The Pearl Diver

by Sujata Massey

  “Where were you tonight?” I interrupted him angrily.

  “At a meeting.” He said it without expression.

  “Where?”

  “Ah, downtown.”

  “Kendall thought you were in northern Virginia.”

  “I guess you are like her, after all.” There was an edge to Win’s voice.

  I made my voice softer. “I apologize if I seem harsh with you at this time of trouble. It’s just that I’m very concerned about Kendall, and the children. If you don’t feel, ah, well enough to take care of them right now, I’d be willing to stay until your au pair gets home—”

  “Just leave, all right.” For a minute, Win had pulled himself together into the kind of überman that I remembered from his university lacrosse days.

  “Good night, then. I hope you don’t mind if I take Kendall’s car? I drove it over because of the kids.”

  He didn’t respond, so I let myself out.

  As I drove home, Friday night turned to Saturday morning. There weren’t that many cars around; those I saw appeared to be driven by people in their late teens and early twenties, partiers, the kind I worried might have smoked or drunk something.

  Win had been so strange. It was as if he’d been high on something. I knew all the signs of someone who’d drunk too much—having done that myself, every now and then—but I knew nothing about illegal mood enhancers. Drugs hadn’t been at all big in Japan. Maybe if I stayed in Washington long enough, I’d be able to distinguish a crack high from a heroin buzz, or whatever it was called. I didn’t want to know.

  As I drove slowly down Columbia Road, toward Adams-Morgan, the road got busier, with street people steering drivers into parking spaces, dancers spilling out of nightclubs, drinkers leaning on the edges of doorways. A few weeks ago, I’d considered this one of my favorite parts of the city. But now I saw shadows everywhere, and in them, I imagined lurking men. Hugh’s words about being careful in Washington came back to me.

  There was no legal parking spot left on the block in front of our town house, so I parked illegally, in the no-parking zone at its end. I didn’t care if I got a parking ticket tonight—at least I’d get into the apartment safely.

  I was turning the key in the lock of the apartment when I heard the telephone within start ringing. I rushed in, grabbed the receiver, and discovered Hugh on the other end. He wanted to hear how the restaurant launch had gone.

  I laughed shakily before telling him the whole story, including the disturbing part about Win’s demeanor.

  “Did he have a smell about him?” Hugh wanted to know.

  “I didn’t get close enough to tell. I don’t think so—”

  “It probably isn’t pot or alcohol, then. Maybe it’s heroin. I hear there’s a big boom in the suburbs.”

  “Why would a preppy real estate agent do things like that? The father of twins?”

  “You said he was unzipped when he came home,” Hugh said. “If he’s shagging someone while he’s high, it probably isn’t heroin. That would incapacitate him—”

  “You, the expert on sexual function,” I snorted. “Whatever he’s under the influence of, I hope it’s worn off. Because if the police encounter what I did, they might want to take him in.”

  “D’you reckon they’ll be suspicious of him in Kendall’s disappearance?” Hugh asked.

  “I don’t want to jump to any conclusions,” I said. “He’s a jerk, but I’m sure he loves Kendall. The way he looked at her photograph…”

  “In any case, he’s not like your Japanese relations at all,” Hugh said. “I visited your aunt Norie for supper last night. She cooked that delicious tabletop stew, but with beef because you weren’t there. I think it’s called nabe?”

  “I’m sorry, Hugh. I just can’t concentrate on menus at this time.” I wanted to keep the line clear for the police, for Kendall, for whoever might need to reach me.

  “She misses you. She told me that you didn’t say a proper good-bye in Japan.”

  “I know. I had to leave so fast—”

  “What do you think about her coming to us for a visit? She could help us get sorted for the wedding—”

  I cut him off. “Sure. Whatever. Tell her anytime. But, sweetie, I’m so tired. I don’t think I can talk anymore.”

  I promised Hugh that I would take the Glendinning cure for severe anxiety—hot milk sipped in a hotter bath—and go to bed. The ritual unwound me enough to get between the sheets, but I found that I couldn’t sleep. I lay there, listening to the silence, which gradually turned to radiators clanging, which meant that it was morning. Six o’clock. I decided to get up and attempt to jog off my nervous energy. As I was pulling on my shorts, the phone rang.

