"That is up to the host," Beverly said.
"It's a big yawn," Mia said.
"The members don't find it boring," Beverly said.
"Are you a member?" I asked.
"Me?" Beverly said with a widening grin. "No, there is a rabbi who covers the spiritual topics, an Episcopal priest who covers the theological, a neo-pagan priestess who handles metaphysics, a lawyer — Lupa’s friend John Dachnewel — handles ethics and Lupa provides the philosophy topics when it's his turn to host. The members take turns hosting once every three months. Lupa's last turn was last winter, so his next turn won't be until next spring. The host also invites a guest with relevant expertise to keep the conversation on track." That, I realized, was how Schwartz had met Brother Devlin. He'd been somebody's expert.
"Do they do anything?" I asked. "I mean, you know, do they play cards or chess or have entertainment?”
"They may read from relevant literature, if that's what you mean. The conversation is the entertainment," Beverly said. "Anything else would be a distraction. There's food, of course. There'd have to be food. The meetings go on for hours."
"How did they get together in the first place?" I asked.
"I think Lupa knew Rabbi Ulric back when he was growing up in the Balkans. John Dachnewel knew the priest, Fr. Dwayne Lovell; and Lupa has known John since John helped Ulric and him escape into America after his parents were killed. I'm not sure how they met Melanie, the priestess. Oh, wait, yes I do. She came to John Dachnewel with a legal problem when she was publishing her book. He hired Lupa to check into something, and they were able to solve her difficulty. That's right. Shortly after that, they decided to form the Five Seekers."
We continued to drink and to talk, and eventually I brought up the topic of men. “I’m kind of sorry it’s all coming to a close tomorrow,” I said. “I was kind of getting to like seeing Trevor every couple of days.”
“Cleveland is only two hours away,” Mia said. “Maybe the two of you could get a side thing going somewhere in the middle. On second thought; who wants to have sex in Youngstown?”
That comment got me, and I started to giggle. “Nobody,” I said. “Not even the people who live there.”
“Why does it always have to degenerate into sex talk?” Beverly asked.
“Sorry,” I said. “Mia started it. But for your information, I wasn’t speaking about that anyway. I think with the case and all, Trevor is taking his time making his move. You didn’t though, did you, Mia?” I asked steering the conversation to where I’d wanted it all along.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked defensively.
“You’ve got Schwartz jumping through hoops for your man Jimmy.”
“Oh, that?” she said. “I don’t like the idea of Jimmy being in the narcotics division. Too many of those guys get the taste, you know. If I’m going to date a cop, I want to date a homicide cop. That my grandmother could be proud of.”
“But it’s Trevor’s case,” I said.
“Trevor closed the case,” Mia said. “Besides, he’s already on the squad. This could be the break Jimmy needs.”
“It could make Trevor look bad, and he’s the one who brought the case to Schwartz. He owes him some loyalty,” I said.
“You’re arguing that point with the wrong bird,” Mia said. “Sell that to Schwartz, not me. I’m not his conscience. Schwartz has his loyalties, and I have mine.”
“Well,” I said, “I think you’re taking advantage of the fact that Schwartz has known you longer. I’m calling Trevor and asking him to come here in the morning before we go to close out the case. We’ll see where Schwartz’s loyalties are.”
“Then I’ll just call Jimmy and have him come here too,” Mia said.
“You do what you have to do,” I said feeling just the tiniest bit guilty for how I’d manipulated that one.
***
The rest of the night was pleasant enough. We drank and swung and talked until about eleven, and then Schwartz came home. He came out to the verandah to wish us goodnight, and I accosted him as he went back inside. “Wait! Can I ask you something?” Mia stood assuming that I was going to bring up the loyalty issue, but I waved her down. “Relax,” I said pushing the air down with my open palm. “I just want to see his library.” I turned to the man of the house. “The ladies tell me that you have an extensive library. Do you have anything about poisons? I’m just a little curious about Chlordane.”
