Evil in the 1st House (2 page)

Chapter Two

The intercom buzzed. “Yes, Sarah?”

“Melinda's here.”

“Send her in.”

“There's also a woman on the other line from a cable station who wants you to do a reality show about astrology.”

“There are hundreds of excellent astrologers who would love the opportunity to be on TV. If she calls back, suggest astrologers we have on file. Or have her call one of the astrology organizations, like the NCGR or AFAN.”

“She's more interested in using your renown to help herself rather than help someone else.”

“I think you're right.”

“That's why you pay me the big bucks.” She laughed. “Anything you need?”

“Order me breakfast from Louie's.” Louie's was his favorite organic restaurant, run by an old hippie from Vermont who'd inherited the building several years before and moved his restaurant down to Manhattan. The menu had many selections that suited Lowell's vegetarian diet.

“What do you want?”

“Surprise me.”

The door opened and an attractive brunette in an expensive business suit entered. She walked over to the desk and bent to kiss Lowell on his forehead. “Hi, Dad.” At six feet she towered over Lowell's five-foot-eight frame.

He smiled and leaned back in his chair. “You look tired, Melinda.”

“You tell me that every time I see you.”

“That's because you look tired every time I see you. Why won't you let me set you up with your own law practice?”

“Why, so I can work a hundred hours a week instead of seventy? I'm only thirty-two. I'd like to try to have a life outside the office.”

“Eventually you'll come to the same conclusion I have: it's better to work for yourself. Especially with your natal chart. What brings you around?”

“I have to see a client in the neighborhood, and I thought I'd come by and say hello.”

“They overwork you terribly.”

“Dad, I'm fine, really.”

“Do you need any money?”

“No, thank you. I make a good living.”

He nodded. “I spoke to your mother last night.”

“I've been meaning to call her. How's she doing?”

***

“Hello Catherine.”

“How are you, David?”

“Is there ever really a simple answer? I've been okay. A little tired. Getting very busy with my work.”

His ex-wife sighed. “I've been reading about you. Freddie Finger's murder even made the Woodstock papers. How sad. Remember the first time we saw him in concert?”

He chuckled. “How could I forget? You wore yellow shoes and a very short blue dress. You never wore dresses in those days. Always jeans. And sneakers with no laces. Once I saw that dress I knew we were going to finally get together as a couple that night.”

“Sure of yourself, weren't you?”

“Not until I saw that dress.”

She laughed. “I must have tried on thirty outfits before my roommate lent me that one.”

“She must have been pissed when you returned it full of grass stains after our rendezvous under the stars.”

They both laughed.

Then there was silence.

“Is there something on your mind, David?”

He sipped his beer and gazed out the window of his Manhattan townhouse at the tiny piece of backyard property fenced in on three sides with high wooden panels. He wasn't feeling well, and he couldn't put his finger on it until now when his eyes fell upon that urban oasis enclosed like a child's dollhouse. He felt claustrophobic. His life seemed to be closing in around him, like that wooden fence.

When he heard ice clink in a glass, he knew she was drinking Sauvignon blanc. She drank it with ice in the summer.

“I was thinking of taking a drive later in the week,” he said, “and was wondering if you'd like some company. I haven't been up to Woodstock in a while and would like to come up to visit. I miss…the house.”

“Is Melinda alright?”

“Yes, our daughter's fine.”

“Thank God.” She sipped her wine. “I suppose if your mind is set on it there's little I can do to dissuade you.”

“It's going to be a beautiful weekend,” he said quietly, “and I thought it would be nice to take a walk and have dinner. I love that old farmhouse restaurant in town.”

“Okay, David. Next Saturday?”

“I'll have Andy drive me up in the early afternoon. I'll see if Melinda would like to join us.”

“It would be nice to spend some time together.”

“I'll call you on the way.”

When they hung up, Lowell went out to the backyard and sat for almost an hour, beer forgotten in hand, staring at the fence.

***

“Dad?”

“Oh, sorry. She sounded okay. I'm driving up next weekend, and I was wondering if you'd like to come along.”

Melinda walked over to the window and picked up the turtle's food. She sprinkled a little into the tank and watched as Buster and Keaton shambled over for a second treat. “It's that time of year again, isn't it?”

Lowell was silent.

“Yes, I guess I'll come up.” She gazed out the window. “It doesn't get any easier with time, does it?”

“Not really. But it would be good to get together as a family.”

“I miss him everyday.”

“So do I.”

Melinda nodded. “Okay, when do you want to leave?”

“Saturday morning about nine.”

