The Tower Part 18

He moved purposefully through the living room and into the kitchen. Pulling the gla.s.s sliding door open, he stepped out onto the back patio. A small note sat on the counter that ran underneath the kitchen window, held in place by two of Jade's framed pictures.

"Of course," he said aloud as he slid his hand under the counter to the s.p.a.ce where his Glock should have been. He lifted the note-a plain white piece of stationery, folded in half-to his eyes.

The front of the note said simply, "Welcome." Jade flipped it open and saw Allander's familiar scrawl lining the page: Full fathom five thy father lies; Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes: Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange.

Sea nymphs hourly ring his knell: Ding-dong.

Hark! now I hear them-Ding-dong, bell.

He looked at the two pictures on the counter that had been removed from his bedroom. In the photograph of Jade sprinting the hundred for UCLA, two circles to the sides of his head had been cut out. Next to this photo was the small picture of the boy with drooping features. It had not been altered.

A chill ran down Jade's spine and he felt the cold moistness of his sweat under his arms and on his back and shoulders.

He ran through his schedule of the past few days. He had not been outside on the patio since early yesterday, before he'd left for the meeting. He'd gotten in so late last night that he hadn't even turned on the light in his bedroom. He had simply undressed and gone straight to sleep, so he hadn't noticed the missing pictures. That meant he had slept in a room last night that Allander had stood in, had walked around. The note could have been there waiting even while he met with Travers this afternoon.

He cursed himself for not checking the house thoroughly. He just hadn't expected Allander to come so quickly. By arranging the TV news story, he had practically dared him to come to his house. It had paid off. The hoped-for opportunity had come, and he had missed it.

Jade's rage rose suddenly and uncontrollably, and he yelled. He brought the edge of his hand down to strike the counter, breaking it from the wall. The top of the crumpled note protruded from Jade's clenched fist as he walked in tight circles around the patio.

34.

J A D E checked his watch as he stepped briskly across the campus of the University of the Gate at San Francisco, heading toward the building that housed the English department. Eight-thirty A.M. Bright and early, and he had already completed his run.

He hadn't been able to sleep last night, and he had lifted weights in the garage between one and three-thirty in the morning. When he was tracking, he was usually fine on three to four hours of sleep, but two was a little light, even for him.

After the workout, he'd touched up the paint on the bookshelves in the study. Painting always soothed him, like ironing wrinkles out of a s.h.i.+rt.

He had examined Allander's note under a loupe just to double-check the handwriting. He hardly needed to cast his mind back to the few scattered handwriting lectures he'd sat in on at Quantico to conclude that it wasn't a fake. The handwriting was very neat, spread in clean lines across the sheet. Allander was obviously very organized now that he'd had a little time to settle down.

A stone building loomed at the head of the campus quad, the large lettering carved above the door announcing the department of English and American literature. A few college students readjusted their backpacks over their shoulders as they left the building, and Jade's eyes followed two brunettes making their way across the lawn. Distracted for the moment, he almost walked into a tree, but was given a heads-up by a branch that knocked his sungla.s.ses crooked. After putting them back in place, he glanced around to see if anyone had noticed.

Jade couldn't stand coffee, but knowing he needed caffeine this morning, he had drunk three Dr. Peppers in the car on the way over. Already, he could feel them widening his eyes and quickening his step.

He had been excited last night, too excited to sleep. This note was important. Often, killers make a subconscious cry for help. Or they send out a dare. Allander's note seemed to qualify as both. At the very least, it was an attempt to broadcast intent. "Welcome," the note had said. Welcome to my mind. Here's what I'm thinking, catch me if you can.

I can, Jade thought. I will.

By the time he reached the building, he felt energy running through him like a current. He ran his fingers compulsively through his hair. A female student exited through the door as he entered, and turned to admire him as he pa.s.sed.

The signs on the corridor doors indicated the professors and their fields of study: "Sacks-Romantic"; "Vendleman-Restoration"; "Caston-Medieval"; "Lithemeir-Elizabethan." The lines from Allander's poem sounded older, but they were still modern English, so Jade headed for Lithemeir's office.

