An Affair Of Sorcerers m-3 Page 6

  He thought about it, finally nodded. "You know her; she's a colleague of yours. Dr. Jones."

  "Madeline Jones? Mad Jones is an astronomer. What the hell does she know about the occult?"

  Garth laughed. "I've got news for you. That astronomer is also an astrologer-and a good one, if you can believe there is such a thing."

  "Madeline Jones?" I knew I was repeating myself, but I couldn't help it. The woman he was referring to just happened to be a world-renowned astronomer, a cosmologist who was a leading expert on black holes and quasars. She spent half her time teaching, the other half flying around the world to deliver papers at various conferences.

  Garth nodded. "Don't ask me the details, because I don't know them. Somehow, Dr. Jones got mixed up with the occult underground here-the heavies, not the weekend dabblers. She takes a pretty wry attitude toward the whole thing when I talk to her, but I can tell you that she's respected by the people who count."

  "And how does your horoscope look for today?" I said with a grin, then quickly held up my hand. "Sorry; I'll remember to keep a straight face."

  "I'm not into astrology, brother," Garth said, annoyance creeping into his voice. "I'm just telling you that Dr. Jones has a big rep. As an astrologer, the woman's damn near a legend. Naturally, she's a little nervous about word of her extracurricular activities getting back to your circles."

  "My circles?" I laughed; the whiskey was starting to affect me. "I've got enough circles to make a sphere. How'd you meet Mad?"

  "Breakfast's ready!" Regina called from the kitchen.

  "Apparently, she gets pretty close to her students," Garth said quietly. "Last year, one of them got mixed up with a coven that turned out to be a homosexual procuring ring. They were really doing a number on the kid. Dr. Jones heard about it through her sources, and she came to me for help. She had to expose her own occult activities to me, but she was willing to risk her academic career to save the kid. Anyway, her friends in the occult protect her-and I protect her. She's been useful as hell to me. You'd be amazed at some of the kinky things otherwise sensible kids get themselves involved in. Dr. Jones is the best snitch I've got when it comes to these spook rip-off artists. I think she takes a kind of pride in keeping the field. . pure." Garth must have seen something in my face, because he suddenly laughed self-consciously. "Weird, I know."

  "I don't know how to get in touch with her," I said. "With her schedule, Mad could be anywhere in the world."

  "She's at the university for the summer. I talked to her last week about another case."

  "Garth!" Regina called. "Mongo! Get in here right now or it goes in the garbage!"

  We went into the kitchen and sat down at the table. Regina had prepared steak, eggs, hashed-brown potatoes and toast. I hadn't realized how ravenously hungry I was until I started eating, and I wolfed down the food along with two more cups of Regina's strong, black coffee. Then my weariness hit me and I wanted nothing more than to lay my head down on the table and close my eyes. But there was still more business to be taken care of.

  "What's the story on the psychic healer you've got locked up across town?" I asked.

  Garth glanced up from his coffee, surprised. "Esteban Morales?"

  "That's the one. How does it look to the cops?"

  "Why?"

  His question put me in a bind. Garth had broken a confidence by telling me about Madeline Jones, and he wasn't going to like it if I turned coy on him. Still, I didn't want to say too much while Regina was there.

  "Garth," I said, looking down into my empty coffee cup, "someone who thinks Morales is innocent has asked me to look into the case."

  I glanced up in time to see Garth narrow his eyes. "That's very nice of someone," he said softly.

  "My client has. . personal reasons."

  "Christ, you're a busy man."

  "You don't know the third of it," I said, thinking of Smathers. "The interested party is a very heavy politician who can't afford to have his name linked with a psychic healer."

  "I can understand that-particularly when the healer is accused of murder. Why is Morales so important to him?"

  "It is very personal, Garth. Let's just say that he's as impressed by Morales as you are by John Krowl."

  "Do you want me to leave?" Regina asked, reacting to my tone and starting to rise.

  "It's all right," Garth said, gripping her elbow and gently pulling her back down into her chair. "I don't really have that much to say, Mongo. I think you'll be wasting your time on that one. You know the background of the case?"

