“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, as usual. But if you’re getting out, so am I.”
Lowell laughed.
“On tomorrow’s open, I want you to sell ten December gold at the market and twenty December silver, and buy fifty November beans market with a stop at, hold on a minute,” he grabbed a piece of paper, “put the stop at twelve-forty.”
Roger repeated the order for confirmation.
“Done. I’ll email you the fills.”
“Thanks, Roger. We’ll have lunch soon, I promise. Oh, and please send half of this month’s profits to the ASPCA, as usual. Thanks.”
He hung up and worked for a while, occasionally nibbling at his sandwich until the intercom buzzed.
He picked up the phone. “Yes, Sarah, what is it?”
“You have a visitor.”
“I’m much too busy to see anyone without an appointment. And it’s getting near the end of the day.”
He clicked off the intercom and went back to work. It buzzed again.
“Yes, Sarah, what is it this time?”
“You, uh that is, um…”
Lowell sighed. “All right, Sarah,” he sighed, “send them in.”
The door opened and a woman entered. She smiled and nodded at him and then walked over to the turtle tank without saying a word.
Lowell turned his swivel chair around and watched her.
She was so beautiful, standing there next to the window, the afternoon sun blazing around her dark brown hair like an angel’s aura. She looked out the window at the unobstructed view of the Empire State Building glistening in the distance, so magnificent, so unreal.
“I always loved this view,” she said. “It makes me feel like I’m inside a postcard, or one of those things you shake to make snow.”
She absently petted the turtles.
She turned and faced him.
She looks older, he thought, more mature, more distinguished.
At five-eleven, she carried herself with a graceful-awkwardness. Her pinstriped business suit looked new.
They both remained mute, the silence quite maddening to Lowell.
Finally she said: “I want to hire you.”
“That’s it? No hello?”
“Hello, Dad,” she smiled. “I want to hire you.”
Chapter Two
The suite of offices that housed the Starlight Detective Agency consisted of the reception area and three private offices: one for Lowell; another for Mort, his assistant; and one they used as a conference room.
Lowell’s office had a large private bathroom with an oversized tub and shower and a compact but completely modern kitchen hidden behind one of the doors. While on a case, Lowell would often spend several days and nights here so he wouldn’t be distracted. The couch was a pull-out with a king-size orthopedic mattress.
Lowell looked at his watch and then got up to take his coffee cup to the kitchen.
Melinda watched her father walk across the room. “You’re wearing a turtleneck color I haven’t seen before. And your jeans look new, too.”
Lowell had a wardrobe that consisted of three dozen different turtlenecks of various colors and fabric weight. And he wore jeans that, against all convention, he had pressed with a sharp crease down the front and back. His shoes were always loafers. He hated laces.
Lowell looked down, and gave out a sigh. “Yes, I had to give in and buy some jeans one size larger. It was painful to do. But enough chatter. I’m done for the day, Melinda. If you don’t have plans, why don’t you join me for dinner at home and you can tell me about the case?”
“You think I have no plans, dad? I’m a very busy woman.”
“He sighed. “I know. Maybe you could indulge your lonely father.”
“I’m teasing you. I would love to go uptown. I could use a bottle of beer from your precious collection. You still have my favorite, Old Peculiar?”
“I am trying to drink less beer and more red wine. For my health.” Lowell smiled, made a quick call, turned off his computers, and grabbed his leather jacket.
Outside, a black limo was idling and a guy straight out of a “Join the Marines” commercial stood alongside.
“Hello, Andy.” Melinda smiled at the driver her father had hired a few years ago after a particularly threatening case.
“Melinda, how nice to see you.” Andy tipped his hat slightly.
Melinda noticed the bulge of the holster under the left arm of Andy’s suit jacket and shuddered slightly. She hoped the case she had to tell her father about wouldn’t require hardware.
***
Twenty minutes later they were sitting in the backyard of his townhouse on Ninety-third Street. Lowell had installed high walls made of wide pine slabs on three sides to guarantee at least a modicum of privacy in a very public city. Although Melinda always felt like she was sitting in a cardboard box, it formed a pleasant hideaway in Manhattan. The garden that circled the patio was always beautifully planted by Julia, Lowell’s live-in housekeeper, who considered it her own private piece of earth and tended it with loving care.
It was a beautiful November evening, although still quite warm. They both had taken their jackets off and draped them over the high-backed wrought-iron chairs that sat around a round glass-topped table.
David cracked the screw-top on a bottle of merlot, inserted an aerating spout, and poured them each a glass.
“Father, screw-tops? You?”
“I am changing with the times, and there is less spoilage than on the cork.” Lowell sampled the wine and savored it for a moment. “And how have you been?”
“I’ve been okay, dad. You look a little tired.”
He laughed. “Strange case. Sad case, too. Today is my first day in weeks back to a semblance of normal.”