The secretary almost dropped her cup of coffee as Jade entered, flinging the door open.

"FBI. I need to see him. Now," he said, flas.h.i.+ng his badge quickly.

The secretary was not an attractive woman, nor did she do much with what she had. She also looked nervous; her eyes darted about the room as though she were looking for a means of escape. Jade almost smiled as she struggled to respond to this unusual situation.

"Dr. Lithemeir is an exceptionally busy man. You'll know from his latest book that he-"

"Lady," Jade cut in, "I didn't read his book and I don't care about his book. I just need a few minutes of Dr. Lithenhaur's time."

Her hand darted up to push a strand of hair off her forehead. "It's . . . Lithemeir," she said cautiously.

"Right. And as I said, I'm with the FBI and I need to talk to him about a murder case-right now. So please don't give me a hard time about it. Now, I'm sure he's a pretty impressive guy or he wouldn't have a secretary, but-"

Her eyes widened, outraged. "I'm an academic a.s.sistant," she said. She appeared extraordinarily offended.

"Look, honey. I don't care what you are to him, but I gotta get in to see him right now or else I'll-"

"Please. Come in. There is no need to berate my a.s.sistant. And in fact, Ms. Jennings is an academic a.s.sistant." Dr. Lithemeir had emerged quietly from his office, and stood leaning against the door frame. A good, solid lean. He looked amused at Ms. Jennings's inability to handle the situation. Jade got the sense that most things amused him.

He was a large man, more rotund than fat and more ruddy than flushed. He carried a large cane with a duck's head on the end. It was apparently more useful for affectation than support, as he waved it about to punctuate his words. A thick gray beard and mustache sprouted from his face, giving him a pleasant appearance.

Jade would have bet that he had moonlighted as Santa Claus to work his way through his Ph.D. program.

Dr. Lithemeir smiled and beckoned Jade into his office with a grand bow and a long, sweeping gesture of his arm. Jade ignored him as he entered his office and pulled up a chair.

Dr. Lithemeir seemed pleased to have a guest different from the students and professors he usually saw. He closed the door and hobbled excitedly over to his desk.

"Now, before we begin and you devour some of my most valuable time . . ." He chuckled lightly to let Jade know his a.s.sumption of importance was feigned. "You must allow me the pleasure of knowing your name."

"Jade. Jade Marlow."

"Wonderful, wonderful. Does your namesake hail from the wonderful legacy of Joseph Conrad . . ." He stopped and clicked his tongue several times. "Or is your 'Marlowe' more Faustian in orientation?" He smiled broadly, evidently pleased with his question.

"Actually, it just happened to be my father's last name."

Lithemeir chortled. "Well, of course. I was merely inquiring from whom you drew your intellectual heritage. But let us move on. I believe I heard you bellow that you are an FBI agent?" He seemed to take great pleasure in everything Jade said and did, no matter how ba.n.a.l, trivial, or offensive.

Jade considered cutting straight to his own questions, but then he decided to give Dr. Lithemeir some play. That way, he might be more helpful when it came time for Jade to get some answers. Besides, Jade enjoyed sparring with him, especially since he was still wired from the caffeine.

"I'm a cross between an agent and I guess what you would call a private eye," Jade said slowly, wondering how to explain his occupation to a sixty-year-old professor.

"Splendid, splendid," Lithemeir said, rising and twirling his cane overhead until it caught the fan on the ceiling with a mighty clang. "A private eye." He ran his hand excitedly up his chin and scratched his gray beard. "Do you spend restless hours fingering a set of dimly lit venetian blinds, gazing over the city like the ever doleful eyes of Dr. T. J. Eckleberg?" He spun to his window and dug his fingers through the blinds, bending them irreparably. "Or do you lean back in your chair with a gla.s.s of whiskey-which long ago replaced the opium pipe-delicately perched beside your crotch as a delightful blonde legs her way into your office with a piece in her purse?"

