The Tower of Evil bbm-1 Read online

  “Does the boy look like her?”

  “Not much, I guess, he’s a towhead, blue eyes.” She shrugged. “I just assumed he was her son, didn’t question it.”

  “Of course he is.” She turned back to Karen. “May I keep this?” Karen agreed. “I’ll ask Walter to make some discreet inquiries. I’m sure he’ll come up with something. Meanwhile, will you please, please, please try to forget all this and help me with these flowers? I’m going nuts.”

  Karen headed for the door. “I’ll go to work at once.”

  Walter entered her office soon afterward. “Excuse me, ma’am.” He attempted a southern drawl. “Could you tell me where I might find a shop called Doreen’s Flowers?”

  She had to laugh. “I believe you want DeeDee’s Flowers, kind sir.”

  “Have I ever told you how much I hate that name?” His normal voice now.

  “Incessantly.” She sighed. “I guess you want the set-up line. Okay, I was born Doreen Dodd, everybody calls me DeeDee, I’ve always been called DeeDee, what’s wrong with DeeDee?”

  “Only B-girls in sleazy dives are called DeeDee. It’s a certified fact.”

  “Last time it was drooling debutantes.”

  “Them, too.”

  “My favorite was fizzy headed flappers.”

  He grinned at her. “You’re the same old carrot top I married. I don’t know how you do it.”

  “It’s called Golden Surprise and comes in a bottle.” She grimaced. “If you’re noticing my hair, the roots must be showing. We’re so busy here I can’t even get to the hairdresser.”

  His inspection lowered. “I like your outfit.”

  She wore a pants suit, orange in color, sort of clingy. “Thank you, sir.”

  “You look like a Popsicle.”

  “Ready to melt?”

  “Don’t I wish.”

  He bent to kiss her, not easy since he was a foot taller. “You’ll shock my girls,” she whispered, then turned her cheek. “I thought I gave you a rain check this morning.”

  “Skies are clear today.”

  “I have it on reliable authority that rain showers, quite heavy at times, are forecast for tonight.”

  “Weather in California can be so changeable.”

  “Not to worry.” She patted his cheek. “What are you doing here at this hour? I thought you had a doctor’s appointment.”

  “That’s tomorrow. My urologist wants to put me on Viagra.”

  “That you don’t need, and I still don’t know why you’re here. The homeless have all found housing?”

  “Don’t I wish. Actually I heard some news on the radio. Don’t you know a woman named Gould?”

  “I know a Lorna Gould.”

  “Does she have a son Harry?”

  “Lorna brags about him constantly.”

  Walter grimaced. “Not any more she doesn’t-unless there are two Harry Goulds in town. One of them, a young lawyer, shot himself in his office above La Arcada.”

  She gasped. “Harry a suicide? Lord, Walter, Lorna will be beside herself. I’d better go to her.”

  “I thought you might want to, that’s why I stopped by.”

  “I’m glad you did but for another reason.” She told him about Jamie. “Would you look into it, try to find this JoAnn? I told Karen you would.”

  “Look into what? Doreen, the woman just went off for a few days. She’ll be back for the kid.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Okay, try this. She heisted the kid somewhere, probably from a supermarket, got cold feet, and dumped him on Karen. The only thing to do is phone Children’s Services and have it over with.”

  “What about the note? It says Jamie’s in danger.”

  “Nonsense. The note cinches it. This JoAnn-if that’s her real name, which I doubt-doesn’t want to go to the slammer for kidnapping. She does what anyone would do, concoct the danger bit so a couple of naives like you and Karen will hold on to the kid long enough for her to disappear without a trace.”

  “You’re being your insufferable best, Walter.”

  “I can do better. How long has the woman been gone, a week? That’s long enough. Time the kid was returned to his lawful parents. They’re probably beside themselves.”

  She gaped at him. “God, how awful if you’re right.”

  “This is a job for the police, Doreen. You know someone on the force, don’t you? Some girl who used to work for you?”

