Silent Partner (54 page)

"We did background checks on all the girls, had them undergo complete physical exams. Our research revealed that Linda had gotten pregnant several times during her youth but had miscarried almost immediately after conception. Our doctors said it was some sort of hormonal imbalance. They pronounced her incapable of bearing children."

Animal husbandry in reverse. I said, "How'd she do with old Leland?"

"She was marvelous. After a few sessions he was a new

man."

"What were his feelings toward her?"

He put down his cup. "Leland Belding didn't feel, Doctor. He was as close to mechanical as a human being could be."

Ellston Crotty's words came back to me: Like some frigging camera on legs. I remember thinking what a cold bastard he was.

"Even so," I said, "patients and surrogates usually develop some sort of emotional bond. Are you saying none developed between them?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying. It was like tutoring— learning French. Leland received her in his office; when they were through he showered, dressed, and resumed his business and she went about hers. I knew him better than anyone and that wasn't much—I never felt I had access to his thoughts. But my guess is he saw her as another of his machines—one of the more efficient ones.

Which isn't to say he disparaged her. Machines were what he admired most."

"What about her feelings toward him?"

A moment's pause. A fleeting look of pain. "No doubt she was impressed with his money and power. Women are

drawn to power—they'll forgive anything in a man but helplessness. And she also saw his helpless side. So I'd imagine she viewed him with a mixture of awe and pity, the way a doctor might regard a patient with a rare disease."

He'd framed his words theoretically. But the pained look kept pushing through the charm-facade.

I knew then that Linda Lanier had become more to him than a harem girl on assignment. Knew I couldn't touch that.

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"Theirs was purely a business arrangement," he said.

"Cozy, until brother Cable stepped in."

The facade slipped another rung. "Cable Johnson was despicable. When he and Linda were adolescents he sold her to the local boys for money—she was fourteen or fifteen. That's how she got pregnant all those times. He was pure filth."

One procurer damning another.

I said, "Why didn't you consider him a risk factor when you set Linda up as a surrogate?"

"Oh, I did, but I thought the risk had been dealt with. At the time I hired Linda, Johnson was locked up at the county jail for theft—facing a stay at the penitentiary as a repeat offender. He was dead-broke, unable to come up with ten dollars bond on a hundred dollar bail. I obtained his freedom, got him a job at Magnafilm at an inflated salary. The idiot didn't even have to show up for work—the check was mailed to his rooming house. All that was required on his part was staying away from her. A very generous arrangement, wouldn't you say?"

"Not compared to a piece of the Belding fortune."

"The fool," he said. "There wasn't an iota of a chance of his getting a penny, but he was a compulsive criminal, couldn't stop conniving."

"Enter Donald Neurath, M.D. Fertility expert and meal ticket."

"My, my," siad Vidal. "You're a thorough researcher yourself."

"Was Neurath in on the extortion scheme?"

"He claimed not, said they presented themselves as a married couple—poor, childless Mr. and Mrs. Johnson. He insisted he hadn't been fooled, had sensed something wrong about them and refused to take her on as a patient. But Johnson convinced him, somehow."

"You know how," I said. "A trade. The porn loop in exchange for hormonal treatment for Linda."

"More filth," he said.

I said, "Still, Neurath knew too much. You had to finish him off somewhere out in Mexico—not far from here, I'd bet."

"Doctor, Doctor, you give me too much credit. I've never finished off anyone. Donald Neurath drove down here voluntarily, to offer information. He owed money to loan sharks, was hoping for payment. I refused. On the way back, his car broke down—or so I've been told. He died of exposure—the desert does its damage quickly. As a medical man, he should have been more prepared."

I said, "Is that how you connected him to Cable's scheme?"

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"No. Linda came to me saying she could no longer work with Leland. Bearing a to-whom-it-may-concern note written on Neurath's stationery. In it he claimed she'd contracted some sort of vaginal infection. At first, I didn't suspect anything. Everything looked bona fide. I gave her ten thousand dollars' severance pay, and wished her well. Later, of course, I put it all together."

