Reading the pages she’d skipped, Storm saw that Benning had found a loose end that disturbed him. Tipped off by a source in the Unimed purchasing department, the investigator wrote that he’d gone through plane reservations to Hong Kong back to January of this year. Meredith Wo’s name turned up. She had reservations a week from the date Benning filed his report. The Unimed account with the $12,000—now $7,632.19—picked up the tab. With dread creeping through her, Storm ran her eyes down to the dates of the reservation.
The dates included the day of Hamasaki’s death. Storm bit her lip and turned back to the beginning of the report. It was dated three days before his death. Certainly Lorraine had not known about Meredith’s trip to Hong Kong then; Storm remembered her running around the office the day he died, asking how to find Meredith in Australia.
With a flash of insight, Storm remembered the cryptic letters following Wo’s and Cunningham’s names on the list Lorraine had given her. Lorraine had probably asked enough questions about Meredith’s whereabouts to alarm someone. If “DC” meant Washington—where Cunningham claimed to be and there was no evidence to the contrary— then Lorraine was telling Storm in her list that “HK” meant Hong Kong.
Wo’s flight plan was paper-clipped to the last page of Benning’s report. She left Hong Kong on Sunday, June twenty-third, at 2:50 p.m.
The day Hamasaki died.
Storm drew in a sharp breath. She flipped to the first page of Benning’s report. Hamasaki had received this on Thursday. According to Benning, Meredith left Thursday night.
She let the notes flutter into her lap. Two invoices, one for $1,375.06 and one for an even $500, floated after the pages. Storm stared at the bills from the detective, dated the day of the report, and felt her brain tangle with whirling thoughts. Were these bills for the investigation of Unimed? Five hundred sounded like a cash payment. What was that for? But most important, how would Hamasaki have handled this knowledge?
He would have been appalled to discover Meredith’s apparent involvement in the purchasing deceit. Did he have time to approach her before she left? Did he threaten her with exposure or try to talk her out of her involvement with Unimed? If Meredith had left before Hamasaki read the report, whom else did he approach?
Storm wondered if Meredith would kill if she were cornered with enough evidence to ruin her career and send her to jail. Possibly. But she was out of town when he died, even if it was Hong Kong instead of Australia. Storm was sure that the flight from Hong Kong to Honolulu took at least eight hours. Plus, the coffee didn’t fit. Meredith would know that Hamasaki didn’t drink coffee. She’d shared tea with him.
Putting back the family and Unimed files, Storm locked up, thinking about the grief she’d seen in Hamlin’s eyes. Some secrets were like poison, like carcinogens that lurked and destroyed over time. Some of them our bodies seemed to know on a cellular level before our brains could cope with the truth. It was too late to dig any further. She needed to grab a little sleep. She’d come back very early and remove the whole set of files when neither Hamlin nor anyone was around.
With a sigh of her own, she turned to the effort of packing up the books. She began slowly stacking Hamasaki’s old books by empty cartons. For her, the fragile old volumes brought memories of laughter and shared humor.
She longingly eyed the Mark Twain and the little markers that Hamasaki had left in it. Too bad that the books she loved also hid secrets in their own way.
A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court was still in her hand when she saw the door open slowly. She flushed with irritation at another interruption. The need to finish this task was even more urgent, now. Storm made sure the books covered the hidden file drawer and sat leafing through the Twain. She waited, but whoever had entered remained silent. Her pulse rate jumped when she saw the slender, wiry figure before her. Oh, shit.
“Hi, Meredith.”
“Storm, what the fuck are you doing in here?” Meredith stood with her hands on her hips, feet planted wide. She wore a black sweatshirt and loose, dark-gray silk cargo pants.
“I’m cleaning out Hamasaki’s stuff so you can move in. Wang told me to get it done.” That was true, last week. “Bitsy will come in this weekend to finish—”
“You have no right to break into this room.”
“Me? Break in?” Storm glared at her through narrowed eyes. “You had no right to change the locks.” She stood up and faced the fuming attorney.