Schwartz escorted me up the stairs, and I made small talk as we walked. “How was your movie?” I asked
“It was good,” he said. “The Wayans Brothers have a very good understanding of the connection between slapstick and cerebral humor. I’d say this sequel was every bit as good as the first.” Apparently tonight hadn’t been a tax on his thoughtful and introspective nature.
However, as Schwartz opened the door to his room, I understood what kept him occupied at night. The first part of the room was a standard bedroom with double bed, bureau, dresser and closets; but when you had gone past that toward the far wall beyond the fireplace, you saw that the curved far wall was a sort of rotunda of a library. This room was situated above his study, so the far wall was the same curved wall with windows that below had only window seats to adorn it. Here, the wall was two stories high. The ceiling above had been cut away, and lining the wall, between the narrow windows were rows and rows of book shelves. At various intervals, there were tracks that held a library's rolling ladder in place, so that any book on either of the two floors was easily accessible.
Behind me as I stood admiring the book-lined turret-wall was a circular staircase that passed up through to the level above. I ascended, and at the next level was another room dedicated to the Schwartz library. The walls were completely covered in shelves of books. There were also free standing two-sided bookshelves in a row along the longest wall. In the center of this room was a computer desk. Next to that on the right sat a large globe. To the left, there was a podium made of metal rods that supported an open atlas. On subsequent shelves of the podium were an unabridged dictionary of the English language, an encyclopedia of mythology, and various other reference books such as almanacs and thesauruses.
Another feature of the library was a television stand with a VCR and DVD as well as a stereo. Beside these were cabinets full of cassettes and discs. There was no card catalog, so I imagined that Schwartz must have computerized his inventory. I asked him if I could use his computer to locate the book I wanted. He told me there was no catalog in the computer. "Everything is shelved categorically, so there is no need to keep an inventory. The books are mine, so I don't have to look up what is here. If I have it already, I know where it is."
I looked around taking in random titles; Michael Jackson’s Beer Companion, The Works of T.E. Lawrence, Robert’s Rules of Order, The Complete Works of Lewis Carroll, The Origin of Species, Misery, The Name of the Rose, Emma, The Demon Haunted World, The Green Table, To Kill a Mockingbird, Invisible Man. These were all placed with other books of their ilk, but then I noticed an odd case. The case started with a shelf dedicated to an eclectic collection of books about religion; Gospel Fictions, The Koran, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance; below these were several books about Jihad, Kabballah, the Rosicrucians, and the Crusades. These led to books on the Masons, the Ku Klux Klan, Nazism, the Mafia, the Trilateral Commission and U.F.Ology. Below this was a shelf with books about Swiss banking, government cover-ups, urban legends and stage magic. On the next shelf were books by Art Bell, Brad Steiger, Devon Jackson, David Icke and others.
If there was a system to that bookcase, I couldn’t envision it. I shrugged it off as probably his books-on-deck case and asked where I’d find his book on poisons? He went into the row of shelves, and came out carrying the ninth edition of The Handbook of Poisoning.
“Thank you,” I said. “This is a very impressive library. Have you read everything in here?”
“No,” he said. “Some of the books were gifts that I woul
d never have bought for myself. Others I bought for specific reference, like the book you are holding. I haven’t read that one, though I have used it. I have several car manuals down in the garage about which I could say the same. Other books I bought and began to read, but became disinterested. Those books wind up on a special shelf.”
“Those shelves?” I asked indicating the eclectic collection.
“No,” Schwartz said uncomfortably. “Those I’ve read. That case is an ongoing project. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“Why don’t you want people to know about your library?”
He tightened and breathed the tension away. “People know that I’m intelligent,” he said. “Some people are impressed by that, but most are intimidated. For women it’s different, in some ways it may be worse, but I can only speak from a male perspective. Men posture and pose. For men of great physical strength, the posturing becomes so much a part of who they are, that others respond instinctually to them. For small, intelligent men, they manage to apply the same rule to their intelligence once they outgrow their adolescence. However, for physically average men like me, our intelligence is seen as an unfair advantage; especially when we are also burdened with an alpha male personality. In my experience, people will respond to my leadership and my intelligence only so long as the intelligence is brought in circuitously through the back door. It’s all right for me to be intelligent; it’s even all right for me to flaunt my intelligence to somebody else’s advantage so long as it is tempered with feigned humility; however, the unforgivable sin would be for me to display my intelligence like a trophy buck.”