"How did Belding react to her leaving?"

"He didn't. By that time he was feeling his oats, testing out his newfound confidence on other women. As many as he could get his hands on. Eventually, he began to flaunt it."

Belding's transformation from recluse to playboy. The timing fit.

"What happened next?"

"Nearly a year later, Cable Johnson called me. Informed me I'd better meet with him if I knew what was good for Leland. We met at some tawdry downtown hotel, Johnson drunk and gloating like a top dog, strutting

around, very proud of himself. He told me Linda had given birth to Leland's babies. He'd taken her to Texas to do it; now they were back and 'the squeeze was on.'"

Vidal raised his coffee cup, thought better of it, and put it down. "Oh, he thought he was a smart one. Had it all figured out. Cuffing my shoulder as if we were old friends, offering me cheap gin from a filthy bottle. Singing rude limericks and saying that now the Johnsons and the Beldings were going to be kinfolk. Then he told me to wait, left the room, and came back a few minutes later with Linda and his little gifts." "Three gifts," I said. He nodded.

Triplets. All that hormonal tinkering doing strange things to the egg, increasing the chance of multiple birth. Common medical knowledge today, but Neurath had been ahead of his time.

"Port Wallace's sole claim to fame," I said. "Jewel Rae, Jana Sue. And poor Joan Dixie, born blind, deaf, paralyzed."

"The pathetic little thing," he said. "Some sort of brain damage—the place he dragged Linda to was primitive. Joan almost died at birth." He shook his head, closed his eyes. "She was so tiny—not much bigger than a fist. It was a miracle she survived. Linda carried her around in a basket, kept cooing at her, massaging her limbs. Pretending her twitches were voluntary movement. Pretending she was normal."

"Something like that would be tough for a squeamish man to take."

"All three of them disgusted him. He'd always despised children; the idea of triplets made him ill. He was the ultimate engineer-accustomed to machine specifications, precision. Had absolutely no tolerance for anything that deviated from his expectations. Of course, Joan's deformities were an additional insult—the implication that he'd taken part in creating something defective. I knew him, knew how he'd react. I wanted to keep all of it from him, work things out in my own way. But Cable wanted it

all, right now. Kinfolk. Linda had held on to a key to Leland's office. She went there one night when he was working late, brought the babies."

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He shook his head. "The poor, stupid girl, believing the sight of them would ignite his paternal pride. He listened to her, told her what she wanted to hear. The moment she was gone he phoned me and ordered me over for a 'problem solving session.' Not that he wanted my input—he'd come to a decision: All of them would have to be eliminated. Permanently. I was to be the angel of death." "The babies were supposed to be killed?" He nodded.

"All the villainy foisted on a dead man," I said. "Some good storm trooper carried out the order."

He drank, hacked, pulled a squeeze bottle out of his pocket and sprayed his throat.

"I saved those babies," he said. "Only I could have done it; only I had enough of Leland's trust to disagree with him and get away with it. I told him infanticide was absolutely out of the question. If it ever came out he'd be ruined—Magna would be ruined." "A pragmatic approach."

"The only one he understood. I pointed out that the babies could be given up for adoption in such a way that any link to him would be permanently obscured. That he could draft a new will specifically excluding any blood relatives, known or unknown, from inheriting a dime. At first he didn't want to hear it, kept insisting the only way out was the 'unambiguous option.' I told him I'd carried out his assignments without questioning, but I'd quit before carrying out this one.

And if those babies died, I couldn't guarantee my silence. Was he prepared to eliminate me, as well?

"That angered—and shocked—him. From childhood no one had ever told him no. But he respected me for standing up to him, eventually agreed to my plan."

"Nifty plan," I said. "Including a consolation prize for your sister."

"It was just after Henry's death. She'd sunk into a deep

depression—widowhood, childlessness. Had been in seclusion since the funeral. I thought having the girls would do wonders for her. And she's not an imaginative woman. Would never ask where they came from, never want to know."

"Was Joan included in the deal?"

