Evil in the 1st House (4 page)

Chapter Six

When Sarah buzzed him in the morning he was already showered and on his second cup of coffee. The morning was devoted to studying Dr. and Mrs. Williamson's natal and composite charts. By noon Lowell found what he was looking for. He took the wife's birth chart then “relocating” the chart to various cities on the East Coast. This is done by using the local sidereal time, or moving the time of the chart until the moon is at the exact same place it is in the natural birth chart. By studying each he finally concluded that Gloria Williamson was most likely living within a few miles of Hartford, Connecticut, probably to the west. This was the town that offered her the best chance of employment. He buzzed Mort, who appeared moments later.

“Mort, it's time for you to surf the big Internet waves. Williamson was right about his wife and child. They do appear to be living on the East Coast in the area around Hartford. Find them.”

“Not much to go on.”

“Well, we know that she's a registered nurse. But she is certainly living under an alias, and it may be hard for her to find work in most hospitals. Look into private ones and agencies that handle nurses, especially those that operate a bit under the radar.”

Mort nodded. “I'll go back to when they separated and work forward. I'll let you know when I find something.” He left.

Lowell hit the buzzer. “Sarah, get Melinda for me. Try her office and cell phone.”

Soon the phone rang.

“Hi, Dad, you called?”

“Are you free anytime today? I need to see you.”

“I have to be up in your 'hood about two o'clock. Will you be around?”

“My 'hood?”

“Sorry, been doing a lot of pro-bono work.”

“I'll be here.”

***

Melinda was dressed in a short blue skirt, a ruffled white shirt cut rather low, and large pearls. When Lowell saw her he did a double take.

“A little dressy for the afternoon, don't you think?”

She laughed. “I have to go to a semi-formal cocktail party at five. No time to change. Besides, it can't hurt my relationship with my clients.”

“Yes,” said her father, “your male clients.”

She laughed again. “Oh, Dad. So what's going on? Why did you need to see me so quickly?”

“I want to hire you to do some legal work. If you have the time.”

“This is a first. You're lucky. At the moment I'm only moderately busy as the junior associate. About fourteen hours a day. What's up?”

He turned the computer screen off, stood up, and stretched. “Let's take a walk. It's a beautiful summer day and I could use a little fresh air. Are those fancy shoes good for walking?”

“Yes, Dad.” She looked down and pointed at her feet. “They may be fancy, but I only wear flat, comfy shoes. I hate heels. I'm definitely tall enough.” She winked. “Let's go.”

They walked to First Avenue so as not to be jostled by the midtown madness. Nannies and strollers surrounded them, and a view of the East River between buildings gave a false sense of bucolic serenity. It was in the mid-eighties, warm, but compared to the oppressive record-setting heat of the past July, it felt almost spring-like.

As they passed a Starbucks, Lowell stopped. “Want some coffee?”

“Sure.”

They got their caffeine fix, hers iced, and headed north again.

Melinda took a big draw through her straw. “So what's this all about?”

“You know that case I've been working on?”

“The doctor with the million dollars?”

He nodded. “I need you to find out what legal rights his estranged or possibly divorced wife has in the matter.”

“Okay. Tell me about it.”

Lowell took a sip. Still too hot. He tossed the top in a garbage can, and blew on the coffee several times. “Dr. and Mrs. Williamson have been living apart for many years, ever since the boys were very small. As I told you, according to Williamson she grabbed one of the babies and took off. I still don't know why. Now that Williamson has hired me to find them for a kidney transplant scenario, I want to know exactly what I'm getting myself into.”

“I see your predicament. You don't want to find the wife and child without gaining some legal protection, in case things aren't quite what they seem and you wind up in the middle of a custody battle.”

“Smart little cookie.”

“And your legal counsel.”

“Right.”

“I'll need a retainer to make this on the up-and-up. How is five dollars?”

With his free hand, Lowell reached into his pocket, flipped open a small bundle of bills, and Melinda pulled a five from the batch.

“Okay, now I'm your lawyer. What can I do for you?”

