“I know, I know. I won’t do it again.” I flinched as a tiny hot-oil droplet hit my cheek.
“The older man, he was Andrea’s father, huh?”
“Did he tell you that?” I countered.
“No, he didn’t say that. But I thought that he looked like her. The boy, he looked a bit different, though.”
“Different mother,” I said. Lorraine. Nothing had been said about her. I still worried that she might have had something to do with the theft, even if Robert and Davon had done nothing.
“So where they go to?” Alberto persisted.
“I don’t know where they went. Andrea was hoping to talk to them after she finished tonight, but they can’t wait that long, they said. Will you tell her that for me?”
Alberto nodded. “It’s a shame they couldn’t see each other.”
“Well, I can understand Andrea’s choice,” I said. “It’s her first night back. She doesn’t want to make a mistake.”
Unlike me, I thought sourly. I was making faux pas right and left. As I drove my aunt back to Hugh’s apartment for the last time, I tried to tell myself that tomorrow would be better. Andrea would telephone her father and sort things out with him, and my aunt would be en route to Japan and finding Sadako’s Japanese relatives. And I’d have time to help my cousin before her own family came apart. I’d been hesitant to speak up before, but now I knew it was a necessity. I’d talk to Win.
30
After I dropped my aunt off at the airport the next morning, I headed straight for the Johnson house in Potomac. I’d already confirmed that Kendall was out of the house, and that Win was still at home. I’d gotten the news from Kendall when I’d reached her on her cell phone. If anything, her mood was worse than it had been the previous day.
Kendall’s problems had started when she’d telephoned Senator Snowden’s office that morning. Martina couldn’t confirm that Kendall would be seated at Senator Snowden’s table at the fund-raising dinner. Kendall had immediately rung Snowden’s cell number to find out what was going on, but her call had gone into his voice mail. She suspected he was avoiding her because some of the couples she’d expected to commit to the fund-raising dinner had not come through after all.
I tried to reassure Kendall that the senator was probably in a hearing or doing something where he couldn’t take her call. Then I asked her what she was going to do that day. She told me she was going to see an old employer about a paid part-time fund-raising position. Feeling relieved, I wished her luck at the interview and hung up. Rush hour was over, and the suburban freeways—267 and then 495, the Washington Beltway—were fairly empty, so I was able to roll along smoothly north to Potomac.
I was going to miss driving Hugh’s car, which always had a delicious aroma of leather and good, strong tea. He’d left a travel mug of Darjeeling in the cup holder, and I was tempted to taste it. I’d left early so I could spend time with Norie in the airport, so early that I hadn’t had any caffeine.
But Hugh put milk in his tea, which probably had soured and separated, so I left the tea alone. When I reached River Road, I began to mentally prepare myself for my visit. I would be dropping in with nothing in my hands, no excuse to give Win about why I’d come to see him. All I had with me were the rumors I’d heard, and I was sure he’d deny them.
I drove into Treetops via its main avenue lined with blooming dogwoods and azaleas. In daylight and the right season, the suburbs could be beautiful, but they still seemed too organized—just like the houses with their springtime wreaths on the door that would change to something different in the fall, and then again at Christmas.
The garage door was up, and I saw that Win’s BMW was parked within, its vanity plate proclaiming LAXRULZ. Before, I’d thought that was just a reference to pride in lacrosse, since he had played for UVA. Now I thought about it in another context.
As I sat in the car thinking, the front door to the house swung open and Win emerged, dressed in a yellow polo shirt and khakis. He raked a hand through his clipped blond hair and squinted toward the street. I thought he was looking at me, but it turned out that he had spotted an errant daffodil, which had sprung up about a foot from the thick bank of them lining the walkway. He walked a few steps, tore off the top of the daffodil, and put it in the trash can at the front of the garage.
Not exactly the behavior of an addict, I thought. Or was it? The fact was, he hadn’t gotten the bulb. The daffodil would be back the next spring. And there would be more of them out of line. Why didn’t he transplant them, instead of cutting them off? What did it say about who he was, what he was capable of doing?
Win opened his car door, but before he could climb in, Win Junior had run out of the house and up to him.
“Daddy, Daddy’s car, Win come,” little Win cried out.
“No, you stay here with Lisa. Daddy’s running late.”
“Win no like Lisa. Win like Daddy’s car.”
“I don’t have a child seat, so I can’t take you. Besides, it’s going to be bo-ring.”
“Daddy going where?” Win demanded.
“I have to do some shopping. Like I said, bo-ring.”
I relaxed inwardly. If Win were going to Whole Foods or Home Depot, it would be a snap to sidle up to him and get in the conversation that I wanted. I was afraid that he was going to work, and that would give me no opportunity whatsoever.
Win Senior and Junior argued a moment longer, and then the au pair ran out and grabbed the toddler up in her arms.
“Don’t let him run out like that,” Win said to her sternly. “Strangers drive through neighborhoods like this all the time, looking for opportunities.”
Lisa bowed her head and mumbled an apology. I knew I could lay at least one worry to rest—the concern I’d had early on that there might be an affair going on between the two of them.
Win backed out without looking, so it was easy for me to pull out and follow him, once he was a block away.
