“Ms. Johnson is booked for interviews for the next two hours. You have to call first to schedule,” she said.
“I’m her cousin, Rei Shimura. I came to return her car, and to see her if she’s feeling up to it. Who are you?” I was horrified that my cousin, just hours after her trauma, was being bossed into an interview schedule by this woman.
“You’re Kendall’s cousin?” An unbelieving, arched eyebrow. Obviously, my Asian coloring didn’t bear an obvious link to Kendall’s. But then, Jacquie trailed across the foyer, a blanket in one hand, and saw me.
“Aunt Way! Aunt Way!” She toddled toward me eagerly, almost slipping on the polished wooden floor.
“You’d better come on in,” the woman said, opening the door wider. “I have to be careful because we don’t want to overexpose Kendall. I’m Martina Shattuck. I’m Harp Snowden’s press attaché, but I’m helping Kendall out today. She called me from the hospital to meet her here an hour and a half ago. It’s been crazy.”
Shattuck. Like Howard, it was another good old name—this time from northern California. Maybe Martina Shattuck was one of Kendall’s gal pals, but it seemed unbelievable that Harp Snowden would allow his attaché to be Kendall’s personal assistant. Then again, Kendall and Harp seemed to have become very close.
“Kendall’s in her study with the police right now. If you like, you can join the media in the sun room, where we’ve set up coffee and bagels for them while they wait.”
“I’d rather hang out with this crew,” I said, picking up Jacquie and inhaling the scent of her hair.
“Yeah, well, don’t feel obligated. The au pair’s here for that.” She smiled brightly. “Hey, if you’re able to help at all, it would be super if you could take over handling the press stuff for me at four? I need to get back to the office to follow up on some things for the senator.”
“I have no press experience.” Except running away from Japanese reporters, I thought bleakly.
“Oh, it’s just manning the phones and booking interviews. If they press you for something immediate, there’s a prepared statement.”
“Whose statement?”
“Kendall dictated it over a hospital phone to me.”
I sat down on the living room couch with Jacquie on my lap, and Win Junior playing ball on the carpet with Lisa, a slender, doe-eyed South African girl who seemed barely out of her teens. As she called to them in her soft, British-edged accent, they giggled and squirmed. Lisa seemed totally focused on them, and energetic, too—more energetic than I’d be after a late night out. It must have been her youth, and also the relief that Kendall was safe.
Martina brought me a cup of coffee and a sheet of paper with her name and work number on the top-right-hand side. It started off with a flattering description of Kendall as a chair of Harp Snowden’s fund-raising efforts in Maryland, Washington, D.C., and Virginia. A graduate of the University of Virginia, a Junior League of Washington sustainer, and the Treetop community-garden club president, Kendall was a well-known member of her community, as well as the wife of one of the area’s most successful real estate listing agents, Win Johnson, and the mother of fraternal twins.
I rushed ahead, because what I wanted to know about was the description of the attackers. As Jiro had suggested, there wasn’t much there. The men had worn ski masks, so she could not see their faces. They’d put a pillowcase over her head before packing her into the empty trunk of a car. They took her cell phone so she couldn’t call the police for help. Several hours of driving passed, which were marked by three stops. The sound of new voices made Kendall believe that perhaps other people were entering the car. At most, she heard four voices. Their speaking style led her to believe that they were African-American men under thirty from the Washington, D.C., area. At the third and final stop, there was only silence until the police opened the trunk.
The press release finished with a quote from Kendall expressing gratitude for the excellent detective work of the District police department. She mentioned that she had no known enemies and was confident that no political rivals of the senator would have been involved in such a despicable undertaking.
I sighed when I finished reading the statement. Jiro thought restaurateurs might have masterminded the abduction, and Kendall was raising the question of political rivals to Senator Snowden. Even though the statement was framed in negative language, it seemed as if it was meant to plant a question in the readers’—in this case, the news media’s—collective mind.