I nodded, thanked him for the book and left him to check the jpegs in his email. As I descended the spiral staircase, I continued looking around at his books. That was when I noticed that about halfway down the concave wall was a shelf that prominently displayed the books the introductions to which had made my career, the re-issues of the books my father had written chronicling the cases of the grandfather of the man in whose library/bedroom I now stood. I stopped short on the stairwell. I filled with pride. This was what I had actually come to find, not some overly technical book about poisons and their treatments.
I resumed my stride, and left his room for mine. When I got to my destination, I casually tossed the volume to the night stand and started to prepare myself for bed. Suddenly I realized that it wouldn’t be uncharacteristic for Schwartz to quiz me on the book I had borrowed. I didn’t want to have to admit that I was actually looking to see if he’d read my father’s and my work, so I sat in the wing-back chair near the bureau light and found the listing for Chlordane in the index. I turned to page 103 and forced myself to read how Chlordane is a polycyclic derivative with a toxicity far greater than that of the chlorobenzene derivatives. Also how in 1977 when this particular tome was published (Schwartz had bought it for a quarter at a flea market,) allowable residual tolerances of this and similar indane chemicals in food ranged from 0-0.1 parts per million even though just one gram of Chlordane was known to cause severe symptoms in an average adult including convulsions apparently originating in the cerebral cortex. I was also shown a lovely chemical map for the molecular composition, should I ever want to build my own molecule model. I slept easily that night.
Chapter 31
I had a specific plan for dealing with the Jimmy/Trevor situation, but it was ephemera. Any of a number of contingencies could have forced me to abandon it for a spur-of-the-moment revision. That reality gave me a greater combination of both respect and curiosity concerning Schwartz’s ability to show such confidence in the plan he’d formed to expose the Hanson killer.
I dressed in the outfit that I had originally intended to wear to the Century Club that Saturday evening before Mia had talked me into changing, and I came down for my final breakfast as a guest in the house of Lupa Schwartz. Beverly had prepared another delicious breakfast, blueberry pancakes and fried sliced-ham, which I nervously nibbled on as the others devoured their own servings.
Beverly — who had been in the kitchen since I’d come down for breakfast — came back into the dining room as I was finishing my coffee. “My,” she said, “you look very fetching. Do you often dress for breakfast?”
“She’s making a play for Johns today,” Mia said. “I don’t know who she’s trying to impress more though, him or Schwartz.”
I smiled cordially. “I only have one suitcase full of clothes. I had to wear this outfit sometime or other.”
“You can’t play it both ways,” Mia said. “We know you were calling Trevor to come here this morning.”
“Of course I did,” I said. “Schwartz asked me to.”
A look of stupefaction sprouted on her face. “He did? But you said that you were calling him to come try to talk Schwartz into give him the collar.”
“No,” I said. “All I said was that I was calling him and asking him to come. Why? Did you do something silly?”
“Mia,” Schwartz said, “what did you do?”
Mia didn’t answer. Instead she demanded, “Why did you tell her to call Johns?”
“Not for the reason you think. What did you do?”
Mia glared at me with an admiring kind of loathing. “I called Jimmy and told him to be here early because Trevor was going to try to undermine him in the case.”
“Oh,” Schwartz said, “is that all?”
“Is that all?” Mia mimicked. “If Jimmy confronts Johns with the story I told him, I’m going to look like a fool.”
“True,” Schwartz said suppressing a smile, “but I can’t see a down side for me.” He couldn’t see the down side, because he wasn’t looking hard enough. It was my turn to smile.