“Will Andy pick me up, or should I come up to the townhouse?”

“Andy will get you. Unless you want to stay over Friday night.”

“I'll check my social calendar and let you know.” Melinda had made finger quotes when referring to her social life. “What are you working on?”

“There are a few things I'm looking into. I just took a rather unusual case.”

She laughed. “You don't get any other kind. What is it?”

“A Dr. Williamson asked me to find his son's identical twin. According to him they were separated shortly after birth when the wife apparently took off with one of the children. The boy has advanced kidney disease and needs a transplant which, because of a rare blood type, apparently only his missing twin brother can supply.”

Melinda turned from the window and looked at her father. “Not your usual case. Do you have the charts yet?”

Lowell shook his head. “Only for the boys.”

“Why did the wife run off? And why did she only take one son?”

“I don't know. There are a lot of things about this situation that seem a little weird. I have to wait for the parents' birth information before I can really move forward. Williamson was oddly reluctant to supply his own details on the spot. I let it go for now until I figure this guy out.”

“Why wouldn't he tell you?”

Lowell shrugged. “He's supposed to email me his and his wife's birth information. I need to find out a lot more about the parents if I'm going to find the child.”

“Sounds like it's time for a Mort special.”

Lowell nodded. “Best Internet guy I've ever known. Whatever data's out there about this guy, Mort will find it.” He turned to the computer screen. “Let's look at the twins' charts.”

Melinda was his best astrology student.

Having already put the information into his Solar Fire computer program, Lowell brought the two charts up simultaneously on his computer screen then hit a button which directed the image to the 32-inch flat screen TV against the wall.

“Here are the two charts. They were born on June 10th, 1999 at 3:30 a.m. and 3:44 a.m. in Princeton, New Jersey. Edward, the younger of the two, is the one who's ill. What do you see?”

Melinda pulled her chair closer to the desk. She took the wireless mouse in hand and used it as a pointer. “Hmm. As you taught me, Venus rules the kidneys, so let's see how it's aspected in the natal chart.” She gazed at the screen moving the pointer as she spoke. “The ascendant is Taurus, ruled by Venus, so that planet will have a big influence on the boys.”

He leaned back in his chair and brushed a piece of lint off his jeans. “Right. And how is Venus aspected?” He couldn't help taking on the professor role.

“It's badly afflicted. Venus is in opposition to Neptune,” she wiggled the mouse back and forth between the two planets, “a very weakening aspect. It shows the potential for infections, breakdowns, and possibly misdiagnosed ailments in the kidneys and water meridian.”

Lowell smiled proudly. “What else? Why is one boy ill and the other not? What's different about their charts?”

She looked for a few moments and then smiled. “The Moon. Both boys have the Moon in the 12th house that rules medicine and hospitals. But the older boy, Kevin has the Moon at twenty-nine degrees fifty-two minutes of Aries. Because of the fourteen minutes' difference in the births, Edward has the Moon at zero degrees Taurus, which adds to the Venus influence. That's a major difference, isn't it? The Taurus Moon in Edward's chart is also in a close square to Venus and Neptune, both at four degrees, creating a tight in-sign t-square resolving in the 6th house of health, which in this chart is also ruled by Venus.”

Lowell nodded. “Right. Just about what I would expect with kidney failure at such a young age. As you know, I‘ve always been a strong believer in sign placement, not just the degrees of an aspect. The Moon has a lot to do with the immune system as well. And because Edward's Moon squares Venus, it implies that he could have health issues involving the kidneys and the immune system, which may not afflict his brother. Anything else different between the two horoscopes that could affect their health?”

Melinda moved the pointer. “The different birth time also moves the ascendant six degrees, giving Kevin a twelve-degree rising sign, and making Edward's eighteen degrees. The change puts Kevin's Saturn in the first house of the self. He may act more maturely than his brother, and could look older as they age. Edward's birth time creates a different ascendant and puts Saturn, the planet of restriction and limitations, in the 12th house of hospitals. The indication is that there is the possibility that, at some point in his life, Edward could be forced to stay in a hospital or other institution.”

“Excellent.”

“So what I understand about twins, if the problem isn't genetic, it's environmental, particularly how the children developed in the womb. That's why only one identical twin may become sickly.”

“But it should still show up in the natal charts.”

“And what about fate?”

“It has to do with what each person needs to experience in this life. One soul may need to learn to suffer physically in order to rebalance his karmic bank account, while the other must learn patience and unconditional love for the sibling. They come back as twins, one ill, the other not, so they can work through their necessary lessons. Just being twins shows the remarkable connection between the souls. Something that goes back beyond the time of conception.”

