“Hmm,” Soldan said, holding the tube between his long thin fingers again and sucking in deeply. He whispered, his eyes now closed, “Did this man also kill my poor August?”
“It’s possible,” Cheney said. He waited until Soldan opened his eyes, then showed him his shield, and offered his hand, but Soldan ignored it. He drew again on his hookah.
Ancilla said to Cheney, “I’ll bet you were the one who couldn’t abide August, or at least your fed bosses couldn’t, and you murdered the poor man. Or had your partners do it. That’s why he’s trying to kill you, no honor among assassins.”
“That’s a pretty good theory,” Cheney said, cocking his head at her.
Julia said, “No, Agent Stone didn’t kill my husband.”
“Hah, so you say. But you’re consorting with a federal assassin, aren’t you? Who can believe you?”
“Neither you nor your sister are what I expected, sir,” Cheney said, looking around at the violent, eye-crossing array of colors and exotic fabrics that filled the smallish room, mixing in with the gently outward floating hashish smoke from the hookah. There was no furniture, no books, no attempt to instill confidence that this man could speak to the dead. Huge silk pillows, and fabrics, not much else. Soldan Meissen reminded him of an emaciated long-ago pasha in Istanbul, quite at home at the Topkapi Palace. But Cheney doubted he’d have much interest in a harem.
Soldan ignored Cheney, stared at his bare toes again, and frowned. “I must have a pedicure, Ancilla. Make a note of it.”
“Yes, Sol,” Ancilla said, pulled a pen and small pad from her bosom and wrote on it.
“She is not my sister. She is my assistant.”
“But I look like his younger sister,” Ancilla said and fluffed her long hair.
“Do you like the table? It’s Japanese, you know. I acquired it recently from one of those automobile moguls in Tokyo. Isn’t it exquisite? I had it lacquered crimson. It was a very dark blue before, clashed with my spirit, dimmed my connection to
“That can hardly surprise you, Agent Stone. Yes, that is what I call it.
Julia shook her head. “Not this evening. I fear it might disrupt my aura.”
“What would you say if I were to arrest you for doing drugs, Soldan?”
“You are an assassin, not a vice cop. You are also not very amusing.”
“He tried to be funny with me too, Sol,” Ancilla said. “But I told him he wasn’t.”
Cheney said suddenly, without preamble, “I understand that after Dr. Ransom was murdered you became the medium for Mr. Thomas Pallack.”
Soldan inclined his head, puffing contentedly. He looked to-ward Ancilla. “What is the day today?”
“It’s still Tuesday, Sol, very late on Tuesday, I might add.”
“How strange, I won’t see him tomorrow night, Wednesday night. Yes, every Wednesday and Saturday I am with Thomas. Only he had to break our session for tomorrow night. I saw him last evening at his lovely home on Russian Hill from six o’clock to eight o’clock in the evening. I did not return home until nine o’clock, very late for me.”
Cheney said, “Did you kill Dr. Ransom to gain control of his rich clients, Soldan?”
“It doesn’t sound like something I’d do, does it, my dear Ancilla?”
“No, Soldan. You loved Dr. Ransom. You thought he was prac-tically a god. If he had asked you to kill this federal assassin you would have done it gladly.”
“Probably so,” Soldan said and sucked in deeply.
“From Dr. Ransom’s bank records, Thomas Pallack paid him a great deal over the past ten-plus years.”
“Oh yes, I would imagine so. He provides excellent reimbursement to me as well.” He puffed again.
“Did you make contact with Mr. Pallack’s parents, Soldan?” Julia asked.
“Naturally. Vincent and Margaret Pallack are quite gregarious, always pleased to speak to their son, though Mrs. Pallack did tell me tonight that she believed her poor Thomas was, sadly, looking his age. She even mentioned the age spots on the backs of his hands. She said she didn’t trust his wife Charlotte, told me to tell him to be careful of her. She was surely too young for him and what did he think he was up to?”
“Did you pass this along to Mr. Pallack?” Cheney asked.
“Only a bit of it so Thomas would know that he was indeed in contact with his parents. Evidently Mrs. Pallack was always a possessive mother. That didn’t change when she died.
“Her sniping is a mother-in-law’s jealousy, nothing more. I myself am very fond of Charlotte. She’s done Thomas a world of good, keeps his spirits bolstered, laughs when she’s supposed to, and is of immense assistance to him in all his political fundraisers. Thomas’s mother was simply being bitchy, not at all uncommon amongst the departed, you know. Some of the dead are like that—mad and vengeful. So is Margaret Pallack, on occasion. I’m relieved she hasn’t terrorized anyone. She would be very good at it.”
Cheney asked, “Do you stop aging once you die, Soldan?”
“Oh yes. Thomas looks older than his parents now. He’s quite a bit older than they were when they were killed. This disturbs them, naturally. They don’t want him to die. For two reasons: They don’t want to have to spend eternity with a son who looks older than they do, and they’ll lose their only strong connection to this world since there are no other relatives here who would even think to call them, much less want to.”
