by Polly Iyer
Maia didn’t remember her mother’s slide into depression. She remembered her mother’s touch, her smell, her warmth. Silas was right. She and Dione were babies, but her memories were strong nevertheless.
“I couldn’t reach her,” Silas said. “Maybe I should have been more understanding, but compassion doesn’t come easily for me. In fact, until I met Selene I never felt much of anything. Work was my lover, ambition my driving force.”
Maia pulled herself up, her face still searing from the brutal slap. “Oh, and Selene taught you how to love? How touching.” She went behind the bar and poured a vodka straight, drank it, and poured another. “Did she teach you to love or to fuck so you could father her babies, my half-sisters, all of whom she spirited away to the compound as soon as she drilled the basic teachings into them? The Cranes picked a brilliant man, eager to do anything for money, and you willingly became her sex slave.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Silas said, pointing his finger and speaking in the tone that had always paralyzed her with fear. “Selene gave me a reason to live, to love. I’d been numb to everything before then.”
She let out a strangled snort. The vodka burned her throat. A welcome burn, as if the scorching pain might erase her years of acquiescence. Maybe if she drank enough she’d be like her father was, before, and wouldn’t feel anything, remember less. She added ice and sipped the drink.
“How wonderful for you, Father. All during that time, you never gave one thought to what Dione or I wanted from our lives. Selene mesmerized you to ignore that she was pimping us out to the sons of the group so we could bear their children to populate your so-called new order. No different than Hitler’s vision of a master race.” She paced the room, staring at the floor. “Why didn’t I see what was happening? Why didn’t I stop it?”
“Because it’s right,” Silas answered. “Not for everyone, I admit, but it is for us.”
No, it isn’t. She’d already said enough to seal her fate, still she couldn’t stop. “And you covered up our pregnancies by sending us away on phony business trips. Dione and I have five children between us, and after we gave these innocents nourishment, after we bonded with them and loved them, they were taken from us as if we were unfit mothers.” Her head spun, but she took a long swallow of vodka anyway.
“They’re your grandchildren.” Hot tears flooded her eyes as she remembered the warmth of the babies she cradled in her arms. “They’re not even being raised by their own blood.”
His voice softened as if he needed to convince her in a sane manner. But he wasn’t sane. Silas Compton had lost all sanity the day he met Selene Crane and her parents.
“You make it sound ugly. We’re not creating a master race. We’re not killing anyone. We’re only separating ourselves, evolving into a culture of intellectually gifted men and women, steeped in spirituality and sexual pleasure, without the restraints of God.”
“But with the tentacles of Satan.”
“Not tentacles, Maia. Liberation.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
A Little Twist of the Knife
“I waited until today because of the holiday, Captain,” Lucier said as he took a seat in his captain’s office. Jack Craven was a fair and honest boss in a city wracked with problems. After Diana’s ordeal, he’d forced Lucier to take time off―time he’d refused when he lost his family.
Lucier proceeded to explain what Meade and Hall claimed had happened yesterday at Silas Compton’s house in what the department now secretly called the Satan Baby Kidnappings Case.
“There’d be hell to pay if that codename ever got out,” Craven said.
“Bound to leak sooner or later. This place is like a sieve. Jake Griffin must have someone on his payroll to get the stories he writes for the paper.”
“If I ever find out who, there’ll be hell to pay.”
“I wanted to check with you before I question Maia Compton. Her father is not a man to treat lightly. I don’t want to bring the wrath of his lawyers down on us.”
“You have to talk to her, Ernie, Compton’s daughter or not. Those men made an accusation, and even though it sounds hokey as hell, they weren’t on drugs. You said yourself their story meshed with Ms. Racine’s. We can’t ignore the connection.
“Furthermore, they admitted they planned to steal Compton’s paintings. Why would they implicate themselves in a theft if they weren’t telling the truth? Maybe they thought they saw what they said, maybe they saw it. Either way, a meeting in a private residence is not illegal. Still, if she lured them into a robbery, you have to follow up.”
Lucier leaned back in the visitor’s chair and blew out a breath. “That’s the way I see it. I’m sure this will be a case of he said, she said.”
“Be careful. Call the daughter first. Make an appointment.”
Lucier got up, headed for the door. “Will do.”
“Hanging out with some pretty lofty company, huh, Ernie?”
“Me? I’m too low on the totem pole. They’re interested in Diana. I just tag along.”
“Compounded with the house on Parkside Avenue, this is beginning to sound like Compton and his gang might be dabbling in the black arts. What’s your read on this?”
“If he is, like you said, it’s none of our business. If he’s involved in kidnapping babies, it sure as hell is.” He started for the door and turned around. “Do you believe in coincidences, Captain?”
“Yeah, I do. I’ve seen too many of them not to. But I still like to check them out.”
“Me too.”
Lucier decided to do more than check. Holding a list of names in front of him, he called Diana. “You think Jason might do a little more digging for you? For me, really, but I don’t want to run the search through the department. Man like Compton might have someone on the payroll.”
“You mean a cop on the take?” Diana asked.
