“I’m very happy to hear the news,” he told me, his r’s a purring resonance. “Give Mrs. Oldenburg and her brother-in-law my regards. I’ll stop by tomorrow for that sink unit, lassie.” I hovered, hoping for one of his historical gems. Over the years, the super had entertained me with stories of the building’s famous residents. Apparently, Jimmy Cagney had owned a ground-floor apartment that backed on to the small courtyard where the trashcans were stacked “Must have been infernally noisy when they picked up the trashcans,” the super had mused, “but that man never complained.”
He didn’t disappoint me this time. “Did I ever tell you that we had Albert Schweitzer visiting in this very building for several days? Truly a fine man. Perhaps he’d have recommended something to help Mrs. Oldenburg.” The r’s rolled magnificently.
I left the super and walked down the long corridor away from the furnace room. The faint echo of the elevator buzzer was audible, someone in the entrance hall ringing for a ride. I decided to take the stairs back to Lanny’s, this way I’d get the exercise I was missing by not being at home. I was on the last flight up from the basement when a man rounded the corner from the entrance hall. He began to descend the stairs, I continued up. About half way, we drew level with each other and I was about to step around him but my heart damn near stopped when I glanced up and saw who it was on the stairs––it was the man who’d attacked Lanny at the National Arts Club.
What the hell? Was he after Lanny again? Or had he tracked me down?
Eight
His silhouette had been etched deep on my mind’s eye from the day I’d seen Lanny callously pushed over the gallery railing at the club. That menacing shadow had moved dimly, terribly, through my nightmares. Here was harsh reality. The man raised one hand and I didn’t wait to find out what the gesture meant. Atavistic rage burst out of me in a piercing cry and I surged forward, pounding the man’s chest. We careened against the wall and fell heavily on the stone stairs in a tangle of arms and legs. I struggled to get free, suddenly mindful I was being beyond foolish. What was I thinking, tackling such a dangerous man? I took off for the basement and met Mr. Campbell hurrying up the stairs, all bristling energy.
“What’s wrong?”
“Man…knocked me down,” I gasped, pointing up the stairs.
Ian Campbell didn’t hesitate.
“Never on my watch,” he said and took off. A ripe Scottish curse floated behind him. I hung on to the heavy brass stair rail as I labored back up the stairs, fuzzy-headed but not in serious pain. My exploring fingers found a tender place on my forehead but I wasn’t bleeding. I made it to the hall to find the super and the doorman standing by the open elevator, flanking a third man.
When I saw the man I’d taken for Lanny’s attacker, I stared incredulously. It was Matt Wahr. This was not the jaunty figure from SUNY’s halls but a disheveled, disconcerted man. We eyed each other in surprise and Wahr asked, concern on his face.
“Are you all right, Dr. Kamimura? I’m not sure how we collided.”
The super looked curiously from me to Wahr and the three men waited for my answer. Staring at Wahr, I saw how I’d made such a colossal error. Wahr’s build was similar, even the shape of his head was identical to that of Lanny’s attacker. Trouble was, an awful lot of Manhattan’s male population fit that mold. The differences between Wahr and the brute at the club were glaringly obvious in the strong light of the hall. Wahr’s head was balding, his hair wispy, Lanny’s attacker had a curly thatch, which I’d seen when he and Lanny were struggling above me in the gallery. I’d also seen the attacker’s head from the back when I viewed the video of him exiting the club and the man definitely had a full head of hair. Now that I’d literally crashed into Wahr in a place where I never expected to see him, it was clear my perceptions were jittery and had played tricks.
What a blunder. I felt a total dummy.
“You know this man, Dr. Kamimura?” the super asked.
“Yes,” I muttered.
“Are you here to visit Dr. Kamimura?” the super asked Wahr, his tone polite but not pleasant.
I frowned. Good point. Exactly why was Wahr here?
“No, I’m Matt Wahr. Are you Mr. Campbell?”
