Genesis of Evil (3 page)

The French put Zoltan back a year because of his ignorance of their language. But, as with Italian, he picked French up quickly and soon was absorbing the regular lessons right along with the rest of his class. As Zoltan’s knowledge grew, Bertuska’s strength waned. When they reached the outskirts of Paris the following autumn, Zoltan thought he would have to carry his mother the rest of the way into the city.

During the few days that remained before the start of the new term, Zoltan wandered the streets and alleys of Paris and drank in the sights of the grand old buildings of the ancient city. Their design was different from that of his home, and the spires and minarets thrilled him with their grace and beauty. He spent his last free day walking slowly around the Notre Dame Cathedral. When he returned home he found Bertuska barely able to lift her head to drink water. He dropped to his knees next to her and cradled her fragile body in his arms.

“Mama, let me find a doctor! Please!”

She waved a wizened hand in the air. “Hush, boy. Give me that leather coffer there.” She pointed weakly at a chest of drawers that stood in one corner of the tiny room.

Zoltan stood and did as she requested. As he picked up the small box he wondered why he hadn’t seen it before. He took it to her and placed it on the bed near her right hand.

“Now, my son, listen carefully. There will be enough money in this coffer to see you through university. Don’t squander one
centime
of it or all will be lost.” Her head fell back to the pillow and she coughed and gasped for breath. After a few moments she looked at Zoltan again. “Now, give your mother a kiss and go for a walk. Look at the buildings you love. Return in two hours, no sooner. There is something I must do this evening.” She took his right hand in both of hers and smiled up at him. It looked to Zoltan as if her face glowed golden for a moment, and then returned to the ashen gray that he had come to accept as her natural coloring. He smiled, bent and kissed Bertuska on the cheek. A tear rolled from her eye and she waved him away. “I love you more than life itself, my Zoltan. Now go!”

Zoltan left the room and stepped into the darkening street.

When he returned two hours later Bertuska lay on her back, arms at her sides, a gentle smile on her withered face. The room smelled faintly of herbs and smoke and a half burned candle stood on the stand next to the bed. Near the candle was the coffer. Zoltan picked it up. There was soot on the bottom of the container and a note beneath it, written in the shaky hand of the dying woman.

My dear Zoltan, do as I have instructed regarding this coffer and the money in it. Take only what you need at the time, no more. Spend only on education, food, clothing, shelter or medical expenses when you must. If you spend recklessly there will not be enough to see you through. You have been my one bright light in a life of darkness. Everything I have done was done because I love you. Live well, my son, live well.

The note had been in a drawer for almost four years now. He could recite it by heart. Zoltan drew away from the window and looked down at the diploma. He stepped to the dresser, picked up the small leather coffer and hesitated for a moment. Then he gently lifted the lid.

The coffer was empty.

Chapter Four

Europe — 1974

Zoltan Lugoj was born to design buildings. That was what his professors told him in Paris, and the thought was echoed by his supervisors at every firm where he worked. He could picture, in his mind’s eye, exactly how a building should look before setting pencil to paper. When he started to draw, the lines seemed to flow from his hand like milk from a pitcher. Had he stayed in his native Romania this talent would never have matured. There was no inspiration in the simple huts of his homeland. But the magnificent buildings of Europe left him spellbound and jump-started his imagination. His designs were totally devoid of the frills that would have hidden the elegance of line characterizing his work. Had he been the type to blow his own horn, he could have become internationally acclaimed. But Zoltan was happy simply creating and, later, admiring the fruits of his labor. As the employee of a large and faceless architectural firm, his work was also admired by many others but the name they put on it was the name of the company for which he worked.

Zoltan spent the first few years after graduation with a firm in Paris. It specialized in office complexes and commercial buildings, only occasionally taking on the design of a private home. Jean-Louis Petard, the owner of a firm supplying electronic switching devices to the motor companies of Europe, commissioned one of these homes. Price was not a consideration.

When the house was completed it was the talk of the neighborhood. M. Petard was ecstatic. When his brother, Felix, came to visit from Canada he, too, was flabbergasted and wanted to know the name of the designer. Jean-Louis could only name the firm and had never considered the possibility that one man held responsibility for the flowing lines. Felix, who was a builder of luxury homes, knew that no committee could generate such a bold statement. He finally convinced Jean-Louis to take him to the offices of the architects in question, where he was introduced to Zoltan. Felix inspected a half dozen of Zoltan’s designs under the pretext of desiring a home for himself. He met with Zoltan several times after hours. When he returned to Canada, he had Zoltan’s promise to follow as soon as arrangements could be made.

Zoltan Lugoj entered the New World on the 13th of August 1974. As he worked his magic in Montreal, he labored to learn yet another language: English. Tired of the snow and cold, Zoltan was determined to live somewhere that didn’t require fifteen pounds of clothing in order to survive the winter. With this in mind, he secured a position with a firm in Buffalo, New York and moved once more in 1981. New York was still cold, but a step in the right direction. Zoltan’s English improved rapidly, no doubt aided by his ability to speak Italian and French almost as fluently as his native Romanian. He now viewed each position as merely a stepping stone and combed newspapers and called headhunters in his efforts to move even farther south.

In the fall of 1990 Zoltan accepted a position in Tampa, Florida with a firm called Southeast Commercial Design. The last thing he did before formally accepting the position was to change his name to something that didn’t stick to the roof of an American mouth.

Zoltan Lugoj became Joseph Lucas.

Florida was everything Zoltan had dreamed it would be. The weather was constantly warm, the atmosphere was casual, the Gulf of Mexico never ceased to captivate him. The work at Southeast Commercial Design was challenging and satisfying. He plunged into it wholeheartedly. After he was with the firm for two years he bought a small house in the suburb of Dunedin. The house was only minutes from the Gulf and he wished his mother had lived to be able to enjoy the balmy beaches.