I knew what I thought. It seemed most probable that the men had planned to rape Kendall. After all, the vehicle had stopped to pick up more men. Kendall had been lucky beyond belief to have been rescued untouched.
“What amazing bravery she had,” Martina said when I put down the paper.
“Was it your idea to put in the business in the end mentioning political rivalry?” I asked.
Martina shrugged. “I told her she should address the issue straight on. She agreed. And I think there is a valid chance this might be a case of a rival campaign being afraid of Harp pulling ahead. We better expose it so it doesn’t happen again.”
“Where does he stand against the other potential presidential candidates in the party?”
“Well, he’s fourth in terms of war chest, but he’s first in terms of name recognition. He’ll catch up with the money soon, I’m sure.”
Especially since Kendall was now safe and sound and able to get on the phone and invite people to parties. I was anxious to see Kendall and Detective Burns myself. If it could be proved that Kendall was targeted because of her work, that might resolve any doubts about the safety of Bento’s location. But this seemed unlikely, and a small thing to be happy about, when the men who’d kidnapped Kendall were still on the loose.
7
I had just finished talking to Martina about the press release when Detective Burns walked into the living room.
“I need to see the so-called press release,” he said to Martina.
“Sure.” She gave him a falsely bright smile and handed him a copy.
After scanning it, he tore it in two. “Get rid of these.”
“We have a right to free speech—” Martina began.
“Ms. Howard now understands that she’s jeopardizing the investigation with the description she gave of the assailants, and what was said about a possible involvement by political rivals to the senator is bound to be twisted and cause her, and us, no end of trouble.”
Martina opened her mouth as if she were going to protest again, so I interrupted with some classic Japanese distraction. “Detective Burns, I can’t thank you enough for saving my cousin’s life.”
He turned, as if seeing me for the first time. “Miss Shimura. Didn’t I tell you that I wanted you to wait to see your cousin until after I’d talked to her?”
“Of course, but I thought you’d be through by now.”
He rolled his eyes. “Well, I’m not. I’m only getting started. And she’d be better off with some quiet time rather than holding court for those media vultures. People in shock say things they later regret.”
“How could someone in shock dictate a press release?” Martina countered.
“She’s overdoing it. A common reaction after trauma.”
Martina gave him a withering look and sailed off to the press-filled sunroom.
“I’ll try to talk Kendall into taking it easy,” I said to the detective when Martina had gone.
“You do that. And by the way, you made a phenomenal observation last night when you called us with the suspicion about the abduction. Most people would have waited until the next day, or at the very least, several hours.” He looked at me again. “Any other reasons you thought your cousin might be at risk?”
“Well, I couldn’t believe she’d leave someone as inexperienced as I am with her children,” I said, although the truth was, Jacquie hadn’t moved from my lap since I’d arrived, and Win Junior had been running back and forth with toys he wanted to show me.
<
br /> “What I mean is, was there anything or anyone in your cousin’s life who seemed disturbing? To put her at risk?”
“Nothing comes to mind at the moment.” Except for the fact that her husband had told two different stories about where he’d been last night.
“At the hospital, the admitting doctor noticed a few old bruises. They’ve been photographed for the record.”
Old bruises. I didn’t like the sound of that. “Did you interview Win last night?”
“Yes, and I hope to speak to him again. After hearing Mrs. Johnson’s story first.”
Martina came back with a platter containing the remnants of the bagel brunch. “Rei, she wants to see you next. She’s so happy you’re here.”
“I need to talk to Mrs. Johnson again,” Burns said.
Martina looked at him coldly. “She said she wanted Rei, specifically.”
“I’ll be quick,” I said apologetically. I didn’t want to slow down the investigation, but I thought the longer Martina and Burns argued, the worse the situation would get.