  Burns was on the other end. He said words that I never expected to hear. My cousin was alive.

  Euphoria washed over me. “Thank God. Where is she?”

  “In an ambulance on her way to D.C. General. You were right in guessing that she’d been taken somewhere against her will.”

  “Was she hurt?” My feeling of joy turned back to anxiety.

  “We don’t know all that happened. She didn’t have any obvious broken bones or injuries, but she’s going to the ER just to make sure she’s okay.”

  “How did you find her?”

  “Well, unfortunately, our phone trace never panned out, but we located her through LoJack. Are you familiar with that technology?”

  Hugh had it installed in his car. “Isn’t it a chip, planted in a car, that can be used to trace it if the owners report it stolen?”

  “That’s right. A 1998 Mercedes was reported stolen by a Kalorama resident a few hours ago. Someone in the department was tracing it by using the LoJack feature. The car was found abandoned in southeast Washington. Mrs. Johnson was found in the trunk.”

  “Did she tell you what the kidnappers wanted?”

  “She was able to give us the gist of what happened, but I need to talk to her some more. You can visit her in a few hours.”

  “Why did they take her?”

  “We don’t know that yet. All I can tell you is that she’s alive and well and her husband is en route to the hospital to meet her.”

  “Who’s watching the twins, then?”

  “Apparently the au pair had arrived back at the house. Mr. Johnson said that the kids are still sleeping.”

  “Yes, it was a late night for them,” I said, thinking about what a night they’d had: A night they’d never understand had almost changed their lives.

  6

  It was too early to call San Francisco to give my mother the good news, and Hugh, I knew, was at a business dinner in Tokyo. I felt at loose ends, so I decided to take the run that I’d planned. Usually I ran without thinking of much other than avoiding obstructions and beating red lights. The best thing was to leave Adams-Morgan and run through the wooded trails of Rock Creek Park, something I did only during peak running hours, because Hugh had cautioned me about a young woman intern whose body had been found near a jogging trail a few years before.

  This morning was like all the others. Sun filtered through the tall, leafy trees, and the damp leaves and earth were gentle underfoot. I started to jog, but didn’t have the power, or the desire, to push myself. So I walked quickly, glancing without really meaning to at every male who moved past. Nobody stared at strangers in Washington, just as nobody did in Japan. I dropped my gaze to the daffodils along the path. It was crazy to look at people like that. Anyone meaning harm would be lurking in the trees, not striding along a path full of morning exercisers.

  I’d hardly sweated during the walk, but out of habit, I showered. As water drummed against my tight shoulders, I finally relaxed. Afterward, even though it was slightly earlier than Detective Burns had suggested, I called the hospital. The emergency room receptionist told me that Kendall had already been released.

  I decided to hold off visiting Potomac for a few hours to give her time for a reunion with the children. In the meantime, I could swing by the rest
aurant to share the good news and hear about how Jiro thought the restaurant opening had gone. It would be a relief to throw myself into some cheerful, trivial conversation—especially if I could forage for some good leftovers from the kitchen. My cousin was safe, and I had an appetite again. I was ready to live.

  I drove Kendall’s car to H Street, where because of the early hour, I landed a spot close to Bento. Through its spotless windows I caught the languid movements of a bus boy setting out silver, Marshall gesticulating over a table as he talked to Andrea. This was still family time; Bento would open to the public at six tonight. In the next week, it was supposed to start its regular schedule, open from eleven to eleven daily.

  “Hello, everyone!” I made my greeting as I stepped into the dining room.

  “You’re cheerful today,” Marshall said in a voice considerably less so.

  “The police found my cousin,” I announced. “She had been abducted, just like I thought. But she’s alive and well and I’m going to see her after this—I’m just so relieved!”

  “That’s so great!” Phong punched his fist in the air.

  “Yes, I heard already. They brought back my cell phone early this morning,” Marshall said.