“Brush up on abandonment in a marriage and issues about custody when a marriage dissolves or the parents live apart.”

“Pretty broad topic. Anything in particular?”

“I just want to be ready for whatever develops. For example, can one parent take a child out of state or insist on a medical procedure without the written consent of the other?”

“Okay.” She looked at her watch. “Yikes, got to scoot.”

Melinda hailed a cab. “I can come up to the townhouse after the cocktail party, if you like, say around seven.”

Lowell smiled. “Great. We can have dinner and chat.”

She hopped into the cab and disappeared.

Lowell spent the rest of the day working in the office. His over-sized mahogany and leather desk could barely hold the piles of charts as he sifted from one to another. When he needed to study one up close he would bring it up on the TV screen. Thelonious Monk's unique piano style was playing softly in the background; his bizarre syncopation complementing Lowell's rather strange thought patterns.

At six he called Andy and went to the townhouse. Normally he would be staying in the office again, but a private dinner with his daughter wasn't something he would readily give up.

He opened the front door. “Hello, anyone here?”

Julia came out of the kitchen. “Hello, Mr. Lowell, Melinda is upstairs. Would you like a drink? I'm preparing dinner.”

“Thank you, Julia. I'll have a beer. What room is she in?”

“She went up to the third floor to freshen up. She should be down shortly.”

He went into the living room and sat in a plush, velvet blue armchair. He picked up that day's
New York Times
, turned to the crossword puzzle, took a pen and began filling it in. He had done the
Times
puzzle in pen since he was a teenager. Julia returned with a Spatan beer and a chilled pilsner glass. She set them down on coasters on the table next to the couch. Lowell preferred to pour his own beer. He liked a head on it and many people thought that the top of a beer should be flat. He poured it to his liking and was taking the first sip when Melinda appeared.

He nodded. “Want a drink?”

She smiled. “Sure. It's been a rough day. I'll have a martini.”

Lowell started to rise.

“Don't, Dad. I'll get my own. And Julia has enough to do.”

She returned shortly with a chilled martini glass and a small pitcher. She set the glass on a coaster and poured in the elixir carefully.

“Ah, delightful.” She sipped and put the glass down in the center of the coaster. “So tell me about this.”

Lowell took a healthy swig of his beer. “I believe I can find the elusive Mrs. Williamson and her son. I just want to make sure that things go as planned. And I want the best attorney I can get. That's why I put you on retainer.”

“Speaking of which, I found a check in my purse.”

Lowell smiled. “You didn't know I was a magician as well as a detective? Yes, I snuck it in there while you were upstairs.”

“But it's for five thousand dollars, and we agreed on five, cinco, cinq dollars.”

He shrugged. “A few extra zeros.”

“I've told you I don't need your money.”

“This isn't charity. I'm hiring you and I expect you to do a professional job. It's my neck on the chopping block. Your time is valuable and if I'm going to make use of it I'll make it worth your while.”

“Whatever.”

“Hey, I'm getting paid a million dollars. The least I can do is spread the wealth. If you want, give half to charity, same as me.”

“I will.”

She got up and walked to a breakfront, opened it and took out a tall, pine-scented candle. “It reminds me of Christmas. You don't mind?”

He shook his head. But the truth was that sometimes sensory input could thrust him into the past, and depending on his state of mind, that could be a dangerous place.

As she brought the candle to the table, the subtle smell hit him, and he found it pleasant and unthreatening. He relaxed.

She lit the candle. “So, where is she?”

“I believe she's in Connecticut, near Hartford. As soon as Mort finds her, I'll go up and talk to her. This isn't the type of case I would usually take, so I'm feeling my way.”

She pointed her martini glass at him. “You know why you took this case, don't you?”

“Am I going to get a lot of psycho-babble now?”

“I did minor in psychology after all.”

“Well, practice it on someone else. I took the case because it interested me.”

