by Robin Cook
“Vinnie!” Laurie called. “How about lending me a hand? I know Marvin isn’t in yet, but you are available. I also know you like working with Jack, but maybe he could survive for one day without your guidance. We need to start the autopsy on this floater right now to get Captain Soldano home as soon as possible.”
Still hiding behind his newspaper, Vinnie closed his eyes and gritted his teeth at Laurie’s request for his help. He felt like such a coward. Instead of coming forward to talk about the disturbing meeting he’d had with the Vaccarro henchmen, he’d followed their orders about the threatening letter. To avoid detection, he’d typed the letter on the mortuary tech’s monitor but transferred it to a USB storage device on his key chain before deleting it. He printed it at a nearby Kinko’s. To be safe rather than sorry he’d brought some latex rubber gloves so as not to leave any latent prints on the sheet or the envelope. Back at OCME, still wearing the latex gloves and avoiding being seen by the receptionist or anyone else, he slipped the envelope under the double doors into the foyer. To get back in, he’d run around the corner, entering through one of the receiving bays where the bodies were brought in.
“Vinnie!” he heard Laurie call again but much closer. Slowly he lowered his paper. Laurie was standing directly in front of him. “Didn’t you hear me?” she questioned with mild irritation.
Vinnie shook his head.
Laurie repeated herself about starting the floater.
Resigned, Vinnie stood up and tossed his paper onto the chair behind him.
“Take Captain Soldano downstairs and get him set up. Then put up the floater. I’ll be running up to my office but will be down shortly. Got it?”
Vinnie nodded, feeling like a traitor. He couldn’t look Laurie in the eye. The problem was that he knew too much about the Vaccarro group, and he certainly did not put it past them when they had threatened to drive out to his house and watch his girls come home from school. He felt he was between a rock and a hard place.
As Vinnie led the way down to the morgue, he looked back at Lou and wondered what the detective was thinking. The last time Vinnie had been forced to do a favor for Paulie Cerino, Detective Soldano had been the one who found out about it. So Vinnie was appropriately terrified that he’d be the number-one suspect if Laurie ignored the threat and turned the letter over to the authorities, meaning the chief, Harold Bingham, something Vinnie expected she would do. All Vinnie could do was hope that the threatening letter would be considered an outside job, not an inside one.
Up in her office, Laurie closed the door, turned on her computer monitor, and proceeded to hang up her coat. Then she quickly changed into green scrubs before pulling on a Tyvek suit over them. As soon as the monitor came on, she got on the Net and looked up the article she’d remembered about the murdered Yakuza member. What she wanted to do was skim the autopsy finding, which she did rapidly. With that quickly accomplished, she left her office and descended down to the pit.
Having acclimated himself to the morgue environment by having watched so many autopsies, Lou had offered to help Vinnie get the body from the cooler and transfer it onto the autopsy table. By the time Laurie got down to the basement level and into the autopsy room, Vinnie and Lou had everything ready to start the case.
“Those are the most impressive tattoos I’ve ever seen,” Laurie admitted. From the neck to the wrists to the ankles, everything was covered with intricate tattoos in a rainbow of colors, literally everything. “The problem is that it makes for a difficult external exam. But you can certainly tell he was a member of a Yakuza family.”
“Really?” Lou questioned. “You mean because of the tattoos.”
“More than that,” Laurie said. She picked up the corpse’s left hand. “He’s missing the last joint of his left little finger, a common Yakuza self-inflicted injury. To show penance to a Yakuza leader if it’s indicated, a Yakuza follower must cut it off at the joint and give the severed piece to his boss. It’s a ritual way to weaken one’s grip on a sword to make one more dependent on one’s boss.”
“Are you kidding me?” Lou questioned dubiously.
“I’m not,” Laurie said. “And here’s something else.” Laurie lifted the man’s flaccid penis and pointed to a series of nodules. “This is another interesting Yakuza ritual. These are pearlings. They are actual pearls buried under the skin, one for each year in prison. The individual does it himself with no anesthesia.”