“I read about it in the papers. So rich, so famous, yet it still didn’t help, did it?”
“Even the rich can die horrible deaths.”
She nodded.
“And speaking of money…” he said, reaching for his wallet.
“I don’t need any more money,” she barked. “I happen to make a living. And I wish you’d stop putting it into my checking account. I’ve changed banks three times and you still find me. How do you do it?”
He remained motionless.
“It’s Mort, isn’t it? He hacks in and finds my new accounts. Well, cut it out. I don’t need your money and I don’t want it.”
“But it’s all for you anyway. That’s why I earned it, for you kids, and your mother.”
“Well she’s perfectly happy to take it. Why don’t you just give her my share?”
He sighed. “You know, money isn’t good or evil. It’s what you do with it that decides.”
“Maybe, but I haven’t seen it do much good in my line of work.”
She looked at her father. He was thick and sturdy, built like a wrestler. But he was showing just the beginnings of a slight paunch.
“Where’s Julia?” Melinda asked.
“Night off. Now, tell me about the case.”
“Well, my client is Johnny Colbert, a bartender with no money. It’s pro bono, and since I’m the most junior associate…”
“…you got assigned it. It’ll be good experience. So what have you got for me?”
She pulled a manila envelope from her bag, opened it and handed him a few pages.
“Here is the birth chart: born January 26, 1971, at 5:31 p.m. in Stewville, Indiana.”
Lowell picked up the astrology chart and began scrutinizing it.
“What do you think?” asked his daughter. “Anything unusual about it?
“Actually, I think this is a very unusual and quite active chart. This is certainly a person of high energy and with a possible dual
ity in the personality.”
“Is there anything that stands out, or surprises you?”
“Remember, there are limits to what a birth chart can show you.”
“I understand,” said Melinda, with some disappointment.
“For example, it doesn’t necessarily tell me that ‘Johnny’ Colbert is a woman, probably born Joanna or Jeannie.”
Melinda perked up.
“But how…”
“A combination of things. For one thing, what I read as a dual personality may very well manifest as a male who is too female or a female who is too male. The inner pressure this person feels may very well be a result of his sexual identity, but it in no way implies his sexual orientation. A woman with this chart would have to contend with the contradictions and aggressive personality this would create, and may decide to take a traditionally male name.”
He sipped his wine.
“But mostly I knew Johnny was a girl because of you.”
“Me?”
“Of course. How you acted. Your insistence that there was something hidden made me view things from a slightly different perspective. And once I did that it became fairly obvious. Besides, it has always been tempting for you to test me in such a childish manner.”
“Oh, dad.”
“What’s she charged with?”
“Killing a judge. Two days ago. It’s all over the papers. You really have been out of touch.”
Lowell put the astrology chart down.
“Killing a judge? What judge?”
“I don’t think you knew her. Her name was Farrah Winston.”
“No, I never heard of her. What court?”
“Debt claims. Lower Manhattan.”
“Hmm, I’m guessing a Republican.”
“That’s right. How did you…”
“Wasn’t she a little young to be a judge?”
“Now how could you possibly…oh I see,” said Melinda, nodding her head. “Farrah didn’t come into popularity as a girl’s name until the mid seventies, when Farrah Fawcett was a star, so she would only be in her thirties. And since she is so young, unless she was recently named to the bench you’re assuming she had to be appointed within the twelve years that the governor was a Republican, ergo…”
“That’s my girl.”
She smiled at the condescending accolade despite herself.
“You’ll notice,” she pointed to the client’s chart, “that Johnny has a stellium in Sagittarius with Mars in between Jupiter and Neptune. Wouldn’t you think she flips between ego grandiosity and terrible self-doubt?”
“I think that’s a very good analysis of those aspects.”
“So, do you think she has the ego to murder someone?”
“If it were only that simple. Anyone can murder given the right motivation and circumstances. The chart may tell us how they would go about doing it.”
Lowell picked up the chart again and pointed.
“She may not have the ego, but she certainly has the temper. See, she’s got Mercury and Uranus in a very tight square, showing a very explosive side to her personality. This is quite a complicated chart. First of all, there is that potent conjunct in Sagittarius, with the three planets extraordinarily close together. This shows great potential. The world was immersed in a rare and powerful moment on the days surrounding her birth. There are probably quite a number of her immediate contemporaries just waiting to explode. Some will do great things, others may do terrible things. But there’s much more here to consider.”
“Tell me.”
“Well,” he continued, “she is a Dark of the Moon baby, born in Aquarius right before the New Moon. What does that tell you?”
“That she’s always trying to finish up things or catch up to herself.”
“Right. What else?”
“She hides a lot of stuff.”
He nodded. “Exactly. There’s no light. It was literally dark when she was born, just before the new moon, and she lives her life in the shadows. Nobody really knows what she’s thinking until she decides to share it.”