  Andrea gave me a long look, shook her head, and went off into the kitchen.

  “Has something come up?” I asked. I couldn’t help but be shocked by Marshall and Andrea’s lack of happiness at Kendall’s rescue.

  “Just a little bit of stress. Par for the course,” Marshall said. “Actually, I’ve got to dash over to Mandala to get some coconuts. Alberto!” he bellowed.

  Alberto, the prep cook who had noticed where Kendall had gone the night before, emerged from the kitchen wearing a white chef’s coat and black-checked pants.

  “I need you to come with me to Mandala. We’ll be bringing over some produce that we need for tonight,” Marshall said.

  “Okay. I’ll find my coat—” Alberto said in halting English before Marshall cut him off.

  “No time for that. My car’s parked right out front.” And with that, Marshall swept Alberto out the door.

  I wandered into the kitchen, where I found Jiro sitting on a stool at the stainless-steel prep counter. He had a half glass of an amber liquid in one hand and a newspaper folded neatly before him. I watched him read an article through, then start reading it again.

  “Hi,” I said. “What’s doing?”

  “Join me for a drink.” He raised an eyebrow toward a bottle that I recognized as whisky. Whisky! I’d never seen Jiro touch alcohol before.

  “It’s a little early for me,” I demurred. “But I could go for some leftover veggies from last night, if there’s anything to spare—”

  “Ha, you may as well have a fresh fish. I expect few people will come tonight.”

  “Why on earth?” I stared at him, finally noticing how upset he looked.

  “Haven’t you read the Post?”

  I shook my head, recalling the rolled-up newspaper I’d tossed in my foyer before I’d gone out to exercise. I hadn’t had time to read the paper while I was still in happy shock over the finding of Kendall.

  I read the article over his shoulder:

  Potomac Woman Abducted from New City Restaurant

  Early yesterday evening, Kendall Howard Johnson, one of the District’s youngest and most prominent political fund-raisers, vanished from the opening of Bento, a new Japanese restaurant just opened by restaurateur Marshall Zanger. District police were following several leads in an attempt to find Johnson, who, sources said, had left her table to make a telephone call to Senator Harp Snowden while a restaurant employee baby-sat her two-year-old twins. Bento, which is extravagantly decorated and priced to match, is located several blocks from Mandala, Zanger’s popular restaurant in Penn Quarter.

  Bento is directed by the former television chef, Jiro Takeda, who also collaborated with Zanger on Mandala. Bento features inventively named entrées and a mix of reproduction and antique Japanese furniture, including a grand nineteenth-century Sendai tansu that dominates the bar. As is almost requisite for ambitious restaurants in Washington these days, the restaurant has a staff of affected international waiters and a hostess with a manner as cold as the sake martinis served to all on opening night.

  Despite its glamorous trappings, Bento is located on a stretch of H Street with a motley mix of establishments, including Chinese restaurants, an adult video shop, and subsidized housing. H Street has been the site of a variety of petty assaults in recent years; this abduction is the most serious crime in recent memory, according to Detective Louis Burns of the homicide division.

  As I finished, I realized I knew who the reporter was. She must have been the quiet woman sitting with the man who called me over to ask about the age of the tansu chest. To Marshall, I said, “I can’t believe she intended to write about us all along. That’s not supposed to be done on a soft opening, is it? And what a shame the information wasn’t reported that Kendall was found! But I know how these things work, they probably had to go to print before the police located her.”

  “Marshall called the editor to complain.” Jiro paused to take another swig of whisky. “He said the reporter usually writes for the home and garden section, and she received an invitation from us to the opening. They’ll run a follow-up piece that will include the information that your cousin was found safe.”

  “That should make things a little better,” I said. “Don’t you think?”

  “The damage has occurred,” Jiro said. “All morning the press have been crawling around, trying to photograph the restaurant. They even tried for me, but I said no. I refuse to become the laughing talk of the nation—”

  “Laughingstock,” I corrected gently. “And you aren’t! You’re a genius. It’s too bad they didn’t mention how good the food was.”