“Ouch,” Lou voiced. He and Vinnie exchanged an uncomfortable glance.
“How on earth do you know all this about Yakuza?” Lou questioned. He’d always been impressed with Laurie’s general knowledge, but this seemed beyond the pale. Lou had some knowledge of the Yakuza organization and history from having spent six years in the organized crime unit with the NYPD before switching to homicide.
“I should just let you guys think I’m so smart,” Laurie confessed, “but when I just went up to my office, I checked an article I’d remembered, involving an autopsy on a murdered Yakuza.”
“I put up the X-rays on the viewer box,” Vinnie said. He pointed.
“Excellent!” Laurie said, and clasping her gloved hands in front of her, she walked over to inspect them. There were multiple foreign bodies sprinkled around inside the chest and abdomen, and within several extremities. They all appeared to be either intact bullets or bullet fragments. The skull appeared to be foreign body-free.
“We’ll be following all the bullet tracks,” Laurie said to Lou. “Is there anything you’d specifically like to learn?”
“Whatever you think is appropriate for this kind of case,” Lou said. “I’d like to get at least some of the bullet material, both cores and casings, to see if they are from the same gun or multiple guns. We’ve already photographed the tattoos to see if they will help make an identification.”
“All the paperwork in order?” Laurie asked Vinnie.
“I think so. Obviously we’ve got the X-rays. The photos are in the folder, and I know the corpse has been fingerprinted. I think we’re okay.”
“Terrific,” Laurie said. “Let’s do it.”
The group walked back to the table. “One thing I can see right away,” Laurie said. “What we are looking at are exit wounds.” Using her hands to smooth out the skin, especially around the multiple meaty exit wounds, Laurie tried vainly to find any hidden entrance wounds. She was unable to do so. “So this individual was apparently only fired upon from the rear. That’s some information, wouldn’t you say, Lou?”
“Most definitely,” Lou responded, although he had no idea what it meant. “Maybe he was running away?”
“Could be,” Laurie responded. “Or swimming away.” Then to Vinnie she said, “Let’s turn him over and look at the entrance wounds.”
Vinnie followed Laurie’s orders and helped turn the body, with Lou pitching in, but he did not respond verbally, which Laurie found odd. To Laurie, one of Vinnie’s endearing characteristics was his wry, sarcastic humor, which often bested Jack’s. But this morning it was absent. “Is something wrong, Vinnie?” Laurie asked when the now prone body was again properly aligned on the autopsy table. “You’re so quiet this morning,” she said.
“No, I’m fine,” Vinnie said—too quickly, from Laurie’s point of view. For a moment she briefly wondered if he was resentful that she had asked him to help her rather than allowing him to wait for Jack.
At that moment Jack came blasting through the autopsy-room doors in his regular clothes, merely holding a mask against his face, violating two rules simultaneously.
“Hey, what’s going on in here? I’m ten minutes late and both a special NYPD case is snapped away and my personal mortuary tech has been kidnapped.”
“You should have come with me in the taxi,” Laurie lectured.
“Hello, Lou, and hello, Vinnie,” Jack said, coming up to the table and ignoring Laurie’s comment.
“Hello, Dr. Stapleton,” Vinnie responded quietly.
Jack’s head lifted, and he stared at
Vinnie. “‘Dr. Stapleton’? How formal, indeed. What’s up with you? Are you sick?”
“I’m fine,” Vinnie responded. The truth was that he experienced a sharp resurgence of his guilt with Jack’s arrival. He wished he could leave and find someone else to take his place. In fact, the thought passed through his mind that maybe he should take a short leave of absence until whatever was going on with the Vaccarros and the subway case was over and done.
“My God, look at these tattoos!” Jack exclaimed, looking back at the corpse on the table. “That’s fantastic. What’s the story?”
“Floater,” Lou explained. He told Jack the little that was known about the case so far.
“Interesting! I’ve never seen anything quite like it,” Jack responded to Lou. Switching his attention to Laurie, he said, “You enjoy yourself! I’ll catch you later. Hope histology and the lab turn up something on your case yesterday.”
