"I'm going to take your child and get tea for everyone." It was her mother's voice, frozen in formality, not even willing to breath Naomi's name. “Your child", not "Naomi" or "my granddaughter”. Nara shuddered and turned and watched her mother leave with Naomi leaving her standing there alone with the nurse. Nara walked over closer to the bed to look at her father. He immediately began to softly moan and twist a little. Nara jumped back, startled.
The nurse quickly adjusted the dial on one of his drips. "Is he in pain?" Nara asked, trying not to sound hopeful.
"No, Ma'am. The medicine is very strong, but he seems to know you are here."
Her heart pounded in her chest. Nara had prepared herself as best she could for this moment. Strange gargling and gasping sounds were coming from the Ambassador's throat. She badly wanted a cigarette. The nurse made another adjustment on the oxygen and pressed a button.
"Abonim (father) I have come from America. It is I, Nara." The Ambassador lay with his eyes closed breathing laboriously, his eyes closed. Perhaps Naomi could have a relationship with her grandmother after this monster was dead because Nara had done what was asked of her. Nara rested her hand on the side rail.
"Father, I know you need to rest now. I'll come and visit tomorrow."
She said this only for the benefit of the nurse. The truth was she wanted a smoke, and the other truth was if she stayed in that room another minute she was at risk of ripping the oxygen tubes from his face and hurrying his trip to hell.
Nara backed away from the bed and turned away to leave, but at the door she turned back to thank the nurse only to find her father's head turned towards the door his hard eyes open coldly staring at her.
Nara left the hospital room and leaned against the wall, panting. She had not eaten or slept on the plane. She surprised even herself at how raw her anger was, after all these years. Over time she had formed it into a wall of icy and implacable rage that was her confidante and comfort, but it had melted into flames just seeing him.
Wolf was walking down the hall. He had just come from the hotel, seeing how pale his wife looked he took her elbow and they joined Naomi and the grandma in the tea room.
"Who is watching Sara?" The grandma asked in Korean, sipping her tea. "Is she alone in the hotel room?"
Wolf looked up, curiously, his Korean was nominal but he knew Sara very well from Naomi's many stories about her imaginary twin sister.
"Is she asking about Sara, Naomi’s twin?" Wolf asked innocently. Nara froze. She turned sharply and glared at Naomi who withered from the mean eyes of her mother. Wolf caught the whole thing. He had seen it too many times. The poor thing, always at the other end of her mother's wrath.
It was all too weird. The food, the land, the customs, the smells and now the family asking about Naomi's pretend sister. Now, Nara was upset. In fact, he had never seen Nara so upset. She was an icy flame, that one. Wolf didn't know what to do so he stood up.
"I'm going to go pay my respects," Wolf said getting up. "Then go to the hotel room and take Sara out for some ice cream," he joked and pointed at the grandma. "Someone translate for me what I said. Ice cream for Sara."
No one translated anything. The grandmother stared at Wolf as he left. He could feel her eyes on his back. The rock didn't fall far from the tree. Meeting the grandmother made that plain enough. Poor Naomi.
The Great Ambassador had obsessively planned his death for the ten preceding years, determined to have his power reach beyond the golden, velvet lined casket that waited. Whether years, days or hours or minutes, it didn't matter. The time was short. He had arranged every last detail of the funeral including the release of doves and the firing of a canon at the burial site.
Naomi looked up and met Holly’s gaze. "It was right after we returned from Korea that Wolf got arrested," she whispered.
Chapter 59
Heather had been right to warn Holly about the raid.
The agents in groups of two and three with hands on their hips talking to each other. Their anonymous cars had taken the last of the metered parking. Another agent stood blocking the exits. More FBI agents were staked out across the street as a visual reminder to the Koreans that this was not Seoul.
Holly brushed passed an agent and pushed her way inside the building. "Ninth floor. They're still there," The security guard whispered. "They're not here to get you, too, are they Miss Holly?"
"Of course not!" Holly laughed as her heart pounded. "Any other floor?" she couldn't help ask.
"No."