***
I had just hurdled the first possible snag in my plan. I’d exposed the fact that I had a plan, but — so far — nobody suspected that it might go deeper than just potentially embarrassing Mia. The second potential snag was completely beyond my control. It involved the three people we were expecting to visit that early morning and the order that they chose to arrive. The doorbell sounded, and I was about to find out if I was tripped-up or still in the running.
As Beverly opened the door, I knew that I’d cleared another sawhorse. Jimmy could be heard demanding, “Well then, why are you here?”
“I told you — I don’t know,” Trevor insisted. “Cattleya called me early this morning and told me that Schwartz wanted me to come.”
“Then why did he have me get the search warrant?” Jimmy insisted.
“I don’t know that either,” Trevor said. “I’ve never known that. It’s my case after all.”
The men had entered the dining room by this time; Trevor with his hair dangling in his eyes, Jimmy showing angry veins in his thin neck. Schwartz stood and interrupting them said, “Gentlemen, please, if you’ll be seated, you’ll understand everything soon enough.” The men took the two seats nearest the entrance and waited for Schwartz to speak. He did. “Officer Yitzosky, I wasn’t expecting you this early, but I understand why you are here.” Mia flushed as Schwartz continued. “No, Detective Johns, I haven’t changed my mind about giving you the evidence to make this arrest. Before you begin to suspect me of animus, however, please hear me out.”
Trevor looked at everybody present, pushed back his hair, and then said, “I’m listening.”
Beverly set two cups of hot coffee before the officers and refreshed our cups for Mia, Schwartz and myself; then Schwartz said, “When you brought me this case, you informed me that the department would be disturbed with you if the church was to be embarrassed, did you not?”
“Sure,” Trevor said. “There are a lot of Catholics in this town. It would have been political egg in our face if the department had to arrest a popular priest before we could make it solid.”
“You even expressed concern that my own non-religious attitude could make bringing me into the case either a boon or a handicap depending on the outcome.”
“Yeah,” Trevor agreed. “It was my ide
a to consult you. Which is why you should have…”
Schwartz interrupted again. “No,” he said. “I told you that I had reason to suspect that Matthew Hanson had not committed suicide, and you suggested that I come back to you when I had proof. I haven’t any proof yet, but I will have this afternoon. Unfortunately, I needed police assistance prior to establishing my proof. I needed a warrant. To that end, I contacted officer Yitzosky, and I could hardly ask for his assistance without offering him the opportunity to make the arrest.”
“About that warrant,” Trevor said.
“Not yet,” Schwartz said. “I’ll explain about that when the time comes. I hope that what I’ve said will satisfy your curiosity concerning why I had Ms. Hoskin invite you here this morning.”
“I guess it does,” Trevor said. “Only it doesn’t explain why she told me to bring along a uniform.”
Schwartz looked questioningly at me for a moment before he decided to himself that I’d done that because we were expecting to make a drug bust before we left for church. “That was … precautionary,” Schwartz said inventing an explanation that even he found wanting. “Is he outside in your car?”
“Yes,” Trevor said suspiciously. At that instant, the doorbell rang again. Our third visitor of the morning had come to sell her car.
Schwartz turned his gaze to me. “Ah,” he said softly so that only I might hear, “the sacrificial lamb has arrived. Thus was Isaac spared.” The problem was that Schwartz hadn’t yet realized that Trevor wasn’t Isaac. He was my Ishmael, and I had a different passional to enact.
***
I headed Beverly off in the hall. “I’ll get it, Bev,” I said. “I don’t think you want to see the person I think it is.”
Beverly faltered, then registered, then paled. “Oh,” she said. “No, you’re right. Thank you.” She turned and went into the kitchen.
I opened the door to greet most of the face that we had all come to hate. I say “most of the face” because she was wearing over-sized sun glasses. When she turned her head a little, I was able to make out some discoloration in her cheek. She was wearing the glasses to disguise a shiner. Someone had hit her but good; probably the person who suspected her of filching his drugs. She pursed her lips in a show of feminine machismo and demanded, “I want to see what’s-his-name … Schwartz.”