The Tower of Evil (Bye-Bye Mysteries) Page 7

  Byerly hated small talk, always had. “Oh, same-o, same-o, Sid. How about you?” He listened. “As a matter of fact that’s why I called. I need some Washington insider information. As I remember—” Actually he had clippings. “—you used to write speeches for Reagan, then you worked for Clinton in his first campaign. Landslide George has no use for you. That makes you both political and non-partisan.”

  “What it makes me is a maverick who has a hard time finding work. What do you want to know, perfesser?”

  “Does Justin Wright stand a chance?”

  “Scare you, does he? Me, too. ‘Course he does. After Reagan and Clinton I quit writing off candidates as having no chance. Wright has the looks and the lip, which sometimes is all it takes. He was an adequate Congressman and now has a pretty good record as governor of a major state, at least he hasn’t messed up too bad. He’s got the flag, family and Jesus behind him. He might win, the nomination anyway.”

  “You’re right, it’s scary. What do you know about Karl Kinkaid?”

  “Not much, other than he’s a major backer of Justin Wright.”

  “That’s all you can tell me?”

  “That’s a measure of how mysterious the guy is. You’d think the press would do a hatchet job on him, but no.”

  “Maybe he owns the press.”

  “Or there’s nothing to expose. What’s Kinkaid done?”

  “I’m not sure anything. Is Joy Fielding his wife?”

  “Not many people know that. Hey, now that I think of it, she’s the one hot to trot for Wright. Maybe hubby just indulges his beloved. She’s got the bod, he has the bucks.”

  He was disappointed. Rankin had offered nothing he didn’t already know, but he couldn’t think of anything else to ask.

  “You’re slipping, perfesser.”

  “That’s for sure, but on what particular slide now?”

  “You haven’t mentioned the big, unsubstantiated rumor about Wright.”

  “I’ll bite. What’s the big, unsubstantiated rumor about Wright?”

  Rankin laughed. “You haven’t changed, perfesser, same old dry humor. There’s a nasty rumor that Wright secretly fathered a bastard kid. If so, it—”

  “Would destroy his holier-than-thou family values campaign.”

  “Not to mention Wright himself.”

  “Is it true?”

  “A lot of effort is going into trying to prove it. The Moore people—”

  Byerly laughed. “Winston Winthrop Moore, otherwise known as Win-Win Moore. He just can’t be for real.”

  “The guy has a birth certificate, but it could be phony, I suppose. Anyway, the Moore people reportedly are offering big bucks to anyone who produces the W-R-I-G-H-T stuff.” He guffawed. ”Sorry, couldn’t resist that.”

  “And if there is such a child, the Wright people would do almost anything to keep him hidden.” Why did he say him?

  “Never thought of that, but I’m sure you’re right.”

  “Who’s supposed to be the fallen woman?”

  “All anyone knows for sure is that three, maybe four years ago, when Wright was in Congress, he was pals with a fox named Amanda something or other, oh yeah, Sykes, I think. She worked in his DC office for a while, then disappeared. Nobody can find her, and believe me, an effort has been made, still is. If you happen to run into Ms. Sykes, you can do yourself a lot of good by calling the right people.”

  “I’ll start knocking on doors immediately.”

  “Say, why do you want to know about Kinkaid and Wright?”

  “When I know myself, you’ll be the first to find out.“

  “Oh no you don’t. I want a little quid pro quo.”

  “A quid is old English money and greed is unseemly. Bye, Sid.”

  DeeDee looked around the shop again. Everything put away. Time to go home. Maybe she should try that Boston number one more time. All she’d gotten was a machine. She pushed the re-dial button.

  An actual person. Imagine. “Is Cyn there?”

  “This is she.”

  “That’s an unusual name. I didn’t know if it was male or female.”

  “It’s really Cynthia—Cynthia Wu. Who’s calling?”

  No trace of an accent. She imagined Cyn Wu as a tiny, black-haired girl, the sort of progeny Olan might have had if she’d come to America. “You don’t know me, but my name is DeeDee Byerly.”

  The voice laughed. “We’re both into unusual names, aren’t we?”

  “So it would seem.” She laughed, too. Olan would have been proud of her. “I should have said Doreen Byerly. I’m calling from Santa Barbara, California, in answer to your e-mail message to Harry Gould.”

  “Thank God! I’ve been so worried. Is Sophia there? Can I speak to her?”