Holly took the elevator to the ninth floor. The double doors of American Legal Services was wide open and more FBI agents walked out carrying computer hard drives and boxes of files.
"Holly!" Kate rushed over, both hands outstretched and her face flushed. "Listen, you know I always cared about my clients, don't you?" Her voice rose sharply, she raised her hands and clasped them to her chest - imprecation, remorse, benediction, it was all of those things.
"Time to leave," the FBI agent clapped his hand on Kate's shoulder.
"Don't touch me!" Kate shrieked, her voice eerily loud in the gathering silence. She wretched her thin, delicate shoulder free, withering from his touch, her face dead white, eyes poised and haughty to the end. Ever the fashion-ista, she fumbled around looking for her platform heels and checked her face in the tiny mirror hanging on the wall. Voices rose and fell around them.
"I… I don't understand. What did you do?" Holly cried, her eyes full of hurt, pleading. Across the room there was a low snicker of laughter.
Kate whirled around, a bitter half-smile on her face, her eyes suddenly seemed small and narrow.
"You're so stupid, Holly. Don't you know anything? Everything is right under your nose and you're the only one who can't see it. If you haven't figured it out, you can read about it in the papers!" Kate turned again and faced the agents. "You'll make sure it's a nice photo of me, won't you, boys?"
Holly watched as Kate Hong was led away.
In the parking garage downstairs, Neil Cooper threw the thin Naomi Linser file in the trash. He loaded his trunk with his few belongings, a rolling briefcase holding a few framed photos, diplomas and mementos from his office along with a nearly full bottle of Johnny Walker Blue, and the spare shirt and tie he had kept on a hanger on the back of the door. He had come to the office to pass the Naomi Linser file back to Kate, but when he walked in, there was yelling coming from Kate's office down the hall so he had left, moments before the FBI had showed up.
It was an excellent time to go out to Palm Springs for a few days and play a little golf until the heat died down. If it didn't, he could always sell his Harley-Davidson and set up out there. Life was short, he should enjoy himself.
Chapter 60
Eli Behr spun a quarter on the tabletop. It was late and quiet, a smattering of people at the counter. He loved diners. A cheerful waitress, a club sandwich or bacon and eggs for dinner, coffee you could use to clean a carburetor - in a drive-through world, there was a continuity that was comforting.
The woman slid into the booth across from him. He took off his baseball cap and ran his hand through his slicked back blonde hair.
"Thank you for coming, Joan," you must be tired," he said. "This shouldn't take long."
"Apple pie and coffee, black please," she said, to the waitress. "It's nice to be sitting for a change." Her voice was soft. "I feel a bit deflated, I haven't eaten all day. The café was busy."
"Eat some dinner, take your time. Keep your strength up – I’ll join you, I was in court all day."
Eli ordered a roast beef and American cheese, lettuce and tomato, and a top-up on his coffee, then encouraged Joan to order something more substantial.
"Club sandwich, then, please, easy on the mayo, with fries."
"Good, you'll feel like a new person."
"I'd like to feel like a new person. It's been awhile," Joan had once been a beauty, but the blonde hair was streaked with gray now, and the cut was out of date, the eyes wary and ti
red, lines beginning to show. Deflated. Her word. Life had taken the wind out of her sails.
"On the telephone you said you wanted to talk about William?"
"Yes. Are you up to it?"
"Oh, sure," she said, not sounding sure. "I went to the funeral, stood in the back, dark glasses. Didn't want to intrude on the family, but I wanted to be there."
"What was he like when you knew him?"
"Fun. We laughed all the time. Some of my friends said I was just a trophy to him, an arm piece. Every man's fantasy to have a blonde on his arm - that was a big deal back then. It wasn't that long ago, was it?"
"I can see that you were a beauty," Eli offered, sincerely, then leaned forward. "Did William ever exhibit any aggressive behavior?"
"He was sweet. Attentive. Romantic, liked those soul songs by Marvin Gaye, gentle as a lamb until he started drinking. As he drank more and more, he would start reminiscing about his glory days and pretend he was back on the football field rather than in bed. He would then become angry and sad at the same time. When he got like that, his love making could become fiery and aggressive."