  "Some of it. I know Morales was involved in a research project, and his work with the two doctors was part of it. He was working with their patients."

  Garth nodded. "Samuels-the M.D. he killed-had filed a complaint on him, something about practicing medicine without a license. Samuels claimed Morales had administered drugs to a patient-something he'd been specifically prohibited from doing. It was channeled to me because Morales is billed as a psychic healer."

  "Why is everyone so damn sure that Morales is the killer?"

  "He was found standing over the body. Samuels and Jordon met every Thursday night at their offices to go over their business affairs. Morales got there early one night and slit Samuels' throat. Dr. Jordon came in a few minutes later and found Morales with the body. Morales had dropped the knife he'd used into a vial of acid."

  "Then it was Jordon who reported the murder?"

  "Right."

  "That I didn't know. Sounds suspicious."

  Garth smiled condescendingly. "Why? Jordon wasn't anywhere he wasn't supposed to be."

  "What does Morales say happened?"

  "He claims he received a call from Samuels asking him to meet Samuels a few minutes before Samuels' meeting with Jordon. When he got there, he saw the body and went over to it; that's when Dr. Jordon walked in. Hell, what would you expect him to say?"

  "Does he have a lawyer?"

  "Legal Aid."

  "People who know the man say he's not a killer."

  Garth shrugged. "Hey, he's a real nice old fellow; but then, even nice old fellows have been known to kill."

  "How much investigating are you doing?"

  "We're looking into it, but there just isn't anyone else with a motive to kill Samuels."

  "No one that you know of, and you're not likely to find anyone else without a little digging. A complaint isn't that strong a motive, Garth."

  "Hey, what can I tell you? He was found standing next to the body."

  "Can I get in to see him?"

  He thought about it, said: "Let me know when you're ready. If Morales and his lawyer don't have any objections, I'll see what I can do." He paused, drummed his fingers on the table. "Personally, I like the old man; I hope you do find out something. But I don't think you will."

  "Thanks, brother. I'm not sure when I'll get to that, but I would appreciate it if you'd check with Morales. Tell him I'd like to help, if I can."

  "Fair enough."

  I knew I needed sleep, but wasn't sure I could. I shaved with Garth's razor, then took a hot shower. I dressed again, then lay down on the couch. I'd intended simply to rest until a more reasonable hour when I could try to reach Madeline Jones-but I was asleep by the time I put my feet up.

  Chapter 6

  My sleep was filled with recurring dreams of Kathy bursting into flames. I awoke with a start, realized where I was and anxiously glanced at my watch. It was nine thirty. Despite the fact that I'd had only two hours of troubled sleep, I felt oddly invigorated; it was an unnatural, nervous energy, fueled by anxiety-but I was grateful for it. It was time to go out and do battle again.

  Garth and Regina were gone. I made myself a cup of acrid instant coffee, then called the university and asked for Madeline's extension. She answered the phone herself.

  "Hey, darlin'," I said. "Guess who?"

  "Mongo!" she exclaimed in her sultry, breathy voice. "My God, I haven't seen you in months."

  "Well, that's not my fault;
I'm not the one traipsing all over the world. I've got all the crooks I need right here in New York." I paused, lowered my voice. "Mad, I'd like to talk. Got a half hour for me?"

  "Sure," she purred in a tone that always made me feel flushed. "And here I was afraid you'd forgotten all about me."

  "I'll be there in a few minutes; I believe I'm going to have to take a cold shower first."

  She laughed huskily, hung up.

  I drove to the university, parked, then walked to the Hall of Sciences, where I found Madeline in her suite of offices. If there was order in the universe, it certainly wasn't reflected in Madeline Jones's working quarters. As usual, her office was cluttered with charts, telescope parts and other astronomical paraphernalia. A coffeepot was percolating on a hot plate on a corner of her desk, its pleasant aroma filling the room.

