Raga Six (A Doctor Orient Occult Novel) (44 page)

He stood up and blew out the candles.

CHAPTER 28

Julian was the first to forget.
 

He spent his days in the present; swimming in the sea, playing beach soccer with Sordi, or sailing with his mother and Argyle. Sometimes Sordi took him to explore the fishing villages along the green coast and Julian began to learn a few words of Italian as he made friends with the Ischians.
 

During the month Orient spent with them on the island, he watched Julian as the quiet days took fascinating shapes for the boy and the wonders of the moment disconnected reality from the dreams of the past. After a while Sun Girl and Argyle also left their memory behind and slipped into the daily joy of their lives together.
 

Orient felt the days ripen slowly to contentment, but he knew there was a void inside him that had to be filled elsewhere. He swam and enjoyed the hours with his friends and tried to shape the moments like Julian did, to help him touch whatever life they held.
 

He realized that he needed to begin to build something right away; form new time to fill the emptiness.

 
He waited a few weeks, then spent his last few dollars for passage on a boat leaving Naples for New York.
 

The boat was crowded with tourists returning from vacation. The proximity to their intrepid exuberance and the routine events of the voyage broke down Orient’s tendency to be withdrawn. When it became known that he was a doctor, a few people came to him for advice. One was a shy pretty girl who was about to enter medical school. She asked him many questions during the days they spent on deck, taking the sun. And as Orient tried to answer her, he found the replies to some of his own questions.
 

By the time the boat neared New York, Orient was making plans to try to restructure his video tape experiment. He knew that it would take money and time. He also knew that he could take a job at a hospital and do it a few steps at a time. The first thing was to get a place to live and a job within the next few weeks.
 

Orient calculated the money he had left as he waited in line with the passengers, waiting for his passport. He wondered if he could afford a cab to a hotel. It would have to be a very short ride.
 

"Doctor Owen Orient?" A burly man in customs uniform came out of the door at the front of the line and called out his name. "Step this way, please."
 

Orient picked up his bag, walked past the line of curious, smiling passengers, and went into the office. There were four men in the room, waiting for him.
 

None of them were smiling.
 

The burly man who had called Orient inside was standing next to the desk, glowering at a passport in his hands. Two men in raincoats stood on either side of the door, their arms folded. There was another man, also in uniform, sitting behind the desk. He looked up as Orient entered. "Doctor Owen Orient?" he asked.
 

"That’s right." Orient heard someone close the door behind him.
 

"It says in our books that you left New York in May," the man behind the desk went on. "Yes, I did." The man nodded, his eyes flicking to the officer next to the desk.
 

"Give them the passport," he said.
 

The burly official folded the passport shut and handed it to one of the men at the door. The man at the desk wrote something down. "Will you go with these two men, Doctor," he said, not lifting his head.
 

Orient followed the two men in raincoats into the other room. When they closed the door behind him, he realized that it was made of solid steel. The room next to the office was bare except for a table and two chairs standing bleakly under a fluorescent light. One of the men took the suitcase from his hand.
 

 
"This all your luggage?" he snapped.
 

Orient nodded. It was beginning to occur to him that this wasn’t routine procedure.
 

"Do you have the key, Doctor?"
 

Orient reached into his pocket and saw the men tense slightly. He found the key to his bag and held it out. One of the men took it from his hand and walked over to the table with his suitcase.
 

The other man walked over to Orient. "Do you object to being searched?" he asked, his voice flat.
 

Orient shook his head.
 

"Do you mind removing your shoes?"
 

Orient took off his shoes, then his pants and shirt as the two men checked his clothing and luggage. They spoke to Orient or to each other only when necessary.
 

When they were finished they gave him back his clothes.
 

"May I have my passport now?" Orient asked as he began to repack his bag. "Not yet," one of the men said.
 

"Why not?"
 

"Because you’re under arrest," he said patiently.
 

"I don’t understand."
 

"You’re wanted for suspicion of narcotics traffic," the man said quietly. "We’re Federal officers."
 

Orient stared unbelievingly at the man. "Are you serious?"
 

The man stared back at Orient. "We’ve had a warrant out on you since before you skipped the country."
 

Orient tried to sort out what the man was saying. "Are you sure you’re not making a mistake?"
 

"Finish packing your bag," the other man said. "There’s no mistake. Do you know a man called Joker?"
   

"Yes. Sure I do."
 

"Well, he told us everything." Orient folded his shirts into his bag, his mind spinning like a wheel in mud, trying to find some traction of fact to clear his confusion.
 

The two men took him to a police station in Brooklyn in an unmarked car. Orient heard himself booked by the desk sergeant as being held for suspicion of conspiracy to transport narcotics and unlawful flight to avoid arrest. Then he was taken to a small cell on the first floor. It was just a bare cage with no bed or toilet facilities. Orient made himself comfortable on his suitcase. He knew the charges were false so he was more impatient to establish his innocence than apprehensive about the arrest. Still, there was always the possibility that if they checked his activities over the past few months, they might uncover some things he wouldn’t be able to explain.
 

One of the men who had arrested him came to the door of his cell and unlocked it. "This way, Doctor," he said amiably.
 

Orient followed him to a small office. The man took a chair behind the desk and gestured to a chair across from him. Orient sat down. The man was wearing a brown suit, blue tie, and pink shirt under his raincoat. He took a pack of cigarettes and offered one to Orient.
 

Orient shook his head and waited.
 