The super nodded.
“I telephoned earlier and you suggested I drop by around this time,” Wahr said to him. “I headed for the basement like you said and Dr. Kamimura was on her way up. Somehow we collided.”
Now it was my turn to stare from Wahr to Ian Campbell. Was Wahr planning on moving into the building? 34 Gramercy Park was a coop, not a condo, residents bought their apartments but not the land under it. It was against the rules to rent out your place but it did happen now and then. The typical cover story was that a relative or close friend was conveniently staying in the apartment while you were on a trip. If Wahr was planning on hiding at 34, it was a strange place to choose, so close to SUNY, now that Wahr was officially not welcome at the college.
Wahr watched me uneasily, perhaps wondering if I was going to say anything about the fraud charge hanging over him.
“Are you thinking of moving in to this building?” I asked.
“No. I’m here to see Mr. Campbell about something else,” Wahr said.
I made one of those split-second decisions that sometimes rear up later and bite you in the ass big time. I didn’t want to hassle the guy. Innocent till proved guilty is good enough for me.
“The dean wants to hear from you.”
That was all I said. I didn’t offer an apology or an explanation for charging Wahr on the stairs. I moved towards the elevator, making it clear I was done. The super took charge.
“I’ll walk you to the door,” Mr. Campbell said and put one large hand under Wahr’s arm and set off for the front door.
“Best get yourself upstairs, put some ice on that head,” the super called to me. He and Wahr walked to the street door, where they stood talking. I got into the elevator, glad to collapse on the bench against the back wall.
“Mr. Campbell’s right, you need something cold on your head,” the doorman said as he started the elevator.
One look at me when Lars opened the apartment door and he saw something was wrong. He searched the fridge for the aloe vera gel and gently spread it on the swelling on my forehead. It felt tender to his touch but I knew from experience the gel worked wonders.
“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” he said.
“That’s just it,” I said, holding an icepack wrapped in a kitchen towel to my forehead when Lars was done smearing on aloe vera. “For one dreadful nanosecond, I thought the man who attacked Lanny at the club was right here, on the stairs when I was coming up from the basement.”
Lars sat down heavily. “Dear God.”
“I was wrong. The lighting was low and I guess my nerves are still stretched tight,” I said and reminded Lars about the full head of hair on Lanny’s attacker. “Matt Wahr doesn’t have a full head of hair, just a few straight wisps.”
“It must have been a terrible shock,” Lars said as he made us comfrey tea, a remedy Swedes recommend for soothing the nerves. Sipping the warm tea, I filled him in on how I’d mistaken Wahr for the attacker, then I told Lars about the news of Wahr’s white-collar crime.
“It’s alleged but since the problem with the financial records was discovered, he hasn’t been at the college. He was asked to stay away and is supposed to be at home but apparently he’s been AWOL.”
Before Lars could comment, Lanny walked into the kitchen, a cherry red housecoat snugly belted round her waist. She smiled at us.
“Mind if I join you?”
Lars and I scrambled for cookies and another mug, happy to see her, but she only lasted a few minutes.
“That awful headache is back, I have to lie down,” and Lanny walked slowly out of the kitchen.
“Let me help you with the pain pills,” Lars poured a glass of water and hurried down the hall after her.
“They’re useless,” Lanny said.
“Why don’t the pills help?” Lars asked me when he came back to the kitchen.
“I suspect the cause could be structural,” I answered. “See if Tina can take Lanny to the chiropractor you went to for the back trouble you had last year.”
I didn’t want to make promises, but if medication wasn’t helping, possibly a chiropractor could make changes for the better.
At college the next morning, the bump on my head wasn’t noticeable. It had shrunk to almost nothing through the magic of the aloe vera gel, which also stopped any bruising. The mountain of work I had to get ready for the conference in England was almost complete so I settled down in front of the computer for what I hoped was the final tweaking and polishing of the paper about the prototypes. The peculiar encounter with Matt Wahr was the last thing on my mind but it flooded back when I had a surprise call from Detective Riley.
