Caroline worked her way through the ruins, feeling safer than she ever had before. The DMZ residents were too busy trying to pull things back together and get their businesses going again to make trouble, and there was a rather strange sense of community on the street.
She stopped in at Mama Chan’s. Incredibly, all but one of the main street windows were intact. Inside, about half the tables were occupied. The usual Chinese music played on the tiny speakers scattered throughout the restaurant. Standing behind the counter near the back was Mama, a short, thin woman about a hundred and seventy years old—at least that’s what Tito used to say.
Mama Chan waved at Caroline and called her over to the counter. “Have some soup,” Mama said. “War wonton or egg flower. I make you some Chow Fun noodles.”
Caroline shook her head. “Maybe later. I’m in a hurry, I’m trying to find someone. I just wanted to see how you were doing.”
Mama shrugged. “I’m alive, and I can cook. Everything’s a mess. You need some soup.”
Caroline gave in without more fight. She didn’t have the energy to argue, and if Lily and Mink were still in the death house, they weren’t going anywhere. “Okay,” she said. “War wonton soup, a small bowl. No noodles.”
Mama Chan nodded, then of course dished up a large bowl of soup and set it in front of Caroline. She brought over a pot of tea, then walked down the counter to harass one of the waitresses.
The soup was good, and Caroline discovered she was actually hungry. She ate every bit of it, and almost wished she hadn’t said no to the noodles. When she was finished, she left money on the counter, called out a thanks to Mama, and left.
Two blocks away, the death house seemed unnaturally quiet. The front door was propped open, and the lobby stank of rotting fruit. Would rioters have pillaged a death house? It seemed unlikely.
She climbed the stairs to the third floor, then walked down the hall to Tito’s old room. She was tired and hot, and was a little bit afraid of what she would find inside. She knocked, but got no answer. When she tried the door, it was unlocked; she pushed it open and stepped inside.
Lily was sitting in a chair by one of the windows, staring out into the airwell, an elbow propped on the windowsill, chin resting in her hand.
“Lily?” Caroline said.
“Go away.” Lily didn’t turn around.
No one else was in the room. A suitcase was open on the sofa, and in it were a few piles of clothes. The bedsheets were thrown onto the floor. Dirty dishes and glasses were scattered across the countertop and piled in the sink.
“Where’s Mink?” Caroline asked.
“Where do you think?” Lily still didn’t look at her. “Hanging out at the Luxury Arcade with all her friends, playing electric Ten Pins and SuperSkeet. Having a great time.”
She took a few more steps toward Lily, but stopped while she was still several feet away. “She died?”
Lily finally turned to look at her. Her face seemed almost dead, her eyes dulled, her skin slack. But she didn’t say anything.
“When?” Caroline asked.
“A week ago.” She closed her eyes. “I don’t know.” She kept her eyes closed and her head swayed gently from side to side. “I. Don’t. Know.”
Caroline wanted to walk up to Lily and put her arm around her, try to comfort her, but she had the feeling it was exactly the wrong thing to do.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked.
“Yes. You can go away. You can leave me alone. Or, if you have a gun, you could put it to my head and put me out of my misery. That would be all right, too.” She opened her eyes and stared lifelessly at Caroline. “One or the other.”
“I’m sorry,” Caroline said.
But Lily didn’t respond at all, except to turn back to the window and stare outside. Caroline turned around and left.
She returned to the Tenderloin. Physically the Tenderloin seemed much less changed than did the rest of the city there was less evidence of rioting or looting, and there were very few people wearing masks or gloves but the feel of the place wasn’t much better. There was less fear in the air than in the city outside, but there was more despair and resignation. Too many people were dying, too many people had died. Life went on, but it wasn’t the same.
No, it wasn’t the same at all. Tina was dead, Mink was dead, Tito was dead, Nikki was dead. Probably Rashida and Dr. Mike were both dead.
And she was alive. She’d contracted Core Fever, but she was alive.
She had entered the Tenderloin the only way she knew, through Li Peng’s Imperial Imports again, and now she wandered aimlessly through the Asian Quarter. Dusk was falling, but it was still warm and humid; another heat wave had begun. Why couldn’t it just cook Core Fever right out of the city?
Lights were coming on, flashing bright colors all around her, but the miasma in the air made the lights seem oddly lifeless. Streethawkers were listless, calling out products and prices without enthusiasm; even the message streamers swimming through the air above her seemed languid and less than enticing. Only the smell of cooking food, strong and seductive, was unaffected, though she noticed that people eating at outdoor cafés sat in odd arrangements, putting as much space as possible between themselves and other customers.
After nearly an hour of wandering through the Asian Quarter, she finally headed for her real destination: the RadioLand Street Clinic. She went from the Asian Quarter to the Euro, and then to the edges of the Euro and the clinic. Down at the end of the street, the old barrier to the Core was in ruins, and anyone could easily go in or out. But there was no reason to anymore. The Core was sterile and lifeless now; even the old inhabitants were gone, taken away and put into isolation, or killed. And Cancer Cell was no more.
