Heart to Heart: Ashton Ford, Psychic Detective (11 page)

Francesca seemed fascinated by the orange
tarp.

She murmured, "Who in the world could it be?
How could he get here?"

I looked up, straight up
along the cliff above the body, and saw the roof of Pointe
House—and then I began to lose the numbness. This was
my side
of the house;
the windows of my suite were directly above. There was only one way
that body could have gotten there—and I was sure that fact had not
been lost on Alvarez.

Developing information, my ass.

Francesca had been right on. This was a
murder investigation.

And guess who all the prime suspects must
be. One real live man, maybe, and a houseful of ghosts, maybe. So
where did that leave good old Ashton? Exactly. Exactly.

I could hardly wait to see that body.

Chapter Fourteen: Deathline

The body of Jim Sloane was beneath that tarp.
It lay face up, eyes open, lips pulled back in a frozen snarl or
grimace, dressed as I had last seen him; rather badly broken up by
the apparent fall, limbs at grotesque angles. The corpse struck no
apparent note of recognition within Francesca; she merely shuddered
and quickly turned away.

I knelt beside the body for a closer look,
then told Sergeant Alvarez, "It's Jim Sloane, the lawyer I met
here yesterday. Looks like the same clothing."

"Did you see him leave the property after
that meeting?"

"No. But I was down here myself from five
o'clock till about six. So was Francesca. We couldn't have missed
him if he'd been here at that time."

Francesca was looking at me oddly.

Alvarez quietly stated, "I'm guessing no
more than

twelve hours dead. Did you
see or hear anything out of the ordinary during the
night?"

I'd seen and heard plenty out of the
ordinary but I did not intend to go into any of that with this guy.
"If you mean a commotion or outcry, no."

"What did you do with your evening?"

I resisted the temptation
to sneak a look at Francesca, told him, "Took a bath and a nap
before dinner. Dined with Miss Amalie. We spent the evening talking
and... getting to know each other. I previewed her upcoming art
show at about midnight, then went straight to bed. I was still in
bed when you got here."

I should have checked with Francesca
first.

She was plainly aghast at what I'd said;
stepped closer to Alvarez and murmured, "That's not true."

The cop gave her a reassuring look; gave me
a hard one as he told me, "That's in conflict with Miss Amalie's
earlier statement. She has said that she last saw you at
approximately six o'clock yesterday evening."

I muttered, "Then we've got a problem here,
haven't we."

The coroner's man arrived at that juncture,
postponing the problem to another moment.

Francesca was getting the shakes. Alvarez
excused her to return to the house but it was obvious that he was
not extending the same courtesy to me. I retreated to a rock and
sat there in dark thought while the homicide team did their number;
then Alvarez collected me and we returned topside together.

On the way up I told him,
"I'd appreciate it if you'd make a call on my behalf as soon as we
get to the house—Lieutenant Paul Steward, Homicide, LAPD." I found
a card in my wallet and handed it to him. "We've worked together in
the past. He knows me and knows what I do. All I'm asking is that
you talk to him before you talk to me. Because frankly, pal, we've
got a mind-boggler here, and there's no way I can bring it home for
you unless you're willing to at least fairly consider what I have
to tell you."

The sergeant made no comment to that, but he
accepted Stewart's card and went straight to a telephone as soon as
we were inside the house. He spoke with the L.A. homicide
detective for several minutes, looking me up and down from time to
time, and his manner was a bit warmer —though still reserved—when
he returned to me.

"I never worked with a
psychic," he told me. “Not sure I really buy any of it. Anyway,
that's not the issue. Stewart says he'd cock his pistol and hand it
to you in a dark alley, he's that trustful of you. That buys you
nothing here of course, if you turn up smudgy. And I will not hand
you my cocked pistol—not here, now, or anywhere. But I'll give you
some space, for the time being. What did you want to tell
me?”

I replied, "First of all, I believe that
Miss Amalie thinks she is telling the truth about last night. I
cannot speak for the housekeeper—what she does or does not
believe—but I can tell you that she misled you about the number of
people who are staying here. There are at least five and possibly
six others besides Miss Amalie and myself, who dined formally here
last night and who gave every appearance of having resided here
for a long time—much longer, I'm sure, than you would care to
believe."

"You are saying that she—Miss
Amalie—attended a formal dinner party here last night?"

"Yes."

"She told me that she had a sandwich and a
Coke for dinner in her studio, and worked until midnight."

I replied, "She may believe that she's
telling the truth."

“
What does that mean?
Could she be in two places at once?”

I said, "It is not impossible."

"I am trying to be patient with you," the
cop said darkly.

I said, "Please keep trying, because you
haven't heard anything yet."

He said, "Then let's save it for now. I'd
like to see your room."

So I led him upstairs, ushered him into my
suite, lit a cigarette, and watched him violate my civil rights. He
looked in every closet, drawer, nook, and cranny—and when he was
finished, he asked me, "Do you still maintain that you are not
living here?"

I told him, "I saw this place for the first
time yesterday afternoon."

He asked, "Do you always travel so heavy?
Isn't all this stuff yours?"

I replied, "No, it is not
mine. I came here with an overnight kit, not even sure I'd be
staying the night. Found everything exactly as you see it." I
tugged at my polo shirt. "This too. I came down here in slacks and
blazer. They picked up some sand on the beach, so—"

"Where are they now?"

I went to the closet and searched vainly,
turned back to tell the cop, "Guess Hai Tsu picked them up for
cleaning.

Look at all this other
stuff closely though, you'll see it's all brand new. I can tell you
that it all fits and that it is the kind of stuff I usually wear,
depending on the occasion."

"But it was just sitting
waiting for you when you arrived, not knowing that you would even
stay the night?"

