She looked at me with raised eyebrows.
"So these guys he's having breakfast with own a piece of him? Is it a big piece?"
"I don't know how the deals are structured. But when he makes money, they make money."
"And he's doing well, right?"
"Very well. I think he's in the top ten in earnings on this year's tour. His earnings could be in the millions."
"So these sponsors wouldn't be too happy to see their cash cow accused of an old rape?"
"Or a new one, for that matter. No, I'd imagine not."
Joey Franklin was indeed on the deck of the clubhouse having breakfast with three men his father's age. Joey drank cola with his breakfast. From my vantage he appeared bored with the company.
Lauren said, "We shouldn't walk over there together. I think that he'll view me as less threatening than he views you. Let me see if I can get him to talk with us."
I demurred happily. I wasn't looking forward to the confrontation anyway. From the doorway I watched Lauren approach the table and introduce herself to the four men. Two of them stood. Not Joey. She said something that made them all laugh and then leaned over and whispered something in Joey Franklins ear. He whipped his head around so fast his face almost collided with hers. I couldn't hear what he said to her. But she corrected her posture, smiled, and nodded to him once before rejoining me near the entrance to the pro shop.
"He'll be over in a minute or two."
"What did you say to him?" "Not much. I said I thought he was in a position to help us find his sister's murderer."
"That's it? You didn't mention Satoshi?"
She shook her head. Joey was coming our way.
He was my height, around six two, and lanky. I thought he walked as though he had too many joints, almost like a rodeo cowboy who's been thrown from two or three too many bulls. His eyes were the lightest amber imaginable, almost golden, and he had his sister Tami's brilliant blond hair. He appeared younger than the images I'd seen of him on the news and in the sports pages. As he crossed the room towards us, his left hand flexed and un flexed repeatedly. I wondered if he was even aware that he was doing it.
I could understand women finding him attractive. My wife, I knew, was one of the ones who did.
Lauren said, "Joey Franklin, Dr. Alan Gregory."
We shook hands. His shake was unenthusiastic. He scratched behind his ear and said, "I tee off soon."
I replied, "This shouldn't take long. Where would you like to talk? Is there someplace we can go?"
He looked around as though it was the first time he'd ever been in the room.
"Yeah. Follow me."
We did, and he led us up some stairs to a room with a gorgeous down-valley view.
The Yampa was still swollen with snowmelt and it flowed laconically, like an overstuffed hog, toward its distant marriage with the Green River. We took chairs in front of big windows that left me facing Rabbit Ears Pass. On this gorgeous summer morning all the other golfers were enjoying the practice greens or the deck. We were alone inside. Which was good.
"You guys are what? Are you from that group that my dad hired to find who killed Tami?"
Lauren answered, "Not exactly hired. How about enlisted? Does that work? But yes, we're from Locard. We've been looking into your sister's murder and that of Mariko Hamamoto."
"I already talked to somebody. Some detective from the East Coast. He caught up with me in Florida."
"This is a different part of the investigation."
He rolled his eyes.
"So you know who did it yet?" Joey was restless, and his posture on the chair left him in a position that was more horizontal than vertical. I estimated that he was around twenty-seven years old, but he seemed to have an inordinate amount of adolescent still wrestling around inside of him.
Lauren said, "Sadly, no," and gestured at me.
"Tell him your role in the investigation. Doctor."
I used my best doctor-voice and gave my we-needtoknowtamitoknowher-killer speech.
Joey was unmoved.
"Yeah. What do you want from me?"
"What was your sister like?"
His left fist stayed clenched.
"She was my sister. She was okay. I don't remember her that well. It was a long time ago."
Don't remember her that well? He was fourteen when she died. I'd bet good money he remembered every scratch on his first snowboard.
"Was she someone who would be likely to be particularly friendly to strangers, someone who-"
"Tami? She'd talk to anybody. Sometimes she wouldn't shut up."
From his lips it wasn't a compliment.
"How'd she get along with your parents?"
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"I'm just trying to understand her frame of mind at the time she died. See if she might have been upset. Whatever."
"She and Dad argued sometimes. But she gave as good as she got with him. Mom was more annoying to her, though. Always wanted to be part of her life, you know?"
He shivered. I wondered if it was an act.
I said, "No. I don't know." Joey shrugged. His face said "tough shit." I hoped for more. I didn't get it.
Lauren asked, "Did you ever… I don't know… develop any theories about what happened?"
He made a noise with his lips.
"Sure. Tami and Miko somehow managed to run into the wrong dude. What else could it have been?" He was remarkably lacking in curiosity about his sister's death.
The three of us went on in this unproductive vein for almost five minutes before I ran out of questions and Lauren took over. She asked about Tami's friends.
Joey told us nothing new. He tapped his watch.
Lauren said, "Tell us about Satoshi. Miko's sister." He said, "Who?" His expression didn't change at all. I couldn't tell if he was lying. If he was lying, he was good. I set my antennae for sociopathy.
"Satoshi Hamamoto."
He frowned.
