The Puppet Master

12

After lunch I drove to Ventura and found the Dairy Delite. I'd never been in one before. It turned out to be more than just an ice-cream place. They had burgers, chicken, a salad bar . . . the whole list. It was a little past two. The guy at the cash register wore a tag that said Frank, and beneath it, Manager. I showed him my ID and contract cards, and asked to talk to him privately. He led me into his office. The plaque on the door said Mr. Piper.

I showed him the pictures of Ashkenazi and Veronica Ashley, and asked if he'd ever seen either of them before. Not so far as he knew, he said. 'What'd they do? Rob a bank?'

'One of them died,' I told him. 'The other one didn't.' Then, for no reason I can think of, I added, 'The poisoner and the poisonee.'

'Huh! If you know that, why snoop around any further?'

'You go to court with as much evidence as you can muster.'

I had a fishburger then and left. It felt as if I'd just wasted a couple of hours on a false lead, but in my profession you get used to that. The names of the game are patience and thoroughness. Two of the names.

* * *

My next stop would be Veronica Ashley's place, but I didn't want to get there too early. A little before she got home from work would be about right. Maybe 5:15. So it being a nice sunny day, I drove to a nearby beach, took off my shoes, and had a nice, hour-long hike along the surf line, enjoying the feel and smell of the sea breeze and getting my feet wet now and then. After letting Fidela know, back at the office. When I got back to the car, I rolled down my windows, let the seat back, and took a short nap. My car computer woke me up at 3:30, and I headed for Westwood, and Veronica Ashley's address. It was an older house, probably from before World War Two, because the glass doors had a lot of little diamond-shaped panes instead of being single panes of safety glass. It was two- story, pseudo-Moorish pink stucco, and had a small balcony upstairs with a little wrought-iron railing. Tall Washingtonia palms stood along the curb, and the walk to the front door had a big date palm on each side. There were glossy-leaved shrubs in front, with big pink blossoms, a kind you see a lot of in L.A. but I never heard a name for.

It occurred to me I was resisting going to the door, so I took myself by the scruff and started walking. Then there was nothing for it but to ring the doorbell. A big, strong-looking black lady answered, wearing a light green uniform like a nurse's. I introduced myself, showing my ID, and told her I'd come to talk to Mr. and Mrs. Ashley. I figured Veronica wouldn't be there yet, and I was right. The nurse? housekeeper? also told me that Mr. Ashley didn't see anyone.

'He's looking at me right now,' I answered. Dimly I could see him through a doorway behind her, in a poorly lit inner room. My eyes hadn't adjusted from the late sunlight outdoors, and he looked vaguely like an ape on all fours. 'If Mrs. Ashley isn't in, I'll speak with Mr. Ashley.'

I sort of pushed past her, she giving way to one side, and I walked through the vestibule into a comfortable living room. Sky light came through a tall south window, thinned by trees and drapes. It jarred me to see Eldon Ashley, and to realize he was Aldon's twin. Both legs had been amputated, leaving stubs maybe eight inches long. And instead of prosthetics, he moved on his knuckles. No, on thick blunt fingers! His torso was small, but below the sleeves of a body shirt, his arms were corded with muscle. His eyes were wary, and did not seem unintelligent. Brain-damaged he might be, but he looked aware and alert.

'Mr. Ashley,' I said, 'my name is Martti Seppanen.' I didn't offer my hand; he was standing on his. I'm one of the stronger people I know, but I doubt I could hold my own in a grip-down with Eldon Ashley. 'I'm an investigator for the police,' I went on. 'I'm here because your brother Aldon was shot in his bed, night before last.'

'Night . . . before . . . last?'

Not 'Shot?'; just, 'Night before last?' As if the time meant something to him.

'I've been assigned to investigate,' I went on, then paused, trying to read his eyes. In that light they could have been marbles. 'Do you have any idea who'd do such a thing?'

There was a long response lag, which in his case could have been physiological instead of psychological. There was no sign of grief, but his face seemed to have shrunk. When he answered, it was quietly. 'No.'

'Have you talked with your brother lately?'

He stared blankly, saying nothing. The nurse came into the room then. She showed no sign of hostility, only concern, presumably for Eldon. 'I've called Mrs. Ashley,' she said. 'She'll be here in a few minutes.'

'Right. Did you know that Mr. Ashley's twin brother was shot, night before last?'

Instead of looking shocked, she looked puzzled.

'Didn't you know he had a brother?'

'No sir, I didn't.'

'How long have you worked here?'

'Five years last May.'

'Do you live on the premises?'

'I have a room upstairs.'

'Um. His brother's name was Arthur Ashkenazi, but it had been Aldon Ashley.' I was addressing myself to the nurse, but my eyes were on Eldon. I had no idea why I was saying these things. 'He changed his name after a big row with their father,' I went on. 'After Veronica, Mrs. Ashley, had told their father that Aldon had said terrible things to Eldon. She said Aldon was to blame for Eldon's auto wreck, the wreck that left him—' I groped. 'Without his legs.'

Eldon's eyes had opened wide. His mouth opened too, not to speak, but in shock. He never knew! I thought. Eldon Ashley never knew! Then a terrible thought hit me. Maybe it hadn't happened that way. I'd had the story from Ashkenazi's old college buddy, who'd had it from Ashkenazi, but how accurate was it? If it wasn't true, I'd done a very bad thing to Eldon, and to his wife.

The nurse brought me out of it. 'Uh, sir, can I bring you some tea?'