Blossom smiled at Rocco. “I can imagine the purpose of your visit, Chief Herbert. Mr. Wentworth has a son or daughter who has become one of my disciples, and he’s requested that you intercede.”
“We have another purpose.”
“A scarf of a thousand threads and a hachimaki,” Lyon said before the picture frame.
“Ah, you recognize them, Mr. Wentworth. One of the few mementos brought from my native country.”
“They are very rare,” Lyon said. “I understand that most of them were destroyed with the …”
“With the death of the wearer. Indeed, that was usually the case.”
“A relative?”
“No, mine. When I volunteered for the Divine Wind, as an officer of the Imperial Japanese Navy, my friends and relatives aided in the preparation of my scarf of a thousand threads.”
“I don’t believe I’ve met a Kamikaze pilot before.”
“Kamikaze?” Rocco asked.
Blossom laughed. “No, Chief. Reincarnation is not one of my bits. I was indeed a Kamikaze pilot in 1945. My most honorable and venerable grandfather talked me into it. The dirty bastard almost got me killed.”
“I find it rather unusual that you’re still here,” Lyon said.
“Not really so miraculous. I joined the group in May 1945. My squadron was poised for destruction of the American fleet at the time they invaded the homeland. As we all know, that never happened, and the remaining Kamikaze pilots survived. There were a few die-hards in the squadron who wished to dive on the Missouri during the signing of the articles of surrender, but members of the royal family were able to dissuade them. So you see, gentlemen, my life was spared through the intervention of a man-made blossom.”
“The atomic bomb,” Lyon said.
“Yes. The destruction of Hiroshima and Nagasaki showed me the way. I knew then, in a brilliant flash of godly intuition, the fate of the world and my purpose in it.”
“Which is?”
“The world will destroy itself, of course.” As Blossom talked he became filled with a deep intensity and an almost beatific look. “Yes, the world will die in 1982. In a multitude of brilliant blossoms, the world will perish, and only the chosen will survive.”
“Through your intervention?”
“Oh, no. I am a practical man. Through the inhabitation of deep caves in the abandoned Colorado mines. We are already arranging the purchase of our shelters. The people of the Blossom will survive and populate the earth with a true feeling of brotherhood.”
“If the earth is going to destroy itself, why the great interest in acquiring material things?”
“Like money, Mr. Wentworth?”
“Exactly.”
“The purchase even of abandoned mines and all the necessary accouterments for prolonged existence requires money. Just as we view the atomic wars to come as a real possibility, we are pragmatic in our fund-raising efforts. We live in complete love, and we invest as wisely as my meditation allows.”
“Such as a one-fourth interest in the Darling Corporation?”
“I expect that ultimately that will be quite lucrative.”
“Particularly with Giles and Esposito dead.”
“God moves in mysterious ways.”
“Doesn’t the reduction of your investment group through murder bother you?”
“You may have noticed that we have excellent security here at the house of the Blossom. No, it doesn’t bother me. My disciples will defend me—to the death if necessary.”
“You knew Tom Giles?” Rocco asked.
“But of course. He was our attorney, arranged our incorporation in this state and the purchase of this property, and we were partners in the Darling Corporation.”
“And Sal Esposito?”
“I never met the man. I knew the name, and that he was a co-investor in our land deal, but the papers were signed separately, and we never met.”
“Where were you the night of the murders?” Rocco snapped.
“Here, at the house of the Blossom.”
“Can you verify that?”
“Of course. As I recall, I was receiving two new members, brothers Early and Winston. When new members join the brotherhood, I like to spend a good deal of time with them for initial orientation. We have marathon sessions of meditation and prayer.”
“For the time of both murders?”
“Yes. The same brothers.”
“I’d like to talk to them,” Rocco said.
Dr. Blossom sighed. “The media and so many in authority doubt my veracity. It’s a pity, you know. My message of survival should not go unnoticed.”
