still alive.”

  “And what about the fifth baby?” Beecher asked.

  “Working class parents. Neither finished high school. The baby was returned with a ten thousand dollar check.”

  “Sounds like someone made a mistake,” Lucier said. “Did you follow up with the other parents?”

  “No, I wanted to see what you thought first.”

  “Do it. Damn good thinking, Willy. You might have something. Sam, catch Stallings before he leaves the building. We’ll check out the parents in New Orleans; he can check out the others. Now all we have to do is figure out if they really are targeting these babies. And if they are, why?”

  * * * * *

  Lucier made an appointment to meet Dr. Jennifer Reese and her husband, Charles Seaver, at their home. Reese, a striking woman in her early forties, put off having children to pursue a career as a molecular biologist. She and her husband, a nuclear radiologist, were anxious to talk to Lucier and help in any way to aid in the return of their daughter. Lucier showed them a series of computer generated pictures of Deems in different disguises, from: bald and clean-shaven, red-haired and bearded, to combinations of both with different colored hair.

  “If he was on the floor of the birthing center, I don’t recall seeing him,” Dr. Reese said.

  Her husband studied the photo. “Nor do I. Why would someone do this?”

  “To be honest, we’re not sure, but your daughter is one of four babies, maybe more, taken from parents with superior intellectual credentials. We think that’s why they were chosen.”

  “Four babies and maybe more? This is the first I’ve heard of that,” Jennifer Reese said.

  “The abductions were in different states, spread apart in time. We just made the connection when we found the work records of the man we think took your daughter at the other hospitals. Unfortunately, the man is dead, so we can’t get any information to verify if we’re right.”

  “Chosen. That would mean they’re alive,” Seaver said. “Otherwise it wouldn’t matter who their parents were, would it?”

  “We think so. Of course, it could be a coincidence. I wouldn’t want to get your hopes up. Whether or not they were chosen for a specific reason, we still have to find them. If our theory is correct, they’ll all be together.”

  The two people clutched each other. Lucier sensed their desperate optimism.

  “Do you have anything to go on?” Dr. Reese asked.

  “We’re working on some ideas but nothing concrete. I wish I could tell you otherwise.”

  “I understand Diana Racine is helping,” Dr. Seaver said. “Is that true?”

  “She has offered impressions.”

  “Impressions of what?”

  “I’d rather not say right now. I assure you we’re doing everything possible to find your daughter.”

  * * * * *

  Lucier walked through the tourist crowd on Jackson Square on his way to meet Ralph Stallings. The historic site teemed with artists and musicians, creating its unique flavor. On occasion he’d bought artwork that hung on the iron fence to support the talented artists, some famous, who had populated the square for generations. He’d seen plays at Le Petit Theatre, eaten Creole cuisine at the many excellent bistros dotting the area, and even tipped back a few at one of the bars in the old Jax Brewery building, followed by sobering up with café au lait and beignets at the Café du Monde. The electricity in the square was what he loved about New Orleans―a city like no other.

  It was at one of those small bistros where he’d arranged to meet Stallings for lunch. The air was thick and humid. He thought the exercise would do him good, but by the time he arrived, sweat glued his shirt to his back. He found Stallings at a table near the window, nursing a glass of iced tea.

  “It’s like a sauna out there,” Lucier said, grateful for the air conditioning. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the sides of his face.

  “You walked?”

  “Thought I needed to get off my ass. Now I not only need a shower, but it’s clear I need to get back into a regular fitness routine.” Lucier caught the waitress and ordered iced tea with extra lemon. He turned to Stallings. “What’ve you got?”

  “None of the other parents remembers seeing Ridley Deems at their respective hospitals. Good work by your detective, Ernie. The theory that the babies were taken because of their genetic makeup gives us hope they’re still alive. From our investigations at the hospitals, Deems kept to himself. Janitors are part of the scenery.
No one notices them. When they fail to show up for work, the employment office fills the vacancy. Deems worked third shift. Quiet time. Perfect for stealing a glance at records, see enough about the mother to run the name through the computer and find out all he needs to know―papers, conferences, whatever.

  “So we have four babies taken, all―how did one of my sons describe the smartest kid in class―genetically enhanced?”