As he’d said, strangers drove through the neighborhood all the time, looking for opportunities.
Instead of taking the beltway, Win headed into the city via Massachusetts Avenue. He passed through Dupont Circle, where following him became tricky. He made it out and continued to Scott Circle, where he headed north on Rhode Island Avenue. He hadn’t stopped at any of the popular shopping areas. I began to realize that his shopping trip might not be for household necessities. And while I didn’t really want to accompany him on a drug buy, if I saw him stop in his car and exchange money for a baggie or a vial of something, I’d know for sure the kind of man he was.
The BMW moved steadily on. When it entered Logan Circle, Win made a careful, slow, entire circle without exiting on any of the streets that spiked out of it. Did he suspect that he was being followed? I was trapped behind him, because I didn’t want to lose him, but I didn’t want him to know I was following. I took Vermont Avenue and quickly worked my way over to R Street, where I pulled in on a side street adjacent to the place where I’d seen the drug addicts. Sure enough, a few seconds later Win’s car came by, though it surprised me by not stopping there. He continued on for three blocks, to stop at a handsome row house with a sign bearing the name of his real estate employer, but with a different real estate agent’s name. It was a nineteenth-century three-story house similar to Andrea’s, but grandly restored, with a garden full of tulips and jonquils, and shutters and doors painted a brilliant green. I stopped the Lexus a few houses back so I could watch. As Win pulled a key-ring out of his pocket, I remembered what I’d heard about his real estate practices. He must have gotten the house keys from another real estate agent, who probably believed Win was showing it to a client.
This was a safer situation than I’d anticipated, so just as Win disappeared through the doors, I got out of my car and marched up the steps and knocked.
Win opened it a long two minutes later. He was standing in a sparsely decorated living/dining room with recently stripped, gleaming pine floors. He looked at me blankly.
“Hi, Win.”
“Hi, Rei,” he said, quickly recovering. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Are you interested in this house?”
“Not exactly,” I said.
“What’s taking so long, babe?” A slim blond woman walked into the room, a woman wearing just a tight tank top and shorts. She had a small object in her hand, something made of glass that she had folded her hand over when she saw me. I could guess that it was a crack pipe.
Now I was nervous. I’d thought he’d be alone, but the woman complicated things. And who knew, maybe she was a jealous mistress who had a gun.
“Who is she?” the woman said, coming up behind Win, wrapping an arm around his waist. He moved away at the touch, and she looked miffed.
“She’s my wife’s cousin,” Win said. “Rei, ah, now isn’t the best time to talk. I was going to go through some papers with my buddy who’s listing the place.”
“What buddy?” The woman sounded confused. Perhaps she’d already gotten to the place where everything was hazy.
“It’s in your interests to talk to me right now or I’ll make an immediate call to Kendall. I don’t think she knew about this particular hideaway.” I had already whipped out the cell phone, which was turning out to be quite a handy little accessory.
“Ah, Shelly, let me step out with Rei for a little talk.” He looked at me directly and said, “I’ll just go in the kitchen for a minute, and get the other set of keys—”
I listened carefully for the sound of a back door opening, because I wouldn’t have put it past him to flee, but he returned a few seconds later. The front-left pocket of his khakis contained something small that made a slight outward indentation. It didn’t look like a key to me, but a tube.
“I’ve gotta go, Shelly,” Win said, walking swiftly to the door.
“’Bye, Buddy,” she replied.
As we headed down the walk, I said, “Why don’t you get in my car and I’ll drive.”
“What are you talking about?” Win said. “I have my own car.”
“Yes, but it’s not worth the risk to let you drive. I know what you have in your pocket.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I know about the crack cocaine.” I used the remote-control feature on Hugh’s car key to click open both doors of the Lexus.
“I’m not going with you for a harangue,” Win said. “I get enough of that shit at home.”
“Oh,” I said. “So Kendall already knows what you’re doing?”
Win glared at me. “Not exactly. And if you tell her anything about Shelly or her house, I’ll make sure you never see Kendall again.”
I glared back. “I’m giving you a chance, Win. Just get in the car and I’ll take you somewhere that we can talk like two reasonable adults about your problem.”
Win got in the car. I drove a few blocks and pulled into a space along the curb. It was quiet, the perfect place for a talk. I began, “So, how did it all start?”
“This is a bad block,” Win objected. “The cops are always staking it out.”
“Oh, so we might get picked up as suspected buyers from the suburbs?”
“Yeah,” Win looked at me coldly. “And as you pointed out, I do have vials in my pocket.”
I gave him a sidelong glare and started the car again. I drove the speed limit back to Adams-Morgan, curving around the alley behind Urban Grounds where I knew there was a Dumpster. I stopped by the Dumpster and said, “Throw it in.”
“What?”
“Take the vial out of your pants pocket and put it in the Dumpster. I don’t want it in the car.”
Win’s tone turned conniving. “I’ll do it later. You don’t want to be caught doing something stupid in public.”
“I don’t want you with that stuff!”
“I don’t care what you want. I need it.” Win’s voice broke.
I turned the car off and looked at Win. To my surprise, there were tears in his hard blue eyes.