“Someone else has that configuration in Aquarius. I remember looking at a chart recently. Who was it?”
“Our mayor.”
“Oh yes, how could I forget? You did a lecture on his political aspirations last year.”
“You were there?”
She laughed. “Sure. Sitting in the back where I hoped you couldn’t see me. You don’t mind, do you?”
“No. I’m glad you were there.”
“It was a great lecture,” said his daughter, with real pride.
Lowell almost smiled. “Okay, so Ms. Colbert has a hidden agenda. Let’s go see her tomorrow and try and find out what that is.”
Chapter Three
Riker’s Island is a dark and cold place and, Lowell felt, made to look even more sinister than was necessary. He pitied the poor bastards without enough money for bail. Even the innocent were forced to stay in this hell hole for weeks, or even months, awaiting justice if they lacked funds. Even crueler, guests of the prison had a clear view of LaGuardia Airport, so they got to see and hear free folks jetting around the world at their leisure 24/7. Lowell thought that a choice between another plane trip and a day in lock-up might be a toss-up for him, and jail food might be better.
Being the attorney of record and by arriving first thing in the morning, Melinda got them in quickly. They sat silently in a small, bare room with a metal table and four chairs. After a few minutes the door opened and a female guard led the client in, and then stood at the door out of earshot but quite present.
“Hello, Johnny,” said Melinda. “This is my father.”
“How do you do,” said Lowell.
“Not so great at the moment,” replied Johnny, as she sat. A tattoo of a lion’s tail was visible under her sleeve, as was the result of hundreds of hours in the gym.
“Did you kill her?” asked Lowell.
“Father!”
“Well, did you? I haven’t got all day to waste if you’re guilty.”
Johnny got red in the face. She stood up and leaned over the table. The guard made a move in their direction. Lowell held up his hand and waved the guard back.
“Fuck you,” Johnny said. “I never hurt anyone in my life who wasn’t trying to hurt me first.”
“Maybe so, but you’ve got a temper. Sit down.”
Johnny sat.
“Yes, I do,” she said, breathing deeply and trying to regain her composure.
Lowell turned to his daughter. “I had to see it upfront.”
“I’m sorry,” said Johnny. “I don’t usually lose it so quickly. You try keeping your cool in a cellblock with fifty psychotic women screaming all the time. I haven’t slept since I got here.”
Lowell picked up Johnny’s chart and showed it to Melinda. “Remember, Mercury squares Uranus, giving her a sharp tongue. She’s nervous, impetuous, and probably accident-prone. Ever hurt your ankles?” he asked her.
“Yeah, as a matter of fact I did when I was a kid. Cracked my left ankle so bad I couldn’t play sports much. It never healed properly. It still gives me trouble if I stand too long in one place. Great injury for a bartender, huh?”
“Car accident?”
“Yeah, my father was driving and some asshole cut us off. I slammed into the windshield and twisted my leg, breaking the bones.”
Lowell turned to his daughter.
“Mercury rules cars,” said Melinda.
“And?”
“And Uranus rules the ankles as well as sudden events.”
Lowell smiled.
“So, you’re like, an astrologist?” asked Johnny.
“I prefer astrologer.”
“Wow. This shit really works? Can you f
ucking believe it?”
Lowell frowned.
“All right, so let’s say you didn’t do it. You were in her courtroom two days before she was killed. Why?”
“I was being sued by several collection agencies.”
“Several?”
“I got into some financial difficulty over the last few years and couldn’t get out from under, that’s all.”
“And there was some trouble in the court?”
“I, uh, well that is… I pretty much accused her of taking bribes from the collection agencies and she didn’t take too kindly to my ideas. The bitch cited me for contempt and put me in lockup for the rest of the day.”
“Was your language liberally peppered with expletives?”
“What?”
“My father wants to know if you were swearing in front of the judge,” said Melinda.
“Oh, fuck no. I show respect when it’s called for. At least I did until those rat bastards started snowballing me.”
Lowell shook his head. “This wasn’t the first time you were in front of Judge Winston?”
“No. I was in her courtroom three other times before. I owed money on a lot of credit cards.”
“So what made you accuse her this time?”
Johnny rubbed her neck and stretched. “I don’t know. I was hung over and hadn’t slept much. And she was just letting them get away with all sorts of illegal bullshit and I just didn’t feel like taking it anymore.”
“We’ll get to that later.” He picked up the chart. “After you got yourself into financial difficulty you tried to bail yourself out. But it didn’t work out the way you planned, did it?”
“I don’t know what you mean?”
“What you really did was give in to your problem, didn’t you?”
“Problem,” said Melinda, “what problem?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Johnny.
Lowell picked up the client’s birth chart and turned to his daughter.
Murder in the Eleventh House Page 2