“Uh huh. You know, Dad, for someone so smart and aware…”

Julia came in from the kitchen. Through the open door the fragrant aroma of dinner escaped. “Mr. Lowell, dinner's ready. Where do you want to eat?”

“How about the little nook outside the kitchen?” It was a table just for two. “And Julia, I've told you to call me David.”

“Yes, Mr. Lowell. I'll set the table. It'll be about five minutes.” She went back into the kitchen. They could hear the welcoming sounds of plates and silverware as Julia arranged the table.

“What would you do without her?”

Lowell finished his beer. “I don't want to find out.”

The house phone rang.

Mort.

“I found her.”

Chapter Seven

It was a dreary, drizzly day. Dark clouds hung over the city like the soft filter on a camera lens. The long drive to Hartford lay ahead, so Lowell wanted to stretch his legs a bit. As he walked uptown the glare of lights from the oncoming cars cast ominous shadows on the damp streets and buildings. New York's avenues are caverns laid between mountainous structures, unending and relentless. To truly walk the streets of Manhattan one had to have a hiker-explorer mentality. And Lowell often felt like a traveler within his own city—trekking along its well-trodden paths, into distant villages with new and exciting discoveries.

He called Andy for a pickup in front of Eli's Bakery as he turned down East Ninety-first Street and entered the store. Lowell loved the smell of fresh baking bread as it emanated from the bakery department sending shivers of childhood nostalgia through him. His mother often baked on rainy afternoons.

He walked into the café by the front door and ordered a banana croissant to go. He didn't like their coffee, found it bitter. He'd get Starbucks later. Then he meandered through the store waiting for Andy's text. There were exotic goodies from all over the world that piqued his interest. The owner of the store, Eli, had had a falling out with his family, the owners of Zabar's, many years before and opened this place. The prices always shocked Lowell, and he wondered how they could charge eight bucks for the exact same licorice you can get in the supermarket for $2.99. Lowell also found the prices at Zabar's to be outlandishly inflated. Probably a lot of over-expansive Jupiter energy in that family tree.

His phone beeped. He walked outside and the limo pulled up alongside him.

The driver's window whirred down.

“Where to boss?”

“Andy, good morning. We're going to West Hartford. Here's the address.”

From the car, Lowell made his morning trades to help pass the time.

“Roger, I'm getting back into cotton. Venus is about to enter Libra, and that's usually a bullish signal.”

“Okay, how many?”

Lowell looked at his notes and account information. “Buy me twenty, market-on-open, and put a stop in at 63.20. Then put a buy for twenty more at 65.00 with the same stop out, good-till-cancelled.”

“I've been looking at cotton too. I think I'll follow your lead. I'll call you with your fills.”

“Okay, thanks.”

Lowell sat back and in his mind replayed the conversation with Mort from last night.

“You were right,” said Mort. “She's working as a private nurse under a different name.”

“So where is she?”

“West Hartford, like you thought. She's working at a residence taking care of an elderly man. And she's living in an apartment complex just outside the city limits. Here's the address.”

“How did you find her?”

“Once you gave me the general vicinity I hacked into the local hospitals in the area, there's only a few, and looked for patients that needed home care. Based on her age and what little we know about her I was able to narrow it down. A few discreet phone calls, and some luck, and bingo. The name she's using turns out to be deceased. I figured, that's our gal.”

The rain was making Lowell depressed, so he turned a few knobs. The windows darkened for a moment and then lit up with a sunny, beautiful scene from the California coast. The windows were fitted with plasma screens that were transparent when turned off, but when they were activated they projected a very real filmed scene and even took on the same physical characteristics. Now they were warm to the touch, reflecting the California climate. Lowell could swear he felt the sun's rays streaming through the window. This was an invention his client and friend Walter Delaney had created. Until the bugs were worked out and the patents secured, Lowell was one of the few people operating the mechanism. It had proven quite a useful trick on several cases.

He rode in silence staring out the window at the faux-ocean view, wondering what it would be like to live somewhere else. New York City was the only home he knew, but sometimes change was freeing. Maybe it was time to consider an adjustment.

