HIS OTHER SON (3 page)

           
“She’ll
be sleeping now. The morphine, you know. Were you planning to stay the night?
In the mornings, before Doctor Cooperman comes, she’s usually pretty alert.”

           
“I
haven’t made any plans. All I know about this is what you put in your
note...which wasn’t particularly informative.”

           
Caroline
nodded slowly and took another sip of her drink. “Yes, I’m sorry I did that.
You deserved to be told properly. I suppose I was feeling angry, angry at the
whole damned world, and especially at you.”

           
“Why
especially at me?”

           
“Because
you’re not here, damn it!” she snapped. “You’re not here to bathe her, to clean
up after her when she’s sick or incontinent. You’re not here to soothe her when
she’s screaming out in pain. And because, Ray, you’re not here to love her,
you’re not here to care.”

           
Ray
lowered his eyes and blew softly between pursed lips. “Whew, quite a speech,”
he said.

           
“Oh
Christ, you’re just impossible.” Caroline swallowed the last of her vodka tonic
and slumped back into her seat, staring at the books on the opposite wall as if
in some mystical way they could absorb the anger and pain she was feeling.

           
“I
saw a monk on the landing earlier,” he said.

           
Caroline
jerked in her seat and stared at him, saying nothing.

           
“I
didn’t think it was just my imagination,” he said. Her reaction told him he
hadn’t imagined what he’d seen. “What’s a monk doing here?”

           
“It
wasn’t a monk.”

           
“Sure
looked like a monk to me.
Robe and cowl, unless you’ve been
redesigning the maid’s uniforms again.”

           
“Don’t
be flip. I told you it wasn’t a monk. It was probably one of the sisters.”

           
He
looked at her blankly, waiting for her to continue. When she said nothing more
he said, “Sisters? Sorry, I think I’m missing something here. What kind of
sisters?
Sisters as in nuns, or what?”

           
“You’ll
have to talk to father about it. They’re here at his invitation. They’ve got
nothing to do with me. Martin is absolutely furious about all this. He’s taken
legal advice, but John Bailey, his attorney, says there’s nothing we can do
about it, as long as they’re here at father’s request.”

           
Ray
pushed himself up from his chair and began to pace the floor. “Look,
Caro
, could you please start from the beginning and tell me
what the hell is going on here?”

           
“I’m
not going to talk to you while you’re prowling around like an angry lion. Sit
down and I’ll start at the beginning, when mother’s illness was first
diagnosed.”

           
He
stared at her for a long moment then shrugged and sat back down in the chair
opposite her. “Okay, I’m sitting. Now start talking.”

           
“It
started when mother fell ill. Oh yes, and when mother decided Frank wasn’t dead
after all.”

“Guy’s a wiseass,” Carl Anders muttered. “If he wasn’t
Stock’s son I’d…”

           
“Carl,
you’re full of shit,” Phil
Ryker
said amiably. “If
Ray wanted to he could break you into little pieces and put you back together
with your ears sticking out your ass. You’ve got an attitude problem, that’s
all. You’ll grow out of it.”

           
Anders
glared at the older man, but further discussion was halted by Martin
Devereaux
, who appeared between them in the doorway.

           
“We
have a problem,
Ryker
. Three clowns who think it’s
smart to snort some cocaine. They’re upstairs in the west wing washroom.”

           
“You
want them out?”

           
“I
don’t want filth like that in my house.”
Devereaux
was a small thin man, with a sallow complexion and cold blue eyes. When he was
angry, spots of red appeared at his cheeks, giving him a fevered look, and his
nostrils flared. They were flaring now.

           
Ryker
turned to Anders. “You deal with it, Carl.”

           
“And
for God’s sake be discreet,”
Devereaux
said. “Police
Commissioner Marks looks like he might be leaving soon. I don’t want any
unfortunate crossing of paths.”

           
A
slow smile crept across Carl Anders’ face. Perhaps it wasn’t going to be such a
dull evening after all. He moved inside the house but hadn’t taken two steps
before Phil
Ryker
gripped his arm and tugged him
back. “Remember, Carl.
Discreet.
Be gentle.”

           
Anders
grinned satanically.

           
Martin
Devereaux
watched Anders’ retreating back and
frowned. “Do you think he’s up to the job?” he said. “I sometimes wonder why we
employ thugs like him.”

           
“With
respect, sir, Anders isn’t a thug. And I take full responsibility for the men
under my command.”

           
Devereaux
sniffed imperiously. “Yes, well you’re not in the
army now,
Ryker
.”

           
“Police, sir.”

           
“What?”

           
“I
was in the police, sir, not the army.”

           
Devereaux
wasn’t listening. His attention was focused on a
shiny black stretch limo that was cruising up the drive towards the house.
“Yes, well, whatever,” he said absently. “Now who the hell is this?”

           
Ryker
followed his gaze and saw the car stop. The doors
opened and two figures stepped out, both small, both dressed in white robes.
They waited obediently at the side of the car, their heads lowered as a third
figure emerged from the passenger seat.