  “How do you know Sophia?”

  “I’m her roomie. Why are you calling? Do you know Sophia?”

  “I’m sorry, I should have explained. I’m a friend of Harry’s. Your message came and I decided to reply. You don’t know Harry?”

  “Only the name. I gather you don’t know Sophia.”

  “I don’t think so. What’s her last name?

  “Linden, Sophia Linden.”

  “Was she a friend of Harry’s?”

  A wary silence filled the line. “I’m not sure what I should say. Is Harry there? May I speak to him?”

  DeeDee hesitated. “I’m sorry, Cynthia, Harry Gould is dead.”

  “Dead! He can’t be. Sophia said he was young, her age.”

  “I’m afraid he was shot.”

  “But how, why?”

  “The police think it was suicide, but those of us close to him believe he was murdered.” She heard Cyn Wu gasp. “I’ve phoned in hopes you might shed some light on his last hours.”

  “Are you with the police?”

  “His mother asked me to look into his death. She’s very upset, especially with the police calling it a suicide. She’s Catholic and—”

  “How awful for her!”

  “That’s why I’m trying to help her. Can you tell me what Sophia’s connection to Harry was?”

  “I’m not sure. She was surprised to hear from him, I know.”

  “If she flew all the way from Boston to Santa Barbara to see him, there must have been something between them.” DeeDee laughed. “Or am I being hopelessly romantic?”

  “She didn’t say so, but my guess is Sophia hoped to get some money from him.”

  “I don’t think Harry had much money.”

  “But he sent airline tickets. Sophia couldn’t have gone otherwise.”

  “Harry was a lawyer. Perhaps he represented someone who provided the air fare.”

  “Oh God, this is so awful! I’m so worried about Sophia. I warned her not to go, but she insisted.” An anguished sound came. “Have you seen her? Do you know where she is?”

  DeeDee tried to keep her voice calm. “As I said, I don’t know Sophia. I’m sure—”

  “She stayed at some place called the Upham Hotel.”

  “It’s very nice.” And far from cheap!

  ”She phoned me from there when she arrived. Now they say she’s checked out. DeeDee, I-I’m so worried about her. If this Harry Gould was killed, maybe—”

  “I’m sure not, Cynthia. Try not to think about it.” Easily said. “Why would anyone want to harm Sophia?”

  “I don’t know, but she was always…well, careful, sort of looking over her shoulder all the time. Sophia didn’t trust very many people. That’s why I was surprised she went to California.”

  “Do you have any idea why she was so scared?”

  Cyn Wu hesitated. “I think it had something to do with her son. She’d never say who the father was. She didn’t want people to know.”

  “Sophia has a son!”

  “Yes, a three-year-old, great kid. I kept telling her to get financial support for him and make her life easier. Maybe that’s why she went to California. I hope so.”

  “Where’s the boy now?”

 
“Sophia took him with her. No way would she let him out of her sight. I always thought she was too protective of him.”

  DeeDee felt she couldn’t breath. “What’s he look like?”

  “He’s a real towhead, just a sweetheart. His name is Jamie.”

  10: A Charming Speculation

  “YOU’RE CUTE IN AN APRON. What’s cooking?”

  Byerly turned, saw Lupe Hernandez at the kitchen door, and motioned her inside. “I’m deep into poor man’s stroganoff, better known as SOS. That stands for—”

  “I know what it stands for.”

  “Then you won’t be staying for dinner.”

  She laughed. “Thanks for the invitation. I’ll take some of that wine, too.”

  He poured, added to his own glass, then busied himself at the stove, adding seasonings to the onions, mushrooms and hamburger he was sautéing. “What brings you to Monarch Lane?”

  “I offered Buster Brogan your information about the Gould case.”

  “And you are no longer a member of the police force.”

  “Almost. I should decide where my loyalties lie and not listen to you and DeeDee. By the way, you are now known as the Bye-Byes, at least to Buster Brogan.”

  “We’ve been called worse.” He heard a car door slam. “That’ll be Doreen. Hold up, she’ll want to hear this.”

  Her voice entered the kitchen first. “Darling, wait till you hear what I’ve just learned.” Then she saw Lupe and hugged her. “How wonderful to see you.”

  “What’s your news?” he asked.