About ninety minutes later Andy buzzed him. “We're almost there.”

Lowell turned off the window screens and looked back out at the overcast suburban landscape.

They got off the highway and Andy followed the GPS instructions until they were in front of an unexceptional square, brick apartment building probably built in the sixties.

Lowell got out of the car and took a deep breath. The suburbs smelled clean and fresh. He didn't usually notice how thick and invasive the city air was until he got away from it.

He took the elevator to the thirteenth floor, got out, read the room numbers, and turned left. At room number 1345 he knocked. There was no response. He knocked again.

The door opened. “Yes, may I help you?”A short, very thin, middle-aged woman with graying brown hair peeked from behind the door.

“Are you Gloria Williamson?”

She stared at him. “No. There's nobody here by that name.” She began to close the door.

“If I could find you, don't you think others can?”

She stopped. “He sent you, didn't he?”

Lowell nodded briefly.

The woman put her hand to her brow. “I was afraid of this.”

Lowell shook his head. “I assure you, I have no intention of revealing your whereabouts unless you wish it.”

She looked at him for a moment then waved him in. It was a modest apartment, sparsely furnished with mismatched odds and ends. The couch was a lime green. A well-worn gray armchair stood across the room. The few tables bore lamps of different shapes and sizes.

“Are you a private detective?”

He handed her a card.

“Starlight Detective Agency? David Lowell? I know that name from somewhere.” She looked more closely at him. “Oh yes, I saw you on TV recently. You're that astrologer who solved the murder of those rock stars, aren't you? Well Mr. Lowell, now that you've found me, what do you plan to do about it?”

“I don't know. That's up to you.”

She sighed. “Please sit down.”

He sat in the armchair.

She sat on the couch, retrieving a cup of tea from a low table. “Would you like something? Tea or water?”

“No thank you.”

She was a nervous woman, her voice wavering as she spoke. “So he sent you to find me. After all these years I was hoping he'd given up.”

Lowell remained silent.

“Do you know him well?”

“I only met him once, when he hired me to find you.”

She nodded, and then gazed out the window trying to decide what to say next. She turned back toward Lowell. “He's a monster. You can't possibly know what he's like.”

Lowell nodded. “Why don't you tell me about it?”

She got up and began to pace. “I don't know. Why should I trust you?”

“There's no reason you should. Just tell me what you feel comfortable with.”

She sat back down and looked at him carefully. “I may regret this, but my instincts tell me I should.” She wrung her hands and sighed. “I don't know where to start.”

“How about at the beginning?”

“Well, I suppose so.” She kept wringing her hands as she spoke, trying in vain to wash away some unseen blemish. “At first I guess we had a normal marriage. There were a few disagreements, and I suppose the usual struggles as we got to know each other. He was fairly easygoing and generous when we were dating. But then soon after we were married he started to change.”

“How so?”

“It was subtle at first. Some mood swings, an occasional argument that seemed irrational to me. But I was young and didn't understand much about relationships. As the months went by, he became more abusive. He has a terrible temper, which at first he hid from me. It started to come out more and more. He would scream at me, sometimes in public. But then it escalated. He…” she stopped to catch her breath. “He would hit me, sometimes very hard.”

“What did you do?”

“I tried to talk to him, begged him to seek help. But he just said it was a bad mood and he'd get over it.”

“Did he continue to hit you?”

She nodded. “Many times. Even when I was pregnant. Once he threatened to push me down the stairs. I became afraid for myself and my unborn children. I needed to know who this man was that I had married. Everyone thought he was a god. People came from all over for his advice and skills as a surgeon. But I had to live with another side of his personality. I didn't know what to do. I had very few friends and no money of my own. I felt trapped. I needed to learn more about the father of my children.