“Morning, hope you’re enjoying your home away from home? How’s Mrs. Oldenburg?”
How weird that he knew I was staying with Lanny. Had he talked to Lars? Was I under surveillance? I hid my surprise.
“She’s doing well, considering.”
“I’m calling because we have some new information about Mary Sakamoto.”
I took a deep breath. Was there finally some light on the mystery?
“Occasionally, she worked for several of the execs who were top aides to Ken Lay of Enron fame. Even after that scandal, those guys are living high on the hog. Mary Sakamoto went from one home to the other, fitting cocktail dresses, tuxedos, that sort of thing. Ring any bells?”
“Not one,” I said. “I still can’t fathom what connection she thought she had with me or why she’d think there was danger.”
“Let me know if something does occur to you,” Riley said. “How’s life at the college? The fraud squad say the finance manager is in trouble.”
“Yes, it’s hard to believe. Matt Wahr has always seemed a regular guy.”
“The usual candidates, money, revenge, sex, any one can turn regular guys inside out,’ Riley said.
I decided to tell him about the bruising tangle with the college’s discredited man of finance. Perhaps it would make me feel better about not mentioning my suspicions that the prototypes might be the cause for some of the strange events in the all-too recent past.
“I’ll make a note in the file,” Riley said. “It might help to see if there’s a pattern. Why don’t you ask the building super why Wahr visited him? If Wahr’s a crook, maybe he didn’t tell the truth about not moving into the building, though now that you’ve seen him there, it’s not much of a hiding place.”
I said I’d talk to the super and that was the end of the conversation.
In the cold light of day the mishap with Wahr was more like an unsettling mistake. Shrugging, I turned back to my preparations for the conference. My revisions to Fred Anders’ paper were as good as they were going to get. It was ready for review by the dean, who’d have some of Fred’s peers critique it. The equipment Fred had created was worthy of prize-winning attention and it hurt to think that the man who’d labored so long had died before he saw his work put to practical use. He’d known the tests promised well and he’d told me a few weeks earlier that Bernell, the Indiana manufacturer, never took on any project without independent analysis.
“Too much money at stake,” Fred had said, adding that the company’s president had called to share the glowing recommendations of a panel of behavioral optometrists from colleges in California, Pennsylvania and Illinois. “Peer review pleases me more than commercial interest,” Fred said.
The rest of the week before I was to leave for England was a blur. Days of intense work were balanced by quiet evenings with Lars and Lanny. Lars and I listened carefully to Lanny’s comments about what doctor she’d seen, what hurdle she’d crossed. Lanny’s trauma was considered mild but that didn’t make her rehabilitation straightforward or easy.
Lanny had started the rounds of specialists. She tired easily but was cooperating with Tina, who made sure Lanny had plenty of rest. TBI victims can sometimes be difficult to persuade to tackle the hard work of rehabilitation, not Lanny. Part of this was the type of injury to her brain, part it was her relationship with Lars, which was wonderful motivation. Lanny was determined to meet the enormous challenge of regaining a normal life.
Her excruciating headaches, the ones she’d been warned she might have for the rest of her life, had been eliminated by a chiropractor. X-rays showed that the top vertebra of her spinal column was almost dislocated. Skilful chiropractic manipulation sent Lanny home in happy tears. As is often the case in TBI, Lanny’s long-term memory was vivid but her short-term memory was almost non-existent, which worried her and she was working hard to learn how to cope.
“The most important thing in my life right now is this notebook,” Lanny said, holding up a small black book. “I keep it with me all the time and write down my schedule so I know what I have to do.”