  “No, the newspaper observes very strict rules about that. The critic visits several times to have a good idea about the truth in cooking.”

  I sighed. “Well, the press isn’t here because the story about the restaurant is over. Kendall’s safe at home and being interviewed by every TV station I can think of in Washington. With this kind of happy ending, I’m sure the restaurant can go on.”

  “I think the kidnapping was—how do you say?—rigged.”

  “You mean someone set it up? Why?”

  “We have several competitors in Penn Quarter. One of them might want to encourage the idea that our restaurant is in an area that is too risky. You know we have a difficult parking situation, and the valet service we hired was unusually slow last night. That could also have been part of the plot.”

  “I’m sure the police will look into that, if you mention it,” I said diplomatically. I thought Jiro’s ideas were crazy.

  “My guess is that your cousin will not be able to identify the men who took her—and they wouldn’t be the business owners, but criminals hired to do the job. I’ve seen it in Japan with chinpira, the boys who work for yakuza, and also with gangsters in Brazil. You know, in Brazil I had a bodyguard to protect me, and a car with bulletproof glass!”

  “I will find out all that I can from my cousin. I’m actually headed that way, but I was going to give her a little time to spend alone with her children.”

  “You needed to eat. I’ll cook for you.” Jiro tipped his half-full glass of liquor into the sink. “I have a refrigerator packed with fresh seafood that will go bad if nobody comes tonight. What is your fancy?”

  The jumbo Louisiana shrimp looked good to me, so Jiro taught me how to make Yin-Yang Shrimp, a dish in which the shrimp is fried with a black sesame seed coating on one side and white sesame seed on the other. The lesson seemed to cheer him up a little, and we were chatting about the health benefits of sesame seeds when Andrea came in. She wasn’t dressed in one of her typically elegant outfits today, but, rather, in jeans that hung below her navel and a faded Montgomery College T-shirt. I saw a silver ring gleaming in her navel, which was quickly covered when she put a clean white apron o
ver her attire.

  She opened the fruit and vegetable refrigerator and turned to Jiro. “How many carrots?”

  “Six pounds’ worth, matchstick julienne. May I show you?” Jiro picked up a knife from his special cooking area.

  “What’s happening?” I was startled to see Andrea attempt to peel vegetables.

  “Marshall called me this morning to say I couldn’t be hostess anymore because of what the reporter said about my demeanor. This is my job now,” Andrea muttered. “Kitchen gofer.”

  “‘I’m sorry,” I said. “So what’s—who’s the hostess now?”

  “Marshall is training that asshole Justin to do it.”

  “But Justin was the one who caused the problem in the first place by not letting her talk on her cell at the table,” I said.

  “Yeah, well, I hope the loss in tips he’ll suffer will feel like a punishment to him.” Andrea put a hand on my shoulder. “Hey, I’m really glad the cops found your cousin.”

  “Thank you.” I was surprised, by both the touch and the sentiment. Andrea was the only person who’d reacted with concern to Kendall’s kidnapping.

  I moved in next to Andrea to watch Jiro demonstrate his julienne technique. The carrots jumped in the air as his flat-bottomed cleaver came down fast. He wasn’t turning them into matchsticks, he was turning them into shreds as fine as human hair. I cooked all the time, and I couldn’t cut anything that small. How would Andrea cope?

  “I’m working now, but I’d like to—talk to you about something. Can you meet me tomorrow? There’s a coffee shop I like called Urban Grounds, in Adams-Morgan,” Andrea said as Jiro moved off to let her work on the technique by herself.

  “I know it. It’s close to where I live.” I looked at Andrea, surprised again by her attention. “Can you meet me in the morning? I have to go to the airport in the afternoon.”

  We agreed to meet at ten the next day. I left Andrea, slowly scraping carrots, to get into Kendall’s car and drive it over to Treetops. This time, nobody could possibly miss her house. Harmony Way was filled by two police cruisers and three television station vans. When I rang the doorbell, a blond woman about my age peered out at me from behind long, overly layered bangs.