Southeast Commercial Design was founded by a civil engineer named Arthur Konig. Konig was born with a congenital heart condition that kept him out of the military during World War II. Like a lot of men who stayed at home during that time, Konig made a great deal of money. After the war he looked around for ways to make even more and traveled to Florida to look over the prospects. Tampa, in particular, seemed as if it was going to take off. There was a real shortage of engineering and architectural firms in the city, so Konig poured everything he had into a small office in Safety Harbor and was able to staff it with an architect, two more civil engineers and a mechanical engineer, all talented men. Konig had no flair for architectural design but he knew a great deal about sales and bidding. He left the technical end of the business to his staff and went out to pound on doors and grease palms. His timing was perfect. Tampa would see no end of building, as would most of Florida, and Konig became well to do in a relatively short time. His son, Winston, was born in 1954, and two daughters, Penny and Rachel, put in an appearance a few years later. Arthur Konig was a happy man.

Winston graduated from college in 1976 with a degree in Industrial Engineering after washing out in the more technical subjects. The civil, mechanical, electrical and chemical engineering students were universal in their scorn of those who studied Industrial Engineering. They dubbed them Imaginary Engineers and dismissed them out of hand.

Winston Konig was worthy of the title. He would have been hard pressed to design a doghouse with four vertical walls that would stand up to a stiff breeze. He could not have cared less. He entered the family business at the age of twenty-two, firmly convinced that the old man was too easy on the help and probably squandered millions on trifles such as medical insurance, paid holidays and bonuses. He vowed that when the time came for him to take over the company, he would make certain that such trifles were eliminated. But he would have to bide his time and try to look busy in the interim.

When Arthur Konig hired Joseph Lucas, he welcomed him with open arms. Konig had traveled north to witness the designs of the talented Romanian and was more than overwhelmed at the purity of line and the imagination displayed in the structures. Arthur Konig might not have been a technical person, but he knew talent when he saw it. The two became as close as employer and employee could become and settled down to seek a mutually rewarding future.

Norbert Hicks spent a lot of time talking to architectural firms before deciding on one to design his super mall. When he finally settled on Southeast Commercial Design he went home convinced he had picked the best firm for the job. Arthur Konig was amiable, knowledgeable and had a solid background of success in the design and construction of commercial buildings. When Konig realized that Hicks really wanted something spectacular, he mentally tagged Zoltan for the job of aesthetic design.

Konig, however, wasn’t stupid. When the contract was signed, he put a memo on the bulletin board asking for anyone who was interested to sketch their ideas for a mall project and turn them over to the boss. They had two weeks to prepare a proposal. Of the forty-seven employees, only nine of them were architects. Twelve were engineers, nineteen were draftsmen and seven were clerical. Of the nine architects only four were interested in commercial designs and Zoltan stood head and shoulders above the other three. Arthur knew all of this, of course, but his “contest” gave the idea of an open competition, thus quelling any complaints of bias toward the new kid on the block. Zoltan made a watercolor presentation that absolutely blew away the competition. Even Winston, who had trouble telling the difference between French Provincial and Early American Log Cabin, was impressed. So impressed that he decided to do something positive. But the trouble didn’t really start until Arthur suffered his first stroke.

Although Arthur had theoretically retired in 1993 at the age of seventy, he still kept his hand, and money, in the firm. He understood Winston’s limitations better than anybody and remarked to his wife on numerous occasions that Winston would be better off working in, perhaps, city government. Like driving the Elgin Pelican that gathered up curb trash twice a week at four in the morning. The stroke, however, changed everything.

Arthur had instructed Zoltan to begin on the architectural renderings of both the inside and outside of the mall entry, as well as three-quarter views from the northeast and southwest. About the time Zoltan finished, Arthur suffered the stroke and was hospitalized for three weeks. It was massive and left him paralyzed on most of the left side—and nearly mute. Fortunately, he was right handed and could communicate with a pad and pencil. But, at the moment, the business was the farthest thing from his mind.

Winston was more than willing to take up the slack left in his father’s absence. The first thing he did was order Zoltan to deliver the finished renderings of the mall to his office. He then sent the architect back to his workstation with a new project. That was the last Zoltan saw of his work for almost a month.

One morning, as he was going down the aisle between the workstations, headed for the coffee pot, he glanced at one of the computer screens and stopped dead in his tracks. The engineer working at the computer was in the process of developing a framing plan of Zoltan’s mall entry. Zoltan stepped up behind the engineer and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Eric,” he said, “what are you working on?”

Eric finished what he was doing and looked up at Zoltan. “That mall of Winston’s,” he said. “This is the framing.”

“I know it’s the framing, Eric, but who said it was Winston’s mall?”

Eric looked puzzled. “Winston. Look.” He picked up a sketchpad and flipped through several crude drawings, all signed by Winston Konig. Zoltan narrowed his eyes and grabbed the pad, then slowly flipped back through the sheets of pencil sketches. They were all identical, at least in concept, to Zoltan’s watercolor renderings. He tossed the pad back on the table.

“Let me ask you something,” Zoltan said. “Have you ever seen any sketches done by Winston before?”

“Now that you mention it, no,” Eric said frowning. “I didn’t think he was much at design. He always seemed to be the executive type.” He brightened. “Maybe he had some kind of inspiration.”

Zoltan nodded. “He had that all right. Yes indeed.” He spun on his heel and stalked from the cubicle. Eric looked after him, confused.

Zoltan marched directly to Winston’s office with murder in his heart. But Winston’s secretary told Zoltan that the boss was in Miami at a convention and wouldn’t be back until the end of the week. Zoltan closed his eyes, drew in a great breath and blew it out. Then he told the secretary he was sick and left.