"Doesn't ring a bell. Sorry. You say she was Miko's sister? I didn't even know Miko had a sister."
"You didn't know a girl named Satoshi? A Japanese girl?"
"Should I?"
"You never went out with her?"
"I went out with lots of girls."
He smiled. I wanted to slap him.
Joey made his tee time.
"Wasted trip," was Lauren's conclusion about the visit. We were back in Boulder in time for dinner.
I volunteered to cook, so I was standing right next to the phone in the kitchen when Satoshi called.
Although I would have been reluctant to admit it, the truth was that from the moment I'd first stepped into Joey Franklin's time-share jet for the trip to Washington to be introduced to Locard, I'd been enjoying myself playing forensic sleuth. I'd already begun to anticipate the sense of loss I would experience when Locard put this investigation to rest and my role with the organization ended.
The daily life of most workers is routine. That is as true for a psychotherapist as it is for a bus driver. For me, the opportunity to delve into the lives of Tami and Miko had provided a drastic alteration to my routine. Although I was using the same skills I typically employed every day in my office-clinical skills, interviewing skills, interpretive skills- I was using them in ways that enriched and intrigued me in an unanticipated manner.
In my daily work I resented the days or, more frequently, the nights that would come around when I wasn't able to shove intrusive thoughts about one of my patient's lives from my consciousness. But I discovered that I actually welcomed uninvited visits from the ghosts of Tami and Mariko and often allowed myself to lapse into reverie about the two girls and their lives. Sitting on the bedroom deck watching the sun set, walking the prairie trails with Emily, pedaling repetitively during long rides on my road bike, I encouraged the events and the people and the interviews and the history to tumble together in my mind as though they were gems requiring polish.
The events of 1988-the disappea
rance of the girls, their murder-felt distant to me, like history, even at times like fiction. The atrocity I was examining felt sanitized, safe. It was long ago that they died, and as much as I was trying to know them, I hadn't yet approached a spot where I could know them enough to grieve their deaths with any emotional honesty. The few tears I had shed for Tami and Miko were tears that sprang from the same small reservoir that supplies the almost artificial tears that are tugged by a movie or a novel that digs unabashedly for pathos.
But this was a story I was living and it was different from a book or a movie in that it was interactive and seductive. Each day I found that I could leave the pages and step into the story and find pieces unavailable to others. I could talk to the characters. I could follow Flynn Coe and Russ Claven to Steamboat. I could walk out my door and find Kevin Sample eating hamburgers on the lane. I could get off a plane in California and find Satoshi Hamamoto strolling the shady paths of the Stanford campus, looking over her shoulder. I could drive to Steamboat and get an audience with a hot young golfer who just happened to also be a rapist.
Even Dorothy Levin's disappearance hadn't impeded my enthusiasm for this quest I was on.
Each day as I awoke, I could hardly wait to turn the next page.
That all began to change with Satoshi's phone call.
"I got a telephone call today," she said without prelude.
"At my apartment."
"Yes?" I was aware that I was trying to act as though getting mysterious calls from Satoshi happened all the time. I wasn't aware why I was trying to act that way.
"The person asked for me. I identified myself. Then… the person said that some things are best left forgotten."
"That's all?"
"That was it. The voice was soft but I think it was a man. After he said that, he hung up."
"You didn't recognize the voice?"
"No."
"And he didn't make an overt threat?" "No, just said that some things are best left forgotten."
"Are you frightened?"
"Terrified."
"I can understand that. How can I be of help, Satoshi?"
She didn't hesitate.
"I haven't decided that yet, but I don't think I can stay here right now.
Things feel too creepy. There are plenty of places I could go. I have lots of friends. Family. I could even go to Japan and see my mother." She paused.
I wondered about school, but all I said was, "Yes?"
"But I've decided that I want to try to help with your… investigation. It's what Mariko would have done. So I'm thinking of coming to Colorado… to talk some more… maybe even go back to Steamboat to see if it helps me remember more about what happened. What do you think?"
"I think your help would be welcome by everyone at Locard."
"But you don't think I should come to Colorado?" She'd read the subtext in my words perfectly.
I chose my response with care.
"This is the epicenter right now, Satoshi. Given the phone call you just described, I can't imagine its the safest place for you to be."
She paused, too, but not for as long as I had.
"But if my goal is to study aftershocks it's the only place to be. Right?"
I didn't know how to respond. I should have known better than to use an earthquake metaphor with a transplanted Californian.
"If I come," she asked, "will you help me?" Maybe it was a mistake, but I asked, "How?"
Satoshi had two requests. They were both mundane. If she came, she would want a place to stay. I offered our guest room, but she declined.
"What if they're watching you, too?" she argued.
I thought next of Sam and told her that I thought I had a friend she could stay with.
Her other request was for enough cash for a one-way ticket to Japan, just in case she felt so unsafe she wanted to leave the U.S. She would pay me back, of course, but she didn't want to use her credit card and didn't want to involve her father, for obvious reasons.
I said that the money wouldn't be a problem.
