by Robin Cook
Ben was immediately taken by Laurie’s attractiveness and smile. For a brief moment his newly realized concerns about talking with the authorities moved to the back of his mind. A moment later, when he was introduced to Detective Captain Lou Soldano, they all came tumbling back. Meeting Dr. Jack Stapleton had no effect at all, not even the fact that he and Laurie shared the same last name. Ben was overwhelmingly concerned about meeting another detective. His paranoia spiked upward.
“First I want to thank you sincerely for taking your time to help us identify one of our cases,” Laurie said. “I cannot tell you how important that is for us.”
“I’m pleased to be of assistance,” Ben said, hoping that his tenseness was not apparent. He noticed the detective pick up the identification form that contained his information and study it. “But I do have an important meeting in New Jersey that I’m already late for.”
“We’ll make it quick,” Laurie said. “We have a second body, another Asian man, who came in last night. We would be very appreciative if you would take a look and see if you recognize him as well. We know there is some connection with him and the person you already identified. Would you mind?”
“I suppose not,” Ben said without a lot of enthusiasm.
“It’s the case I did this morning,” Laurie said to Rebecca. “The case with the wild tattoos.”
“Got it,” Rebecca said, and slipped out of the room.
“Would you like to sit down?” Laurie said, gesturing at the table from which Ben had just arisen.
Laurie took the identification form from Lou and quickly glanced at it.
“How did Satoshi die?” Ben asked, trying to make the question sound like an unimportant afterthought.
“I’m sorry,” Laurie said, placing the completed identification form on the table. “The case is still open, and we cannot reveal anything to the general public until it is signed out, and then only through our public-relations department. If you were family it would be different. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay,” Ben responded. “Just curious.” He was more than curious, but did not want it to show.
“So you were Mr. Machita’s employer,” Laurie said. “Can you tell us about that?”
Ben repeated what he’d told Rebecca, emphasizing that Satoshi was a very recent employee whom he did not know particularly well. Ben also described his company as being in the biotech field and that Satoshi had been a little-recognized but talented researcher.
“I understand you called the Missing Persons Squad this afternoon.”
“I personally did not call,” Ben said. “But I was concerned. Mr. Machita did not come into the office over the last two days, and he did not answer his cell phone.”
“When Mr. Machita collapsed on the subway platform, we have reason to believe a small piece of luggage was taken from him,” Laurie said, careful not to mention the fact that he’d been murdered. “Would you have any idea what could have been in the luggage? Could it have been anything specific or particularly valuable?”
“I have no idea,” Ben said, deliberately lying. If someone had pursued Satoshi to rob him, Ben would have guessed they had been looking for the man’s lab books, which were securely locked in the office safe.
Given the nature of Laurie’s questions, Ben knew that Satoshi’s death was surely not a natural one and that he had to have been murdered. Ben wanted to leave. He didn’t mind lying about something that could never be proved, but he wasn’t going to lie about something that could. He didn’t want to talk about what he’d been up to in New Jersey that very afternoon, and he was terrified the next question might be about something concerning Satoshi’s family that would naturally lead up to it.
A tentative sense of relief spread over Ben when Rebecca returned with the case file of the unidentified Yakuza hit man. She handed the file to Laurie, who proceeded to take out the photos of the corpse. These were not identification photos doctored to ease the sensibilities of lay visitors. They were the stark-naked full-body photos taken in the unremitting glare of sharp fluorescent light specifically designed to emphasize every defect and disfigurement. Although the tattoos reduced the ghastliness to a degree, the stark alabaster color of the exposed limbs and face from having been floating around in the brackish river water couldn’t be ignored.
Ben recoiled from the images, his response heightened by his general unease with a detective sitting right in front of him. Once again his medical training and experience came to his aid, and merely by sitting up straighter he was able to recover his poise. “I’ve never seen him,” he said with a squeaky voice that even surprised him. He cleared his throat. “Sorry, but I have no idea who he is.”