Jack started to leave but stopped. “Hey!” he added when she didn’t respond. Not only did she not respond, but she seemed hypnotized, staring at the Asian’s profile with his head turned to the side. Jack snapped his fingers in front of her face, and she acted as if she’d suddenly awakened.
“This is incredible,” she said. “I think I’ve seen this man.”
“You mean you’ve seen this corpse, or do you mean you’ve seen the man alive?”
“Alive,” Laurie said. “As incredible as it may seem.”
“Where?” Jack demanded. “When?”
Both Lou and Vinnie responded to this exchange by staring at Laurie with an intensity equal to Jack’s.
Laurie then shook her head. “It can’t be!” she said, throwing up her hands. “It’s too much of a coincidence.”
“What kind of coincidence?” Jack asked as he stepped back to where he’d been, closer to Laurie. It was difficult to see her face through her plastic face shield.
Laurie again shook her head as if trying to dislodge a crazy thought. “Last night I made what might be a breakthrough on the case I autopsied yesterday—”
“I thought you didn’t get a case yesterday,” Lou interrupted.
“I got it after you’d gone home,” Laurie explained. “Anyway, I suddenly think there might be a connection between yesterday’s case and this case. Obviously I’m not sure at this early point, but I believe there’s a possibility.”
“What kind of connection?” Lou asked. “This could be important!”
“Now, don’t get your hopes up,” Laurie cautioned.
“At least tell me what you have in mind,” Lou pleaded. He was excited. This was exactly why he had become so interested in forensic pathology and took the time and effort to come to OCME. In a number of cases since meeting Laurie and then Jack, it had been the autopsy that had provided the critical facts to solve a homicide, he hoped just like the one currently lying on the table in front of him.
“I’d rather not,” Laurie said. “Bear with me, please! Maybe this afternoon I’ll have the facts that I need. I’m sorry I’m not being more forthcoming.”
“This seems overly melodramatic,” Lou complained. “If this case is a harbinger of growing tension in the organized-crime world, it’s important we get the clue sooner rather than later, to limit fallout in the civilian sector. I don’t mind the bad guys killing each other. In some ways, that makes the NYPD’s job easier. It’s when civilians get hurt that I get upset.”
“I’m sorry,” Laurie said. “It’s all just jelling in my head at this point.”
“Are you trying to prove something to yourself?” Jack questioned. “Is that the explanation, as Lou says, for this melodramatic approach? I mean, there is a possibility that Lou or I could add a thing or two to your thinking process.”
“Maybe there’s something like that involved,” Laurie confessed. “I do want to do it myself.”
“Well, just tell me one fact, then,” Jack said. “Did you find out if your victim yesterday had a seizure?”
“Yes, I believe he did.”
18
MARCH 26, 2010
FRIDAY, 9:10 a.m.
The huge 747-400 banked gracefully on its approach into New York City’s JFK airport. A few minutes later it touched down onto the tarmac on runway 13R with hardly a jolt, another perfect landing of Flight 853 from Tokyo to New York by way of the North Pole. Once the plane’s momentum had been brought to the appropriate speed, the captain exited the runway and began the lengthy taxi to the terminal.
It had been a long flight for Hisayuki Ishii, and he stretched his arms and legs. Luckily, he had been able to sleep on and off for nearly eight hours and felt reasonably well despite having been incarcerated for more than half a day in an aluminum cylinder. Of course, having been in first class had helped. Vaguely he wondered if his two lieutenants, Chong Yong and Riki Watanabe, had fared as well a few rows back in business class.
The protracted flight had provided Hisayuki a rare opportunity to just think. His normal days were generally so full that it was a luxury to be able to concentrate. He hadn’t come up with any particularly new ideas in relation to the current problems, just a clearer idea of what to do. Since Satoshi and family were now gone, it was the lab books he needed to get, which was what he’d thought at the beginning of the flight, and he was now more convinced. The lab books provided the legal basis of contesting the Kyoto University patents. Of course, the other issue of critical concern was the relationship with the Yamaguchi-gumi, the real reason he’d made the snap decision to fly to New York the morning after he’d met with the Yamaguchi-gumi oyabun, Hiroshi Fukazawa. He had to be certain that Saboru Fukuda did not suspect that Satoshi had been murdered, which would depend on whether Hideki Shimoda’s men had carried out the hit the way Hisayuki had specified.