The man lit his cigarette and looked at Orient. "It all looks like a mess, Doctor," he admitted, watching Orient’s face. "We have evidence that you and Joker conspired with Pola Gleason to deliver a pound of cocaine. Names, times, everything. We also know about your outstanding professional record, Doctor. Especially on the Mulnew case. You could avoid a lot of bad publicity by cooperating with us."
 

"I admit I know a man called Joker, but as far as I know, he didn’t traffic in narcotics."
 

"We have evidence," the man said softly.
 

"There’s no possible evidence," Orient insisted. "I’d like permission to call my attorney."

 
"Who is your lawyer?"
 

"Andrew Jacobs."
 

"You mean the senator?" The man lifted his eyebrows. "Any reason why a doctor needs the services of a high-powered legal man like him?"
 

"I think I have the right to have a good lawyer without it implying that I’m guilty of anything."
 

"So you do," the man agreed mildly. "Any special reason why you moved out of the country?"
 

Orient smiled. "Nothing illegal."
 

The man took a puff on his cigarette. "Do you know Pola Gleason?"
 

"I met her once."
 

"At her apartment?"
 

"Yes."
 

"Why?" The man looked down at his cigarette.
 

"I’ll answer all your questions when my attorney gets here."
 

The man sighed. "If you cooperate, you might even save your license to practice," he suggested.
   

"There’s nothing to cooperate about," Orient said. "Do I get my phone call?"
 

The man pointed to the telephone on his desk and ground out his cigarette.
 

After he made his call, Orient was taken back to his cell. In an hour he heard Andy Jacobs’s hoarse voice downstairs. A few minutes later he saw the senator’s ponderous bulk and lined bloodhound face at the cell door. "Let’s get goin’, Owen," Jacobs rumbled in a deep monotone as a guard unlocked the door. "Take your suitcase. You’re leaving this establishment."
 

Orient dumbly picked up his suitcase and walked out of his cell.
 

"Good to see you, Owen," Andy Jacobs grunted, holding out a thick hand.
 

Orient took it. "Same here, Andy," he said.
 

"Just as I thought," Jacobs said gruffly. "I let you out of my sight for six months and I have to collect you in jail." A broad smile creased his jowly face. "Still good to see you though. In jail or out."
 

Orient shook his head. "The charges are kind of vague."
 

Andy Jacobs frowned and his voice rumbled louder with indignation. "Vague? That’s an understatement. They’re nonexistent."

 
He turned and glared at the cell guard who looked up at the ceiling.
 

"You mean I’m free?"
 

"Of course. And as soon as the warrant charges are cleared up in court, we’ll be in a position to file a countersuit." Jacobs took Orient’s arm and started walking to the stairs. His voice dropped to a loud whisper.
 

"The warrant they took you in on had expired months ago. They had no right to take you, Owen. But we’ll discuss all that in the car. These cells are wired."
 

Orient signed a release document from the station which Andy Jacobs countersigned "under protest," insisting that one of the officers witness the objection.
 

When they left the station, Orient saw the senator’s brown Lincoln limousine parked outside. Jacobs opened the door and waved Orient inside. "Come with me," he said. "You can tell me about it on the way to the City. You don’t have to worry. I have a security expert check the car once a week for bugs."
 

Jacobs sat silently in the back seat, glowering at the back of the driver’s head through the partition as he listened to Orient explain that Joker was a friend he had met casually.
 

"Apparently they believe he’s involved in some kind of traffic," Orient told him, "and they think I’m part of the conspiracy." As Orient spoke, he remembered the bag he had delivered to Pola for the Joker.
 

"Well, it’s always a good idea to be careful who your friends are," Andy growled. "But it doesn’t give anyone the right to arrest you without cause. The warrant was based on one telephone conversation mentioning your name. Issued in May and never renewed. Those things are only good for ten days. They thought they could pressure you. But your name is on all kinds of fugitive lists at the airports and docks. We’ll have to make a motion that it be stricken from the record."
 

"Is all that necessary?" Orient asked.
 

"Of course." Andy lowered his voice. "After we have the case dismissed, we’ll be in a position to file countersuit. All mention of this charge, all record must be removed as without basis in fact. A thing like this could damage your reputation as a physician. And your credit rating." Andy leaned over to him. "You are going back to work, aren’t you?" he demanded.
 

"I think so. That’s why I thought I’d like to let the matter drop."
 

Andy frowned and shook his massive head. "Not wise, Owen, not wise. It won’t take much of your time. I’ll attend to it. It offends me that people’s rights are so easily swept aside."
 

"Maybe you’re right, Andy," Orient sighed.
 

"Of course I’m right. And you’ll see it won’t take more than a few days." He turned and picked up the microphone dangling next to him. "What am I doing Thursday, Hank?" he rambled into the mouthpiece.
 

The driver snapped on the seat light and studied a list attached to the dashboard. He looked up into the rear-view mirror and Orient heard his voice on the instrument in Andy’s hand. "Free until noon lunch, Mr. J."
 

"Put me down for court that morning." Andy replaced the microphone and frowned triumphantly at Orient. "There, you see. By Thursday it will be all over."
 

Orient looked out the window. The car was on Riverside Drive going uptown along the Hudson River. "Where are we going now, Senator?" he asked.
 

"Going to your house, of course," Andy pulled a pocket watch from his vest. "Then I’ve got an appointment at the Lawyer’s Union." Orient smiled. "You must remember that I sold that house six months ago."
 

"You did, Owen." Andy jammed the watch back into his pocket. "But the buyer couldn’t meet the first payment. He lost money in the market and had to file papers. Since then, no one’s been interested. So you still own a house. But your tax is coming due and you’re going to have to find some way to cover it."