“I’d like the message from brothers Early and Winston,” Rocco said.
“Of course.” Blossom pressed a recessed button on the side of his chair, and a robed figure appeared instantly in the doorway. Blossom rose and extended his arms outward as the beatific look returned. “Oh, dear brother, would you bring brothers Early and Winston to me?”
“Yes, Reverend.”
“I would prefer to speak with them alone,” Rocco said.
“I would have imagined that would be your procedure. I shall leave you.”
Brothers Winston and Early, their shaved heads glistening, sat stiffly upright on the edge of the settee. They reminded Lyon of first-day students sitting expectantly before him. He wondered what ingredients of naïveté, idealism and alienation had brought them here. Salvation is a heady brew; spice it with brotherhood and it becomes an intoxicant. A far cry from his own mild immersion in the clear waters of New England Unitarianism—a religion he recalled someone’s saying was a little bit about love, a little bit about God, and mostly about Boston.
“Were you two together the day and evening of the thirtieth?” Rocco asked.
The two disciples exchanged bewildered glances. “Why do you want to know?” one asked.
“Which one are you?”
“Brother Winston.”
“I’ll ask the questions, Winston.”
“We are new disciples. It was our orientation period.”
“Together?”
“The two of us—and of course the Reverend.”
“And the evening of the sixth?”
“The same.”
“If you’re so concerned about us,” Winston said petulantly, “ask Dr. Blossom. We were with him. Are you trying to bust us?”
“You were with the doctor on both occasions?”
“Ask him.”
“I have,” Rocco said.
The Reverend Dr. Blossom took the earphones off and gently laid them on the table.
“I think those kids would lie to hell and back for their leader,” Rocco said from the driver’s seat.
“The Mouse in the Monastery,” Lyon replied. “This mouse has to proselytize the larger rats in order to save the books; the learning of the ages must be preserved.”
“Oh, Christ!” Rocco said and almost ran into the gates before they were opened.
Bea sat dejectedly in the breakfast nook as Robin perched on the kitchen counter, her arms akimbo. The young girl’s eyes flashed as they swept past Lyon leaning against the wall.
“Thanks a lot, you guys. You didn’t tell me I was going to be the only girl on that hulk.”
“I thought you’d enjoy that part,” Bea said. “ALL ALONE WITH MEN.”
“You need a new battery in your hearing aid,” Robin said.
Lyon thought he heard a deep internal rumble from his wife as she stiffened.
“Can you imagine what it’s like being seasick and having forty guys chase you over the rigging so they can show you how to tie square knots in the anchor locker?”
“Where’d you jump ship?” Lyon asked.
“Nantucket. And I hitched back.”
“What have you and Rocco been up to?” Bea asked.
“We’ll bring you up to date,” Lyon said as they filed into the study.
“I hope somebody hid the chalk,” Kim said.
Rocco and Lyon descri
bed their interviews with Damon and Dr. Blossom. Each man amended the other’s statements until the nuances and feel of the day’s conversations were apparent to everyone.
“YOU KNOW, IT’S A PRETTY DUMB THING FOR GARY MIDDLETON TO HAVE LEFT THE MURDER WEAPON AROUND SO IT COULD BE FOUND.”
“Without it, the State Police wouldn’t have enough to convict.”
“Then they aren’t taking the investigation any further?” Kim asked.
“No,” Rocco replied. “From this point on, all their efforts are directed toward building a case for the prosecution against Middleton and Karen Giles: developing witnesses to their affair, subpoenas for financial records, the ballistics evidence …”
“Couldn’t Damon Snow have left the party the night Esposito was killed, and then sneaked back? We might not have noticed.”
“I know he was here all that night,” Lyon said.
“Then it’s got to be Dr. Blossom and his crew of nuts,” Bea said.
“And he has two witnesses who are willing to swear they were with him at the time of both killings,” Rocco said.
“What about the Manson case?” Robin asked.
