“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 close 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.”