The Last Bender, Chapter 25

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

          I slipped the waitress fifty bucks, paid the check and left her pausing for contractions, delivering plates with the help of other waitresses. The way to David Watts’s house was still a mystery; I asked for directions from some guy at a gas station who insisted we were there for the fishing. “Finest river fishing on the east coast,” he said. “Like them primeval days.” Then he showed us a contraption he called an eel trap. “Git all tangled up in it. Then you nail ’em to a board and pull the skins off. Mighty fine eating.”   I thanked him and we drove off through a wilderness of Tudor houses with motion detector lights, patrolled by dogs bred for Teutonic warfare.

          “Who are they afraid of?” I asked.

          “Each other.”

          I took Monsanto Rd. to Carbon Canyon and groaned. They were all one way. “Look Helen, I appreciate your coming along and all.”

          “Don’t mention it.”

          “It’s no problem for me to drop you at the train.”

          “I hate trains. They make me lonely.”

          “Or a bar. There was a decent dive on that strip. The Sack Butt.”

          “I puke when I get lonely.”

          “But it wouldn’t be for long. I just gotta check some facts.”

          “Tell ya the truth, I’m lookin’ forward to meetin’ Mrs. Watts. And her brother too.”

          “That’s probably due to the connection you found between the blood and Monozone.”

          “You know Jack, it could be a little sticky explainin’ it all to Kelly Kelly. She ain’t that bright. Then all the testicles downtown have to find a fall guy. That’s Monozone. They investigate and point to you. Shit like the Pechardine explosion. Shit handled in-house.”

          “Take it easy, don’t fuck me that way.”

          “It gets easier.”

          The headlights played over boulders painted white and mailboxes shaped like chocolate chip cookies. Finally we came to Hancock Gully and then a long dirt driveway overhung with trees and marked with reflectors. I parked alongside an elevated deck, at the back of the house, near some meters and the garage. We bickered in hoarse whispers. I couldn’t talk her into waiting in the car. Finally we agreed to play good cop/bad cop. All I could hope for now was a draw. Roof lights shone on the pink stucco, grey beams and blue shingles. We went up to a door by the garage and I banged the brass knocker. It rang three times in the misty country air. There was no answer. The wind knocked a weedy tree against the house. The stone foundation was crumbling. There was a slightly musty smell to things and spiders had webbed the windows of the door. It was too dark to see in without a flashlight.

          “This makes my shit freeze,” I whispered. “Let’s go.”

          “Just keep knockin’,” she said. I knocked again. Still no one answered. We walked up some stone steps to a lawn in need of cutting, past some overgrown shrubs and beds of lilies to what looked like the front door at the end of a walk. It had a brass knocker in the shape of a gargoyle. Again I knocked and again no answer came so we walked around to the deck. One of the sliding glass doors was open. We stepped through it into the living room. There was a large beige couch looking out towards the deck and the broad lawn which sloped away into a field and then woods. It was bare for a living room. The shelves were rough hewn planks. There was a glass topped cocktail table between the couch and doors. I searched for a lamp or light switch. Wind gusted against the house. There were footsteps. I took a deep breath and slowed my heart.

          “Who’s there?” came a woman’s voice. “I warn you, I’m armed.” She pumped the shot gun twice.

          “It’s Jack Bartell,” I called out. “The man from Monozone. I left a message yesterday.”

          An angular woman stepped into the room, vaguely pointing the shotgun in our direction. “Who’s the woman?” she asked in a patrician accent.

          “The name’s Helen Stark. I’m a police detective. MetroHomicide.”

          “City, huh? We’ll see about that. Now. Show me some I.D. Both of you. And mind–I may not look it, but I’ve been shooting skeet since the age of twelve.”

          Helen corpsed over and said, “Yeah, and if you’ve been doing it since the age of Charlemagne, that still don’t make me a clay pigeon, lady.”

          “Thank you dear for clearing that up. Now let’s see the badge.”

          She examined Helen’s shield and my Monozone security badge and said, “Well. These could be fake. But I suppose if you wanted me dead I would be.”

          “Unless we planned on torturing you first,” I said.

          “Some day you’ll have to explain what you have in mind Mr. Bartell. Maybe we could compare notes. For now, I want you both to put your weapons on the ground. I’m going to turn on the light. Let’s move it darlings. We haven’t got all night. And I have company.”

          We laid the guns at our feet.

          “Now get comfy on the couch. You’re a day late Mr. Bartell. Don’t you believe in phone calls?”

          “Actually Miss–“

          “It’s Mrs. Actually. My husband died in a tragic fishing accident. I’m known as Mrs. Watts. Leonard took my name. But if I may call you Jack, you may call me Wanda.”

          “Very well then, Wanda. I ran into trouble with the local law. They threw me in the drunk tank.”

          “Oh dear….How perfectly awful.”

          “He don’t drink, lady.”

          “Doesn’t drink?” she asked incredulously and then, appalled, “What on earth do you do all day?”

          “Where’s David?”

          “You said you’d be here yesterday afternoon. He’s gone.” She moved away, behind the couch. I craned around and watched her pour a stiff one from the cabinet beneath the bookcase. Then she carried a folding bridge chair over and set it up in front of the glass doors and sat down. She put the shot gun down at her feet. “But he did leave instructions.”

          “What kind of instructions?”

          She gulped down an inch of booze and bit her lip. “I think it would be easier if we spoke alone. Do you mind waiting in the car my dear? You may take your gun.” Helen smiled and snorted at her. She didn’t budge. “Why did you bring a cop into this?”