“How’s that?”
“They never actually proved that Manson killed anyone personally. Only that he directed his clan to do the killings. Couldn’t these so-called disciples of Dr. Blossom have been in the same position?”
“Without an informant, there’s no way to get near that type of conspiracy,” Rocco said.
“We have to infiltrate the Blossom people,” Lyon said.
Bea laughed. “I can see the newspapers now: Secretary of the state resigns, prominent children’s writer and local police chief throw over all to join Blossom people.”
“You’re not getting me into any white robes,” Kim said.
“I’ve seen them on the streets with their salad bowls,” Robin said. “The average age of those kids is nineteen.”
All eyes turned to the young girl sitting Indian-fashion on the floor.
“Did you say nineteen, dear?” Bea asked.
“Now, wait a minute!” Robin said, jumping to her feet. “That ship was bad enough, but you aren’t exiling me with a bunch of religious freaks.”
“You can wear your bikini under the robes,” Bea said with a smile.
11
“Can’t this hick town find a better place to have a meeting than this dump?” Captain Norbert picked up a shot glass and glared at the streaks along the sides.
Sarge Renfrow threw a damp bar rag and yelled, “Four cops in here don’t exactly help business, you know!”
Rocco waved. “Another round, Sarge.”
Norbert covered his glass with a palm. “We’ve got to get going. What else do you want to know?”
“How about putting surveillance on Dr. Blossom?”
“You’re the one who’s always yelling about jurisdictional rights. You do it.”
“In the first place, Norbie, I don’t have the manpower. And secondly, my men aren’t trained for that sort of work.”
“What do you have on Blossom?”
“Motive.”
“And an alibi for the time of both killings.”
“Yes, but that could be phony.”
Captain Norbert tapped Rocco’s badge. “You got as many years in this business as I do. You ought to know by this time that we can’t stake out everyone with a motive. We’d need the Russian army for manpower.”
“I think you have an obligation, Norb.”
“Bullshit! The prosecutor thinks he has a case, the grand jury will return an indictment, and my job is help them hang Giles and Middleton.”
“Wait a minute.”
They were off again, Lyon thought, as he twirled his glass and looked out the dusty barroom window. In a field across the street, two boys were flying a kite. It was a large one, shaped in the form of a black falcon, and the day’s quick breeze puffed it higher and higher. It bobbed and circled toward the radio station’s transmission tower, and if the boys let out more string, it was doomed to fatal entanglement in the steel girders.
The kite bobbed between two girders, weaved out once, and then was hopelessly caught above the ground. The larger of the boys tugged on the string until it snapped. His shoulders slumped as they both stared disconsolately at their entangled toy.
A vague thought began to nibble at the rim of Lyon’s consciousness. He reached for it, but it disappeared, leaving shadowy trails of a wispy but unformed conclusion. He would start at the beginning—He turned to see the two senior police officials shaking fingers at each other, while the two corporals fought to look impassive and choke back laughter. “I want to see the Esposito house again,” Lyon said.
Norbert turned to glare at him. “Will you keep out of my hair, Wentworth?”
“If he wants to see it, let him,” Rocco said. “Sometimes he comes up with things.”
“Wouldn’t if I could. The special task force on organized crime has the house sealed. Forget it.”
“Where’s the houseboy? What’s his name?”
“Koyota,” Rocco said. “You want his home address?”
“Uh huh,” Lyon said.
Lyon braked the Datsun behind two mopeds at the red light on the edge of the Murphysville green. He impatiently clenched and unclenched his fingers on the steering wheel while awaiting the turn of the light, and then he saw them at the corner. They stood by the main entrance of the Connecticut National Bank. While her partner extended his bowl toward passersby in a hostile and belligerent manner, Robin smiled, and the long white robe failed to hide the full dimensions of her figure. As Lyon watched, two men hesitated, stopped, and fished for coins.