  Madeline's hair, a natural strawberry blond in old photos she'd shown me, was now a burnished silver. She wore it long, swept back from her face in a manner that gave her a sleek, sexy look. She was pushing fifty, but daily, vigorous jogging had given her the face and body of a thirty-year-old, and she had the glittering, playful eyes of a teen-ager. She was a sensual woman, and made no effort to hide the fact; she was attractive-and energetic-enough to have carried on a string of affairs with a procession of lab assistants twenty years her junior. Madeline Jones might have been many things, but a tease wasn't one of them. I'd had more than one thinly veiled invitation from her, but had passed each time. I wasn't sure why; maybe she scared the hell out of me-or maybe I simply didn't want to jeopardize a cherished friendship.

  Madeline glanced up from a celestial map she'd been studying and grinned at me as I entered the office. "Hello, Sugar," she said throatily, sea-blue eyes flashing. "Remember to take your cold shower?"

  "Please don't test me, darlin'," I said, going across the room and kissing her hand. "Damn, you're a good-looking woman!"

  "You look tired," she said seriously.

  "I am, babe."

  "Oh!" she said playfully, pointing to the package I carried under my arm. "You've brought me a present!"

  "Not exactly, Mad," I replied, unwrapping the gown and handing it to her. "I'm told you might be able to tell me what these symbols mean."

  Madeline tentatively took the garment from my hand and examined it. When she looked up, her eyes were veiled. "What makes you think I'd know anything about these designs?" she asked guardedly.

  "Garth told me about you, Mad. Lieutenant Frederickson. Did you know he was my brother?"

  "I knew," she said icily. "He had no right betraying my confidence."

  It was the first time I'd ever seen her angry; somehow, it made her even more beautiful. "Garth wouldn't have done it if it weren't absolutely necessary, Mad. This is an emergency. A little girl's life could depend on what I can find out about the symbols on this gown-and how fast."

  I quickly filled Madeline in on the details of what had happened during the night. As Mad listened, her face became stiff and she seemed to grow increasingly agitated. When I told her about Kathy's condition, she raised the back of her hand to her mouth as if to stifle a cry. When I finished, she abruptly turned and walked to the opposite side of the room.

  "The girl's lucky she has you as a friend, Mongo," the astronomer said very softly. "You were right; the symbols do mean something. I don't know what's been done to her, but something has been. . done. The girl's life is definitely in danger. The gown is covered with magical vengeance and attack symbols. It's meant that she should die. . and I think her death is meant as a warning to someone."

  "You mean the girl was poisoned in order to send a message?"

  "Yes," she said so softly that I could hardly hear her. "You might say that."

  Mad's back was to me, muffling her voice even further. I walked across the room in an effort to see her face, but she turned away from me. I stopped where I was. "Can you tell from the gown who the warning is meant for?"

  Madeline shook her head; the slight movement sent her silver hair undulating back and forth across the back of her head in shimmering waves. "No," she said. "As far as what's been done to her, witches would probably try to use something organic. There are certain herbs that could be used, like hemlock, but I don't know much about those things." She paused, then whispered, "It's so unbelievably evil to use a child like that."

  "Mad, does the term 'book of shadows' mean anything to you?"

  Now she slowly turned to look at me. There was surprise in her face. "A book of shadows is a witch's diary," she said. She sounded distracted, and the focus of her eyes slowly shifted until she was looking somewhere beyond me.

  "A witch's diary?"

  Madeline nodded. "It's a collection of spells, omens, dreams, coven rituals-anything the witch considers important. It's meant to be a record of spiritual growth."

  "Can a man be a witch?"

  "Most definitely," Mad said distantly. Her gaze slowly came back into focus on my face. "Anyway, a book of shadows is a witch's most precious possession. It's only seen by other members of the witch's coven-if it's shared at all."

  Which seemed to mean that Frank Marlowe had been a witch. Without question, he'd been traveling in nasty company; and whoever had done him in hadn't lacked brains, nerve or skill. They'd known enough about herbs or drugs to poison Kathy with a substance that seemed to be virtually untraceable; enough about chemicals to arrange for a chemical fire by delayed combustion; finally, they'd been cool enough to lock the door behind them.

