"We'll see," I said.
"The personnel department may have his address and phone number, and I'd be happy to check it out for you. I seem to recall that he lives in a town house on the East Side of Manhattan, somewhere in the sixties or seventies."
"We'll find him."
Garth asked, "Why did Valley get fired?"
Again, the botanist lowered his gaze. "I don't like to gossip, Garth. Do you really need to know that?"
"At the moment it's difficult for us to be certain just what it is we'll need to know in order to find the girl," I answered. "Knowing something about Craig Valley before we go to talk to him might be helpful to us in ways we can't anticipate now. You described him as a 'strange man.' Why? In what way is he 'strange'?"
Zelaskowich sighed, then shoved his large hands into the pockets of his lab coat. "Well, in my opinion it was his religious zealotry that got him fired-although that wasn't the official reason given; after all, the city and the Botanical Garden wouldn't want to be charged with religious discrimination."
"He was fired for religious reasons?"
"He was fired for incompetence and inattention to his duties."
"But you said that the real reason may have been his religious zealotry."
Zelaskowich shrugged. "I think it was a factor that, in the end, weighed against him. It wasn't so much his religious beliefs in themselves so much as the way he tried to foist them on others. His behavior could make Craig. . well, obnoxious on occasion. I believe he was one of those. . what do you call them? Charismatics? Pentecostals? Whatever he is, I believe it's much more fanatic than simple Christian Fundamentalism; that's just my opinion, though, and I don't claim to know that much about any religion. Craig was always warning us that we were going to be sent to hell very soon if we didn't accept Jesus Christ as our savior and if we weren't, as he put it, 'born again.' It seemed to me very odd behavior for an educated man. There are a number of Jews on the staff here, and a few Muslims. I'm a humanist, myself. At first, we used to dismiss Craig-condescend to him, and laugh among ourselves behind his back. I'm afraid that didn't stop him from trying to 'save us,' if you will. I really believe that the man thinks the world is going to end soon, within our lifetimes, and that all sorts of demons are going to pop up out of the ground to make mischief. Then, it seems, Jesus Christ is going to descend from heaven to defeat the demons and start a new world in which only people who believe like Craig will be allowed to live. I know it sounds absolutely lunatic, but I think the man actually believes these things."
"Did Dr. Valley ever mention somebody named William Kenecky to you?" I asked, catching Garth's curt nod of approval out of the corner of my eye.
"Kenecky? You mean the crazy television preacher who's on the run from the tax people?"
"That's him."
Zelaskowich thought about it, shook his head. "No, Craig never mentioned him to me. But now that you bring it up, it occurs to me that a lot of the nonsense Craig used to spout sounds like the nonsense Kenecky spouted. Maybe that's where Craig got his silly notions from. I still can't understand how somebody who's been to college-and earned a doctorate, no less-could believe such ignorant, vicious stuff. It's very sad."
But not nearly as sad as what somebody-maybe William Kenecky-was doing to a little girl named Vicky Brown. "Was Valley really incompetent as well as obnoxious?"
"He became so, yes. I think his belief that the world was going to end about the day after tomorrow finally sort of infected his brain. Obviously, he's one of the world's leading experts on orchids; if he weren't, he wouldn't have been our curator. However, in the last few months he simply let his work go. In fact, he was warned about it; and he was so bold-or stupid-as to say that it didn't matter if all his orchids died because Jesus was on His way. Can you imagine?"
"Religious zealotry can do strange things to people," I said as I glanced at Garth, who smiled thinly and raised his eyebrows ever so slightly.
Zelaskowich nodded. "Indeed. In any case, Craig had been steadily neglecting his work for some time, but in somewhat subtle ways. However, after the Customs Service interfered with the importation of the rain forest soil, he became positively unhinged. Then the administration had to let him go. You'd have expected him to be upset, but he really wasn't. In fact, he told me that it was almost a relief not to be distracted by work while he was waiting for Jesus to come, and that now we'd see he was right about the imminent end of the world and the rising of demons." The botanist paused, shook his head sadly. "Poor Craig. On his last day I came across him in one of the gardens. He was down on his hands and knees, rocking back and forth, babbling absolute nonsense in a very loud voice. He seemed almost hysterical. In fact, I think there's a name for that sort of thing."
"There is," I said. "It's called glossolalia-'speaking in tongues.' "
3
Dr.Craig Valley's three-story town house was on East Sixty-third Street, half a block away from one of the shifting, ephemeral boundaries so common to New York City, where architecture, patterns of street activity, planted things, and commercial activity abruptly changed to become an entirely different "neighborhood." The neighborhood in the next block was considerably seedier, with dirtier buildings plastered with advertisements for rock conceits, no trees, and dirtier sidewalks. Judging from the condition of Valley's town house, with the flaking paint on its window frames and its facade of crumbling brick, it looked as if this onetime curator of orchids at the New York Botanical Garden was existing on the borderline in more ways than one.
The man who answered the door was five feet five or six and overweight-except for his face, which had a pinched look about it, with a narrow nose flanked by watery, pale gray eyes that glinted with suspicion, and thin, pursed lips. His red hair was thinning, and there was a rash on his chin and cheeks, as if he might recently have shaved off a beard.
"What is it?" he asked in a high-pitched voice laced with equal parts of hostility and suspicion.
Made slightly uneasy by my brother's stony expression, which would certainly have made me hostile and suspicious, I flashed my most disarming, winning smile. "Dr. Valley?"
"Who are you? What do you want?"
"Our names are Frederickson, Dr. Valley. We're private investigators working on a matter of considerable urgency, and we'd very much appreciate a few moments of your time."
Valley exercised his neck muscles by first looking down at me, then up at Garth, then down to me again. "I've heard of you two," he said in a voice that was close to a hiss. Back up to Garth. "You were the false messiah-the leader of that pitiable cult who called themselves Garth's People."
"I wasn't any messiah, Dr. Valley, false or otherwise," my brother said in a flat voice that betrayed no emotion. "Like my brother said, we'd like to ask you a few questions, and then we'll be on our way."
"What is it you want to know? I can't imagine how anything I know could be of any use to private investigators."