“Are you certain?” Laurie asked. “I know the tattoos are a major distraction. Can you just look at the face and imagine it in the full color of life?”
“I’ve never seen him,” Ben repeated, “and I remember a face.” Ben pushed back his chair and made a performance about checking the time. “I’m sorry I can’t help you with this case, but I hope I have with the first.” He stood, and the others did as well.
“You have helped very much,” Laurie said. “I want to thank you again.”
Ben then reached out across the table to shake first Laurie’s hand, then Jack’s, who was sitting next to Laurie, and finally Lou’s. Ben noticed that Lou deliberately held on to his hand longer than expected while drilling Ben with his dark eyes. “Interesting to meet you, Dr. Corey,” Lou said, still clutching Ben’s hand. When he let go he did so with a slight, final tightening before the release. Ben worried that it was like a message that they would be seeing each other again.
Lou’s handshake had increased Ben’s unease, a feeling he carried out to his SUV. Was the detective really giving me a message? Ben questioned silently. He hesitated before starting his car. “Good God,” he said aloud. “I feel like I’m walking around in a goddamn mine-field.” Getting out his cell phone and Detective Tom Janow’s card, he reluctantly made the call, vainly hoping, since it was now after six p.m., that the detective might beg off and reschedule for the morning. But such was not the case, particularly when the detective heard that the identification had been positive: The corpse was Satoshi Machita. To make matters worse, the detective was still at the scene, meaning Ben had to return to the worst stench he had ever had to suffer, which seemed, at the moment, uncomfortably symbolic in his current, anxiety-ridden state of mind.
34
MARCH 26, 2010
FRIDAY, 5:38 p.m.
In the family ID room Laurie, Jack, and Lou had sat back down in their seats. Lou had been the only one who’d spoken. He had said he wanted a copy of Ben’s full address and phone numbers. Laurie hadn’t answered, but rather had tapped Satoshi’s completed identification form with her middle finger, indicating that the contact information was there.
For several long minutes no one spoke. They looked at one another as if dazed. From outside in the foyer there was a sudden burst of voices that penetrated the closed door. No one moved, despite the apparent commotion. Laurie was the first to break the silence in the ID room. “What did you guys think?”
“An oddball,” Jack suggested. “A very uncomfortable oddball. On the one hand, he seemed overly confident, on the other the proverbial banjo wire, ready to snap. He was actually shaking at one point.”
“Could it have been because of identifying Satoshi Machita? Was it a kind of grief reaction, do you imagine? I saw the shake, too. I also got the message that being here, talking to us, was the absolute last place on earth he wanted to be.”
“I should probably recuse myself from this discussion,” Lou said. “I’ve seen him before.”
“Really!” Laurie said, surprised. “Where have you seen him?”
“I don’t mean I’ve seen him specifically. I mean I’ve seen his type. He’s one of those snooty Ivy League guys. They act so entitled, like rules don’t apply to them.”
“Careful,” Jack said. “You’re hitting too clos
e to home.”
“I don’t mean like you,” Lou explained. “You question some rules from the angle of an enlightened philosophy, whether they make sense and serve everybody equally. This type of guy questions rules selfishly. It’s about whether they make sense for him. As long as they make money, it’s okay. He’s a me, me, me kind of guy.”
“I think he knows more than he’s telling,” Laurie said.
“For sure,” Lou said. “I would have asked him a lot more pointed questions.”
“I wanted to,” Laurie said. “But I didn’t think I could get away with it. He was here on his own accord and could have walked out whenever he wanted. Maybe you’ll have a go at him someday when you’re in charge.”
“I suppose you are right,” Lou said. “I can tell you this: During the investigation of these two homicides, I’m going to have Dr. Corey’s company looked into with a fine-tooth comb. There has to be an interesting explanation why one of his employees was killed by several organized-crime hit men, especially with both hit men and the mark being Japanese.”
“Sounds like a good idea to me,” Laurie said. She reached out and put a hand on Jack’s forearm and looked him in the eyes. “It’s been enough of a day for me. What say you? Want to leave your bike here and ride home with me in a nice, safe, warm taxi?”