She walked into the clinic. The waiting room was full, the air hot and stifling. She didn’t see Cage or any of the other doctors, so she went to the front desk, where Franzee was talking to an old woman. When Franzee was done, she looked at Caroline.
“You’re looking for Cage,” she said, smiling. It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.”
“He’s with a patient. Can it wait?”
“Of course. There’s no hurry.”
“I’d ask you to take a seat, but there aren’t any.”
“That’s all right. I’ll be fine.”
She stood with her back against the wall, looking at all the people waiting to get in to see a doctor, and thought about Cage. She had tried not to think about him ever since her parents had taken her home from Nikki’s apartment, and for the most part she had succeeded. But he was always there, in the back of her thoughts, waiting.
One of the doors down the hall opened, and two men came out. One was Paul. They went to the front counter, where they talked for a while, then the other man left, and Paul came over to her.
“You waiting for Cage, or is there something I can do?”
“Cage,” she said.
Paul was grinning, staring at her.
“What?” she said.
“It’s just so amazing to see someone who survived. It gives us all a little hope. So I’m happy as hell to see you.” She smiled. “Thanks, Paul.”
“I’ll talk to you later.” He nodded at the waiting room. “Got some work to do here.”
“Yeah, I noticed. What’s going on, is it the Core Fever?”
“Some. But we’ve also had a cholera outbreak building all spring, and there was some kind of toxic gas release yesterday, which we’re still seeing the effects of. One goddamn thing after another.” He shrugged. “I’ll see you.”
She nodded, and he left to go take another patient. Sometimes she forgot that even before Core Fever had appeared this had been a busy place.
Paul took a young girl into one of the exam rooms, and a couple minutes later another door opened. This time it was Cage who came out. He saw her and stopped in the hall, staring at her. Then he finally came forward.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey your
self.”
“What brings you to this bit of paradise?”
“You,” she said, feeling her chest tighten.
Cage didn’t respond right away. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, whether it was good or bad. So she waited. “Hang on a minute, can you?” he said. “I’ve got a patient waiting, and I’ve got an injection to give him.”
“Sure, go ahead.” She gestured at all the people waiting.
“You look like you’re going to be pretty busy for a while.” He nodded. “Yeah, we’re a little bit swamped, but my shift is about over. I’ve been here twelve hours straight, and Madelaine’s coming in soon.”
“Why don’t I just meet you later? When you’re done.”
“All right. Where?”
“Nikki’s. I thought maybe I’d stay there again, for a few days, if that’s okay.”
“Nikki’s.” He nodded. “All right. I don’t know when, for sure. Maybe an hour or two.”
“Whenever. I’ll be there.”
“It’s good to see you, Caroline.”
“It’s good to see you, Cage.”
Nothing had been touched in the place since her parents had taken her away. There was a notice that had been slipped under the door saying rent was late, and had to be paid in two days or Nikki would be evicted. She would talk to Cage about that, see if he knew where she could pay the rent.
She spent the next two hours cleaning the apartment washing dishes, throwing out old, rotting food, sweeping and mopping the floors. She hung the sleeping bag out of the window to air it out, and tossed the sheets and pillowcase into a pile in a comer of the room, sheets she’d sweated in while she’d been sick. Tomorrow she would go back to her apartment, get some clothes, a few books, and other things.
She had just finished moving Nikki’s tapestries against one wall when there was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” she called.
Cage opened the door and stepped inside, carrying a couple of brown paper bags. “Dinner,” he said, holding up the bags. “Thai food from a little place around the corner. You hungry?”
She nodded, smiling. “Very. And there isn’t much here.”
He closed the door and looked around the place.
“You’ve been cleaning up. You really going to stay here?”
“For a while, yes.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “I’m not really sure. It seems like the right thing to do at the moment.” She wanted to tell him that he was one of those reasons, but she could not yet bring herself to do it. Later, perhaps. Instead, she smiled and said, “Let’s eat.”
CHAPTER 44
Her name was Amira Choukri, and she looked very much like the picture that the sketch artist had made. She was dark, her hair black with only a dusting of gray, and quite beautiful. Early forties, Carlucci guessed, maybe five-foot-five, or -six. She was wearing boots and jeans and a blue work shirt. If she was scared, she didn’t show it.
It was close to midnight, and they were in what appeared to be an abandoned machine shop in an industrial area south of Market. Orange-tinged moonlight beamed in through dozens of cracked and broken windowpanes, casting a riot of shadows into the far reaches of the room. Carlucci, Istvan, and Amira sat on crates around a large electrical cable spool turned on its side. Istvan, with a sense of ritual, had brought cups and a large container of hot tea, and had just finished pouring cups for all of them.
“There will be no recording of this conversation,” Istvan said.
“I know,” Carlucci replied, holding up a hand. “You told me, and I didn’t bring anything to do that.”
“I am just confirming the ground rules,” he said. “You may take notes, but this is not a formal statement. She will not sign anything.”
Carlucci nodded. They had been through all this before. Maybe it was for Amira’s benefit.
Istvan set a pack of cigarettes in the center of the cable spool, took one and lit it, then waved at Carlucci to go ahead.