“Not necessarily. A little under-the-table appreciation wouldn’t be unheard of, though. Money talks, or haven’t you heard? Will Jason help us?”
“He’ll jump at the chance. He’s bored stiff at his tech job.”
Lucier read off a list of names he wanted Jason to check, beginning with Phillip and Cybele Crane. “Also, see what he can find out about Compton’s first marriage and his wife’s suicide.”
“What’s going on, Ernie?”
“I don’t know, but this is more than some rich people dabbling in the occult. Maybe Maia Compton can clue us in. She seemed willing to get at her father for reasons known only to her. How far will she go?”
“I’ll call Jason,” Diana said and hung up.
When Lucier called Compton International, Maia Compton’s secretary said that she left two days before on a troubleshooting assignment out of the country and probably wouldn’t be back for at least a month. How could Maia Compton have invited those two bozos into her house yesterday when she’d supposedly left the country?
He cradled the receiver and let out a long breath. This was becoming more complicated by the minute. Beecher tapped on his door and came in without waiting for an invitation.
“Doesn’t your wife check you out before you leave the house?” Lucier asked, pointing at Beecher’s disheveled shirt. “Look at you. You’re falling apart.”
Beecher gazed down at himself. “I don’t know, Ernie. I don’t look like this when I leave in the morning. Something happens during the day. A poltergeist must be following me around, messing me up.”
Lucier laughed while the big man smoothed his shirt into the waistband of his pants.
“What are we going to do with those two from yesterday?” Beecher asked. “We can’t hold them without charges, not that they’re anxious to leave.”
“We’ve got time. Have they lawyered up?”
“Not yet, but when they stop shitting their pants, even those two will think of it.”
“Let me know when they do.” Lucier rubbed his temple and leaned back in his chair. “I tried to make an appointment
with Maia Compton, but her secretary said she left on a troubleshooting assignment the day after Diana and I met her at Compton’s and probably wouldn’t be back for a month. That means she couldn’t have set up those two idiots to steal the paintings because she wasn’t in town. Convenient, wouldn’t you say?”
“Well, ya. Shouldn’t be hard to confirm. All we have to do is check the airline manifests.”
“Compton International has its own fleet of jets, remember? They can go anywhere they damn well please.”
“They still have to file a flight plan. Every plane does.”
“Don’t think a man like Silas Compton can’t make things look like he wants. One of his planes could have flown to the Mid-East that day. Who’s to say Maia Compton wasn’t on it if he wanted her to be?
“Meanwhile, I’ll make an appointment to see Compton. Wanna bet his family was at a July Fourth get-together yesterday and no one was at home? And wanna bet a dozen people will swear to it.”
* * * * *
Diana got up that morning, made coffee, and sat down to read the paper, but her mind wandered hopelessly. She felt rotten about her last meeting with Slater. So rotten, in fact, she resisted telling Lucier, because she was at a loss to explain her reaction. Not to him. Not to herself. So when Slater called, Diana couldn’t contain her surprise.
“I overreacted,” he said. “I was presumptuous and totally out of line suggesting we had a relationship of any kind. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“No, it was my fault.” She almost said she had hit below the belt and caught herself before she turned a common idiom into an indignity. “I was the one out of line. I guess after thirty years of my father telling me what I think, I rebelled when you told me what I supposedly knew.”
“You were right. Tell me, do I come across as an arrogant charlatan?”
“The Brother Osiris bit might be a little much, but I can relate. Remember, you’re talking to someone who’s spent the last twenty years of her life entertaining to make a living. We use whatever works.”
“I hope I don’t rise to the level of entertainer―no offense intended―but I hope I’m a bit more subtle. That covers the charlatan part; what about arrogant?”
“How much truth can you handle, Edward?”
“Now I’m afraid to say anything you might misconstrue, but your opinion matters.”
Diana couldn’t help smiling at how cautiously both she and Slater measured their words. She always prescribed to the idea that if someone asked her a question, they deserved an honest answer.
“Okay, you’re very sure of yourself. I don’t know if that rises to the level of arrogance, but it’s close. Lately, I’ve been right there with you. My behavior to Silas Compton the other night made you look like an amateur. You called it. I was baiting him. If that’s not arrogance, I don’t know what is.” Diana paused. “Let’s change the subject. You’re sorry; I’m sorry. We have a lot in common, and if we have any relationship at all, how about calling it a budding friendship? I’m not interested in anything more, and neither are you. You’re an interesting man, and you’ve confided in me, as a friend, personal facts about your life. We’ll go from there.”
“Sounds good. How about I invite you to the mission for lunch to make amends? I’ve hired a new cook who does a mean down-home meatloaf. Best I ever tasted. It isn’t Emeril’s but it doesn’t cost as much either. Besides, I have something to tell you, something to show you, and something to give you.”
She could hear the smile in his words and found herself smiling in return. “Sounds like triple intrigue. What time?”
“Noon? And don’t worry, we’ll have lunch in the office.”
“Eating family-style wouldn’t bother me. I’ve done it plenty of times. See you at noon.”
Diana hung up and debated calling Lucier. He didn’t see Edward Slater objectively. She wondered if she did.
