Eye Sleuth

by Hazel Dawkins

  Incredible that the detective had recalled I was an optometrist, then I remembered that this was a man with a superb memory.

  “This for real or a movie?” the cabbie asked.

  “It’s for real,” I told him and sat on the edge of the seat, staring at Pete’s Tavern, ready to duck down out of sight if Allan emerged.

  Two squad cars pulled up outside Pete’s, lights flashing but no sirens. Allan was on his knees inside when the police found him, he was still searching for the lens I’d dislodged. You lose more than depth perception with the wrong prescription. Some times, you may even lose whatever grasp you have on a balanced perspective. Greed, power, money, you name it, he’d gone over the edge. Whether Allan Barnes ever had a balanced perspective is debatable. In his case, monovision might have given him an inflated confidence that he could outwit the world and garner a fortune. What did he care that it was blood money.

  When Allan was in custody, I was finally able to relax. At last the accidents and attacks were behind us. Matt Wahr turned himself in later that night. His involvement had been reluctant. He’d been blackmailed by Allan, who knew about Lou Kralle’s wild threat to revenge his son’s death. Allan had played with Wahr’s head, skilfully fostering a sense of injustice, offering easy money to a man close to retirement. Soon Wahr was in so deep he had no choice but to follow where Allan led.

  I was at my desk a week or so later when Dan called and at the sound of his voice, I steeled myself for what he had to say. Was this the end of our relationship?

  “Yoko, I’m back,” he said, voice quiet. “I’m sorry I was away for so long but nothing’s changed between my ex and me. We still rub each other’s nerves raw. It didn’t take either of us long to see that but after I got back, I needed time to think it over.”

  “Oh,” I said. Pregnant pause.

  “I spent time with her but all we did was bicker or plain snarl at each other. On the drive back from Pennsylvania, I couldn’t stop thinking about you, hoping I hadn’t blown it. Then I heard Wahr and Barnes were in custody and what happened to you.” He hesitated for a heartbeat. “Can I see you, maybe have dinner tonight? I’ll be done around five. Could we meet somewhere? The Elephant & Castle?”

  I hesitated, still upset at how much time had passed without Dan calling me. Yet he had trusted me with the truth when he’d said he was going to see his ex. I’d trust him now. Besides, with Allan Barnes and Matt Wahr in custody, the danger was definitely over. I could celebrate. It was time to christen the electric shabu-shabu pan my mother gave me two years ago. Shabu-shabu is a special meal, perfect for a celebration. I issued the invitation and Dan promptly accepted. That evening, I was ready to leave work by five but first I called Pete Soltys, the owner at KK. Whatever was on KK’s menu could be bought raw or cooked, you only had to ask.

  “Pete, it’s Yoko. Could you let me have a pound of thinly sliced beef, best cut, tonight?”

  “Is a sweetheart coming to dinner?”

  “You guessed right.”

  “What time are you stopping by?”

  “In about twenty minutes, is that okay?”

  “Do you want borscht with that?” Pete asked, knowing I loved KK’s beet soup.

  “Not tonight, thanks,” I told him, “I’m making shabu-shabu.”

  “What?”

  “It’s the Japanese version of fondue, no cheese, just beef, veggies and noodles. Everything cooks in a special pot filled with water and when you finish eating the food, you’ve got a great broth.”

  On the way home I bought fresh veggies at the Korean grocery a block from my apartment then stopped at Pete’s for the meat.

  “So who’s the lucky man?” Pete asked, holding the bag out but not releasing it. I’d have to answer if I wanted the beef.

  “Dan,” I confessed. “You know, the detective.”

  “Ah,” Pete sighed. “Romance is in the air. Let us know how you enjoy this,” and he put the bag in my hands.

  The three interested listeners on the stools at the counter nodded in agreement. Walking out of KK, I met Dan. No hesitation in the way he opened his arms wide. We hugged long and hard and when we broke, I peeked back through KK’s front window. Yep, we’d had an audience. Pete and the folks at the counter waved enthusiastically.