“How long have you been doing it?” I asked, consciously making my voice more sympathetic.
“I’d tried it once or twice, before the twins were born, but afterward, that’s when I got into it. It helped me cope. Believe me, I’ve been cutting back. I smoke once or twice a week, now.”
“That woman, Shelly. She gets it for you?” I asked.
“Yeah. And Shelly doesn’t mean anything to me. Kendall’s not at risk.”
“But you’re sleeping with Shelly,” I said, and from the flush in his face, I knew I’d guessed right.
“I have to do whatever, you know, to keep things cool. I’ve been having some troubles with…credit. Shelly’s helping me through.”
“The guys you owe money to must be very dangerous.”
Win nodded. “They don’t play by the rules. It’s not like the gentlemen’s agreements my father made with the bank manager back in Lynchburg.”
“They took Kendall from Bento that night, didn’t they?”
Win’s anguished look was my answer.
“My God! And what do you think they were going to do with her?”
“It was a warning,” Win said in a low voice. “The day after it happened, I cleared the debt.”
“With money from Kendall,” I said, the pieces coming together. “She told me that you wanted to take money from her trust fund to support the candidacy of Harp Snowden. And then she said something about you giving loans to friends so they could buy their own tickets to the dinner. That money came from the trust as well, didn’t it?”
“I didn’t want to do it, but it was the only choice.”
“And no checks have been delivered to Harp Snowden’s office, have they?”
Win threw up his hands. “You’re right. I didn’t give the eight grand to Snowden. I used it to settle the debts. But don’t you think the safety of my wife and kids is more important?”
“But they didn’t stop kidnapping people. I was taken a few weeks later. How far will your dealer friends go to prove a point? Who will they grab next, Grandmother Howard in Baltimore? Or maybe your parents in Lynchburg?”
“They didn’t take you!” Win protested. “What happened to you was completely unrelated.”
“How could my kidnapping be unrelated? It was done in the exact same way, a woman thrown in a car trunk.”
“Kendall’s story was publicized on all the TV stations. The details were out there for anyone to take and use for their own purposes. I know it can’t be the dealers because I asked. Believe me, if they’d wanted to keep me in line, they’d have let me know what they were up to.”
I hesitated. I didn’t trust Win, but he had made some plausible points.
“Rei, I’m sorry,” Win said. “But you see, I paid my debts. I wish I could stop smoking, but I can’t.”
“What about trying drug treatment?”
“I heard it’s, like, impossible to get into a center. And can you imagine me hanging out with all those lowlifes? What would people think?”
“They’d think that Winthrop Johnson’s finally facing up to reality,” I said. “Look, you’ve got to tell Kendall. She’s the one who can help you through it all. I’m sure she’d go into her trust to get the money you need for private treatment. Then you wouldn’t have to worry about having to socialize with poor people.”
“Kendall would leave me,” Win mumbled.
“She might not leave you, if you come forward and ask for help.”
“People break up over much less than drugs,” Win said glumly. “Look at you and Hugh.”
“What about us?” I felt my guard go up.
“You miscarried! You had an accident, and now neither of you wants to stay together—”
“How did you know?” I was horrified.
“Kendall told me. She heard it from Hugh. I don’t know why you treat it like some big shame. So you’re not married. It’s not like you’re living in medieval Japan. Get over it.”
“Leave my private life alone. Yours is enough of a mess,
okay? You’re going to have to tell Kendall what you did with the money, and why that terrible thing happened to her.”
“Give me twenty-four hours, okay?”
“How can I know you’ll do it?” I asked skeptically.
“Just watch this.” Win stepped out of the car and hurled the vials filled with little chunks at the Dumpster. They hit the edge, and shattered into hundreds of tiny pieces. He’d created a hazard to the general public—but at least nobody could use the crack cocaine to get high.
I expected Win to come back to the car, but he bent over double, almost hugging himself. He was crying openly now.
“Win, I—” I didn’t want to say that I was sorry, because I thought I’d done something necessary. “Come with me. I’ll drive you back to your car.”
He shook his head. “Just go. I’ll find my own way back.”
31
As I drove away, I began to worry that Win had tricked me with his big show of smashing the container of drugs. My words might have just flowed over him. From what I’d heard about addiction, supposedly someone like Win would have to hit rock bottom before he would want to change.
I was driving along Rock Creek, whose waters would flow into the Potomac, the river where Sadako had disappeared. Because I had nothing better to do, I followed the parkway out of the park itself, passing the Watergate complex and the Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts. I parked illegally just south of the bridge to Theodore Roosevelt Island. There, I stood, looking across the water to Virginia. Almost thirty years ago, Sadako Tsuchiya Norton had left her clothes on the sand and gotten in the water, to drown herself or swim to Washington. She’d have come out within a mile or so from where I was standing. She would have been dripping and bare in the midst of tourists and people who worked in the district.
I shook my head, remembering what she’d written in her diary about missing the water. Had her life really become so circumscribed that she’d ended it by entering this puny stretch of the Potomac—when, if she’d traveled an hour or two south, she’d have been able to enter the Chesapeake Bay, a substantial body of water?
The Pearl Diver Page 26