Jade stared at the professor for a while. "Actually, no. I track suspects, Professor."

Lithemeir waved his hand blindly as he moved a stack of papers over to one side of his desk, allowing a clearer path though which to see Jade. "Please call me 'Doctor' if you must." He suddenly froze and then sat forward excitedly. "By the club foot of Lord Byron," he said emphatically. "You're Jade Marlow!"

"Yes, Professor." Jade was losing patience. Patience was never one of his virtues, but on two hours of sleep and an empty stomach, he didn't even know what the word meant anymore. "I did introduce myself. Recall?"

"Yes, yes. Marlow. 'The Tracker.' I recognize you from the papers of late. I'd imagine you're all over the television but I haven't turned one on in years."

"It's not really that hard. All you have to do is push the power b.u.t.ton on the remote."

"Yes, yes," he answered eagerly, ignoring Jade's sarcasm. "I would be honored to help you, my dear Tracker. I confess 'I am a gentleman and a gamester, for both are the varnish of a complete man.'"

Jade decided just to proceed blindly and ask questions. He cleared his throat and began. "I'm tracking a man by the name of Allander Atlasia." He felt a rush when he said the full name, as though he was mouthing a taboo and a desire simultaneously. "He's a cruel man. Extraordinarily cruel. And he's intense, intense as all h.e.l.l." Jade leaned forward and grabbed a loose pencil from Dr. Lithemeir's desk, then began to play with it. In his eyes was the look of a man speaking of his absent lover. "He refuses to stop short of anything. He'll act on all his fantasies, giving them full range at any cost. He pushes, he pushes to the edge and doesn't worry about the fall."

Jade was pressing the pencil with his thumb, and it gave way with a resounding snap. Half of it clattered to the floor and rolled under his chair.

Dr. Lithemeir looked down at Jade's thumb, which was bleeding from where it had struck the jagged end of the broken pencil, and was startled to his feet. "'Which is the merchant, here,'" he said, "'and which the Jew?'"

Jade jammed his thumb into his mouth and applied pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding. Pulling it from his mouth, he regarded it for a moment and then spoke calmly again. "Just let me ask a few questions, then I'm out of your hair."

"Proceed."

"He left a quote I need-"

"A quotation, Mr. Marlow. 'Quote' is a verb. 'Quotation' is a noun."

"Thanks for the grammar lesson. Now I know my day's not a total loss." Jade reached into his pocket and pulled out the crumpled piece of paper which he smoothed on his knee but did not look at as he started to recite. "'Full fathom five-'"

"'Thy father lies,'" Dr. Lithemeir picked up the verse. "'Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes: Nothing of him that doth fade, but doth suffer a seachange into something rich and strange. Sea nymphs hourly ring his knell: Ding-dong. Hark! Now I hear them-Ding-dong, bell.'"

When he finished his recitation, he closed his eyes, still enjoying the afterglow of the piece. The fan overhead limped in circles. Jade noticed several dings on its blades from the professor's cane.

"The Tempest," Dr. Lithemeir said.

"Shakespeare?"

He nodded briskly, "The last romance, the last play. Shakespeare's farewell to the stage."

The last hurrah, Jade thought. It seemed appropriate to Allander's situation.

"Can you clue me in on its significance?" he asked. As Lithemeir started to speak, Jade cut in again. "In plain English, please. Pretend you're speaking to your daughter."

"My daughter is preparing her dissertation in the Romantic visual arts, Mr. Marlow. I don't find myself speaking down to her very often." He punctuated his response by thumping his cane lightly on the floor. Another thought grabbed him and he no longer looked offended. "In fact, my son is the intellectual unfortunate in the family," he confessed heavily. "He's a banker."

He settled into his chair. "Now in The Tempest we find a young man by the name of Ferdinand. This Ferdinand is washed up on the sh.o.r.e of an island, having survived a s.h.i.+pwreck. However, his father is nowhere to be found." A wistful look crossed the professor's eyes as he contemplated the pain of getting washed ash.o.r.e without one's father. "This so-called 'poem' which you present is sung to Ferdinand by Ariel, who is a fairy."