The first thing
Ryker
and
Devereaux
noticed about
him was his size. The man was only short, about five eight but he must have
crushed the scales at about three hundred and fifty pounds. His head was
completely hairless and his neck was camouflaged by three great rolls of fat.
His body was sheathed in a flowing white silk robe and he wore heavy framed
dark glasses. He heaved himself out of the car and looked towards the house,
though
Ryker
and
Devereaux
couldn’t be sure if he was looking at them because the lenses of his glasses
were impenetrable. He made a quick birdlike flutter of his hands and the two
robed figures fell into line behind him, then, with an almost ponderous grace,
he started towards the house.

           
“Looks
like the circus has come to town,” Phil
Ryker
said,
out of the side of his mouth.

           
Martin
Devereaux
shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Have
you seen my wife?” he said.

           
“In the library, sir, with Mr. Stock junior.”

           
Devereaux
spun round sharply. “Ray Stock?
Here
, in
this house? Has the old man been told?”

           
“I’m
not sure, sir.”

           
Devereaux
glanced back at the unlikely procession heading
towards the house. “Look, you deal with this. I’m going to find Mrs.
Devereaux
. I want to know what the hell is going on here
tonight. This was meant to be a party to celebrate my daughter’s eighteenth
birthday, and I haven’t seen
her
for the last two hours, let alone her
mother.
And now this.”
He gestured towards the fat man
and his entourage, who were within yards of the house. “There are some very
important friends of mine here tonight and I’m not about to be humiliated in
front of them.
Ray Stock
!” he said, and Phil
Ryker
stared at him in wonder that
Devereaux
could imbue
two simple words with so much venom.

           
Devereaux
glared back at
Ryker
challengingly, then spun round and headed back across the entrance hall. Phil
Ryker
shook his head slowly then turned his attention to
the procession. He raised his hands and said, “Whoa, hold on there, folks. This
is a private party; may I see your invitations?”

“So who is this Dr
Romodon
?
Have you ever met him?” Ray said, pouring himself yet another drink at the bar.
The
Chivas
Regal on top of an empty stomach was
having a mild anaesthetizing effect on him, and his thoughts were getting
woolly.

           
Caroline
still sat in the club chair, poised, her hands folded in her lap. “He’s the
head of the Church of the Divine Light, more than that I haven’t a clue. And
no, I’ve never met him. When mother used to go to the meetings she’d leave at
lunchtimes and come back a little after six in the evening. I questioned
Henderson, her chauffeur, about her visits, but all I got from him was that he
took mother to a large house just off
Calemaro
Drive,
where he’d sit outside in the car while she went in.”

           
“And
these
sisters,
are they nuns of some kind?”

           
“Devotees,
mother calls them. Not nuns in the real sense, not Brides of Christ. They talk
of Dr
Romodon
as the Holy Father.”

           
“So
you don’t think
it’s
Christian based?”

           
“Not at all.
From what little I’ve managed to learn, it
seems to be a
mish
mash of Buddhism, Hindu, and a
dash of Shinto thrown in for taste.”

           
“Eclectic.”

           
“A
put on,” Caroline said vehemently.

           
“Yet
they’re here with the old man’s blessing. I find that hard to swallow. He’s got
no time for the more orthodox churches. Why should he suffer a cult like this
one?”

           
Caroline
rose from her chair and stood in front of her father’s portrait. “He does more
than suffer it. That’s why Martin’s so concerned. Mother was diagnosed just
over a year ago. Since then a six-figure sum has been diverted to a bank in
Ohio. Checks made out in father’s hand payable to one Dr S
Romodon
.”

           
Ray
raised his eyebrows. “I take it Martin asked the old man about it?”

           
“Yes,
and, if you’ll pardon the expression, got his balls chewed off. Father just
told him that as major stockholder in the Yellow Beach Corporation, he could
divert funds as and when he liked and didn’t have to ask permission of a, and
I’ll use father’s exact words, a pernicious little
asswipe
of a vice-president who only enjoys that exalted title because he humps a
member of the family.”

           
Ray
smiled but tried to hide it with his glass. “I see dad’s lost none of his
charm.”

           
“Damn
it, it’s not funny, Martin almost resigned.”

           
“Only
almost
?”

           
“Don’t
you
start.
Martin doesn’t only have himself to
consider. There’s me, and there’s Paula to think of.”

           
“I
didn’t bring her a present. She’s eighteen, right?”

           
“She
wasn’t expecting one, not from you.”

           
“Ouch.”

           
“Right,
well let’s stop all this sniping and try and decide what we’re going to do
about it.”

           
Ray
walked across to the window, parted the drapes and peered out at the floodlit
grounds. From the library window he could see a broad expanse of lawn that
swept down to a kidney shaped swimming pool. On the far side of the pool was
the pool house, built in a kind of pseudo-Grecian style. The pool house also
housed a sauna and fitness room. The lights were burning inside, suggesting
that someone had got bored with the party and was making use of the facilities.
He could use a sauna himself, to sweat some of the alcohol out of his system.
Maybe later.

           
“Well,”
Caroline said. “Have you any suggestions?”