“No, thank you,” Jack said. “I want my bike at home for the weekend.” He stood up.
“Hey, what about the threatening letter?” Lou questioned.
“Fine!” Laurie said airily. But she was not looking forward to defending what had been, in retrospect, a bad decision. She realized she should not have dismissed it so cavalierly, even though at the time she was convinced it was an in-house prank of sorts by her husband. The wording had not been funny in any way or form, but it had been so different from all the other various and sundry threatening mail she had gotten that she’d immediately questioned its authenticity, and considered that it was not beyond Jack in one of his juvenile moods.
Laurie went through the door leading out into the reception area first, followed by Lou and then Jack. Jack was saying that he had all his stuff already downstairs at his bike. “I’ll see you at home,” he called to Laurie, and to Lou, “I’ll see you when I see you.”
Lou waved over his head to indicate he’d heard and then bumped into Laurie, who’d stopped abruptly. There was a flood of people in the foyer, some sitting, most standing. OCME employees had already left after finishing their good-byes to one another, and a new group of people had come in. With some of those new arrivals sobbing, it was obvious they had come to make an identification of a deceased family member. Another identification clerk was standing by the door to take over the ID room as Laurie, Lou, and Jack emerged. OCME had only one ID setup. Laurie apologized for holding things up.
Jack, who was still talking about heading directly down to the morgue level rather than returning to his office, had to stop suddenly to avoid bumping up against Lou. He noticed Laurie was staring off to the left as if paralyzed. Following her line of sight, Jack saw an African-American woman sitting on the couch. She was in her mid-forties with heavy features on an otherwise narrow face completely overcome by grief. Grouped tightly about her were at least a half-dozen people. All were maintaining contact by touching her in an attempt to console her. Jack immediately found the woman familiar, but he couldn’t recall where he’d seen her.
For Laurie it was another matter entirely. She knew the woman instantly, despite having met her only two or three times. It was Marilyn Wilson, Leticia Wilson’s mother.
A sense of panic and fear spread through Laurie like a lightning bolt. With a kind of tunnel vision blocking out the periphery, Laurie started toward Marilyn, insinuating herself between other mourners. She was not to be detoured. With some effort and irritating a number of people, Laurie positioned herself in front of Marilyn. By squatting down Laurie got her face at the level of Marilyn’s and asked the woman what had happened.
At first Marilyn stared back at Laurie with an expression of pure grief. Her eyes were awash with tears.
“It’s Laurie,” Laurie said, trying to break through the veil of anguish surrounding the woman. “What happened? Is it something about Leticia, or someone else?”
Mentioning her daughter’s name had a profound effect. The moment it escaped Laurie’s lips, the woman seemed to wake from a daze. The eyes that had been blankly staring into the middle distance now converged and the pupils constricted. When she finally recognized who Laurie was, her intense grief turned to intense anger. Shocking everyone, but particularly Laurie, Marilyn screamed, “You! You are the one to blame. If it weren’t for you, my Leticia would still be alive!” Marilyn leaped up from the couch, causing Laurie to spring up and take a step back.
The people who’d been trying to comfort Marilyn had also been shocked and had recoiled. The next instant they tried to restrain her but were only partially successful. Marilyn, in a burst of tears, managed to get her hands on the sides of Laurie’s neck, and when the women were pulled apart, Marilyn’s nails dug into the skin below Laurie’s chin, leaving a number of streaks of reddish abraded skin with a few tiny dots of blood.
Jack and Lou immediately went to Laurie’s aid, wanting to check the extent of the damage. Also coming to Laurie’s aid was Warren Wilson, Jack’s regular basketball buddy. Jack, Laurie, Warren, and Warren’s girlfriend, Natalie Adams, had been close friends for more than a decade.
Jack had no idea Warren had even been in the room until he’d appeared at Laurie’s side seconds after the scuffle. He started to explain to Jack and Lou what was going on when Laurie bolted away without warning or explanation.