She thanked me, said she'd let me know when she'd made a decision about coming to Colorado, and hung up.
The next day was Saturday. Sam called around three o'clock in the afternoon and invited me to join him and his son, Simon, for a couple of hours of fun at the indoor climbing wall at the Boulder Rock Club on Mapleton. Although I didn't really enjoy rock climbing, I was tempted to meet them there purely for the distraction value. Watching Sam get all harnessed up while trying to prove Newton wrong about the laws of gravity sounded to me like the essence of entertainment.
But I declined, reminding myself I had responsibilities to attend to first. I wanted to consult with A. J. about my meetings with Satoshi and Joey. A. J."s machine picked up my call and her recorded greeting referred all Locard business to Kimber. I left a cryptic message asking that she call me as soon as possible.
Next I called Kimber at his elegant loft in D.C.
"Kimber? It's Alan Gregory in Colorado."
"Alan? I'm afraid you caught me in the theater looking at rushes from the second Star Wars prequel. George sent them over by messenger. Fascinating work, truly evolutionary. I don't know how he ever manages to decide to leave some of this footage on the floor." I thought Kimber sounded surprised to hear from me.
Not exactly pleased. Not particularly displeased. I decided that what I was hearing in his voice was a slight swell of curiosity.
George Lucas? Kimber certainly had an interesting roster of friends.
"What a treat to be able to see those."
"A privilege, actually. George has his secretive side, to be certain.
But with friends who like movies, love movies… it's often like Christmas or… well, Halloween."
"Well, I'm sorry to bother you on a weekend, Kimber, but there've been some troublesome developments regarding the case, and A. J."s answering machine refers calls to you. Is she okay?"
His reply came after a slight pause.
"The purpose of your call to her was…?
"Lauren and I just met with Joey Franklin and I thought I should let someone on the committee know what was happening."
"Yes?" He made the solitary word feel like a meal. His voice was that rich and full.
"I assume that A. J. has kept you up-to-date on my recent interview with Satoshi Hamamoto? Mariko's sister?"
"We haven't spoken about it, but yes, I have a copy of your report."
"You're aware of the rape accusation she made against Joey Franklin?"
"Yes. Proceed, please. Go on."
We did go on this way for almost ten minutes as I reiterated the details of my trip to California and the frustrations of meeting with Joey Franklin. Kimber's manner encouraged me to do almost all the talking. I ended up feeling as though I had been a patient in an initial psychotherapy session. By the conclusion of our conversation I'd learned virtually nothing that was helpful and certainly didn't feel any better.
His last line wasn't, "I'll see you next week." It was, "Please keep me informed as things progress on your end. And Alan?"
"Yes?"
"A. J. is… not well. In fact, she is in the hospital. Please don't trouble her with any of this. I will take responsibility for communicating with her and I will be your contact at Locard for the time being."
"What's wrong with her?" I suspected that her MS had flared. Given that she was hospitalized, that it had flared seriously.
"She would prefer that I be discreet about the details. I'll send along your best wishes. Will that suffice for now? If any of these developments require your continued attention someone will be in touch."
He paused briefly. I thanked him.
"And your sweet wife? I hope she is well. Mary is full of nothing but praise for her efforts and her legal acumen."
"Lauren is fine, Kimber. I'll pass along the kind words from Mary and tell her that you said hello."
Satoshi's subtle paranoia was infectious.
Just in case someone
-who?-had a way of monitoring Lauren's or my bank accounts-how?-it didn't feel prudent to give Satoshi the money she wanted from our savings at the credit union. Where would I go if I needed a large quantity of cash in a hurry? Easy. I walked across the lane and interrupted Adrienne as she was plucking slimy green bugs off the tomato plants in her garden. In the same tone of voice I would have used to borrow a cup of sugar, I asked if she would withdraw two thousand dollars from her bank for me. I promised to pay her back.
She, of course, demanded details. Adrienne trusted me; I knew she wasn't especially worried about her money being returned. Anyway, Adrienne had more money than just about any human being needed. She just liked having leverage. I spoon-fed her about half of the facts before she agreed to get me the cash. I had expected to have to tell her much more. She ran upstairs without bothering to kick off her garden shoes. While she was gone I played catch with Jonas with a pink-and-gray Nerf football. My mouth dropped open when Adrienne came back down to the family room with a stack of hundreds and fifties.
"That's eighteen hundred. I'll get you the rest tomorrow."
"You keep this kind of money in the house?"
"What other kind of money is there? I don't have time to be running to the bank every other day for petty cash."
Petty cash? The pile of money in my hand actually had heft.
"You have a safe up there?"
"If I did, would I want to advertise it? Stop poking at me and remember your manners. Say
"Thank you, Adrienne."
"Thanks, Adrienne. You're great."
"Yes, I am." She turned her back to walk away before she added with a devious smile, "And in lieu of interest, I want updates."
When my patients need to inform me of an emergency, the message on my voice mail instructs them that they must leave a verbal message before dialing my pager number and punching in the phone number of the location where I can reach them.
Cold Case Page 24
