"I'm not sure you have," Garth said evenly. "Not really. Here's an out-and-out punk, a failed songwriter, failed you-name-it, and he-"
"He was a successful butcher."
"Yeah, but he had power, Mongo; enormous personal power-enough to fuck up the minds of a whole flock of kids that he got to do his killing for him."
"Weirdos. It's all psychological."
"Of course it's psychological." He looked at me hard, sighed. "You're missing my point."
"I'm afraid so. Even Manson didn't claim that the Devil made him do it."
"Look," he said after a pause, "let me tell you about a case I just wrapped up. Last week, a woman wandered into the station house with this outrageous story. Witchcraft was involved, so it was referred to me. Well, her story turned out to be true. For the last eight months the woman had been enslaved by a 'spiritualist' she'd gone to for advice on how to cure her epileptic daughter. The spiritualist and her boyfriend had persuaded the woman to move in with them, along with her two kids. To make a long story short, the couple had been beating up on the woman for eight months; they'd been torturing her with lighted cigarettes, beating her with paddles and wire cables."
"How'd she get away?" I asked, not really caring. I was distracted by the thought of Kathy in the hospital, but sensed that Garth was trying to tell me something he thought was important.
He shrugged. "She was never actually locked up. She didn't have to be confined, because she was controlled. The couple had convinced her that they'd cast a spell and that she'd die if she tried to escape. Anyway, she was sent out to buy some groceries and a friend saw her. The friend asked her where she and the kids had been for eight months, and she blurted out the story. The neighbor convinced her that she should go to the police."
He paused, blew a smoke ring, then impatiently swept it away with his hand. "The place was quite a sight," he continued. "All red: red carpets, red walls, red altars, red candles-red everything. Satanism. Somehow, that couple had even managed to turn the woman's kids around; the children would help beat their own mother. Up to Friday-which was the last time I checked it out-the little bastards still preferred the spiritualist and her boyfriend over their mother. Would you call that a spell?"
I swallowed hard; my mouth felt dry, sore with fatigue and anxiety as I thought of mothers squirtgunning cyanide into their babies' mouths in Guyana. "I'd call it a horror story. And I'm still missing your point."
"Have it your way, brother. I'm trying to give you some advice: if you're going to jump into this particular pond, swim with a straight face. Believe what you want to, but never let on that you don't take these people seriously-not if you expect to find out anything. Especially remember that when you talk to Krowl; he'll pick up on it in a second if you try to bullshit him. Keep your usual smart-ass remarks to yourself."
"You take Krowl seriously, don't you?"
Garth looked uncomfortable, and he took a few moments to think about his answer. Finally, he said, "You and I come out of our background with a certain set of preconceptions that we call 'reality.' It's damn hard giving up those notions, but someone like Krowl can start you thinking. I've seen and heard some things that are hard to explain."
"Did you go to Krowl for a reading?"
"Yeah," Garth said, lighting his third cigarette. "I'd heard about him and I was curious. What can I tell you? He wiped me out. Between a palm print and a few layouts of those tarot cards, he seemed to know my whole goddamn life. I'm talking about Elizabeth and the babies' deaths, what section of the country I come from, the fact that I was a county sheriff before coming to New York, and even the year I came here. He even knew about. . Neptune."
We stared at each other in silence, the atmosphere in the room suddenly heavy with tension. A year before, Garth had been in love with an Iranian woman by the name of Neptune Tabrizi. An investigation I'd been conducting had resulted in her death. The discovery that Neptune's love for Garth had been a lie and a betrayal had not altered the fact that he'd loved her deeply. I knew all was forgiven, but Neptune was still a subject we avoided.
"I don't have the slightest idea how he does it," Garth continued. "All I'm saying is that something is going on. His list of clients reads like a Who's Who of celebrities: rock and movie stars, politicians and their wives, writers and artists. And those are just the people who don't mind publicity. I have a feeling we'd both be surprised at the names of some of the shyer ones who regularly use him as an adviser."
"Interesting, but tarot cards and palm reading don't sound like the kind of thing we have with that gown."
"You're right; the symbols on the gown definitely look like witchcraft, which isn't Krowl's number. But Krowl is an expert on the occult in general."
"How soon can I get to see him?"
"I don't know. I'll call him later, then get back to you. If you're out, I'll leave a message with your service."
Regina appeared with two steaming mugs of coffee. Garth took his, then excused himself and went into the bathroom to wash up. Regina wanted to talk, and I managed to carry on a fairly decent conversation, despite the fact that I was only half-listening to what the woman had to say. I sipped at the hot coffee, resisting the impulse to splash in another slug of Irish whiskey. My lack of sleep was beginning to take its toll; my eyes smarted, and I felt disoriented-although not sleepy. I kept thinking of Kathy, dwelling on the fact that her sleep could turn out to be permanent.
Garth reappeared, shaven and with his hair combed. He glanced at Regina.
"Excuse me again," Regina said, patting me affectionately on the forearm. "I think our steaks are just about done."
"I'm impressed," I told Garth when Regina had gone. "I thought this was the age of Women's Lib."
"Regina's liberated," he said. "The fact is that she likes me, she likes cooking, and she likes to leave when I'm talking business. You should find yourself such a liberated girlfriend."
I drained off the rest of my coffee. "You said there were two people who might be able to help me. Who do you have in mind besides Krowl?"
Garth looked uncomfortable. "I was hoping you wouldn't ask. I may have spoken out of turn; it's a rather confidential and very special source. Why don't you talk to Krowl first and see what he can tell you?"
"C'mon, brother. There's a child's life at stake here, and I haven't exactly had time to make up a schedule of where I'm going to be, or when. I don't know how I'm going to handle this yet, so why don't you just give me the name now? I'm not going to give it to the Daily News."
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."