          “Don’t worry, Wanda. Detective Stark is just here to observe.”

          “We got an interest lady. Any cooperation from you indicates innocence. Stonewall gets me ampy. So does drawing down on blue. You follow?”

          “I’m sure any instructions David left will be kept confident,” I said.

          She gave us each an up and down. “You never mentioned any cop. This is a set up.”

          Helen stood and kicked the shotgun across the floor. “The set up was in the warehouse, lady!” she shouted. “I ain’t sittin’ up half the night rubbin’ your clit till ya sing.” She glared at her and then started jabbing the air with her finger. “What’s the fucking plan?”

          Wanda put on a grave expression like a church hat. “David claims to know where St. Claude is.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “And I believe him.” She wept a little more. “You mustn’t hurt David. He’s very sensitive. And–” she wiped the tears and sniffled. “And he want’s to know what it’s worth to you.”

          Helen sat down and fumed.

          I stood up and looked out the window and said, “That would depend on some guarantees.”

          “I’m just a messenger. And the message is, David wants six million dollars. He wants it in two days, and he wants it in cash.”

          Helen scowled and said, “For six million bucks we get to pick your brains, Wanda.”

          Wanda Watts looked at me. “Are you sure you want her picking my brains Jack?” She smiled. “I know there are sometimes close relationships between corporations and police.”

          Helen said, “Then let’s start with your old man and Monozone.”

          “I don’t know anything about that. All I know is that St. Claude and father had some business in Ithaca. It didn’t work out and St. Claude signed with Monozone.”

          “Didn’t work out how?”

          “There were difficulties with licenses. And the nature of the work became controversial.”

          “What do you mean by controversial?”

          “Just what ordinary people do. Disagreeable to the authorities.”

          Helen became impatient. “And?”

          “I don’t have to answer these questions.”

          “Did they fight over business?” 

          “No. I believe father retained an interest in St. Claude.”

          I laughed. “Why are you and David selling out the old man? He disinherit you? Or did he fuck you when you were little. Why do people sell out their old man?” Helen glared at me.

          Wanda didn’t answer. Her face was hard, lips turned down. I couldn’t make her out very well.

          I asked, “What’s worth six million bucks to you?”  

          The skin on her forehead rippled briefly, as if she had winced ever so slightly, but I couldn’t be sure. She shifted a little in the chair and took a sip of her drink. “What was controversial was the drug. They were giving it to grad students. And taking it themselves. It accelerates intelligence. It also makes you insane. The money would go for his care. So we could go away.”

          “Tell me, Wanda. What’s David’s relationship to St. Claude’s wife, Evalyn?” I had to get her onto the adultery angle.

          She cleared her throat. “How should I have any idea about that?”

          “Wouldn’t it be worth six million big ones to punt the husband and run off?”

          “David has a sort of gutter flirtation going with her. It’s not uncommon.” She gulped away her annoyance and said, “You’re at a dead end if that’s what you think.”

          Helen asked, “How do you know he was insane?”

          She exhaled and relaxed. Then she lit up a cigarette. “David is full of theories. The basement–that’s where he works–is wall to wall with files of ideas and projects. He’s always been like that. He calls it The Glass Project. He wants to see through everything. He says that life has a crystalline structure.

          “If that’s not enough, ask him to explain about his latest idea. Ask him about Horizon, and the hydras. He’ll tell you all about it. Oh yeah. He doesn’t give a fig for money.”  

          I threw up my hands and stomped around. “You know Wanda, I’ve been sitting on it pretty tight but that just put me over. How does it make sense him asking for six if he doesn’t give a fuck for money?”

          “Fig, not fuck and I told you, he’s mad!” She cackled and looked at the floor.

          Helen asked, “What about that fungus. Your old man applied to the French Army for an export license on some,” she pulled out a piece of paper and held it up, squinting. “Botrytis. What’s this Botrytis all about?”

          “That was the business in Ithaca. That was the fungus they needed to make the drug from. It all started with Barker. St. Claude went to Evalyn, Evalyn went to her old man, he went to father. Father said they had to hire David.”

          “Barker, Evalyn St. Claude’s father, is friends with your father?” I asked.

          She gave a little yip. “Yes, her again. Her daddy and my daddy are old golf buddies.”

          Helen stood up and paced. “Those people aren’t missing, they’re dead. Dead, Wanda. And your father and your brother are involved. When you say they’re nuts, do you mean killer nuts? Did someone lose it and kill all the others in a rage?”

          “That’s not the kind of nuts I mean. He’s peaceful nuts. He wants to change the world. With his drug. He’s so reasonable it drives me nuts. He wouldn’t even experiment on animals anymore.”

          “So then maybe it’s personal between St. Claude and him?” I asked.

          “Oh no, he was very important to St. Claude.”

          I kept at it. “It doesn’t make sense Wanda. David’s fucking his wife under his nose. You’re saying the guy doesn’t crow?”  

          “I’m tired. Meet me tomorrow night, at Barca Langousto, where you’ll receive more instructions. And if you want to find St. Claude, don’t bring any cops.”

          “What if Monozone won’t deal?”

          “You’ll never get your doc back.”

          “I need evidence. A Guarantee.”

          “Just tell your boss the terms. Now it’s late. I have to go. There’s a beautiful man in my bed and if I hurry he won’t be too drunk to do a hundred push ups on me. And do be careful Jack.”