I headed downstairs to the carpeted “lower level,” as basements were called in modern houses like Kendall’s. What Burns had said about the bruises shocked me. I would never have thought Win would hurt her. Last night, despite being stoned, he’d seemed shocked and upset about Kendall’s disappearance. Perhaps in a more sober and calculating moment, Win could have ordered a hit on his wife, but I couldn’t see the point. Kendall’s family—her father’s, and my mother’s people—were descended from an English lord who’d once owned a large chunk of Maryland. Win name-dropped about the Howards shamelessly, so much so my own mother had sniped that it was a wonder Win hadn’t changed his own last name after the wedding. On the other hand, the Howards in our branch didn’t have land or money anymore. Kendall’s father had a few great antiques, just like my mother did, but there was nothing more to be gained by the death of Kendall. If she died, the trust that my grandmother had given her would pass to the twins, not him—though he would probably be the executor of the will and the trustee of the trust itself—
I felt suddenly queasy, but my rapid and unsettling calculations were swept away by Kendall herself.
“Sweetie!” She peeked her head through her half-open study door, then rushed to me. I was gathered up in a blur of auburn hair and black cashmere. Everything felt the same, except for the fact that her wrists were thickly bandaged.
After we’d embraced, she drew back and said, “I am so damn grateful to you.”
“Your wrists. What happened?”
“Those bastards bound them with duct tape. I tried to get loose by rubbing up against something sharp in the trunk, but all I did was cut myself.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “If only the waiter hadn’t made you leave the table.”
“He’ll be sorry,” Kendall said. “Or rather, Marshall Zanger will be, too, once he realizes I’m suing his company for reckless endangerment.”
“What on earth—”
“A restaurant employee forced me to leave the table. That directly contributed to what happened. I’d like to give Hugh first crack at representing me.”
The horror of the situation was growing exponentially. Not only would I have the whole restaurant staff furious with me, I’d have Hugh going bonkers as well. “Ah, you know, Kendall, I don’t think Hugh’s got the necessary American credentials to do that kind of work. And think carefully about whether you need to get a lawyer at all. Aren’t you just relieved to be alive?”
“You don’t think that I should sue? Win does. He thinks we have a very strong case.”
“I think what we need to do is find and punish the guys who took you.” I paused. “I read your statement, but there are still a lot of questions that I have. I know that they just drove up and grabbed you. Did they talk to you, you know, say what they wanted you to do?”
“They asked me to give them my purse. I said that I didn’t have it. I was so scared, I dropped my glass. Then they”—Kendall paused, and her face scrunched, as if she was trying to hold back tears—“asked me my name. I didn’t think of lying; maybe I should have. Now they can figure out where I live, especially since the news reports keep calling me a Potomac woman.”
“What else did they say?”
“They told me not to scream or do anything stupid, just to get in the trunk, which was insanely difficult in my shoes—it broke the heel off one of my Manolos. The police gave it back to me, but the shoe will never be the same.”
But Kendall would be the same. Her reactions were proof. I said, “Oh, my.”
“When the lid came down, it was completely black in there. I didn’t know which would be worse, to be killed in the woods or wherever they wanted to take me, or to die in the trunk, without air.”
I put my arms around Kendall and hugged her. “I know how you feel.”
“You can’t possibly.” Kendall stiffened.
I didn’t argue with my cousin, but I did know. I’d been tied up in a dark cave once, a spooky, isolated spot that I knew no rescuer would ever find. Another time, I’d been locked in a pitch-black storehouse. It was scary in dark places where someone had left you to die. The saving grace was that I’d had resolution—the people in Japan who had tried to kill me had been caught, while Kendall’s were still on the street.
“What physical details did you notice about them?”
“It was all so quick. They looked like—oh, the kind of guys you would see on the street anywhere. Baggy pants, down or leather jackets. They all wore knit caps, and the one who talked to me was wearing a balaclava. I was scared out of my mind. I kept hoping one of the cooks would bring out trash or something and see what was going on, but it all happened so fast.”
“Any other details?”
“Well, not really about them. But in the car—the trunk—there was a box of, I think, take-out food, with a really strong smell.”
“What kind of smell?” Jiro had said he suspected the kidnappers had been restaurant competitors.
