“How’s the work with Fred Anders going?” he said, and brazenly started to shuffle through the papers in my out box.
“Hands off,” I said and he retreated, holding his hands high in mock deference.
“Reason I ask is that you haven’t had a computer crash recently,” Allan said.
He was right. Too often, when I was trying to make coherent notes from Dr. Anders’ scrawl, my computer would freeze or crash, which meant I’d need to call on Allan’s expertise.
“I’m catching up, lots to do.” I kept my answer noncommital.
“See you at lunch,” and Allan sauntered out.
Not if I could help it. I’d sit next to Matt. He was a good buffer if Allan tried to get too friendly. Not that I hesitated to throw cold water on Allan in public. It just took more time and energy than it was worth, particularly since nothing I ever said slowed Allan down.
Four
Strange how hindsight’s a perfect 20/20. The next day, the morning at the clinic was typical, one patient a no show, one cancelling minutes before the appointment, and most of the others arriving late. I hadn’t fallen asleep until late the night before, worried about Lanny, and when I woke, I wasn’t hungry and made do with a cup of miso. By lunchtime, I was ravenous and devoured a messy meatball sub at my desk, sorting through files as I munched, catching most of the drips before they landed on paperwork. Late afternoon, my phone rang. News of Lanny? I grabbed it
“Yoko, how’s your schedule tonight?”
It was Dr. Forrest, my boss.
“Nothing planned, Elliot. Do you need help at an evening class?”
“It’s not that simple. I was scheduled to go hear Dr. Forkiotis lecture at the Connecticut Police Academy but I’ve got a nasty cold, all I want to do is go home to bed. You helped review the journal paper about the work Gus has done on DUI. Would you go in my place?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“Good. I’ll call and tell Gus. You can take a Metro North train from Grand Central, Gus’ll meet you at Bridgeport. Dinner’s his treat.”
“Thanks, Elliot. I hope you feel better tomorrow.”
I hung up. I’d heard Gus Forkiotis read his papers at conferences and I never missed reading his cutting edge work, for he was one of the pioneers in marrying forensics to optometry. He and another Connecticut practitioner, Bob Bertolli, had lectured at the Connecticut State Police Academy for decades, bringing the police up to speed on the optometric science behind the ways drugs or alcohol affect our vision, so important in DUI cases. This visit was my chance to quiz Gus on what optometrists needed to know in the way of identifying and profiling techniques when called in to help at crime scenes or disaster sites, something that was happening more and more frequently. The sudden prospect of a trip to Connecticut even helped distract me from my concern for Lanny. How was I to know that later, I’d wish I’d said no. Said I had the flu. Typhoid, maybe.
I scooped up the papers covering my desk and took them over to the filing cabinet, planning to sort them the next day. I had time to finish writing one last memo and still squeeze in a visit to Lanny at St. Vincent’s before heading to the train station.
“A question for you, Dr. Kamimura.”
I jumped and the papers spilled. My back was to the door and I hadn’t heard anyone come in. Guess my nerves aren’t in the best shape these days. I bent to pick up the mess.
“Have you had time to read the memo I sent about reorganizing the Infants’ Clinic to save costs? Do you think my suggestions will work?”
I caught the familiar undertones of a Southern accent and didn’t have to turn around to know it was Matt Wahr. Sure enough, when I turned, he was a few steps inside my small office. In his immaculate navy jacket and sharply creased gray trousers, he was the well-groomed picture of a senior administrator. Did he have rubber soles on those polished wingtips? The man was seriously trim. Might faint at the idea of a meatball sub for lunch. A meager patch of pale brown hair was brushed across a head that showed an expanse of pink scalp, though his eyebrows were strong over blue eyes. It was a relief it wasn’t Allan or someone dropping in to shoot the breeze. Today, Matt’s normally pleasant expression held a hint of worry.
“Dr. Forrest and I went over the schedule,” I said. “You’re right, Matt, if we juggle some projects, it looks as though we can keep the clinic open the same number of hours. Dr. Forrest said he’d send you a memo.”
“Great,” Matt said. “Need help with those papers?” He moved closer.
“No, thanks, I’m leaving soon.”
To my relief, Matt nodded obligingly and left.
“Don’t be such a workaholic, come have a drink and unwind.” It was pest Allan from next door. I didn’t mention my plan to visit the hospital but bragged about the trip to Connecticut.
“Allan, I’ve one more memo to do then I’ve a train to catch, Dr. Forrest has a bad cold and asked me to go to Connecticut for him, to a lecture by Dr. Forkiotis.”
“Now you mention it, Dr. Forrest did sound congested just now when I called. But he suggested I speak to you about a vision exam.”
So that’s what Allan wanted. The request wasn’t unusual. Anyone who works at the college is eligible for an exam, free and gratis. It’s one of our few perks.
“I’ll be glad to help, Allan. Had problems recently?”
“Yes. I went to someone a friend recommended but I’m not happy with the prescription he gave me for contacts. I’m just not comfortable with them.”
“That’s too bad. What sort of discomfort?”
It was surprising he’d gone to someone outside the college but I didn’t ask for details about the prescription, I’d find those out during the examination.
