In The House Of Secret Enemies

'How, Esteban? How did you know?'

He pointed to his eyes. 'I see, Mr. Mongo. I see the aura. Dr. Edmonston's aura brown-black. Flicker. He dying of cancer. I know he have five, maybe six more months to live.' He lowered his eyes and shook his head. 'I tell him I know. I tell him I want to help. He get very mad at me. He tell me to mind my own business. That upset me. It upset me to be around people in pain who no want my help.'

My mouth was suddenly very dry. I swallowed hard. 'You say you saw this aura?' I remembered the Kirlian photographs Janet Mason had shown me and I could feel a prickling at the back of my neck.

'Yes,' Morales said simply. 'I see aura.'

'Can you see anybody's aura?' I had raised my voice a few notches so that the guard could hear. I shot a quick glance in his direction. He was smirking, which meant we were coming in loud and clear. That was good. . maybe.

'Usually. Mostly I see sick people's aura because that what I look for.'

'Can you see mine?' I asked.

His eyes slowly came up and met mine. They held. It was a moment of unexpected, embarrassing intimacy, and I knew what he was going to say before he said it.

Esteban Morales didn't smile. 'I can see yours, Mr. Mongo,' he said softly.

He was going to say something else but I cut him off. I was feeling a little light-headed and I wanted to get the next part of the production over as quickly as possible. I could sympathize with Dr. Edmonston.

I pressed the guard and he reluctantly admitted he'd overheard the last part of our conversation. Then I asked him to get Garth.

Garth arrived looking suspicious. Garth always looks suspicious when I send for him. He nodded briefly at Esteban, then looked at me. 'What's up, Mongo?'

'I just want you to sit here for a minute and listen to something.'

'Mongo, I've got reports!'

I ignored him and he leaned back against the bars of the cell and began to tap his foot impatiently. I turned to Esteban Morales. 'Esteban,' I said quietly, 'will you tell my brother what an aura is?'

Morales described the human aura, and I followed up by describing the Kirlian photographs Janet Mason had shown me: what they were, and what they purported to show. Garth's foot continued its monotonous tapping. Once he glanced at his watch.

'Esteban,' I said, 'how does my brother look? I mean his aura.'

'Oh, he fine,' Esteban said, puzzled. 'Aura a good, healthy pink.'

'What about me?'

Morales dropped his eyes and shook his head mutely.

The foot-tapping in the corner had stopped. Suddenly Garth was beside me, gripping my arm. 'Mongo, what the hell is this all about?'

'Just listen, Garth. I need a witness.' I took a deep breath, then started in again on Morales. 'Esteban,' I whispered, 'I asked you a question. Can you see my aura? Can you see my aura, Esteban? Damn it, if you can, say so! I may be able to help you. If you can see my aura you have to say so!'

Esteban Morales slowly lifted his head. His eyes were filled with pain. 'I cannot help you, Mr. Mongo.'

Garth gripped my arm even tighter. 'Mongo-'

'I'm all right, Garth. Esteban, tell me what it is you see.'

The healer took a long, shuddering breath. 'You are dying, Mr. Mongo. Your mind is sharp, but your body is-' He gestured toward me. 'Your body is the way it is. It is the same inside. I cannot change that. I cannot help. I am sorry.'

'Don't be,' I said. I was caught between conflicting emotions, exultation at coming up a winner and bitterness at what Morales' statement was costing me. I decided to spin the wheel again. 'Can you tell about how many years I have left, Esteban?'

'I cannot say,' Morales said in a choked voice. 'And if I could, I would not. No human should suffer the burden of knowing the time of his death. Why you make me say those things about you dying?'

I spun on Garth. I hoped I had my smile on straight. 'Well, brother, how does Esteban's opinion compare with the medical authorities'?'

Garth shook his head. His voice was hollow. 'Your clients get a lot for their money, Mongo.'

'How about getting hold of a lawyer and arranging a bail hearing for Esteban. Like tomorrow?'

'I can get a public defender in here, Mongo,' Garth said in the same tone. 'But you haven't proved anything.'

'Was there an autopsy done on Edmonston?'

'Yeah. The report is probably filed away by now. What about it?'

'Well, that autopsy will show that Edmonston was dying of cancer, and I can prove that Esteban knew it. I just gave you a demonstration of what he can do.'

'It still doesn't prove anything,' Garth said tightly. 'Mongo, I wish it did.'

'All I want is Esteban out on bail-and the cops dusting a few more corners. All I want to show is that Esteban knew Edmonston was dying, fast. It wouldn't have made any sense for Esteban to kill him. And I think I can bring a surprise character witness. A heavy. Will you talk to the judged'

'Yeah, I'll talk to the judge.' Again, Garth gripped my arm. 'You sure you're all right? You're white as chalk.'

'I'm all right. Hell, we're all dying, aren't we?' My laugh turned short and bitter. 'When you've been dying as long as I have, you get used to it. I need a phone.'

I didn't wait for an answer. I walked quickly out of the cell and used the first phone I found to call the senator. Then I hurried outside and lit a cigarette. It tasted lousy.

Two days later Garth popped his head into my office. 'He confessed. I thought you'd want to know.'

I pushed aside the criminology lecture on which I'd been working. 'Who confessed?'

Garth came in and closed the door. 'Johnson, of course. He came into his office this morning and found us searching through his records. He just managed to ask to see the warrant before he folded. Told the whole story twice, once for us and once for the DA. What an amateur!'

I was vaguely surprised to find myself monumentally uninterested. My job had been finished the day before when the senator and I had walked in a back door of the courthouse to meet with Garth and the sitting judge. Forty-five minutes later Esteban Morales had been out on bail and on his way to meet with Linda Younger. Rolfe Johnson had been my prime suspect five minutes after I'd begun to talk to him, and there'd been no doubt in my mind that the police would nail him, once they decided to go to the bother.

'What was his motive?' I asked.

'Johnson's forte was business. No question about it. He just couldn't cut it as a murderer … or a doctor. He had at least a dozen malpractice suits filed against him. Edmonston was getting tired of having a flunky as a partner. Johnson was becoming an increasing embarrassment and was hurting the medical side of the business. Patients, after all, are the bottom line. Edmonston had the original practice and a controlling interest in their corporation. He was going to cut Johnson adrift, and Johnson found out about it.

'Johnson, with all his troubles, knew that he was finished if Edmonston dissolved the partnership. When Dr. Mason told him about Morales, Johnson had a notion that he just might be able to use the situation to his own advantage. After all, what better patsy than an illiterate psychic healer?'

'Johnson sent the message to Esteban, didn't he?'

'Sure. First, he admitted lying to Edmonston about Esteban giving drugs to one of Edmonston's patients, then he told how he maneuvered Edmonston into filing a complaint. He figured the university would bail Esteban out, and a motive would have been established. It wasn't much, but Johnson didn't figure he needed much. After all, he assumed Esteban was crazy and that any jury would know he was crazy. He picked his day, then left a message in the name of Edmonston for Esteban to come to the offices that night. He asked Edmonston to come forty-five minutes early, and he killed him, then waited for Esteban to show up to take the rap. Pretty crude, but then Johnson isn't that imaginative.'

'Didn't the feedback from the patients give him any pause?'