Joan took a big drink of water and pushed a cold french fry around with a fork. She was so drained. Joan looked at the Eli and smiled. She understood from television how lawyers wore you down by making you tell the same story again and again and again. Eli sat pensive, watching her.
"Does that help?" She asked softly, wanting to please him. The waitress brought more coffee which Eli stirred relentlessly, though he'd put nothing in it.
"Yes, Joan, thank you. It helps. You never know which piece is going to be the one that works. It's like a jigsaw puzzle. Those ones that are snow scenes or sky and you can't tell anything? But you just keep working it and get a couple of pieces together and then maybe you get some traction."
Eli threw a couple of twenties on the table and stood up.
She stood, too. "You single?"
He could hear the wistfulness in her voice. The invitation. She was still good-looking, but not a good idea. He needed her as a witness. He shook his head, glad he wasn't drinking.
"I roam alone," he said. "But maybe after the trial, that would be nice."
Eli watched her go. Some people live in the shadows of their past and can't let go. He thought of Holly instead. Now there was a fire-cracker that would burn your fingers.
Chapter 61
"A hypnotist may be able to unlock Naomi's mind," Holly's mother had suggested over lunch. "To find out what really happened that night."
So here Holly was. It was five minutes before noon and she was already having second thoughts. The office building looked like the sort of place where businesses go to die. Older and dirtier than its neighboring buildings and nearly as tired as its tenants. Professionals with creaky credentials, practitioners who needed more practice, marginal specialties like chiropractic, language schools, acupuncture, oriental medicine, and paralegal services.
There were a few making money, comfortable in the protective coloration of the seedy old building.
Holly sighed and stepped over a sticky over-sized soda cup and read the sign off the door. "Dr. Perry Koo, Certified Master Hypno-therapist”
His door was next to an office where the sour smell of herbs fermenting lingered behind a sign that said ‘Oriental Medicine’. Holly wrinkled her nose and pushed open Dr. Koo’s door and went inside.
In this building, anybody in a white coat, glasses and a clipboard could pass for a doctor, including Perry Koo with his piercing eyes. He not only had the white coat and glasses, but an alphabet soup of acronyms and titles that took up the space of an entire business card, ending with, "Certified Master Hypno-therapist." The reception area was empty.
"You can call me Doctor," It was a deep and sonorous voice calling out from the back. “It's almost lunchtime and I'm closed in five minutes." Dr. Perry Koo appeared.
"Thank-you for seeing me, Dr. Koo," Holly began.
"I close from noon to 1:30 p.m. You can join me for a drink or come back later. I do my best thinking in bars, so you are welcome to tag along. Let me grab my coat," he said, pulling on his white lab coat.
Okay, Holly thought. This is already going so well. He drinks in the middle of the business day.
Holly followed him to an old hotel off Olympic Boulevard. It didn't look too clean. It was hot and sticky outside, and the hotel was old so the air conditioning blew hot air. In fact, it was not much different from the building they just left, only this one had bar stools.
"I need to impress this young lady, so I'm going to teach her how to make a special drink," Dr. Perry Koo announced to the bartender cheerfully. "Two shots of gin, Tanqueray, not that scary stuff you have behind you with the gummy worms in it, a tablespoon of Rose's lime juice per, shake it like dice, very cold, an egg white if it's fresh. Two."
He turned to Holly. "This is called a gimlet - you're paying right? He leaned back. "I'm kidding. But you can if you want."
"Of course I'll pay," said Holly.
The drinks came. The doc took a slow sip, nodded approval and stared into the glass as if looking into the past.
Holly took a sip. It was excellent. Both sharp and sweet. Like a painful memory you were still somehow fond of.
“Ok,” Dr. Koo began by raising his glass. “You have questions, I have a drink.”
"Can it hurt the person, the subject, to have traumatic memories awakened?" Holly asked.
Dr. Koo steepled his fingers and thought. "There are no absolutes. In a secure setting it is possible but not entirely reliable. But an unreliable memory may be better than no memory at this point. The priority is to find out what happened. From what you tell me, you have nothing."