Jade started slightly in his chair.

"No, no. A fairy as in a flying elf. A Tinkerbellesque fairy if you must."

"So it's a song about his dead father?"

The professor shook his head vehemently, as if allowing Jade's response to hang in the air uncontested, even for a moment, might validate it. "No no. His father is quite well. He washes ash.o.r.e elsewhere."

"So if this . . . fairy is a fairy, then wouldn't it know that?"

"Precisely."

"Then why's it telling Ferdinand his father died?"

Dr. Lithemeir grinned, pleased by Jade's curiosity. "Perhaps because he represents Ferdinand's fantasy world. Ferdinand must allow himself a clean break from his paternal tie in order to properly mature and come to manhood." He smiled self-consciously. "That's the Cliff's Notes version, of course. Please don't quote me."

Interesting, Jade thought. Another image of a dead father. The father having to die in order for the son's development to progress. What there is in every little boy. The Oedipal complex again. Why was Allander so fixated on it? he wondered.

Jade wasn't so sure that Dr. Yung was right in his a.s.sessment; he had a feeling that Allander might direct his rage toward his real parents. It seemed more and more that he was pointing back in that direction. Getting ready to go home.

"That's why he's able to win the fair maiden in the end," the professor concluded.

"Either that or he used a really good line," Jade said.

"Several of them, in fact," Dr. Lithemeir replied. "He couldn't help but score with the Bard of Avon writing his verse for him."

Jade rose to leave.

"A rather suitable quotation from a man who submerged a large tower to effect his escape, don't you think, Mr. Marlow?" He looked at Jade with his head bent slightly and one eyebrow raised. You're not getting this at all, his look said.

"You know, Professor," Jade said. "I'm not as dumb as I look."

Lithemeir laughed. "Well, I suppose we should all be grateful for little miracles." He rose from his chair and crossed to a shelf of books. He ran his thumb over the top of them, finally pulling a dusty paperback from the row and tossing it to Jade. Glancing at the cover, Jade saw that it was a copy of The Tempest.

"The play's the nook, wherein we'll catch the conscience of the crook," Dr. Lithemeir said with a smile.

"I don't know if he has one, Professor," Jade said. He tossed the book back. "Don't really have time. I think I got the gist."

The professor's smile faded as he remembered that the situation was more than a game.

"Thank you for your time."

"It was a pleasure," Jade heard the professor say as he swept past Ms. Jennings's desk. Again, she nearly dropped her cup of coffee.

"We'll have to do c.o.c.ktails sometime," he muttered over his shoulder.

35.

A L L A N D E R awoke with the first light of morning, feeling the coolness of the breeze across his face. He sat up. His first instinct was to spring to his feet, but he restrained himself. A feeling of unmitigated freedom washed through him like an o.r.g.a.s.m, leaving his head humming and his fingers tingling. He had no reason to be anywhere except right where he was. Propping his head on his arm, he lay back again, listening to the breeze in the leaves and smelling the thickness of nature all around him.

Jade watched the rest of the tapes from Allander's trial, but they were not very helpful. Allander barely spoke at all, choosing to rely on the skills of the lawyer his parents had hired for him. He was too unstable to speak to the jury, Jade thought. Although it wasn't like Allander to play a peripheral role in his own show, it was a smart legal decision. He was capable of toning down his act when he knew it was good for him. Not that his silence had helped-he was convicted of the rape and kidnapping of a young girl. The kidnapping was what had landed him in federal prison; he was only eighteen years of age at the time.

Needing to hear Allander's voice, Jade switched back to the psychology audiotapes. In the next hour, his pen never stopped tapping against his knee, even to take notes. Finally, in the sixteenth tape, his suspicions were confirmed, when in another momentary lapse, Allander's true voice shone through. There'd been a different interviewing psychologist on that tape, one who was much more aggressive.

For the first ten minutes, Allander didn't respond to any questions. The psychologist started going through material from old interviews to try to goad Allander into speaking.