“Fascinating!” She looked at her watch. “Dad, I'm so sorry. I've got to go. But I'm interested in this case. Keep me up to date. I'll talk to you before Saturday.” She stood up.

Lowell pushed his chair back away from the desk. “Oh, there is one more little detail I should mention.”

“What's that?”

“Dr. Williamson gave me a briefcase with a million dollars in hundred-dollar bills as a retainer.”

“This definitely ups the ‘unusual' quotient.”

Chapter Three

As always, David Lowell awoke at five. He showered and dressed in his usual blue jeans pressed to a sharp crease, a lightweight turtleneck, gray today, and loafers. Then he left his townhouse on East Ninety-third Street and walked down to his offices on East Twenty-fourth as was his habit since he opened the Starlight Detective Agency almost eight years before. This was the only time of the day he could call his own. No clients screaming for his attention, no traumas or distractions. It was a meditative ritual that allowed him to clear his head and prepare for the day's action. He stopped at a Starbucks to pick up his first cup of the day and strolled leisurely downtown.

Each day he took a different route. This time he walked down Museum Mile: the Guggenheim, in its circular glory, Frank Lloyd Wright's twisted amusement park of visual delights. Then he passed the magnificent Met, the largest art museum in America, its stately, imposing steps leading to one of the greatest collections of human endeavors. With its Beaux-Arts façade a quarter of a mile long, and covering almost two million square feet, it beckoned with creative works from all corners of the globe.

He passed the mansions of the Gilded Age, each a square block and once the private homes of the robber barons of the Nineteenth century, now mostly all museums.

At Seventieth Street he came upon the Frick Museum, built in 1914 as a private mansion by Henry Clay Frick, the chairman of the Carnegie Steel Company, during a time when such outrageous opulence by the elite was the order of the day. High wrought-iron fences protecting its glorious gardens complete with marble benches scattered along a winding path that invoked a fading memory of a smaller, gentler New York City. Now it stood as a stark reminder of those heady days, and evidence of a way of life long past, yet still somehow relevant as an aide-memoir in the Twenty-first century. After all, how different are they from the grand estates built by the robber barons of the Internet Age? Perhaps in time they will all be museums, too.

He crossed the avenue and meandered along the stone wall bordering Central Park. At its southern end at Fifty-ninth Street he turned east and headed over to Lexington where he continued downtown. He enjoyed walking through midtown before it awakened for the day, and before the summer sun got too hot. The building supers were out hosing the sidewalks down, and the cold water on the warm cement created welcome pockets of cool air.

He passed Grand Central Station, a massive endeavor when built, now dwarfed by the ever-growing city, ghostly in its silence, soon to be inundated with harried commuters. Its ceiling, painted by artists Paul Helleu and Charles Basing, included a complete display of the zodiac that always made Lowell chuckle when he walked through its giant corridor. The sky is painted backwards. Nobody seems to know if it was a mistake or if reversing the heavens had some hidden meaning for the artists.

He ambled through Murray Hill in the east Thirties and into Little India, passing dozens of restaurants already preparing for the day's business, the pungent smell of curry seeping out of windows and vents.

When Lowell reached Twenty-fourth Street he turned east for two blocks, went into Starbucks on the corner and picked up his second coffee of the day. Retracing his steps for a quarter of a block, he entered a nondescript brown building, and took the elevator to the sixth floor, opened the office door, and entered the suite of the Starlight Detective Agency. The inner office housed his familiar work space and occasional home-away-from-home. He picked up the phone and pushed #7 on the speed dial.

“Smith Barney.”

“Roger Bowman, please.”

“One moment.”

“This is Roger.”

“It's David.”

“Hey, Starman. Nice job on the rock 'n' roll murder case. I hear everyone was talking about it in the oil pit. What's up today?'

“I'm going long on the metals again. Buy twenty silver market-on-open and ten gold, also on-the-open. Put the stop in silver at 19.75, and the gold at 1360.”

“Sure, I'll call you with the fills.”

“How did we do this month?”

“Your accounts are up about four percent.”

“Good. Please send half of the profits to the ASPCA.”

“Will do. Coming down anytime soon? You're famous now. And the Freedom Tower at Battery Park City is almost completed. You should see it.”

“I'll let you know.”

***

Sarah buzzed him twice to announce her arrival. He returned the buzz. It was nine a.m. on the dot.

Sarah picked up. “What's up, Boss?”

“Did Williamson ever email the birth information I requested?”

“Not yet.”

“Call him and remind him.”