  The memory of his dead son stopped Lucier cold. Those times from his past life still shot arrows into his heart. He noticed a strange look on Stallings face and wondered if the sadness showed on his own.

  “Right. The fifth seems like a mistake, wouldn’t you say?”

  “That’s what I thought. I don’t get it. A kidnapper and sexual predator who’d rather commit suicide than talk to us, a satanic cult, a billionaire, two young women who’ve disappeared and who possibly tended the babies, and payment to return an erroneous abduction. What else?”

  “Isn’t that enough?” Stallings asked. “This is one of the weirdest cases I’ve ever worked.”

  “What’s Deems’s background?”

  “Born in Alabama, raised in an orphanage. Mother gave him up at birth, but that’s all we know about his parents. He had good grades in high school but dropped out. Worked a series of odd jobs, mostly as a laborer or janitor. The only time he got in trouble was when he hit on the girl.”

  “Maybe he was soliciting young runaways for the cult.”

  “Could be. Guys like him prey on young girls.”

  “Any religious activity?”

  “Not that we can find. I doubt he’d broadcast he was a devotee of Satan.”

  The waitress put Lucier’s iced tea in front of him, and he took a long swallow. Sugar sweet, lemon tart, and icy cold. The drink felt good after his sweaty walk. Both men ordered a grilled fish sandwich and side salad. The waitress refreshed their glasses.

  “One link ties three of the things I mentioned,” Lucier said.

  “What?”

  “The Sunrise Mission. Deems worked there, both girls had an association, and Silas Compton is the main benefactor.”

  “Didn’t you say Slater wanted to meet with Ms. Racine again? That they had some kind of psychic connection? I know you’re worried about the note, but she might be our only entrée into the Mission without a warrant, and we don’t have probable cause.”

  “She received a second note yesterday. This one said they were still waiting for her. I’m more spooked than she is. The note has a purpose.”

  When they finished lunch, Lucier speed-walked back to the station, not only because of the brutal heat, but because the note now weighed heavily on his mind. What was its purpose? A scare? A warning?

  He called Diana as soon as he got to his office. No answer. He called her cell. Still nothing. When he arrived at her house, her car wasn’t there, and neither was she.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ascent from Hell

  Slater met Diana at the door of the Sunrise Mission and ushered her to his office, still refusing to let her make contact. “I was delighted to hear from you, Ms. Racine. Frankly, I didn’t think you’d call.”

  Ernie will be furious I did. But curiosity prevailed because Diana was anxious to get inside Slater’s head.

  “Why is that, Mr. Slater?” She focused on the red light of the camera above Slater’s desk and made sure he saw her doing it.

  “Call me Edward.”

  “Or Osiris?”

  His smile emphasized the crinkles around his eyes. Steel gray, penetrating, unnerving. Diana pondered whether she found him charming or arrogant.

  “If you wish,” he answered.

  “I think I prefer Edward.”

  “May I call you Diana?”

  “Of course.”

  Their formal banter reminded her of a tennis match, with the ball trading sides of the court. She was struck by the man’s charisma. He was as handsome as any leading man. The wrinkles etched on his face only made him more appealing. The hard-drinking detective in a noir film, struggling to stay on the wagon. The lone gunfighter taking on the bad guys, squinting into the sun. She understood how a woman like Jeannine Highsmith became obsessed.

  Diana didn’t have to touch Slater to sense the mass of contradictions. A man who claimed he wanted nothing sexual, yet he exuded a raw sensuality, a powerful magnetism, as if drawing in a woman were on his agenda, but it clearly wasn’t, as in the case of Highsmith. Was he still trying to prove his maleness? There was no denying his allure. Diana disliked the effect he had on her.

  He leaned over and extracted two bottles of water from a small fridge next to him and offered her one. When she nodded, he placed it on the desk. She smiled at his continued reluctance to touch her and noted he kept a barrier between them. He looked relaxed and comfortable in jeans a light blue button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up.

  “You were going to tell me why you didn't think I’d call,” Diana said.

  “Obvious. Lieutenant Lucier, of course. You two are together, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t think he likes me very much.” Slater waited, letting a long moment pass before speaking. He wore the same half-way smile. “You and I have a connection he’s not part of, or didn’t you notice?”