  Upstairs, as soon as the door to my apartment was shut, we hugged again and kissed, a long, slow exciting kiss, and it was as good as I remembered. Maybe better. Just to be sure, we kissed a few times more, quality control and all that. This time, the cats were the interested audience. They watched curiously but didn’t meow one objection, as comfortable with Dan’s presence as I was.

  “You’re the talk of the station,” Dan said. “Zoran said your voice was cucumber cool when you called in. You didn’t even say you’d been abducted. Just reported how we could catch a murderer or two.” He kissed me again, a delicate caress on my cheek. “You’re a strong woman, Yoko. I thought you might appreciate a tonic so here’s a bottle of champagne. Two glasses if you please, the bubbly’s still cold,” and Dan pulled a bottle from the canvas bag slung over his shoulder.

  “By the way, if you’re interested, I’ve got the inside story of what Barnes and Wahr admitted when they were questioned.”

  At last the pieces of the puzzle were slotting into place. I moved around the kitchen, setting the table, sipping champagne, enjoying Dan’s presence. Listening, asking the occasional question.

  “Barnes caused Mary Sakamoto’s death. Indirectly, it’s true, but he set the wheels in motion,” Dan said. “It looks as if the connection with you is that Mary Sakamoto overheard Barnes talking to his partners in crime about harassing you to find out about the schedule for Dr. Anders’ work. Allan said he was going after you any which way. He said he’d hire some goons and give them carte blanche and pay them well each time they reported on success. When he could, he lifted information piecemeal from your computer because he was trying to get the equipment made so he could market it, undercover, of course.”

  “Was Mary Sakamoto involved?” I asked.

  “No. She was working at the New York home of the Albany politician, the guy who leaked Wahr’s name to the fraud squad for having cooked the books, part of Barnes’ plan to blackmail Wahr,” Dan explained. “Wahr described you to the goon who shot Sakamoto.”

  “Why was Mary Sakamoto at the politician’s house?”

  “Fitting an expensive wedding dress for the politician’s daughter in the room next to where Wahr and the politician were meeting. The bride-to-be had her dad come in a few times to see the dress and the door was left open. Sakamoto must have heard the men talk. You were described as the only Japanese woman at the college. Obviously, Sakamoto decided to warn you.”

  “She knew of possible danger to me but didn’t realize how dangerous it might be for her.”

  Shaken at the ugly truth, I was silent. Mary Sakamoto had been a woman of integrity, a woman who died because she was courageous enough to try to help a stranger.

  “The daughter who didn’t want to talk to us is a nurse. Works with children hospitalized at St. Vincent’s.”

  “The hospital where my mom taught the nurses,” I said.

  “I didn’t know that.” Dan’s eyes widened as he grasped the significance of this.

  “That’s the connection,” I said. “Mary Sakamoto’s daughter must have told her about her teacher, Naoko Kamimura. My mom. It’s one of those coincidences where life’s stranger than fiction.”

  Tears filled my eyes for the brave woman who had warned me and for the daughter whose mother had been killed. Dan came to where I stood by the fridge, a bag of red peppers in my hand, and we hugged, a comforting, soothing embrace.

  “Now your shirt’s wet,” I sniffled and fished in my pocket for Kleenex. “Getting hungry, Dan?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, I’ll start the meal.” I took the new shabu-shabu pan off the shelf by the fridge and half-filled it with water. Putting it in the center of the table, I plugged it i
n and started on the veggies, putting fresh spinach to soak in a bowl of cold water, slicing onion and red peppers.

  “Wahr tried to wriggle out of any responsibility,” Dan said, picking up the rest of the story. “Insisted he didn’t know what the goons would get up to. But he knew Barnes sent money every time the guys reported back.”

  Finishing with the veggies, I arranged them on two plates and put them on the table next to a dish of soba noodles. The water in the pot was simmering already. As I got the beef out of the fridge, I asked about something that had never stopped bothering me.