“A nasty headache now and then, I’m sure it’s this new prescription, I don’t usually have headaches. Any chance you could fit me in now?” Allan said, not missing a beat.
That was Allan, his schedule was all that mattered. Still, I might as well get it out of the way, I could work on the memo first thing in the morning.
“I guess so. The fourth floor clinic will be free, the evening class isn’t scheduled to start until seven.”
Allan’s smile was a mix of relief and smug satisfaction. He followed me to the main clinic where he settled himself in the examination chair. He took out the contacts he’d been wearing and put them in the container I held out to him.
“Allan, these are monovision, one for near distance, one for far,” I said after I’d looked carefully at the contacts. “That’s probably part of your difficulty.”
“My friend has monovision and likes it,” Allan said, eyes blinking as he adjusted to the removal of the contacts. “He uses one eye for reading and the other for looking in the distance.”
“That’s not really a good idea,” I explained. “Our eyes are designed to team, to work together. It’s a major strain on the brain to try to use different information from each eye.”
“With my IQ, my brain can handle it,” Allan said.
“Apparently not, if you’re having headaches. Sit back in the chair. Look straight ahead,” and I started the exam.
“Have you ever had multifocal contacts?”
Allan shook his head.
‘You think I need a different prescription?”
“The prescription you have now isn’t wrong. What’s not right is that it’s been divided. One eye has a prescription for distance and the other for close work, which you knew.”
“My close work is very demanding, the college relies on me.” Allan sounded pompous, not unusual, he could switch from banter with smarmy sexual overtones in a flash, but I empathized, monovision lenses really are a strain.
“Multifocal lenses would be ideal for your viewing needs.”
“If you say so,” Allan said grudgingly. “Just what does ‘multifocal’ mean?”
“The contacts have ‘zones.’ For close work, like your IT responsibilities, your eyes use the center of the lens. For distance, there’s gr
aduated power in the outer zone of the lens so your eyes see comfortably at distance.”
“What about in-between?” Allan asked, warming to the possibilities I was suggesting.
“Your eyes will naturally shift to the intermediate zone of the lens if you want to see something at an in-between range. Whatever you want to view, your brain will choose the correct zone in the contact lens. You know how it is when you’re in a car, if you look out at the traffic, you see what’s outside and the windshield or the wipers don’t get in the way? That’s because your brain guides your vision and knows what you want to view.”
Allan nodded. “Makes sense.”
“Do you want me to send the prescription to the lab the college uses?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll let you know when the multifocals are ready,” I handed him the container with his monovision contacts and took a quick look at the time, “I must dash.”
I headed down the hall to the stairs, Allan on my heels.
“What time’s your train?” he asked, falling into step beside me, jaunty and self-satisfied as usual.
“I’m making a quick stop some place else first.” I didn’t want to explain I was going to St. Vincent’s. God forbid he offered to come along.
“Looks like you’re going in the same direction as me. I can keep you company for a few blocks,” Allan said.
We chatted as we walked and Allan’s company wasn’t too irritating. Big plus, he didn’t hit on me. If he was this reasonable all the time, we’d get along fine. Maybe Allan had learned his lesson. Maybe he had a girlfriend. Lucky me. I felt a pang of sympathy for any female who’d have to put up with him.
The stop at the hospital was brief and sobering. Lanny had yet to open her eyes. Dag, bless him, was upbeat. “Vital signs are strong and blood pressure’s good. The doctors monitor brain pressure regularly and each report says all is going well.”
His attitude boosted my mood and I sat with Lanny for a few minutes, explaining why I was riding a commuter train out to Connecticut, even though I knew she wouldn’t respond.
“I’m off to hear Gus Forkiotis lecture at the police academy,” I told her. “Remember? He’s the behavioral optometrist in Connecticut.” I almost added that this was the optometrist Lanny’d persuaded to be an Expert Witness at the trial of the drunk driver who’d caused the deaths of her husband, Erik, and daughter, Zembra, but I bit my tongue. Why remind Lanny of that tragedy when she was fighting for her life?
Lanny lay motionless on the hospital bed. It was hard to see if she was breathing, so slight was the rise and fall of her chest but her breaths were steady. I kissed Lanny’s pale cheek, reminded Dag to keep in touch and left for Grand Central Station. The weather was as gloomy as I felt after seeing Lanny so still and pale. It was drizzling and the sidewalks were full of puddles although we’d been promised a clear evening.
As I walked, I was heartsick at the thought of the problems Lanny might face when she regained consciousness. Even mild injuries can cause difficulties like dizziness, headaches, poor memory and anxiety. It depends on what part of the brain is hurt. The occipital lobe is the large block of tissue at the back of the brain that receives, processes and retains “seen” information. Damage there plays havoc. Until Lanny came out of the coma, we wouldn’t know the extent of her problems.