  “It’ll keep, I want to fuss over this creature. I love your hair this way, pulled back into a chignon. You look like Nefertiti on one of her better days. With your deep-set eyes, you’re so-o…dramatic, that’s the word.” She turned to him. “She’s too lovely, Walter. I don’t think I should leave you alone with her.”

  “Good work, but enough, already. Detective Hernandez is here on official business. She reported our info on the Gould murder to Sgt. Brogan and was warned not to associate with the Bye-Byes, as we are now known. I sorta like it, don’t you?”

  Doreen dismissed that with a flip of her hand. “The erased files didn’t impress him?”

  “It only proves the suicide.”

  “That’s ridiculous! Is the man a Neanderthal?”

  “Buster believes conclusions are to be reached, not leapt to.” Lupe sighed. “That would be easier for me to believe, if he’d run a paraffin test on Gould.”

  “He didn’t?” Byerly almost dropped his spoon. ”What’s wrong with him?”

  “It looks to me like he has another agenda.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe, I can only hope you’re wrong.”

  Byerly poured wine for Doreen, then tended to his stroganoff, dumping a bag of noodles into boiling water. “I wasn’t serious about dinner, Lupe, you’re more than welcome. Be about ten minutes.”

  “You may not want me after I tell you the real reason I came." She sipped her wine. "Sgt. Brogan gave me an assignment. I’m to find a missing boy, blond, blue-eyed, about three years old. Sounds like the missing child you asked me about, doesn’t it?”

  “And what did Brogan tell you about this child?”

  “Not one syllable more than you did. Walter, what’s going on?”

  He glanced at Doreen, saw wariness in her eyes. “We have to tell her. We’re on the same deserted island.” He saw her reluctant nod. “The child is safe, in good hands, being cared for, just where his mother left him. We didn’t tell you—”

  “We were afraid you’d feel duty bound to contact Children’s Services and we don’t want that, at least not yet.”

  “Who is this child?”

  “He answers to the name Jamie. Other than that, we don’t know and at age three he can hardly tell us.”

  “I think I know,” Doreen said. “I talked to—” She glanced at Lupe. “Maybe we should start at the beginning.”

  “I think you’d better, I’m lost.”

  Doreen told of Jamie’s abandonment, but did not reveal where he was, nor did Lupe ask. Smart girl, Lupe. Better she not know. “There’s a definite link between Harry Gould’s murder and Jamie’s abandonment.”

  He looked at her sharply. “There is?”

  “It’s what I’m dying to tell you. Jamie’s last name is Linden, Jamie Linden. His mother’s name is not JoAnn—she made that up—but Sophia Linden.”

  “Doreen, my clever one, where did you learn this?”

  “From Cyn Wu, the girl in Boston, Sophia’s roommate. Harry Gould contacted Sophia. I don’t know how they knew each other or why she trusted him, but she accepted the air fare he sent for her and Jamie, flew out here and stayed at the Upham Hotel.”

  “Why did she come?” Lupe asked.

  “Sophia had Jamie out of wedlock. Cyn Wu doesn’t know the father, apparently nobody does. She’s had a hard time. Cyn Wu thinks she came out here in hopes of obtaining financial support.

  “Is Gould the father?” he asked.

  “I don’t think so. If she came out here with Jamie, Gould would have met her at the airport, at least known about Jamie. There was no need for her to hide him with a total stranger.”

  “She came out here to meet someone else.”

  “And got herself abducted by our friends in the castle.”

  Lupe Hernandez held up both hands. “Whoa! Not so fast. Walt, is this the library abduction you asked me about?”

  “I think so. I drove out to the Karl Kinkaid place. Sitting in the driveway was a limousine and chauffeur as described by Henry Clay.”

  “And who is Henry Clay?”

  “My homeless informant.” Lupe’s expression was the sort a person makes while sticking a big toe in a tub of hot water. ”I know it’s not much. You’re hardly going for a search warrant and an arrest.”

  “You’re right there. What possible connection can there be between Karl Kinkaid, a local jillionaire, and an abandoned tyke?”

  Doreen’s voice brightened. “Maybe Kinkaid is Jamie’s father. She came out here to—”

  “Try again. I took your advice, darling, and delved into the bible. I ended up with Sid Rankin in D.C.—I don’t think you know him—and came up with an utterly charming speculation. For starters, Sophia Linden may not be the correct name, either. Jamie’s mother is more likely Amanda Sykes.”