  “Do you know what caused Fred Anders’s death? Was it really a heart attack?”

  “Yes,” Dan said. “Barnes had the goons visit SUNY late one night and threaten Anders, tell him his family would be harassed if he didn’t cooperate. That threatening visit may have triggered the heart attack.”

  Outrage swept over me at the havoc wreaked. What a relief Allan and Matt were behind bars. Dan filled our glasses.

  “Want to hear the rest of the story?”

  I nodded. “I’ve been puzzling over all this for too long.”

  “That hit-and-run out in Connecticut, when you were visiting the optometrist who took you to the police academy, that was Lou Kralle, the lunatic who attacked you in England.”

  “I knew that attack had something to do with Dr. Forkiotis being an expert witness,” I said. “Kralle’s desire for revenge started at Lou Junior’s trial.”

  “Exactly.”

  “That’s the link with Lanny, too?”

  “Yes. Lou went to the club to see his son’s art when it was in the students’ exhibition. On his way out, he passed Mrs. Oldenburgh and heard her talking on her cell phone with Forkiotis about giving a lecture on drunk driving. He followed her upstairs, spur of the moment, told her Forkiotis was wrong. She defended the doctor and Lou lost it, went ballistic.”

  We sat in silence for a moment and I considered what Dan had told me. Lou Kralle had been on a terrible vendetta to avenge his son’s death, revenge fueling that rage.

  “The death in England of Matt Wahr’s cousin, Lou Kralle, disrupted Barnes’ link with the manufacturer of illegal copies of the prototypes,” Dan said. “Not one to be thwarted, Barnes developed a new contact but suddenly was told more money was needed because of manufacturing problems. Suspicious, he decided to see if he could find out more about the prototypes from you, hoping the bullies could extract enough information from you to safeguard his investment.”

  Could my abduction have been avoided if I’d asked Ian Campbell, the super at 34 Gramercy Park, why Wahr was visiting him there? Hard to say. My assumption that Wahr wanted to hide out in one of the building’s apartments was half right––assumptions do that, half trick you. Wahr was indeed seeking a hiding place and under the guise of looking over property for SUNY to relocate, asked around in the area about empty buildings. He learned Ian Campbell had a key to the empty Meeting House opposite 34. Wahr arranged to see the place and made a copy of the key. The empty building was a brilliant hiding place, it even had more than one exit. It was common knowledge the building had been part of the Underground Railway and somehow he’d found the location of the secret room.

  How Barnes and Wahr discovered the tunnel that led to Pete’s remained a mystery but you know geeks and financial types, adept at deciphering the fine print, whether it’s annual statements or blueprints. Anyone with enough determination and time can check on New York’s underground labyrinth. The more I learned about Allan Barnes, the pattern of deception, dissimulation and disinformation was astounding. Hard to believe the mild techie who stopped in my office too often, ostensibly to shoot the breeze and hit on me, was a ruthless, cold-blooded man with a criminal streak as wide as the Hudson River.

  The police had the names of the thugs paid to harass us but so far, they hadn’t been caught. Barnes, Wahr and several politicians were embroiled in the white-collar crime of industrial espionage. They’d planned to auction the prototypes on the world market. I don’t know what countries were bidding for the prototypes. That was classified information and it never leaked out. It was probably something the diplomats would use in future negotiations.

  “The captain had me examine the tunnel from Pete’s Tavern to where it connects with the old Meeting House,” Dan said, interrupting my reverie. “I walked through that building. It’s deteriorated, must have been empty a long time.”

  “It was built in the late eighteen-fifties,” I said as I emptied the plate of soba noodles into the shabu-shabu pot’s bubbling water. “The Quakers used it for about a century but then transferred activities to the Meeting House at Stuyvesant Square. Neighborhood activists finally got it designated a New York Landmark. They wanted it to be a performing arts center but that didn’t happen. Then the building went to the United Federation of Teachers, but they ended up not using it.”

  “People pass by and don’t even see it,” Dan said. “Perfect for a crook’s hideaway.”