With a set, determined expression, she pushed her way through the crowd to the receptionist.
“Buzz me in!” Laurie demanded to the security man at the desk before dashing over to the main entrance door of OCME. She shook the doorknob impatiently until the guard hit the proper button.
“Laurie!” Jack yelled out over the tumult of voices. He’d detached himself from Warren and Lou with a quick “I’ll be back” the moment Laurie had darted away to the receptionist with no explanation. Reaching the door into the building, Jack managed to grab it before it had a chance to close behind Laurie. Pulling it open, he could see that Laurie was already far down the hall, nearing its end.
“Laurie!” Jack called out, with mild irritation that she was deliberately ignoring him. Picking up his speed, Jack pursued her. When he got to the end he could see the stairwell door was closing. Slapping it open, he could hear her footfalls descending below. In hot pursuit he reached the morgue level as the lower door was closing.
Laurie ran into the mortuary office. One of the techs was in the process of logging in a recently arrived body. “Where are you putting the bodies that have been coming in recently?” she demanded, out of breath.
“In the main cooler,” the mortuary tech said. He tried to ask Laurie whom exactly she was looking for, but Laurie was already gone, racing down the morgue’s composite-tiled corridor with her heels clicking loudly on its rock-like surface. Jack had joined up with her as she emerged from the mortuary office.
“What on earth are you doing?” Jack panted. “Why are we running?”
Laurie merely shook her hand to indicate she didn’t want to talk; instead, she concentrated on making a sharp left-hand turn in the corridor in her slippery leather-soled shoes. By the time she was at the main cooler, she had to skid to a stop. Grasping the meat locker- style latch, she pulled open the heavy, insulated door. Stepping into the cold, misty interior, she snapped on the lights, which consisted of bare bulbs in metal cages that cast complicated crisscrossing shadows over the scraped and soiled white walls.
Jack entered as well and let the door click shut behind him. He shivered momentarily in the chill. Laurie was yanking down the sheets covering the bodies near the door, exposing the corpses’ faces and upper chests. There were nearly twenty gurneys angled every which way, each with a shrouded
body.
“Can I help?” Jack questioned. He was still in the dark as to what Laurie was doing, although having seen Warren upstairs, he was beginning to have a very disturbing idea.
Laurie didn’t answer. She was intent on exposing each corpse’s face and leaving it exposed as she went on to the next to avoid having to do it again. She had to move the gurneys around as she worked her way into the room.
Finally she hit pay dirt. As she flicked back a sheet, she caught her breath. It was definitely Leticia Wilson staring vacantly at the ceiling. Her pale, sallow face appeared nestled into a cumulus of dark, curly hair. The only defect other than the pallor was a small oval entrance wound in the center of her forehead, which to Laurie’s practiced eye angled downward toward the base of the brain.
Laurie slapped her hand over her mouth and shuddered. Jack put his arm around her.
“Oh my God!” he said.
“Where’s my baby?” Laurie questioned plaintively.
“Was that Leticia’s mother upstairs?”
Laurie nodded as if in a daze. She had no idea what to think. Was this truly happening, or was it some kind of nightmare trick that her mind was playing on her?
“Come on!” Jack said. “Let’s get Lou involved in this. We’re lucky he’s here.”
Jack led Laurie out of the cooler and to the elevator. “I’ll take you up to your office and then go down for Lou. Okay?”
Laurie nodded but didn’t speak. She tried not to think about where JJ was at that moment or what he was doing or how he was feeling. She wasn’t very religious, but she found herself bargaining with God for his safe return.
As if reading Laurie’s mind, when they got to her office, Jack said, “Try not to think too much until we get advice.” After taking JJ’s photo from the top of her desk and stashing it in a drawer, he got her to sit.
As quickly as he could, Jack went back to the registration area, where there were significantly fewer people. Family members had gone into the identification room while some of the other visitors had left. Jack found Lou and Warren sitting together on the couch. They both stood when they caught sight of Jack.