  He drove straight to the point, and the point made Diana even more uneasy. “I wouldn’t put it that way, and I wish you wouldn’t either.”

  “How would you put it? He’s not comfortable in certain areas. Higher planes of thinking, for instance. Your lieutenant may be good at what he does, but I think he’s out of your league.”

  Diana forced a smile. “Why, Edward, you’re an intellectual snob.” He didn’t refute her, and she figured he probably agreed. “We all have different areas of expertise. You must judge yourself above mere humans? Has the mythology of the gods gone to your head?” Diana noticed a crack in his composure. Did she strike a nerve?

  “My pursuits are entirely philosophical.”

  Diana wanted to contradict him, but it would be like fueling a fire that burned out long ago, with no chance of reigniting. Still…

  “You came here because you’re curious about me. You wanted to know what it’s like to go to hell and back.”

  Again, to the point. The man didn’t waffle. “Yes.”

  “Mine is just one experience. Hell is different for everyone.” He didn’t flinch. “Have you been to hell?”

  Dozens of pictures flashed through her mind. Visions she hoped had been filed away forever. Images of carnage she wasn’t supposed to see but sometimes did. Visions her father failed to protect from her.

  “Yes, many times through someone else, and one time recently through my own experience. Certainly not as intense as what you’ve been through, nor as constant, but hell nevertheless.”

  “Yes, that must have been a terrible experience.”

  Diana thought back to her captor’s Adonis-like face, not unlike the man before her, and picked up on her inadvertent reference to another mythological god. “Yes, I looked in the face of evil, and I’ll never forget it. But sometimes evil is developed through personal history. Others made him the way he was. I doubt he was born that way.”

  “Interesting. What about the other times?”

  “My journeys took me into people’s minds. Places I didn’t want to go, but I had no choice.”

  Slater leaned across the desk, closing the space between them. “Could you have stopped if you wanted?”

  His scent, Patchouli, she thought, wafted off the heat of his body, and the room suddenly felt as if all the air had escaped. Rattled, she leaned back in her chair and squirmed from the situation in which she’d put herself. “No, not once I found a connection to the missing person.”

  “Did you always locate that person?”

  She shook her head. “No, regrettably.”

  “But most of the time.”

  “I revealed clues that led to their discovery. Is that why you don’t want to touch me
?”

  “I’m not lost,” he said. “Not anymore.”

  “But you want me to know about you. Why?”

  Slater’s expression hardened, his mouth rigid, and for the first time he took his eyes off her. “Because I’ve never been able to talk about it. You don’t strike me as judgmental.”

  “Why would anyone judge the course you took?”

  “It’s ugly.” Now Slater tensed, his jaw a series of clenches. He slunk further back in his chair and closed his eyes. “Remember, I was twenty-one, brought up in a rather restrictive atmosphere. I’d discovered women and they me. I have some wear and tear on me now―life has a way of showing, doesn’t it?―but at the time I was considered quite good looking. I had no trouble attracting women.”

  Slater paused. There was nothing innocent about the sensual way he looked at her, whether he meant it or not. Diana felt the heat rise to her cheeks, the thrumming of her heart. The moisture in her mouth disappeared. No, Edward Slater would have no trouble attracting women. Even now with the wear and tear. If he noticed her discomfort, he didn’t let on.

  “I doubt I would have pursued a career in the ministry. I loved God, but I loved other things too. Things that would have conflicted with the life of a preacher.”

  Again he stopped and studied her. She forced herself to sit still, eager to hear the rest of his story.

  “I began to think about teaching philosophy and decided to change majors when my whole world came crashing down. That disease.” He stopped for a long moment, took a deep breath. “It couldn’t be happening to me, I thought. There must be some mistake. Penile cancer is an old man’s disease, not the curse of a twenty-one-year old. My choices weren’t very appealing. I had the surgery. I lost weight, my hair fell out, and I was in tremendous pain, both physically and psychologically. I wanted to die, to disappear off the face of the earth.” He sat statue still, the only movement a slight tic at the corner of his mouth. “So I did.”

  She tried to ignore the effect of his penetrating eyes, and for the first time questioned whether she should have come. “Where did you go? I mean, you had family. I’m sure they were concerned.”