  “Sure, Lupe Hernandez, looks Latina but was raised Anglo. She’s lost between cultures and doesn’t know where she belongs. Lupe’s had a terrible start in life. She was-”

  “Oh yes, she’s the shoplifter who took-”

  “Don’t be silly. She just helped herself to-“

  “After which the shoplifted took the shoplifter under her wing, gave her a job, paid for college, loaned her the down payment on her house-”

  “All of which she repaid. Lupe’s doing wonderfully. She just made detective.”

  “Detective? My, the caliber of your friends is improving.”

  3: Appearances Deceive

  Lupe Hernandez sat in an outdoor cafe under the palm trees lining Cabrillo Blvd., breathing in the sea air, absorbing the vista of wide beach, blue water and distant mountains. Stearns Wharf stretched toward the Channel Islands on the horizon. Bronze dolphins frolicked in the fountain sculpted by Bud Bottoms. She had grown up here, but she never ceased to appreciate what a beautiful place it was.

  A waiter approached, said, “?Esta lista para ordenar, senorita?”

  She sighed and shook her head. It always happened when she least expected it. There was no escape. She saw his poised pencil and understood he wanted to take her order, but she had no idea what he actually said or how to reply. Her brown skin made her an expatriate in her own land. She didn’t belong anywhere.

  “I don’t speak Spanish.”

  “I was sure you were Latina.”

  No, I’m not! She wanted to scream it at him. It takes more than a name and skin color. She gritted her teeth, struggling for civility. It wasn’t the waiter’s fault. She sighed. Her unknown father was Hispanic, thus her dark skin, but her mother was Anglo. So what did that make Lupe Hernandez? The blonde mother-greatly idealized for a long time, but barely remembered now-abandoned the dark-skinned baby, leaving her to uncaring Anglo relatives, then a succession of foster homes, all Anglo. By the time Children’s Services realized her mother was never going to be rehabilitated, it was too late for adoption-or to know where she belonged.

  “I look it, but I don’t speak it.” And she didn’t think it or act it. To be taken constantly for something she was not and didn’t want to be was the curse of her life.

  “Do you want to order?”

  The waiter was clearly Hispanic but with fair skin. Some people have all the luck. “I’m waiting for a friend, just coffee meanwhile.”

  “And I’ll have iced tea.”

  She turned to see Walter Byerly. Tall, white-haired and gangly, he reminded her of Jimmy Stewart, only he was even more laid back. He wore tennis whites.

  “Hope I’m not late. We had to play a tie breaker.”

  “Did you win?”

  “Finally, 15–13, on a drop volley.”

  “You were evenly matched.”

  He sat opposite her. “Evenly bad, you mean.”

  “Don’t pull that phony self-deprecation on me. I happen to know you’re a shark among the senior players. I’ll bet the guy you beat was 20 years younger.”

  “Ten anyway.” He looked at her, blue eyes bright, a slight smile on his lips. “I hear you’ve made detective. How’s it going?”

  She grimaced. “Don’t ask. How’s DeeDee?”

  “Doreen’s inimitable.”

  “Remind me to look up that word.”

  “I’m to say hi from her.” He accepted his iced tea, then sugared and stirred. “You certainly must qualify as the most beautiful detective in Santa Barbara.”

  “You’re not serious!”r />
  “Smooth ebony hair, luminous brown eyes, exotic complexion the color of dark honey, tall, slender, wears clothes like a model. It works for me.”

  She looked down at her coffee, shook her head. She wanted to hear those words so badly. Then why did she deny them when she did? “Let’s talk about something else.”

  “Okay, let’s try again. How’s the detective business?”

  She sighed, shook her head. “Nobody takes me seriously. I get all the scut assignments. At the moment I’m relegated to juvenile, for which I feel particularly unqualified.” She made a face. “For some reason I don’t relate to kids very well.”

  “You were an outsider yourself. Who’re you working with?”

  “I’m assigned to Sgt. Brogan.” She made a gesture of futility, couldn’t help it.

  “Good ol’ Buster Brogan, hasn’t solved a case since they took away his rubber hose.”

  “To Sgt. Brogan, women in law enforcement are about as useful as Supreme Court justices.”