* * * * *
Lucier made an appointment to meet Compton at his downtown headquarters, situated on the top floor of a fashionable high rise. He was greeted by an attractive secretary who announced his presence to Compton, then ushered him into the industrialist’s office.
Lucier expected antique furniture, Oriental rugs, and gilt-edged leather books, but instead found Compton’s office decor elegantly contemporary. Taking up most of the floor’s area was a rug designed to co-ordinate with the vibrant painting on one wall. He checked the signature. Kandinsky. A brushed steel sculpture braced the front of a massive desk with a glass top that seemed to float over side panels of exotic wood. Two modern chrome and leather chairs faced the desk that held a laptop computer. Nothing else. Not even a sheet of paper. Light filtered in from a picture window that showcased the magnificent view of the Mississippi and the twin spans of the Crescent City Connection bridges.
Nice to be king.
Compton was on the phone. He waved Lucier inside and extended a waiting finger. When he hung up, he rose and held out his hand, which Lucier took.
“Lieutenant, what a pleasure. Have a seat.”
“Your desk puts me to shame,” Lucier said, sitting down. “I can barely see the top of mine for all the papers.”
“That’s because I have a secretary who’s an OCD neat freak. I give the orders; she does the work.” He walked to a banquet where a silver coffee service sat on a matching tray.
Lucier recognized the distinct set from an art exhibit some years before. He couldn’t remember the designer, but he remembered the price tag, which was more than many yearly wages. He figured a famous artisan created the sculptured desk, but he didn’t know who.
“Coffee?” Compton asked.
“No, thanks. I’ve had my two cups already.”
“You don’t mind if I do?”
“Of course not.”
Compton poured coffee into a plain white china mug, decorated with the company logo, and sat down.
“You’re probably wondering why I’m here,” Lucier said.
“It crossed my mind, Ernie. May I still call you Ernie, or is this an official visit?”
“Ernie’s fine, and it’s semi-official. About your daughter.”
Compton didn’t blink. “Which one?”
“Maia. Two men leveled a rather bizarre accusation against her, and I can’t seem to get in touch with her to clear it up. Her office said she was out of the country.”
“That’s right. I sent Maia to placate one of our Saudi associates. Something about construction on a complex he wasn’t happy about. She’s my best negotiator when it comes to this particular sheik. He likes her manner and blonde hair. I’m not above using her attributes to smooth things over.” He trained a steady gaze at Lucier. “Now, what accusation did these men make against her?”
Lucier returned Compton’s pause with one of his own. “Can you tell me when she left the country?”
“The day after our get-together,” Compton said, as if anticipating the question. “I’ve answered all your questions. I’d appreciate if you’d answer mine. What accusation?”
“The two men in question said she invited them into your home yesterday to steal your paintings, and they interrupted a meeting in the lower level of your house. A rather strange meeting, they said.”
Compton emitted a deep belly laugh before he spoke. “Really. And this was supposed to have taken place yesterday, July Fourth, you say?”
“That’s what they said.”
Compton’s face lightly flushed, but he kept his composure. “Maia had already left for the Middle East, and because we had the day off, we were at the lake home of my in-laws. You’ve met my daughter, Ernie. Does she seem the type who’d invite men into our home? Into my home? Hardly a likely scenario, don’t you think? Who are these liars?”
“Some locals looking to cash in. I guess they picked the wrong story to tell. To clear up this nonsense, which flight did your daughter take out of the country?”
An involuntary twitch rippled Compton’s cheek. He didn’t like being questio
ned, but he covered his irritation well, burying the tic under a cold smile.
“She flew overseas on one of Compton International’s private jets. I can give you the flight time and you can check with the airport, which is surely your next request.”
“I’m being thorough, Mr. Compton. This is one of those times when my job puts me in an awkward position, but that’s what I’m paid to do.” Lucier stared unblinkingly at Compton. “Your tax dollars at work. I’m sure you understand.” Yeah, taxes you find every possible way to avoid.
He nodded agreement, but his eyes grew narrow before he glanced down and tugged at something hidden behind the desk. So that’s where the drawer is. Lucier marveled at the innovative design and concluded one advantage of being rich is having articles designed and made especially for you.
Compton caught his interest. “Clever, isn’t it? This desk was designed by Sophia Reyes. I mentioned she’s a designer, didn’t I?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
“The sculpture is by a local artist. Sophia devised a drawer in back to hold a few pads of paper and writing utensils. It’s hidden by the panel of black glass fused to the desktop. A work of art in itself.”
“Absolutely.”
Compton took out a card and handed it to Lucier. “My pilot’s number is on this card. You can call him and verify the flight plan. If that isn’t enough, you can check with air traffic control at the airport. They’ll confirm the plane left two days ago for the Middle East. Long before those hoodlums decided to taint my daughter’s good name.”
Lucier read the card. “Thank you. I’m sure his confirmation will clear this up.”
“As if my word wouldn’t?”
The icy tone of Compton’s voice sent a sharp chill through Lucier. He didn’t say anything but met the man’s stare with one of his own.