  A message. But for whom?

  Smart, yes; evil, definitely so. But there was something that just didn't make sense to me. Marlowe might have been strange, but I'd sensed that he was basically a decent man; I couldn't imagine him belonging to the kind of group that had probably killed him.

  So far, I couldn't see how anything Madeline had told me could be of use in finding out what was wrong with Kathy. I decided to take a flyer. "Mad, do the names 'Daniel' and 'Esobus' mean anything to you?"

  Mad's eyes widened and her face grew pale. "Esobus? Does Esobus have something to do with this?"

  Her sharp reaction startled me, and I felt my stomach muscles tighten. "Possibly. Why, Mad?"

  She put her hand to her brow, momentarily shielding her eyes. "It's incredible," she said in a weak, baffled tone, slowly shaking her head. " 'Esobus' is a witch name-a pseudonym. There have been rumors for months about a very powerful and evil ceremonial magician in New York using that name."

  "What's a 'ceremonial magician'?"

  Mad took her hand away from her face and sighed. "Mongo, what do you know about witches, or the occult?"

  "Yesterday, I'd have made a smart remark about broomsticks and pumpkins," I said evenly. "Now I'm just listening."

  Mad's eyes had gone out of focus again, and I wasn't even sure she'd heard me. "From a Christian point of view, you might describe a ceremonial magician as an upside-down priest," she said. "But it really has nothing to do with Christianity. A ceremonial magician is a priest of the occult-a master."

  "A heavy witch?"

  "Yes and no. Both are seekers of knowledge and power, but ceremonial magicians are really beyond witchcraft. Witches form covens. Thirteen is considered a magical number; as you probably know, it's the traditional number of witches in a coven. Witches try to work their will on the world, and they believe the coven protects them from being consumed by the very forces they're trying to summon forth."

  Madeline's voice trailed off, as though she had lost her train of thought-or was thinking of something else. Her eyes looked roiled, muddy. I was about to say something when she continued: "Ceremonial magicians work alone. Witches believe that the ceremonial magician learns to control the world around him as he learns to control himself. There are some who are supposed to be able to control matter-or even create life."

  "Do you believe that?"

  She smiled thinly. "No, I don't believe that. But the story on Esobus is that he destroys life; he attempts to accumulate personal power thro
ugh the conscious pursuit of evil."

  "I'm not sure I follow that reasoning."

  "Of course you don't; that's because you're a good person. Most of us, if we hurt somebody, are quick to say we didn't mean it. Esobus-if there is an Esobus-makes no such rationalization, and seeks no forgiveness. It's looking-glass ethics: the search for a kind of salvation through evil. Anyway, I've heard a rumor that Esobus has created what you might call a 'super coven' here in the city."

  "Why?"

  Madeline shrugged. "I don't know, Mongo. I think it's just a story."

  "I'm impressed, Mad; you do get around. Do you have any idea what Esobus' real name is?"

  She shook her head slowly and deliberately. "I doubt that Esobus even exists," she said distantly, tension in her voice. "I think he's just a legend-something for Black Arts occultists to believe in. Like God. In the end, Esobus may turn out to be the Wizard of Oz."

  "This Wizard of Oz sounds pretty dangerous."

  Mad looked at me a long time, as though still lost in thought. "You still haven't told me what Esobus has to do with the girl's condition," she said at last.

  "On Friday, the girl told me she'd heard her father say he thought either this Esobus or someone named Daniel had stolen his book of shadows. He was worried about it. That's the reason for all these questions."

  "If a ceremonial magician took this man's book of shadows, it would have to be for a very good reason," she said quietly. "It would be like a minister stealing a sacred relic from someone else's church."

  "What about this Daniel? Is he a ceremonial magician too?"

  "Yes," she said tautly.

  "But you don't know who he is?"

  "I know who he is," Mad replied after a long pause. "But he won't talk to you about this-or about anything else having to do with the occult. You'll be wasting your time. These people have a saying: 'Those who know don't talk, and those who talk don't know.'"