Robert Liston - The Tower of Evil

She touched his hand, said softly, “I’ve never been big into throwing cold water, hon.”

“It could do some good, you know, he might want to.”

“I’m on your side, love.”

Later he yawned. “I’m sure it has nothing to do with age, only exertion, but I’m pooped, how about you?”

“I thought you’d never admit it. Yes, let’s go to bed sooner than later.”

“How about now?”

“You always had the best ideas, darling, that’s why I let you sweep me off my feet.”

“As I recall I kept suggesting the sack to you regularly, but you needed a piece of paper.”

“The times, dear, the times. And you weren’t enamored of my father’s shotgun any more than I was.”

There was a knock at the door. “Lord, we’re Grand Central Station.” DeeDee went. It was Lupe.

“Where have you guys been? I’ve been trying to reach you all day.”

“We’ve been out at the Kinkaid castle, trying to find some way to rescue Jamie.”

“You went out there like that?”

She giggled. “Yes, this is my maid’s costume. Walter is a gardener. We’re pretty good at it, too. Walter’s already learned somebody is in that tower.”

“We still haven’t figured out how to get up there, though.”

“And Victor is fornicating with Dr. Joy. I saw them together, morning-after eyes and all.”

Lupe glared at them. “You might have told me what you were doing. It’s dangerous.”

“No time,” Walter said, “and the risk is tolerable.”

“Are you sure? The last man to see Harry Gould alive was Victor Dragon.”

Byerly had stayed close to the tower, hoping to catch a glimpse or hear a voice from above. Nothing. But all the beds marked for transplanting were finished in that area, so he was forced to move his wheelbarrow further afield. Bending and kneeling for more than a few minutes wasn’t his thing, but he had to admit the sunlight was gorgeous and the odors of grass, earth and flowers rapturous.

“I have such good news, darling. You’re going to be so pleased.”

The voice startled him and he looked around.

“We’re going to clear a quarter mil on the dinner, just think of it.”

The subject matter more than the voice made him realize it was Joy Fielding. But where? He saw an open Elizabethan window above and to his right.

“We sold every seat. I just wish we’d taken a bigger hall. The local yokels are delighted to pay ten grand to shake hands with the handsome, debonair-” Pause. “Of course issues are important, but the locals are too star struck for that.”

Too bad he didn’t have a recorder. This would play well on the evening news.

“Of course you can confide in me, Justin. What’s bothering you?”

So it was Justin Wright on the phone. The silence continued for a time. Apparently she was listening.

“There can’t be anything to it, darling. The woman is out of your life, if she was ever in it.” She made a scoffing sound. “So, someone mentioned Amanda Sykes. No need for you to get upset about it.”

Oh yes there is.

“Who did you say you were to phone?… Byerly! That old coot! He’s just a local busybody, pay him no mind.”

So Wright phoned Joy Fielding to see if it was okay to phone me. Great Chief Executive material!

“On the contrary, Justin, I think it might do a great deal of harm. I urge you not to do anything foolish until you’re here and we can talk. It’ll only be a couple of days. Your advance men are already in town, staying here… Please do as I say, Justin. This matter requires a lot of thought… That’s a good fellow. Yes, I feel the same way about you. See you Friday, bye.”

He heard the phone bang on the cradle, then, “That pipsqueak hasn’t the backbone of melted butter-and less brains.”

“Good morning, darling.”

Victor Dragon. He heard the unmistakable sounds of lips smacking in a kiss.

“Who has no backbone or brains?”

“It seems that nosy Walter Byerly got a message through to Justin that he has information about Amanda Sykes. He wants Justin to phone him. The idiot actually considered doing it.”

“He’ll mess us up something awful.“

“I think I got him calmed down.”

“We can’t risk it. We have to get rid of the woman and the brat. Nobody will miss them or trace them here.”

“Those two busybodies know you have the kid.”

“All they know is I got a court order for his mother.”

There was a long pause. “Let’s wait till the fund-raiser is over and Justin is back campaigning. He’ll forget all about his one-time inamorata.”

Byerly heard a heavy sigh of resignation, then, “Okay, darling, till Saturday, then we give them over to Dirk.”

“That’s what I like about you, Vic, you got balls.”

A rustling sound. “Not too hard or I’ll sing soprano… That’s more like it.”

Byerly stood up, intending to move away, but dropped his trowel. It clattered on the flagstone path.

“What’s that noise?” It was Dragon’s voice. “Somebody’s outside.”

Byerly lifted the wheelbarrow and shuffled forward.

“Hey you, down there.”

He ignored it.

“Hey, I’m talking to you.”

He felt forced to look up.

“What are you doing there?”

He gave his best el Viejo imitation, including the most elaborate shrug of his life. “No comprendo, Senor, no hablo Ingles.” He had to hope Dragon’s Spanish wasn’t any better than his.

“Maybe he didn’t hear anything.”

Byerly heard the window close and lock above him.

“Another case is closed, Hernandez.”

She neither saw nor heard Buster Brogan approach, but there he was at her desk. “Oh?”

“That missing blond kid I told you about turned up. He’s back safe with his mother.”

He might be back with his mother, but he definitely wasn’t safe. She knew only Victor Dragon could have told Brogan he was.

“You can quit looking for him, if you were.”

She bristled at the insinuation, started to protest, then thought of a better way. She smiled. “Don’t I always do everything you tell me, sergeant?”

He seemed surprised, unsure how to react, then mumbled, “I just wish all our cases were solved so easily.”

Crawl into bed with Victor Dragon and maybe they would be. “I learned some interesting info about the Gould case.”

“You did or your buddies the Bye-Byes did?”

“I said I did.”

“The case is closed or very nearly so. An obvious suicide.”

She shook her head. “So, you don’t want to hear anything that might-”

“What is it, Hernandez” He wore his impatience like a suit of armor.

“I spoke with a young woman over at the gym on West Carrillo, the Olympic Fitness I think it’s called.”

“Yeah, been there a couple of times. What about it?”

God, he was awful. “The woman knew Harry Gould, rather well, I gather. They worked out together. She said Harry was there the night he died. He got a phone call in the middle of his workout, then left, saying he had to go back to his office.”

“So?”

“The phone call was from Victor Dragon. Lots of people heard his name mentioned.”

Brogan blinked. His jaw went slack.

“That would make Dragon one of the last people to talk to Harry alive.”

He strode a couple of paces away, his hand stroking his lantern jaw. Now he turned back. He’d thought of a reply. “Probably didn’t mean a thing. They’re both lawyers, probably working on a case together.”

The very thing Victor Dragon would say.

Brogan smiled at her, Walter Cronkite again, encountering a misbehaving brat. “In any event I’ll look into it, detective. Thank you for telling me.”