  I made a decision.

  “Dan, time for me to ’fess up. I went to Brooklyn to visit Sylvia Wahr.”

  “I know. She told us, we checked in with her regularly. You might make a decent sleuth yet.”

  “Let’s shelve that discussion for later,” I told Dan. “Time for shabu-shabu,” and I placed the plate of beef slices on the table between us. We sat down to eat.

  “What do I do?” Dan asked, looking at the steaming pot.

  “Put whatever veggies you want in the water, then the beef. Fish out what you want when you’re ready to eat.”

  “You first,” Dan said. “Hey, how do you know which is yours?”

  “The age-old query, what’s mine?” I said as I took slices of crimini mushrooms, red pepper, onion and cabbage and dropped them in the water then picked up a slice of the paper-thin beef. I’d have to congratulate Pete, the beef was exactly right. I waited a few seconds and pulled out the beef.

  “That’s cooked the way I like it,” I said and fished out noodles and veggies.

  Dan didn’t waste any time. Adept with chopsticks, he had his veggies in quickly and a slice of beef in and out of the bubbling water as rapidly I had.

  “Mmm,” he said through a mouthful. “Really good. So this is the Japanese equivalent of fondue. What’s the name again?”

  “Shabu-shabu because it sounds like the noise made by a washing machine. It’s oishii, delicious.”

  “Oishii,” Dan said. “Is this what the Japanese have on special holidays like New Year’s?”

  “Holidays like New Year’s are celebrated with days of feasts. My family didn’t bring in the new year exactly the way it’s done in Japan but one day I’ll tell you all about the marvelous meals.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  We ate in silence, content to save conversation for later. Eventually we reached the stage where our chopsticks found nothing when we fished around in the water, which was now a delicious broth. I spooned some into my bowl and Dan filled his bowl.

  “That was wonderful,” he said, when he was done. “Me, myself and I, we all think you’re wonderful, too.”

  “I’ve got a CD with Billie Holiday singing that song,” I said.

  “Know all the words?” Dan asked.

  “I know you just combined the first and third lines of the song,” I said.

  And I didn’t add that the second line of the song was, “Are all in love with you.”

  What was Dan going to say? His cell phone rang. Talk about a rotten time to be interrupted. Dan must have felt the same way. He rolled his eyes.

  “If I could ignore that I would.” He took the call, listened for a moment then said quietly, “I’m five minutes away. Be right there.” Standing, he made a wry face. “I’ll call you when I can but it may not be until the morning.”

  I walked him to the door and we hugged. His goodbye kiss was light.

  “More to come,” he said softly. “I hate to go.”

  “We’ll
catch up later.”

  He hurried down the stairs, turning once to wave.

  That night I lay in bed and though about what I’d learned. It was never made public, not at the trial or later, but the value of Dr. Anders’ work to terrorists would have been immense. The ways to use the prototypes beyond the therapy they’d been designed for were staggering. The software of one, let’s call it Unit A, could gather a lot of valuable information from a covert scanning of an individual’s vision. If mind control was the ultimate goal, surveillance begun with Unit A would set the groundwork brilliantly. It was a perfect tool to analyze potential behavior and know how to manipulate someone.

  The grapevine whispered that the Aum Shinrikyo cult led the bidders for Unit A. They’d been responsible for the attack on the Tokyo subway in 1995 that flooded the place with lethal sarin gas. The cult was rumored to have a billion dollar kitty and a dangerously large number of members who were scientists. It was believed that one of their main projects was developing ways to make the brain more susceptible to suggestions through microwave technology or high magnetic fields.

  Unit A could also detect drug use with distance surveillance. The possibilities were staggering. Barnes saw the prototypes as future unconventional Weapons of Mass Destruction. What a perversion of equipment designed for benign use. How to guard against fanatics, whether homegrown Timothy McVeighs or someone from another country?

  The trial ended. Allan Barnes and Matt Wahr were sentenced and went to prison.