About five minutes later Sarah buzzed. “Machine picked up. I left a message.”

“Let me know if you hear from him. When Mort comes in send him in here.”

“He's just coming in the front door.”

A few moments later Mort appeared, coffee cup in one hand, a strawberry Danish in the other. “Morning, David. What's up?” He took a bite, then a sip.

“Mort, I can't wait any longer. Find the birth information for Williamson and his wife. He's delinquent in sending it, and I need it before I can proceed.”

“I'll get right on it.”

An hour later Mort knocked twice on Lowell's door.

Lowell looked up from his computer. “Mort, what did you find out?”

“Here's Williamson's birth date and place. I haven't got the birth time yet.” He handed Lowell a piece of paper. “You know, it wasn't as easy to find as you might expect for such a prominent person in his field. It's almost as if he went to some lengths to hide it. He just didn't do such a great job.” Mort beamed that big goofy grin of his.

“How?”

“Well, there are a number of profiles of him as a young doctor, but none mention his place or date of birth. It's not even on Wikipedia. I find that most unusual.”

“So how did you find it?”

“I worked backwards until I hit a crossroads in his college days. I was able to hack into Columbia's database and then back to his high school, etc. I actually got confirmation of the birth date through his pediatrician's records when he was a child. The practice was taken over by the doctor's son who for some reason put all the old files online. I've got to go out to the hospital in New Brunswick where Williamson was born later today to get into their old records for the birth time.”

Lowell looked at him with real admiration. “You continue to amaze me. Andy will drive you out there when you're ready.”

“Well, as you like to say, you didn't hire me for my looks.” He laughed loudly. “Okay, here's what else I found that I thought you'd find interesting. Early in his career Williamson was a superstar. A surgeon with an almost perfect record and a keen intuition. But then sometime before his marriage he began to change. His interest morphed into making as much money as possible. He got into the business of genetic patents and accrued a large number of them, some apparently through less-than-ethical means.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was sued by one woman with a very rare genetic marker in her blood capable of fighting off certain cancer cells. She'd come to him for some blood work, and he patented her blood type using some discarded samples. It's all been perfectly legal, although it's becoming more of a gray area since the recent Supreme Court ruling implying that many DNA patents may be illegal.”

“What happened with the lawsuit?”

“Nothing. The woman died in a hit-and-run accident before it came to court, and the case was dropped.”

“So Williamson became more concerned with gene patents than with practicing medicine?”

Mort waved his arms erratically as he spoke. “Apparently. He does own quite a number of them. He has laid claim to about forty genome abnormalities.”

“Is this common?”

“The purchasing, or in some cases, stealing of genes has been an escalating business for some years. He owns some that are essential for diabetics, people with Parkinson's, and several other high profile diseases. His patents are used by the biggest drug companies in the world. And they pay him a percentage of everything they earn on any drug that uses one of them. I'll bet he's even richer than you.” Mort smiled broadly.

“What else do you have?”

“I'm still chasing down some leads.”

Lowell took the last sip from his tall cardboard cup of coffee, then crumpled it and tossed it overhand like a basketball into the recycle bin. He looked at the paper Mort had given him. “I'll get to Williamson's chart later, once you find out the birth time. Anything else?”

Mort glanced at his notes. “He was married to Gloria Greenwald in New Jersey in 1998. There is no record of a divorce in New York or New Jersey. But they could have done it in Reno. I'll keep looking.”

“Birth information for her?”

“Not yet. But later today.”

“And after the separation?”

“He seems to have thrown himself into his work. No record of a new marriage. Edward wanted for nothing. He went to the finest schools and traveled around the world. He even spent one semester in a boarding school in Paris.”

Lowell nodded knowingly. He understood the extent of elite education in a moneyed life. “Where is his son now?”

“Williamson owns a small, private hospital outside Clifton, New Jersey, which is where the boy is being treated. There are only eight rooms on the second floor. It appears to be mostly a research hospital.”

“Alright, we'll look into that later. For now, I need the mother's birth information if I'm ever going to find her.”

“I'll get right on it. I'll work on the computer in the limo on the way to New Brunswick and kill two birds with one stone.”

“When can you leave?”

Mort looked at his phone. “It's almost ten now. I can be ready by eleven.”

Lowell buzzed Sarah. “Have Andy pick Mort up outside at eleven.”

Mort got up to leave and then turned, his hand resting on the doorknob. “You know, David, something's just not right here.”

“I know. I feel it too.” Lowell stood up and stretched his back, then sat down again. “Let's use our respective skills to get to the truth.”