"That's right. The computer is loaded with
my software too. It appears that every effort was exerted to make
me feel at home."

Alvarez looked around, commented, "Beats
hell out of mine."

I said, "Mine too."

He went to the large
window in the bedroom, slid it open, leaned out—stayed out there
twenty or so seconds —pulled his head back inside and beckoned to
me. "Come see," he said quietly.

I went, and I saw. It was
a clean drop to the beach below, to the very spot where the corpse
had lain and now marked by an outline in the sand.

I said, "Yeah, I had that figured out from
below."

He said, "Me too. Had this window already
staked out."

I told him, "I can't explain it yet. But I
was absent from this suite from about eight o'clock until almost
one. I was—"

"Dining with Miss Amalie."

"That's right, plus six others. Well, five
others during dinner. St. Germain never eats with other people
so..." I realized too late what I was saying, tried to cover it,
failed.

The cop said, "Who is St. Germain?"

I said, "Inside joke. His real name is
Valentinius de

Medici. He owns the joint. But I gather that
he doesn't stay here all the time. Sort of a world traveler you
might say."

"Uh huh. The housekeeper didn't mention
him."

I said, "That doesn't surprise me. She
didn't mention the others either, did she."

He produced a notebook, glanced at it, told
me, "Household staff of three, including her; two gardeners and a
general maintenance man live in the cottage in the garden area—all
Chinese, no English spoken; you, and Miss Amalie. No mention of
a—how do you spell that?"

I found my overnight kit,
produced the two bundles of money wrapped in the power of attorney,
placed the package in Alvarez's hands, told him, "Note the date on
the document. The ten grand was dropped on me at Malibu. Sloane
delivered the power of attorney after I got here yesterday. Why
would I push the man out my window? I had just been hired—or let's
say retained to work with him in an effort to save this property
from confiscation by the state."

The cop was examining the bundles. He looked
up to say, "So you'd met with this Medici before you came down from
Malibu."

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that he dropped the money on me
and asked me to come immediately."

“
So the two of you
came—?”

"No, he just dropped the money and the
summons, then disappeared. I came on—"

"How disappeared?"

"Same way he appeared. Blip, he's in. Blip,
he's out."

"I'm not sure I understand"

“
Don't try, not yet. I
don't understand it either yet.”

"You sound like you think you will
though."

"I usually manage to,
sooner or latar. This one may be more later than sooner, so don't
hold your breath. I—"

"Wouldn't think of it. Who
were the other people at dinner?"

I gave him a long, quiet look, then told
him, "You really don't want to know, not yet."

"Try me," the cop
invited.

I said, "Well, let's see—we had John the
Ascetic—he poses syllogisms, and—"

"Poses what?"

"Syllogisms. It's a
prepositional form of deductive logic—the kind of games cops
play—"Elementary, my dear Watson," that kind. Only John's are done
for fun; you're supposed to come up with comic examples of flawed
logic."

"Okay. Who else?"

"Hilary the Fanatic—some
sort of priest—I don't know, maybe a Jesuit. Rosary the Devout—a
nun, but I don't know which order, her habit looks like it came
from medieval times. Pierre the Lunatic—chemist, he says, but I
think alchemist. Karl the Magnificent is an engineer; I get it that
he specializes in feats, like Notre Dame and the Eiffel Tower or
maybe even pyramids—who knows? Last but certainly not least, we
have Catherine the Impudent, who insists that she's a whore but I
think may still be a virgin. Did I give you six?"

Alvarez was standing near the doorway with
notebook in hand and pencil poised but unmoving, his mouth open,
gazing at me with the look of a highly intelligent man who wonders
if he is being double-talked.

He put the notebook away and pocketed the
pencil, turned toward the open door and said, without looking at
me, "What is this lawsuit? On what grounds is the state
confiscating?"

"They contend that the
legal owner of record would now have to be at least 150 years old,
that obviously he has died intestate and without heirs."

“
So what about Medici?
Can't he produce—?”

"He is that legal owner of record."

"You mean...?"

"Uh huh."

Alvarez went on to the
door, then turned back to look in my general direction but not
directly at me, said, "Stewart recommended that I give you space to
operate. Okay, but that does not mean space to bamboozle. Don't
leave the property without notifying me first."

I replied, "Thanks. How much time does that
space buy me?"

"Not much," he said, shifting his gaze to
meet my own. "Just till I can unscramble things a bit. Be advised;
you are a suspect at least until I can do that."

I requested, "Give me a time frame."

He replied, "How can I do that? But let's
say twenty- four hours. I could book you right now, just on the
face of things. But I've known Paul Stewart too for a long
time.

So I'm giving you that much space. Don't make
me regret it."

That kind of space was like a finger snap in
time. But I had to be grateful, considering the circumstances, for
all small favors received.

And it now appeared that I
had a new deadline—or was it a
death
line? My ten days to resolution
had shrunk to one.

Chapter Fifteen: The Power

Before he left, Sgt.
Alvarez admitted that he'd known the identity of the victim all
along. Sloane's wallet with everything intact had been found on
the body. His car had been discovered illegally parked on Pacific
Coast Highway just down from the entrance to Pointe House, which
was something of a puzzler unless you wanted to think that (a) he
had returned at some time following the afternoon visit and, for
some reason, had wanted to enter unnoticed; or (b) someone else had
parked the car on the highway, probably after Sloane's
death.

Also I gained a modification of my stay put
order from Alvarez; he agreed that I could travel freely within
Orange County but that I should keep his office informed of my
whereabouts.

I got Hai Tsu on the house phone as soon as
the cops

had cleared out, asked her to come to my
suite. She must have thought I desired valet attentions because she
took one look at the stubble on my face and went to the bathroom
for shaving gear. I needed a shave, sure, so I figured what the
hell and let her go at it.