"I have to know what happened in that room," Holly's tone was grave. "Will you - or more importantly - can you unlock Naomi's mind so we can find out what really happened that night?
"I can try," Dr. Koo nodded, slowly.
"You are our only hope,” Holly spoke softly. “The problem is that only two people know the truth, and one of them is dead."
Chapter 62
"Still no text?" Holly asked Heather with concern. Heather Hart shook her head and looked down at her phone. “He always says I can’t compete with the streets," Heather said, wistfully, looking to best friend to calm her storm.
They were at the Rose Bowl in Pasadena for their weekly run. Holly parked the car and the girls got out. It was just starting to get dark, their favorite time to run.
Heather could feel the familiar anxiety rising within her. The stress that had started the year of her engagement. She had just thought it was bridal nerves and ignored it. But the feeling wouldn't go away and the bad feeling just got worse and worse. Eight years later, all she knew was that something was terribly terribly wrong and if she thought about it too much she felt like screaming. The only way to control it was to ignore the cause. It was getting harder and harder though, and Heather relied more and more on Mick to help her get her through the day. Just a text, a connection. That's all she needed. The run would help.
Holly was stretching when Heather looked across the way and spotted Mick. Did he know she was here? Maybe he was tracking her by her phone and came to surprise her. The thought made her giddy inside.
“Mick!—“ Heather started to call out, but stopped as an old Honda pulled up and a girl got out of the driver's side of the car and walked towards Mick. She wore a midriff bearing tee-shirt and jeans cut very low showing a tramp-stamp tattoo on her backside. An informant?
Heather watched as Mick playfully tugged at her long hair, whirl her around in a bear hug then slap her bottom before grabbing her hand and swinging their arms as they walked. When they reached the beater car, the girl tossed Mick the keys. Mick got in on the driver's side and drove off. He had not seen Heather. Heather turned to say something to Holly but she had seen the whole thing.
"What a piece of shit --" Holly said, grabbing Heather’s arm. “Let’s run.”
"A long one tonight
Holly, so I can sleep. Tomorrow is mother-in-law day.”
The tea on lovely Wedgwood. Heather took a sip and said, "I'm sure you remember the Westons. They're getting divorced. They endowed the library as Edith and Tony Weston and now the fight is over whose name goes first on the plaque."
"What an embarrassment for the family," her mother-in law put down her tea, not finding any humor in the story, then added. "Trusts were set up to bar divorces, like anyone with significant wealth would do."
"You mean like my situation?"
The mother-in-law sat up stiffly and examined the girl that sat across her. Heather was the worst of all possible combinations - beautiful, highly intelligent, and ill-bred. They should have held out for pretty and dumb for Gordon. She sighed. It made Heather difficult to control at times. And now she was starting to ask questions - difficult questions.
"Trusts guarantee that nobody in a wealthy family will ever become poor as a church mouse. But you know that, dear," her thin lips pressed together tightly as she spoke. She looked hard at her daughter-in-law. Heather had not been through war, displacement, economic struggle, social upheaval. She had only known American prosperity. Her carefully planned marriage into the Hart family had been to provide her with a secure economic future in exchange for preserving to the grave the Hart family secret.
Gordon's mother had hand selected Heather when she was too young to know any better and still mourning the loss of her father to question or challenge anything.
Mrs. Hart was always aware of Gordon's emotional frailty. As a child he was sickly and spent many days in bed. While his friends went to summer camp and sporting events Gordon read books. Hundreds of books which educated him in theory and deprived him in practice. His occasionally bizarre or off topic public outbursts were accepted as the result of his prodigious intellect, which is how the family was able to fool everyone and keep the family secret. Unprotected by family, servants, doctors, specialists, therapists and pharmaceuticals - and vast walls of money - Gordon would have been as vulnerable in society as a child playing in traffic. The secret had been been kept even from Heather whose youth and innocence had been used against her up until she married Gordon. After that it was too late. Her plan had worked beautifully.
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