FOLLOW THE LEADER -- Chapter 23

Chapter 23

It was seven p.m. in rarified Pacific Heights, with its mansions and carefully tended gardens. Zack Tyler lived in a colossus that made “big footprint” a joke. It took up several giant footprints.

         I felt like a Lilliputian as I stood in front of the tall door. When I pushed a button it sounded like real bells chiming. Which figured. Phony chimes or harsh buzzers were for renters and other riffraff.

         An older woman in a housekeeper’s uniform answered the door, her nose in the air.

         I had rehearsed my first words. I pulled out my card and said, “Good evening. Francis Kelly, Private Investigator, calling on Zachary Tyler.” I had considered adding “esquire” after my name just for kicks.

         “Are the Tylers expecting you?”

         “Yes. Should I go around back?”

         She gave me a scathing look.

         “I’m not very presentable,” I said. “Left my tie at home.” I was kidding, but then I realized a tie might help.

         She drew herself up and said, “Remain here while I announce you.”

         She shut the big door. Somehow it had shot up another foot.

         After a minute or two it opened and a middle-aged man in a V-neck sweater stood before me. He wore what looked like a Rolex watch and comfy looking but elegant leather sandals that went well with his deep tan. If this guy was a golfer he would belong to the Olympic Club, which sort of fit. The Tylers were living on Mount Olympus, after all.

         “Don’t mind Evie,” he said.   

“No problem.”

 I handed him my card.

         “Francis Kelly? Why does that name ring a bell?”

         “I used to box.”
         “What do you want?” he asked.

         “I’m reopening an investigation of an old case. The murder of Katherine Rollins.”

         Geoff Tyler snorted. He lowered his voice and said, “I don’t mean to sound unsympathetic, but we were delighted when Zack broke it off with her.”

         “I heard it was the other way around.”

         “You heard wrong. She egged him on to do stuff.”

         “Such as?”

“She texted him a shot of her genitals. And that’s not all. She started him on drugs, too. We know that for a fact.”

         “Because he told you?”

         He ignored my question and said, ”What do you want?”

         “I’d like to talk to him.”

         “He’s in school.”

         “Now?”

         “That’s right. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

         “Would that be Lowell High?”

         “That’s none of your business. I read your card. You’re not a cop so I don’t have to tell you anything. Good-night.”

         He shut the door in my face.

That night I hung out by the Lowell campus, hoping to spot Zack Tyler. I never saw him. It was dark, so there was that. Or Zack’s father could have called and warned his son that I might be coming around.

         I called Terry to check in.

         “Our bright beaming lad might be ducking me,” I said. “Either that or he decided to skip school for the night.”

         “Maybe he’s getting high with a buddy.”

         “Maybe. There’s nothing much we can do tonight. Tomorrow I want you to dig up everything you can on Zachary Tyler.” Saying his name reminded me that we once had a president named Zachary Taylor, who was a war hero in his time. I wondered if Zack’s parents had named their son after a patriot and war hero. Or if they even cared.