“Tough shit. It’s mine, now.” Meredith took a step further into the room. Her flat black eyes met Storm’s. “What have you taken out of here?”
“Nothing, yet. Meredith, no judge on earth is going to let you walk into this office and take what’s in here.”
“How would you know? You’re such a legal expert?” Meredith sneered and stepped closer. “I asked you a question.”
“I’m busy, Meredith.”
“Did you find the papers I asked for?” Wo’s eyes flicked around the room.
Storm made herself take a deep breath, ready to defuse this situation. She hoped Wo meant the file she’d been asking about since Hamasaki died. “You mean for that cancer patient?” Storm pointed at the mahogany file cabinet. A couple of its drawers were still ajar. “I haven’t found anything, yet. If it’s earmarked for you, you’ll get it.”
Wo’s slitted eyes settled on the book Storm held. “What’s that?”
“An old book Uncle Miles and I used to read together. You caught me reminiscing.”
“How sweet.” She looked at the title of the book, over at the open bookcase, then let her eyes roam over the room. “Have you touched any of my things?”
“Of course not.”
Wo squinted as if contemplating that statement and walked to the file cabinet. Storm had never seen her dressed casually. In fact she’d never seen her in anything but high heels. Wo moved with a cat-like grace in her running shoes. Storm wondered if she ran marathons. She had that gaunt look, but she must do them when normal people were sleeping. The rest of the time, she worked.
Storm strolled over and sat down at the desk, placing the Twain novel in front of her. “Meredith, leave me to finish up and I’ll look for the file and leave it for you.”
Without saying a word, Wo walked to the front of the desk and picked up the book. She ignored Storm, and leafed through it, pausing frequently. When she passed one of the bookmarks on which Hamasaki had made notes, she stopped and read it slowly. Then she snapped the book closed and tucked it under her arm.
Storm was about to demand that Wo put it down when the woman’s calculating expression stopped her. Wo wasn’t just looking for Hamasaki’s old cases. Like DeLario, she was looking for the personal files, the ones with secrets that could hurt if uncovered. Of course, longtime members of the firm might have heard rumors of the secret files and certainly knew the boss’s habits well enough to believe them. Perhaps they even knew about Benning. But Meredith apparently suspected that Hamasaki might have left clues in his favorite books as well.
Storm spoke with a light tone. “I just got here a few minutes ago.” She pointed to the book under Meredith’s arm. “I’d like to keep some of these old books. He often used quotes from them in his talks.” It was time to get some help. She reached for the phone. “We could ask Hamlin if he knows about any files. Want to talk to him?”
“No!” Wo dropped the book to the floor and jerked the phone from Storm’s grasp, then hurled it across the room. Barely checked by the wire, which tore free as if it were a thread, the projectile flew into the antique bookcase. Glass shattered with such force that shards struck Storm’s legs fifteen feet away. Storm rocked back in Hamasaki’s chair with shock. She had never expected that kind of explosiveness from Wo.
Wo’s eyes glittered at her. Storm stared at her with wariness as if regarding a swaying cobra.
Wo’s eyes, flat and black as buttons, flitted around the room. Her breathing had accelerat
ed with this last effort and Storm could see the quick rise and fall of her chest. Jesus, the woman was wound tightly. Where the hell was Hamlin? The breaking glass should have brought him running.
Wo’s gaze slithered to Storm, darkened, and slid away. She took a step closer, appraised Storm’s position at the desk, then moved on across the room to the filing cabinet. Storm felt anger overcoming fear.
Storm got to her feet. “Go through the files, Meredith, if you must. I’m going to the restroom. I’ll be back in a minute and pack the books. Then I’m gone.”
Meredith lunged across the room, her slick face inches from Storm’s nose. “Sit down, Storm,” she hissed.
“Like hell, Meredith. You’re being an asshole.”
Meredith struck fast, a stunning blow with the back of her hand. Her heavy jade ring sliced across Storm’s jaw. Storm sat, stupefied, and reached up to her face. Her hand came away with a trace of blood. “Christ, Meredith. You’re crazy.”