"No. That Hope couldn't have handled. The corporation purchased a sanitarium in Connecticut, and Joan was placed there. She got excellent care. In the process, we learned about health care management, ended up buying up several other hospitals."

"New names, new lives," I said. "Except for the Johnsons. Was it you or Belding who thought of the dope dealer angle?"

"That... it wasn't supposed to happen the way it did."

"I'm sure Linda and Cable would be comforted to know that."

He tried to speak. Nothing came out. Atomized his throat, waited, and produced soft tones dry as a death rattle.

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"It was never intended that Linda would... be part of it. She wasn't supposed to be there, was supposed to be out shopping. She posed no threat. With her brother out of the way, she could have been dealt with. I would have dealt with her. But her car didn't work; she was phoning for a taxi when things started to happen. Cable grabbed her, the filth, used her as a shield. She was shot by accident."

"No way," I said. "She wouldn't have let her children be taken from her without a fuss. She had to die. You either knew that from the beginning or chose not to see it when you set up the bust.

That glitzy suite on Fountain— all the jewels, furs, cars—were to lull her and Cable into thinking Belding was agreeing to their terms. But both of them were dead the moment she stepped into his office with those babies."

"You're wrong, Dr. Delaware. I had everything arranged."

"Let's give you the benefit, then, and say someone

rearranged your arrangement."

He gripped the edge of the table. The look in his eyes overpowered the tan, the clothes, all that cultivated

charm.

"No," he croaked. "It was a mistake. Her idiot scum brother killed her—using her the way he'd always done." "Maybe he did. But Hummel and DeGranzfeld would have killed her anyway on Belding's orders. He was pleased with the job they'd done, rewarded them with Vegas jobs."

He said nothing for a long time. Something—could it be real?—seemed to be eating at him, devouring him for within. He looked through me. Back into another time. "Nonsense," he said.

"Are you the father?" I asked.

Another long silence. "I don't know." Then: "Leland and I have the same blood type: O positive.

Along with thirty-nine percent of the population." "Nowadays there are precise tests." "What would be the point?" His voice rose, cracked and died. "I saved them. Placed them in a good home. It was enough."

"Not for Sharon. She ended up naked, eating mayonnaise from a jar. Another plan gone wrong?"

He closed his eyes, grimaced, getting older by the second. "It was for the good of both of them." "So I've been told."

"Sherry was a frightening child. I'd seen the signs of violence in her from the time she could walk.

It worried me. I wondered about a bad seed—the Johnsons came from a long line of miscreants.

Eventually it became clear that Hope couldn't handle both of them. Sharon was being persecuted—battered. It was escalating steadily. Something had to be done. When Sherry tried to drown her, I knew the time had come. But Leland couldn't find out about it. He'd forgotton completely about them, hadn't mentioned a word since the transer. I knew he'd regard any change in plans as evidence that my way of dealing with the situation wasn't working. Would insist on

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doing it his way."

"What did you tell him?"

"That Sharon had accidentally drowned. That set well with him."

His lips began to tremble. He placed a manicured hand over his mouth to conceal the loss of control.

"Why banish Sharon?" I said. "Why not Sherry?"

"Because Sherry was the one who bore watching—she was unstable, a loaded gun. Having her out there unsupervised was too risky—for both of them."

"That's not the only reason," I said.

"No. Hope wanted it that way. She felt closer to Sherry, felt Sherry needed her more."

"Punish the victim," I said. "From a mansion to a dirt patch. Two retarded people as caretakers."

"They were good people," he said. He began coughing and, unable to stop, shook his head from side to side, gasping for breath. His eyes filled with water and he had to hold on to the table for support.

Finally he was able to speak, but so softly I had to lean forward to hear: "Good people. They'd worked for me. I knew they could be trusted. The arrangement was supposed to be temporary—a way to buy time for Sharon until I came up with something else."

"A way to wipe out her identity," I said.

"For her sake!" His whisper was harsh, insistent. "I'd never have done anything to harm her."

Hand to mouth, again. Uncontrollable coughing. He placed a silk handkerchief to his lips, spit something into it.

"Excuse me," he said. Then: "She had her mother's face."