“Why are you hiding?” Carlucci asked.
Amira glanced at Istvan, then took one of his cigarettes. She lit it and took a deep drag, staring at Carlucci. “If you don’t know, I’m sure as hell not going to tell you.” She cocked her head. “If you don’t know, why are we here?”
Was this going to be one of those interviews where the person he talked to constantly played games with their answers? He hoped she was just being cautious.
“You knew Naomi Katsuda,” he said. “If you’re hiding, I’d guess you know something about her murder. That’s why we’re here. That’s why I’ve been searching for you.”
She gazed at him for a minute, then nodded once. “Yes, I knew her. We were friends.”
“Just friends?” he asked.
She smiled and shook her head. “Friends isn’t enough?” She sighed deeply. “Yes, we were more than friends. Yes, we were… lovers. We had to be discreet. Her father knew, but he couldn’t stand the idea that his daughter wasn’t straight. Wasn’t ‘normal,’ as he used to say all the time. So he knew, hut as long as we weren’t open and public about it, he tolerated it.”
“What would he have done if you hadn’t been discreet?”
“We didn’t want to find out. And as it turned out, we were right to be afraid.”
Clouds were passing across the moon, and the light faded in and out. There was some illumination from a street lamp nearby, but it was dimmer than the moonlight, and Amira’s features threatened to wash away in the darkness.
“What happened to Naomi?”
She smoked silently for a minute or two, looking away from him. She closed her eyes, and the clouds cleared away from the moon long enough to light the moisture at their corners, moisture that wasn’t quite tears. Then she opened her eyes again and looked at him.
“Her father killed her, and carved up her forehead. That’s what happened to her.”
Jesus. Carlucci was stunned, completely unprepared for what he’d just heard. She hadn’t said Naomi’s father had arranged for his daughter’s murder. No, her meaning was clear. Yoshi Katsuda had done it himself.
“How do you know he did it?” he asked.
“I saw him do it.”
Jesus, he said to himself again. “All right. Tell me what happened.”
Her cigarette was almost gone, and she dropped it to the concrete floor and lit another. She smoked in silence for a while, and Istvan, too, smoked steadily; Carlucci had to fight the urge to reach out and take one for himself.
“I was at Naomi’s condo all day,” she began. “I had the day off work, and I’d spent most of the day cleaning up around the place and getting things ready for dinner whenever Naomi got home. She’d said she’d probably be working late.” She paused. “You’ve been in the condo, right?”
Carlucci shook his head.
“What the hell kind of investigation is this?”
“I’m not one of the investigating officers,” he explained. “They’ve been through the condo, but I haven’t.”
“Then what the hell is your involvement in all this?”
“I’m the supervising officer on the case. And I’m doing everything I can to solve this damn thing.”
She appeared to accept his explanation, though grudgingly, and she went on. “It’s on two floors. The second floor is more like a huge loft, open, just a bedroom, and a bathroom. I was up there, taking a shower, when Naomi came home. It was late, close to eight o’clock. She stuck her head into the bathroom, told me she was home, and then went downstairs to have a drink and start on dinner.” She stopped, looking outside through the cracked and shattered windowpanes. “I was out of the shower, and I was getting dressed when I heard the front door open. At first I thought she was just going out for a minute, something, but then I heard voices. Naomi’s first, sounding pissed, and then someone else’s. I listened hard, and recognized her father’s voice. Knowing the way he felt about me, I decided I should stay out of sight, but I was curious. I got down on my hands an
d knees and crawled across the loft, as close as I could to the edge of the stairs, where I could hear them.”
She stopped again, and Carlucci could see a tightening in her face. “But I couldn’t really make out anything he was saying, and so I crept forward a little and looked over the edge. Her father was there, in the front room, with two of his security jackals, all of them facing Naomi. Then he finally said something I could make out. He said, ‘You will never tell anyone. But you are my daughter, and so I will do this myself.’ And then he moved so quickly I could hardly believe it. Suddenly there was a long thin knife in his hand and he shot forward and drove it into her chest.” Amira was having a hard time breathing now, blinking frequently, still not looking at him. “She cried out, but it was so brief, hardly a sound. And then she fell back, and he released the knife, letting it go with her. There was some jerking… and then nothing… and I knew she was dead.” She was shaking her head now. “So fast, so fast, and she was gone.”
She looked at her cigarette, took one final deep drag on it, then tossed it onto the floor near the others. But this time she did not light another.
“I couldn’t move. I watched him kneel beside her, pull the knife from her heart, then carve something into her forehead. I couldn’t do anything to help her. Nothing. She was dead. And if they found out I was there, I’d be dead, too. So I crawled backward, slowly, so slowly, praying no floorboards would creak, until I was at the bed, and then I crawled under it, and waited. But no one came upstairs, no one even looked. I heard more sounds, doors opening and closing, and then after a while just silence. But I was scared. I didn’t move from under the bed for hours. When I finally did, and went downstairs, there were no signs of anything. Naomi was gone. There was no blood anywhere. Nothing out of place, nothing odd except a half-filled wineglass on the kitchen counter. Nothing.”
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