“Chinese food. I saw the restaurant’s logo on the bag around the container when I was being forced into the trunk. It came from Plum Ink.”
Plum Ink was the Chinese restaurant whose owner had tried to fight Marshall on having a parking pad. Could he have masterminded an abduction from that parking pad to prove a point? Or was the food there for a more obvious reason? “Maybe the kidnappers stopped for dinner first. Whoever waited on them might be able to give a description.”
“But the cops told me the car was stolen,” Kendall answered. “Isn’t it more likely that the owners of the car had gone to the restaurant and forgotten the food in their trunk?”
“It all depends on where the car was stolen. That will be easy enough to check out.” I looked at my cousin, who suddenly seemed smaller than I’d thought. She was so thin, so breakable. “I don’t like those men out there any more than you do. Until they’re caught, no woman in the Washington area is safe.”
Kendall sighed and said, “I don’t think you have to worry about that. The guys were definitely focused on me. I had no money or ATM card. It wasn’t a matter of wanting money.”
“Do you think they were planning to rape you?”
Kendall pondered that for a minute. “I was scared, but I wasn’t thinking about rape.”
“So you don’t think they wanted money or sex. What’s left?” I asked dryly.
“It could be related to the campaign. I’m sure word spread over the last couple of days that I was going to work for Harp. I don’t like to toot my own horn but”—she paused to drop her eyes modestly—“I’m pretty effective. If I and some other fund-raisers across the country can bundle enough of our friends’ money together, he’ll snag the Democratic convention. Everyone knows it. And this is a town where political rivals do commit crimes. Remember Watergate?”
“We were tiny babies then, Kendall. We can’t remember Watergate. But if you really believe this theory, why did you write in your press release that y
ou didn’t believe your abduction was done for political reasons?”
“Subliminal persuasion,” Kendall said. “I learned about it in a class on advertising rhetoric at UVA.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.”
“It’s a dog-eat-dog world in politics,” Kendall said, looking at me. “Believe me, Rei, I know what some of these people are like.”
“Win must be relieved that you’re safe and sound,” I said. “I’m sure he feels that’s all that matters—”
“Yes, he’s been very sweet. And, this morning before he went out, he told me that he was going to support Harp’s campaign, since that was what I really wanted. He’s a little tight on his own cash, so we’re going to tap into Grand’s trust to do it.”
“Really,” I said. Writing a check wasn’t any proof to me that Win Johnson was a good husband. “I heard that the doctor saw old bruises on your body.”
“What are you talking about?” Kendall sounded irritated.
“Bruises on your legs.”
“Oh, that’s probably from where Win kicked me.”
“Kendall!” I sucked in my breath.
“Win Junior!” Kendall clarified. “Babies kick moms. Win hates having his diaper changed, so he kicks me when he gets the chance. Now, if you’re so interested in what’s going on with me, will you stay and help me troubleshoot the press?”
“Martina asked me already. I’m coming back at four.”
“Great. And I have a favor to ask. How would you like to sleep over? Win’s probably going to be out late again, and I’m just a little—nervous.”
“Of course,” I said. “You can count on me.”
8
A night with Kendall and the kids. I had no idea what to expect. What I got was a TV marathon. As the children threw toys around the family room, Kendall ran around the house, double-checking that all the news shows were being recorded. She was working four different TV sets located in the master bedroom, the family room, the au pair’s bedroom, and her own study. Hugh liked electronics, but nothing as extreme as this, I thought as I went upstairs to the au pair’s bedroom, where I was supposed to record any mention of Kendall on the NBC affiliate. Saturday was usually a slow news day in Washington, and the airwaves had been full of Kendall during the supper news hour. Now it was eleven, and I was practically falling asleep, given my insomnia the night before, but I was duty bound to catch everything that Kendall said. She had been cleverly circumspect, volunteering none of the suspicions about the possible involvement of political rivals. Of course, because some of the press had read the release before Burns seized it, they asked her about political rivals of Harp Snowden, which was what she’d intended all along.
The Pearl Diver Page 8