The blackness of the woman’s irises was indistinguishable from the opaque tunnels of her pupils. It was like looking into the one-dimensional, amoral gaze of a rodent.
“You’re not leaving, you conniving twit.” Wo spit the words at her. “You’re just like the almighty Hamasaki.”
Storm recoiled from the saliva Wo splattered in her rage. “I’m not going to beg. I won’t negotiate with the likes of you.”
“Negotiate what?” She knew it was critical to defuse Meredith without sounding afraid, and at the same time, without being threatening. She straightened with what she hoped was confidence in Hamasaki’s deep chair. Meredith’s eyes jumped from the files, to Storm, and back again.
If she hadn’t so carefully locked her own office door, Storm would have bolted down the hall to sanctuary. But she knew she wouldn’t be able to outrun Meredith and unlock the door in time. More than the ten minutes she’d promised Hamlin had passed and she was starting to get a bad feeling about why he hadn’t shown up. She strained to hear footsteps in the carpeted hall, but the smooth hum of the air conditioner was the only sound in the office. With a gulp, she forced her clammy hands under her bare legs for warmth.
One thumb encountered a hard round object, sunk in the deep leather crease between the back and seat of the chair. What could Meredith have done to Hamlin? She closed her fingers around the little round item and tried to swallow away her apprehension.
As if Wo read Storm’s thoughts, she turned toward Storm, forcing her to meet Wo’s poisonous gaze. Storm knew if she showed fear, she’d merely feed this madness. Wo looked away and Storm glanced down at her own clenched fists. Inside one of them was the hard, round object she’d found in the seat of the chair. It was an imported mint.
Meredith had offered a candy just like it to Storm when she had come seeking information about the cancer patient. With a bolt of comprehension, Storm was convinced that Wo had done the same thing to Hamasaki.
Like Hamasaki, Wo worked long hours. No one would think it was surprising that she was in the office on a Sunday. Plus, most people thought she was in Sydney. Only Benning and Hamasaki, and perhaps Lorraine, Storm remembered with a lurch, knew that she was in Hong Kong. It still didn’t explain why Benning’s information on Meredith’s departure time didn’t jibe with Meredith being in Honolulu on Sunday night.
Storm was certain that Hamasaki, with a practiced graciousness, would have taken a mint from the proffered box. A skillful courtroom adversary, he would likely have had a confident, perhaps arrogant manner. So he’d sat toying with the mint on the desktop and made Wo stutter out her explanations.
People like to fill silences, Storm. Let them. Yoa discover the best information that way. It was one of her mentor’s favorite interrogation techniques. He would drop a nugget of information, let Wo begin her story, then fill in the gaping holes left by her lies with Benning’s information.
The cup of tea was probably sitting on Hamasaki’s desk when she entered. Somehow she had been able to drop the barbiturate into it without his noticing. Paul Andrews had said that the barbiturate would knock out a horse, but probably not kill. So what had she done next?
Storm regarded Wo’s flat, cold eyes, the smirk that marred the smooth mask of her face. Wo looked back as if she were connected by an electric current, the same filament of knowledge. And slid her hand into one of her cargo pockets.
The syringe must have been carefully placed there where she could slip it out without even turning it around. Not a particularly big syringe, maybe ten or fifteen cc’s. She held it up and let Storm eye the pale liquid within. “You’ve got the Unimed files, don’t you? You know the whole story.”
Chapter 38
Storm hunched down in the chair. She couldn’t believe what she saw. Was this how Hamasaki had died? She opened her mouth, closed it, tried again.
“All his files are over there.” She gestured toward the mahogany cabinets and gulped. “Don’t be stupid, Meredith.”
Wo flicked off the needle guard and tapped the barrel as if she had done this a hundred times. The stainless steel gleamed. Her eyes fell to Storm’s bare legs.
Storm looked down. No one would ever notice a puncture wound among the scratches she’d picked up from her dash into the taro fields that afternoon.
“Bullshit. You’re a lousy liar, Kayama.”
Storm swallowed hard. “What’s in that?” She forced the words through numb lips.