  He laughed. “Very apt, I like it. Are you being harassed?”

  “Oh, everyone knows better than to paw me or make open comments, but it’s always there, behind almost every comment. I’m the department bimbo.”

  “You’ll be fine, Lupe. I have that from a reliable source.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Doreen.”

  “My number one fan.”

  “Number one after me.” He grinned. “Just keep up the fight-he said wisely.”

  “Advice I’m about to take.” She fished her notepad out of her purse. “That was a strange list of things you asked me about this morning. I haven’t come up with much so far. The only blond, blue-eyed, recently missing three-year-old boy came with a five-year-old sister.”

  “Could be, I suppose.”

  “Thought to be a father abduction.” She saw his grimace. “It would be helpful if you had a name other than Jamie.”

  “All I can tell you is that a woman claiming to be his mother left him-oh hell, I might as well say it-abandoned him with someone we know.”

  “Abandoned?”

  “That’s what it looks like.” He sighed. “We’ll find out where he belongs.”

  “I’m sure you will.” She glanced at her notepad. “Next, you wanted to know if there’s a report of a kidnapping or abduction near the library, Tuesday a week ago. The answer is no, not a word on file.”

  “You’re full of helpful information.”

  “I did better with the homeless lady at the Salvation Army. A name helps a lot.”

  “Nadine, the public health nurse, came up with Addie Kinkaid.”

  “Addie for Adelaide, if you can believe that. She’s the erstwhile, maybe I should say estranged daughter-in-law, at least former daughter-in-law of Karl Kinkaid.” She thought Walter would be impressed, but he just looked blank. “You never heard of him?”

  “Should I?”

  “I guess not. He's something of a mystery man, big bucks, big mover and shaker, thought to be a little shady, maybe more than a little. Actually, nobody knows much about him.”

  “Where’s he live?”

  “I’m surprised you don’t know. He owns an estate in Montecito, built like a castle, complete with towers, balustrades, maybe even a moat.”

  “Doreen specializes in moat people. I’ll ask her. What’s his daughter-in-law doing at The Sally?”

  “Can’t help you there.”

  “I’ll talk to her, if I ever see her again.” He swallowed from his iced tea.

  “When you phoned I thought you wanted to know about the suicide.”

  “Harry Gould? He’s the son of a friend of Doreen’s.”

  Lupe laughed. “Now why doesn’t that surprise me? DeeDee knows everyone.”

  “Almost. So what happened?”

  “Harry Gould was found this morning by his secretary, sprawled over his desk, shot through the right temple, a Saturday night special in his hand. Has to be a suicide.”

  “Suicides can be faked.”

  “They can also be for real. I hear there was a note on the computer printout.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Not that I know of, it’s not my case.”

  “And why not?”

  “I’m in juvenile, remember?”

  “What a waste of a smart young woman. When did this murder occur?”

  “Suicide, Walt. Apparently last evening, the exact time is uncertain.”

  “And it happened right downtown in La Arcada? That’s one of my favorite spots in Santa Barbara, flowers, fountains and sculpture, straight out of Europe. That’s no place for a murder, too crowded for one thing.”

  “That’s why it’s believed a suicide. It happened in Gould’s office on the third floor. Nobody in his right mind would choose the arcade as a murder site, too hard to get out of without somebody eyeballing you.”

  “Maybe. What do you know about this guy?”

  “Name and occupation is about it.” She hesitated, smiled. “You’re intrigued. I can hear your gears turning.”

  “Merely idling.”

  4: A Grieving Mother

  Deedee didn’t know the San Roque area very well and slowed her Beamer often to read street signs and house numbers. San Rogue was built on upper State Street, mostly in the ’50s and ’60s, a suburb then, now practically downtown.

  Yes, this was the house. She parked and headed up the walk. The front door opened before she was halfway to it, and she heard, “Oh-h, DeeDee, I just knew you’d come.”

  “I only just learned, Lorna, I’m so sorry.” Lorna Gould was somewhat heavy, and DeeDee felt a little smothered by her embrace. But she made no effort to escape. “Dear, dear Lorna, what an awful thing to happen, I simply can’t believe it.”