With those thoughts in mind, Hisayuki took out his cell phone and placed a call to Hideki. As the phone rang, he glanced out the plane’s window. As high off the ground as he was, it seemed that the huge plane was crawling forward slowly, tempting him to complain to the staff, as he was impatient to arrive. Of course, he didn’t, but the thought made him realize how tense he was concerning the situation and about learning what changes had occurred since he’d been in the air and out of touch: Has the raid gone well at iPS USA? Were the lab books in their possession? Had there been anything in the media that might alert the Yamaguchi-gumi to the fact that Satoshi and his family had been murdered? Hisayuki was eager to hear the answers to these questions and was understandably impatient for Hideki to answer.
When Hisayuki was about to give up, Hideki answered gruffly in English, suggesting he’d been asleep. He quickly changed his tone, his attitude, and his language when he recognized the voice of his oyabun.
“What has happened since we spoke last?” Hisayuki demanded, speaking quietly in Japanese. He’d learned during the flight that the Caucasian man sitting next to him spoke only English.
“Some things good, some things bad,” Hideki said.
“Better to tell me the bad first,” Hisayuki said nervously.
“My two most dependable men have disappeared since yesterday afternoon. You met them on your last visit: Susumu Nomura and Yoshiaki Eto.”
“As I recall, they were supposed to go on the raid of iPS USA last night.”
“That’s correct, but they never appeared at the meeting place to hook up with Barbera’s men. Barbera’s men reportedly waited around an hour or so for them to show up, but they never did. When I tried to call both of them last night and earlier this morning, all I got was voicemail. I’m worried they are not going to reappear.”
“What about the break-in?”
“It never happened, which is understandable. Barbera-san and his men were helping us, not vice versa.”
Hisayuki paused and tried to think. This was very bad news indeed. Nervously, the only thing that came to mind was that the Yamaguchi-gumi had killed Hideki’s men as revenge for Satoshi’s murder. He asked Hideki if he thought likewise.
“I’m afraid I do,�
�� Hideki said regretfully. He then related what Louie Barbera had told him Susumu and Yoshiaki had said to Louie’s men—namely, that they were afraid of the Yamaguchi-gumi because of a threat they’d gotten from them about killing Satoshi.
“Was this before or after the hit?” Hisayuki asked.
“It had to be before,” Hideki said.
“That does not make sense to me,” Hisayuki said, trying to understand. “From the Yamaguchi standpoint, there is little reason they would suspect we knew anything about Satoshi, especially his coming to America. And we wouldn’t have if it hadn’t been for the government telling us. I truly do not understand what’s going on, unless the government is using this situation to sow discord between us Yakuza and to excite a turf war.” Hisayuki thought about the government possibly being involved in such a duplicitous scenario but quickly dismissed it. The issue about the Kyoto patents was too important to be mixed up with any secondary goals.
At that moment the plane arrived at the gate.
“We are going to be getting off here in a minute,” Hisayuki said. “You’ve given me the bad news, but now give me the good.”
“So far there has been no mention in any of the local or national media concerning Satoshi’s or his family’s deaths.”
“None?” Hisayuki questioned.
“None.”
“But if that is the case, how would the Yamaguchi-gumi know of Satoshi’s death and know that Susumu and Yoshiaki had done it or were about to do it?”
“I have no idea.”
Hisayuki again questioned silently if the government, for some unknown reason, might have informed the Yamaguchi-gumi that the hit was going to take place, but he again dismissed the idea. It did not make sense. The government wanted Satoshi murdered, and they also wanted the lab books. “I am confused,” Hisayuki admitted. “I have the feeling there is something else involved in all this, but I fail to understand what it is.”