“Succinylcholine. You’ll be paralyzed.” Wo curled her lips into a scornful smile and glanced toward the desk drawer. “You can watch me search.”
Storm’s throat closed convulsively. She’d heard about succinylcholine. It was like curare. Her classmates in law school loved to drink beer and theorize about the “perfect” murder. Curare caused such complete paralysis that the victim couldn’t breathe. Unconsciousness occurred in several minutes due to lack of oxygen, and death followed soon after. Those few minutes of consciousness, though, would seem an eternity of terror. The victim was cognizant and completely helpless.
Succinylcholine was metabolized in the body and therefore virtually untraceable. It was frequently used in hospital operating rooms for administering anesthesia. With oxygen, of course.
“I don’t know why you think there would be a separate file for Unimed—”
“You’re pathetic, Storm. After all, you’re the big man’s protegee. He told you everything.” Her voice was cold and not much louder than a whisper, like the susurration of a snake in sand. “Martin will be the one who goes through your things, won’t he? You’re so close.” Wo chuckled. “There must be a record of his and DeLario’s secrets. I’ll leave it behind. We’ll see if he or the police find that file first.”
Storm sank back in the chair, her fingers curved into stiff hooks on the arms. Martin would find the file, all right. And he would find out that it was hidden in his father’s favorite bookcase, which he would perceive as another betrayal. He would also believe that Storm knew all about it.
Wo took a step toward her. This time her eyes were on the pale liquid in the syringe. She adjusted her thumb on the plunger. A drop of liquid ran down the side of the syringe and oozed down the length of her thumb. She smiled.
Storm forced herself to breathe and waited for Wo to take one more step toward her. She forced herself to think of the woman as a rabid animal, one that had to be outwitted. She could not think of her as the colleague who’d offered a badly needed crumb of support by subtly acknowledging Cunningham’s lechery. She couldn’t even think of her as human. So Storm scrutinized her as one would a slavering wolverine, and willed her to approach from straight ahead, without moving to either side of the chair.
Wo’s eyes were busy moving along Storm’s exposed flesh, the bare arms and nicked legs. When Wo lunged, she struck like the wild animal Storm imagined. She grabbed Storm’s upper arm with a grip that made Storm gasp.
It also pushed Storm’s building fury over the edge. “No
!” she shouted. She kicked out with both feet at Wo’s kneecaps.
She connected with one of them and felt a gratifying pop before her shoe slid from the fabric of her slick pants. Wo yelped with pain and surprise and fell back. It was enough to break her grip on Storm’s arm. Storm leaped to her feet and spun the chair so that the high back was between them.
Caught between the chair and the wall, Storm used the heavy chair to parry Wo’s advance. Wo’s expressionless mask folded into a vindictive mug of fury. With a will that deepened Storm’s fear, the woman ignored the obvious pain in her knee. The black eyes, instead of glittering, were dulled to a focus so intent that Storm had to look away. Instead, Storm watched the gleam of the needle wave mere inches from the back of the chair.
Meredith was going to pounce any second. If Storm were to make a break around the desk, Wo would have her. And all Wo had to do was snag her long enough to inject a small amount of the drug. She could do it even through Storm’s clothing.
How much stuff did it take to paralyze a person? How much time would Wo need to inject it? How much time did Storm have after the injection? Her mind spun through questions, skittering around the terror, the unknown.
Storm watched the needle. An intramuscular dose might only take minutes to act. Maybe five. If she stayed perfectly still. Already her heart galloped with fear. It would speed the drug to her vulnerable nervous system.
Part of her wanted to succumb to tears, but the survival part of her mind shrieked at her. Think, stay fluid. Fight her. Do the unexpected.
Storm forced her limbs to relax, then leaped to the desktop. The move surprised even her. She was amazed that her tired legs had launched her without faltering. Wo gaped at her, astonished. It was the first break in her icy composure.
Then Wo’s hand shot out and hooked the laces of one of Storm’s sneakers. Thrown off balance by the grip on the shoelace, Storm toppled to the floor on the other side of the desk. Her shoe came off and Wo lost her grip, but the fall knocked the wind out of Storm.
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