The vast concourse at the train station was almost empty, acres of Tennessee marble floor free of rush-hour hordes. I craned my neck to look up at the wonder of the celestial ceiling––New York’s cathedral for the public. Some years back, the ceiling had been refurbished and the result was glorious. The bright lights outlining the constellations gleamed and twinkled like the stars they represented. New York’s masses of buildings and flowing rivers of traffic make it impossible to see the natural splendors of the night sky. Grand Central’s starry heavens might be man-made but they’re a brilliant facsimile.
A shiver scurried down my back. What a mess if the celestial ceiling collapsed like the dome at the club. I stared up at the Great Dipper and suddenly had the eerie feeling someone was watching me. I looked around the station. Did someone deliberately step back out of sight behind the shelter of the Information Desk? I’m imagining things. Why would anyone…? I didn’t complete that thought, too many nasty possibilities. Stay positive, that’s what the self-help gurus advise.
I walked along to the platform for the train to Bridgeport. The gate was shut but those on either side were open and I walked through one to the platform where my train was. It was one of those wrinkles in bureaucracy, an open side gate. More civilized than the mad rush at Pennsylvania Station on the city’s west side, where train platforms are announced at the last moment so the crowd hustles like maniacs in the scramble for seats. Boarding the waiting train, I positioned myself in the middle of the car, away from the doors, and started on the work I’d brought with me but every time someone moved along the platform or boarded the train, I couldn’t stop myself looking out the grimy window or staring nervously at each person who walked through the compartment. The train started and I kept my head down and read.
Dr. Forkiotis was waiting at Bridgeport. His hair glinted silver but his face had the youthful determination and vigor that marked his career.
“Change of plans. How do you feel about some hands-on experience?” he said. “The lecture’s rescheduled, top brass are off at ceremonies for some bigwig, eulogies for the dead. I only heard the news late this afternoon and when Elliott telephoned and told me you were coming, I bargained with the powers-that-be so you could have a real treat and go on a patrol for driving under the influence, DUI.”
I rolled my eyes. “DUI patrol is a treat?”
“You’ll be safe, surrounded by armed police.” His smile faded as he saw my involuntary shiver. “We can talk over dinner.”
Subtle, Gus was not. Perceptive and caring, yes. We ate at a little Greek place where Gus introduced me to taramosalata, the Greek caviar spread.
“Carp roe in lemon juice and mayo,” he told me. “What do you think?”
“Delicious.”
Deliberately delaying the time when I had to explain about the woman shot outside SUNY and Lanny’s fall and coma, I asked about the recent visit by Massachusetts state troopers to his colleague, Bob Bertolli.
“I heard they were trying to identify a murder victim.”
“That’s right. The troopers brought in the specifications of a glasses frame for analysis, forensic optometry at work. Bob and the optician were able to match that particular frame combination to a patient.”
“Is that easier than finding out the prescription from fragments of spectacle glass?”
“That’s not hard, Yoko. Any fragment of a lens can be measured for the prescription,” Gus said. “A frame has a lot of clues. The manufacturer’s name, color code, temple size. Usually all that’s somewhere on the inner surfaces.”
“Wasn’t there a famous murder case years back where a murderer was caught because of the glasses?” I asked.
“Leopold and Loeb,” Gus said. “Two boys indicted in 1924 for kidnapping and murdering another boy. The horn-rimmed glasses found near the body didn’t belong to the victim. It was a common prescription so it was thought the chance of finding the owner was slim. Eight days after the murder, it was discovered that the hinges on the glasses were unique and only three pairs had been sold in the Chicago area. One of those pairs of glasses belonged to Nathan Leopold. Up to that point, Leopold and Loeb hadn’t been suspected. The two got life sentences.”
I shivered.
Gus looked at his watch. “Before we leave, tell me what’s been happening in your life. Elliott said something about two tragedies?”
The words poured out. Gus listened carefully. I started with Mary Sakamoto’s killing and then said, “Lanny’s in a coma, Gus.” I explained what had happened at the club but I didn’t mention the eerie feeling I had of being watched at Grand Central. “I’m wondering if Mary Sakamoto’s shooting and Lanny’s ac
cident are linked.”
What Gus said next astonished me.
“Dear God, Yoko. I just spoke to Lanny, it must have been right before the attack! She’s working on a major conference about the increase in drunk driving cases and asked me to volunteer to give a talk. Has she been in a coma since the attack?”
“Yes,” I stammered.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. How could I have forgotten the connection between these two and how fiercely each felt about drunk driving and why.
“It’s possible these situations are related,” Gus said. “Tell me what happened at the club.”
The waiter cleared our plates and I didn’t speak until the tea we’d ordered arrived.
“The fury on his face, that’s my main impression. The intensity was shocking.”
“Could you see the pupils of his eyes?”
The question surprised me although I knew Gus was famous for his analysis of the clues that physical characteristics give about the way your vision functions. His article, “Is that Saddam Hussein Or Are We Seeing a Double?” had been closely read in government circles. The prodding helped me focus.
“Not really, the light was low and he was quite a distance away.”
“If they were completely dilated that would mean extreme emotion. In this case, it might have been anger and that led to violence. Such extreme dilation may last all day, even several days. Inhalants or drugs like cocaine cause enlarged pupils.”
“All I can say for sure is that he was almost vibrating with anger.”
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