"Just listen, Garth. I need a witness." I took a deep breath, then started in again on Morales. "Esteban," I whispered, "I asked you a question. Can you see my aura? Can you see my aura, Esteban? Damn it, if you can, say so! I may be able to help you. If you can see my aura you have to say so!"
Esteban Morales slowly lifted his head. His eyes were filled with pain. "I cannot help you, Mr. Mongo."
Garth gripped my arm even tighter. "Mongo-"
"I'm all right, Garth. Esteban, tell me what it is you see."
The healer took a long, shuddering breath. "You are dying, Mr. Mongo. Your mind is sharp, but your body is-" He gestured toward me. "Your body is the way it is. It is the same inside. I cannot change that. I cannot help. I am sorry."
"Don't be," I said. I was caught between conflicting emotions, exultation at coming up a winner and bitterness at what Morales' statement was costing me. I decided to spin the wheel again. "Can you tell about how many years I have left, Esteban?"
"I cannot say," Morales said in a choked voice. "And if I could, I would not. No human should suffer the burden of knowing the time of his death. Why you make me say those things about you dying?"
I spun on Garth. I hoped I had my smile on straight. "Well, brother, how does Esteban's opinion compare with the medical authorities'?"
Garth shook his head. His voice was hollow. "Your clients get a lot for their money, Mongo."
"How about getting hold of a lawyer and arranging a bail hearing for Esteban. Like tomorrow?"
"I can get a public defender in here, Mongo," Garth said in the same tone. "But you haven't proved anything."
"Was there an autopsy done on Edmonston?"
"Yeah. The report is probably filed away by now. What about it?"
"Well, that autopsy will show that Edmonston was dying of cancer, and I can prove that Esteban knew it. I just gave you a demonstration of what he can do."
"It still doesn't prove anything," Garth said tightly. "Mongo, I wish it did."
"All I want is Esteban out on bail-and the cops dusting a few more corners. All I want to show is that Esteban knew Edmonston was dying, fast. It wouldn't have made any sense for Esteban to kill him. And I think I can bring a surprise character witness. A heavy. Will you talk to the judged"
"Yeah, I'll talk to the judge." Again, Garth gripped my arm. "You sure you're all right? You're white as chalk."
"I'm all right. Hell, we're all dying, aren't we?" My laugh turned short and bitter. "When you've been dying as long as I have, you get used to it. I need a phone."
I didn't wait for an answer. I walked quickly out of the cell and used the first phone I found to call the senator. Then I hurried outside and lit a cigarette. It tasted lousy.
Two days later Garth popped his head into my office. "He confessed. I thought you'd want to know."
I pushed aside the criminology lecture on which I'd been working. "Who confessed?"
Garth came in and closed the door. "Johnson, of course. He came into his office this morning and found us searching through his records. He just managed to ask to see the warrant before he folded. Told the whole story twice, once for us and once for the DA. What an amateur!"
I was vaguely surprised to find myself monumentally uninterested. My job had been finished the day before when the senator and I had walked in a back door of the courthouse to meet with Garth and the sitting judge. Forty-five minutes later Esteban Morales had been out on bail and on his way to meet with Linda Younger. Rolfe Johnson had been my prime suspect five minutes after I'd begun to talk to him, and there'd been no doubt in my mind that the police would nail him, once they decided to go to the bother.
"What was his motive?" I asked.
"Johnson's forte was business. No question about it. He just couldn't cut it as a murderer … or a doctor. He had at least a dozen malpractice suits filed against him. Edmonston was getting tired of having a flunky as a partner. Johnson was becoming an increasing embarrassment and was hurting the medical side of the business. Patients, after all, are the bottom line. Edmonston had the original practice and a controlling interest in their corporation. He was going to cut Johnson adrift, and Johnson found out about it.
"Johnson, with all his troubles, knew that he was finished if Edmonston dissolved the partnership. When Dr. Mason told him about Morales, Johnson had a notion that he just might be able to use the situation to his own advantage. After all, what better patsy than an illiterate psychic healer?"
"Johnson sent the message to Esteban, didn't he?"
"Sure. First, he admitted lying to Edmonston about Esteban giving drugs to one of Edmonston's patients, then he told how he maneuvered Edmonston into filing a complaint. He figured the university would bail Esteban out, and a motive would have been established. It wasn't much, but Johnson didn't figure he needed much. After all, he assumed Esteban was crazy and that any jury would know he was crazy. He picked his day, then left a message in the name of Edmonston for Esteban to come to the offices that night. He asked Edmonston to come forty-five minutes early, and he killed him, then waited for Esteban to show up to take the rap. Pretty crude, but then Johnson isn't that imaginative."
"Didn't the feedback from the patients give him any pause?"
Garth laughed. "From what I can gather from his statement, Johnson never paid any attention to the reports. Edmonston did most of the interviewing."
"There seems to be a touch of irony there," I said dryly.
"There seems to be. Well, I've got a car running downstairs. Like I said, I thought you'd want to know."
"Thanks, Garth."
He paused with his hand on the knob and looked at me for a long time. I knew we were thinking about the same thing, words spoken in a jail cell, a very private family secret shared by two brothers. For a moment I was afraid he was going to say something that would embarrass both of us. He didn't.
"See you," Garth said.
"See you."
Falling Star
I don't usually get clients walking into my university office, but I wasn't complaining. That's the kind of attitude somebody in my position develops after a while.
My visitor was a big man with a swarthy complexion, wearing expensive shoes and suit, diamond pinkie rings, and show biz written all over him. He had red hair and milky blue eyes that did a double take between me and the nameplate on my desk.
"I'm looking for Dr. Frederickson."
"I'm Frederickson."
"You're a dwarf."
"You've got something against dwarfs?" I must have sounded nasty.
He flushed and extended his hand. "Sorry," he said. "My name is Sandor Peth. I need a private detective. Your brother suggested I come and talk to you."
That raised a mental eyebrow. I wondered what business Peth had had with Garth. I shook Peth's hand and motioned him to a chair.
Peth reached into his suit jacket and took out a neatly folded piece of paper. He unfolded it, handed it across the desk to me, and said, "I brought this along for what it's worth. I think it could be important."
I studied the paper. There were two concentric circles divided into twelve sections by intersecting lines. The sections were filled with symbols and notes that were meaningless to me.
I placed the paper to one side. "What is it?"
"A horoscope."
I didn't say anything. The thought crossed my mind that Garth might be having a little fun with me.
Peth cleared his throat. "Have you ever heard of Harley Davidson?"
"Sure. He's a famous motorcycle."
Peth smiled. "He's a rock star. At least he used to be."
"Used to be?"
The smile faded. "Harley's in trouble."