A horn behind him honked and he threw the car into gear. Dr. Blossom had found his most effective beggar. He realized that he missed her, and he thumped the steering wheel to dispel the unwelcome visions. He must think only of the Japanese houseman and what he might learn from him.
Koyota, wearing a silk gown and a neatly tied ascot, opened the door and peered myopically at Lyon. He blinked in recognition. “Mr. Wentworth.”
“I wonder if I might talk with you a moment.”
He bowed. “I am at your service, but, most regrettably, at this time I have certain acquaintances present.”
“It’s most important.”
“I am at your service. Perhaps in”—he looked at a large chronometer strapped to his wrist—“an hour.”
“Hey, Snake, hurry up,” the deep feminine voice echoed from the rear of the apartment. Koyota threw up his hands in resignation and opened the door for Lyon.
The apartment was a large one-room efficiency with a Pullman kitchen. Two of the biggest women Lyon had ever seen reposed in the huge bed in the corner.
“We having a party, Snake?”
Houseman Koyota sank into a deep circular divan and crooked a finger over his shoulder. “Drink. Your preference, Mr. Wentworth?”
“A sherry if you have it.”
Koyota clicked his fingers, and immediately the women, dressed in panties and bras, slipped into peignoirs and began to mix drinks. They were amazons, and Lyon found it difficult to keep his eyes off the six-foot blondes. He began to speculate about the small man in the ascot and the large women, but abandoned these thoughts for the business at hand.
“What did you wish, Mr. Wentworth? My employment perhaps? As you know, I am available for the right person under the right circumstances.”
“Martini, Snake?” the second woman asked shyly.
“Dry, and don’t bruise the gin.”
“No, not employment. I have some questions concerning the death of your former employer.”
“Most regrettable. A man of discerning taste. It was a pleasure to work for him. I informed the authorities of all that I know, which was very little.” He stuck his hand in the air, and the martini was immediately placed in the palm.
“You spent the day working on the house, prepared dinner at six, and then left for the evening.”
&n
bsp; “To get ashes hauled.”
“Ah, yes,” Lyon said and could not help glancing at the women, now perched on bar stools. “And you found the body. Tell me about that.”
“Why? I have been over this before.”
“There might be something that would help. Please, once again.”
“I arrived at the house a little before eight, entered, and began to prepare breakfast. When I attempted to serve Mr. E., I found his room undisturbed. A few minutes later, after going through the house, I found his body. In the pool. I called the police. That’s all.”
“Yes,” Lyon mused. “I saw the body when we arrived. Fully dressed, with shoes on. You also said that the night before, you prepared a meal of gohan, suimono, sashimi and chawan mushi.”
“Tsukemono and tempura also.”
“Does it take long to prepare such a meal?”
“Minutes if the custard has been made earlier, as mine was.”
There’s nothing there, Lyon said to himself; no clue of any sort. A routine he went through as on any other day. He cleaned the house and pool, served dinner, and returned the next day to find his employer dead. The errant thought solidified: “Mr. Koyota, you told us that you spent several hours working on the pool.”
“Yes. Mr. Esposito was most particular about the pool. He allowed no chemicals of any sort, and he insisted that it be thoroughly cleaned once a week.”
“How do you clean a pool?”
“Really quite simply, Mr. Wentworth. You drain it, climb in with a brush, and scrub.”
“But Esposito drowned in the pool that night.”
“After I finished my cleaning, I closed the drains and let it fill.”
“Which would be about what time?”
“Just before I began to prepare dinner.”
Lyon grabbed Koyota’s arm. “Do you have a key to the house?”
“An extra one in my bureau.”
“Then come on, Snake, let’s get over there!”
The unhappy Japanese remembered to have Lyon remove his shoes as they entered the foyer. He turned to stare wistfully at Lyon’s car parked at the curb. “Last time I left those two alone, they got into the vodka and solicited the doorman.”
Death Through the Looking Glass Page 11