  She heard the woman’s sobs and felt her spastic breathing against her own chest. But she let her be. Tears were the best thing for her. In time she led Lorna to a sofa in her living room and sat her down, pulling tissues out of the box for her. Bottles sat on a table in the corner. She poured brandy into a snifter and brought it to her friend. Lorna Gould was only in her early 50s, yet at the moment she looked old enough for Medicare.

  “I wanted…to see you…so much, DeeDee. I–I just knew-you’d…understand.”

  DeeDee waited out another wail and spate of tears. “It must be so hard to lose an adult child. I can’t imagine losing one of mine.” Lorna Gould kept nodding her head as she blew into a tissue, then another. “You’ve raised them safely, they’ve survived the illnesses and accidents. You think they‘ll be okay now…you can stop worrying.” Suddenly her own eyes filled with tears, quite unbidden. “I think it would be easier to accept…when a child…is younger.”

  “No parent should outlive her child, it isn’t right, it’s unnatural.”

  DeeDee used a tissue for her own nose, took a moment to compose herself. She was supposed to be the comforter, not the comforted, after all. “Try not to dwell on it, Lorna, it won’t help. What happened? The radio never gives details.”

  “That’s just it, I don’t know-o-ow anything really.” Lorna had a nasal voice, especially with her tears. “The police came and said Harry apparently shot himself. That’s impossible! Harry doesn’t even own a gun!

  “Did you tell the police that?”

  “Of course, but they practically scoffed at me.“ She waved her hand to demonstrate how the police had dismissed her. “What do I know, I’m just a mother.”

  “They didn’t believe you?”

  “They didn’t say so, not in so many words, but that’s what they meant. Couldn’t my son have purchased a gun without my knowing it? Of course he could, but why would he? He had no enemies, no use for a pistol, let alone-what did they call it? — a weekend gun or something.”

  “It’s called a Saturday night special, Lorna. It’s a cheap handgun, easily available from stores and catalogs.”

  Lorna dismissed that information with another wave. “Harry loathed violence, ever since his fa
ther committed suicide ten, no twelve years ago. Harry even belonged to some group urging gun control. He opposed the death penalty.”

  Lorna got up, stalked across the room, poured into the snifter again. At least she had stopped crying. “You tell me, DeeDee, does Harry sound like someone who’d buy some cheap Saturday night gun, put it to his temple and pull the trigger?”

  “I must say he does not.”

  “The police say he left a note, something to the effect he was sorry, but he couldn’t take it any more. This was the only way out.” Lorna looked at her. “Harry only passed the bar last year. He had just hung out his shingle. He’d gotten his first important client. He was so happy and excited-not despondent and suicidal.”

  “You’ve certainly convinced me, Lorna. Did you tell all this to the police?”

  “Some of it, but I was in too much shock to think. But believe me, I will. I intend to give them a piece of my mind.” She picked up the bottle again. “Would you like some, DeeDee?”

  “No thank you.” She thought about cautioning her friend about getting plastered. Why not, if it helped her?

  “I just thought of another thing, DeeDee. An old college chum was in town visiting him. He was very excited about that.”

  “And would hardly take his own life. Where did Harry go to school?”

  “UCSB, then Stanford Law.”

  “Did he have a family?”

  “Of course, he had-oh, you mean that kind of family. No, Harry never married-he was only twenty-seven, for crissake. I don’t think he even dated anyone seriously. He was all into the law and getting himself established.”

  “Where did he live?”

  “Here with me, naturally.” Her expression turned defensive, her voice shrill. “I know, it’s supposed to be a bad sign when a young man continues to live at home. But he wasn’t a mama’s boy. It was simply convenient for him. He paid what rent he could and helped with the expenses. He came and went as he pleased. There were days when I hardly saw him.”

  “Stop, Lorna.” DeeDee smiled at her. “You don’t have to convince me. I think it’s wonderful that you and Harry had such a close relationship.”

  "Oh, DeeDee, you’re so understanding, such a comfort to me.”