We finished our meal of green beans and Swedish meatballs, the house specialty that Lanny had no problem remembering, although putting together the ingredients and making the meatballs was hard for her. Lars discreetly helped Lanny find and measure ingredients. Something as simple as setting the oven heat baffled Lanny but Lars was there, ever ready to help. As soon as we’d finished eating, Lanny hugged me and went to bed, tired from her day.
“I’m just so damn glad she’s out of the hospital. She’s coming along, isn’t she?” Lars said.
“Yes, she is,” I said, full of gratitude at Lanny’s progress.
“What about the visual analysis you said she might need?”
“It’s early days yet,” I said. “Lanny’s going through a developmental process. She has to redevelop the tone and function of her gross musculature before she gains control of the fine muscles.”
“How long will that take?”
“It’s hard to say. Right now, the physical therapy is what she needs. The simpler the activity, the more frustrating for her when she finds it difficult. That’s why she can be cranky sometimes. It’s tough having problems with coordination and balance when you’re an adult. Perhaps she’ll be ready for a visual exam in a few more weeks, she still needs plenty of rest.”
Lars nodded thoughtfully but didn’t let the matter drop.
“What will you learn from that exam?”
“It’ll help us understand how she’s functioning,” I explained. “The visual system is a relationship of sensory-motor functions throughout the body. Because the brain is the organizer and control center, if you insult the cortex, you cause problems with the way you function.”
“I didn’t know vision was so complicated,” Lars said. “Lanny’s not permanently disabled, is she?”
“No, thank God,” I said, grateful Lanny had been spared that. “But her life has been changed. Some TBI survivors go back to the work they were doing before, some don’t or can’t. So much depends on the individual and the rehabilitation.”
“You’re easier to understand than the medics and a lot more positive.”
“That’s because I’ve seen TBI rehabilitation fly in the face of zero hope predictions. The specialists are often reluctant to talk about the future. I believe Lanny can regain a lot of her old lifestyle. It takes patience and perseverance and a strong support system. Lanny has all that.”
At last it was the day before I was scheduled to fly to England. The conference material was ready and I had one task left, the pleasant one of going to the dedication ceremony. All I had to do was show up, enjoy free food and listen to speeches thanking donors. The Infants’ Clinic had been able to replace equipment and chairs and refurbish the treatment rooms, all long overdue, and the fund-raising committee had organized a sit-down meal. I found the staff room transformed by flowers and tablecloths. The long head table was filled with bigwigs and there weren’t many seats left at the six small tables. Dr. Forrest came hurrying over when he saw me.
“Yoko, I need your help, will you k
eep an eye on the rep from the police? They raised quite a donation. Besides, you two are the only ones here under the age of sixty.” He took my arm and led me to where a tall man sat at a half-empty table.
“Dan Riley, I believe you’ve met my colleague, Yoko Kamimura.” My boss pulled out the chair to the left of Riley, courteously ushered me onto the seat and abandoned me. Riley grinned at my obvious surprise.
“Dr. Forrest said you’d be here,” he said. “Shall we get some food before it’s too late?”
The x-ray look was gone, the voice was friendly. Fine, two could play that game. We filled our plates at the buffet and returned to the table, small talk all the way. Either Dan Riley was a good actor or he was genuinely relaxed and glad to be at the dedication. I was tempted to ask if there was any new information about the woman who’d been murdered but decided not to go there, why spoil a pleasant meal? Riley didn’t have any such qualms.
“Any insight into what’s been going on since the street shooting?” he asked, casually enough, eyes steady on me.
“I wish I did,” I said. The tone of my voice was believable and Riley nodded acceptingly. I felt somewhat guilty at not sharing my suspicions, nebulous though they were, but I reminded myself I didn’t have a shred of proof. If I did find out something to back them up, I’d tell Riley, I promised my conscience.
“You’re off to a conference in England?” the detective asked.
It no longer surprised me that Dan Riley had a handle on what was going on in my life. Between Dr. Forrest and the various police departments, he probably had regular updates on my daily activities I thought gloomily.
Eye Sleuth Page 14