“One night Edgar and I went to a charity ball where I met my husband's accountant and his wife, Nancy. She and I hit it off right away and soon became close friends. Several weeks later over lunch I took a chance and confined in her about my troubles. Nancy was very sympathetic. She'd been married before to an abusive man and understood what I was going through. That night when her husband was asleep she opened Edgar's file on her husband's computer and emailed it to me. I was shocked. He was immensely wealthy, something he'd kept from me. I knew we weren't poor, but I had no idea how much money he had. He'd spent years researching genetic diseases and by the time we got married was losing interest in practicing medicine. He was only interested in collecting and patenting rare genes. I later found out that he had been accused of using his wealth to buy, steal, and bully the rights to genetic material from those unfortunate enough to be in possession of a blood type or genetic code that he needed for his work.”

Gloria blew out a deep breath that held years of pressure and sadness.

“As the months went by and my due date came closer, he became less violent, as if the children were the important thing. But I knew his anger was bubbling under the surface. I began to realize that I couldn't let him near my children. I didn't know if he was using drugs or what the problem was.”

They were quiet for a few moments as Lowell digested the information. Finally he said: “I understand. Tell me more.”

She sat silently for a few moments staring past Lowell, her eyes unfocused, looking at a view from her past only she could see.

“After my sons were born he became worse than ever. It was as if my giving birth to his offspring was all he'd been interested in and he had no more use for me. There were some complications from the births and I was forced to remain in the hospital for several weeks. At least the children stayed with me, at first. Edgar came into my room one night, his face flush with anger, his breath smelling from alcohol. He told me that it was time to wean the boys from me. That's the term he used, like they were a litter of animals. That's when I knew I had to get away from him.”

She stood up and began pacing again, her agitation quite pronounced.

“Being the doctor's wife does come with some privileges in the hospital. I arranged for an early morning discharge the following day, convincing the nurses that my husband had just forgotten to tell them. Nancy agreed to come by and pick me up with a suitcase of clothing for me and the kids. We were going to start a new life.”

Gloria Williamson stopped, closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and looked directly at Lowell. “It was the worst day of my life. The day I lost my son. I still have nightmares.”

“Take your time. I know this is painful. But I need to know what happened.”

“It was very early. The sun wasn't up yet. It was quiet outside the hospital. Nancy pushed me out in a wheelchair. I was still very weak, and the hospital's regulations demanded it. She had parked just down the street and was holding both babies, as I eased myself into the car.

“Just then, another car squealed to the curb and a very large man I'd seen around the hospital ran to us and grabbed one of the babies. He tried to get the other but my friend twisted away and started to scream bloody murder. I tried to scream too, but the shock of what was happening was too much for me and I couldn't utter a sound. I saw one of my babies…” She closed her eyes again, and kept them closed. “He took off with my child…”

“You don't have to say more. I understand your loss.” Lowell had a catch in his throat. “I understand your loss,” he repeated, more softly.

She sat back on the couch, spent. “I've been running ever since, forced to adopt aliases and always on my guard. He has unlimited resources, I have few. I couldn't let him come and take my other son. And I knew he wouldn't be happy with just one.”

They both sat quietly for a moment. Lowell broke the silence. “How did you survive?”

“For years I roamed around the country taking any job I could find. We lived in California for a while, in terrible places. I was afraid to work as a nurse, figuring he'd find me that way. But after so many years, the only job I could find that paid decently was back here, so I finally took a chance. I had to use my deceased friend's identity. And now he's found me anyway.”

She sat back on the couch and was silent for a while, gazing into space. “How is my other son?”

Lowell shook his head. “That's why I'm here. He's very ill and needs a kidney transplant. He has a very rare blood type from your husband's side.”

She nodded. “Oh my God, no!”

Lowell gave her time to process this awful news.

She began to speak again, very slowly, her voice cracking. “I found out about Kevin's blood type when he was about three. I had to take him to a clinic for a horrible cough and they discovered it. They wanted me to keep a supply of his blood just in case something happened.”

“Did you?”

“No. I couldn't afford it. I haven't had health insurance since I left him. Mr. Lowell, do you know how expensive it is? It would cost me more than my rent to cover Kevin and me. Some states have programs for poor people, but if I signed up for it he would have been able to find me.”