by Joan Lambert
Alan entered next. Instead, of taking the remaining seat, he pulled a chair to a spot midway between Violet in the podium and the door through which they had all entered. Laura thought he looked better, as if part of his life had returned to normal.
Violet stood perfectly still, watching the door. Clearly, she expected someone else to arrive. Dr. Bernstein or Hans, Laura thought, and wondered which.
The others waited in strained silence. Laura spent the time making a mental map of everyone’s position, as William had suggested. She ran her eyes along the row of chairs: herself, Richard, Claudine, Mrs. Takara, Lady Longtree, a still empty seat, Mr. Takara and William.
They heard a muted commotion in the hall, and then Hans appeared – or Laura assumed he was Hans. The bandages that swathed his head made it hard to be sure. He limped as he headed slowly for the last seat. Laura was appalled. Who had done that to him? Surely not the police. Did his presence here mean that he was no longer being held as a suspect, or that Violet meant to accuse him in front of everyone?
No time for speculation now, she reminded herself. Watch faces. Was anyone shocked by the sight of Hans? Only Claudine, though that could be an act. William and Lady Longtree looked upset but not surprised. Mr. Takara shrank away from Hans as he took his seat, his face guarded now.
Mrs. Takara, surprisingly, was angry. “He should not be here,” she hissed, and stared malevolently at Hans, as if trying to see through the bandages to the bad character she was sure lurked underneath. Perhaps she was right, Laura thought.
When Hans was settled, Violet turned to survey the people in front of her. Her eyes were hard as gimlets.
“As many of you know, I am a special investigator who deals with criminal cases involving children,” she began, her voice firm and authoritative. The only people who seemed disconcerted by her statement were the Takaras. Mrs. Takara’s eyes opened wide in amazement that quickly disappeared, as if she didn’t want to be exposed as naïve. Mr. Takara reacted differently. He seemed to sink into his chair and for a moment Laura thought he would bolt from the room. He stared at his wife with an expression Laura couldn’t read, except that it wasn’t pleasant, and then his eyes dropped.
“I am here, as are a number of other people in the room,” Violet continued, “to investigate an organization that bribes parents to sell their babies for a particularly onerous purpose – to make them virtual slaves to a group of wealthy men. The babies, who are all girls from Muslim backgrounds, are taken abroad to be trained as obedient wives. They are forced to undergo circumcision, as that is considered essential in an acceptably submissive mate. Should they object to their new role, they are brutally punished, made to work as unpaid servants, or they are put out into the streets.”
Claudine uttered a faint cry of distress. Either she hadn’t known the purpose of the organization, or she wanted everyone to think she didn’t. Richard took her hand to comfort her, and she moved closer to him.
Mrs. Takara nodded her head mournfully, as if such horrors were nothing new to her. Mr. Takara only shrank back further. His forehead gleamed with sweat, and little droplets trickled down his cheeks.
“That is the background of this case,” Violet went on. “We became aware that this criminal organization had begun to operate in the Bath area, and so we moved in. We became aware, too, that some of the principals in the organization were on this tour, for reasons we did not at first understand. Now, we do.”
She let the statement linger in the air before she spoke again. “Amy’s death was not suicide,” she said baldly. “Amy was murdered because she had been persuaded to help this organization obtain infant girls still in hospital, or shortly after they went home. Amy believed she was saving them from genital mutilation and a life of servitude to the man chosen for them by their fathers or brothers. She, like them, was an innocent victim of a vicious organization.”
Mrs. Takara looked shocked. “But that cannot be,” she said in disbelieving tones. “She was so unhappy. So very unhappy.” She glanced at her husband as if seeking confirmation, but he didn’t meet her eyes. He never looked at her except with loathing, Laura realized. Mrs. Takara was hardly beautiful with her lined face and dark frumpy clothes, but her husband seemed almost to hate her. Unlike her, he didn’t seem surprised by Violet’s revelation about Amy.
Claudine seemed unsurprised, too. Only her body betrayed her reaction. It crumpled a little as if at a blow but she stiffened again quickly. She seemed tired and withdrawn now, as if she just wanted this drama to end.
Her wish wasn’t granted. Violet had another shock for them. “Amy was also murdered by mistake,” she stated deliberately. “The intended victim was Margaret.”
A wave of pity engulfed Laura, but also recognition. Margaret as victim made much more sense. She studied the others. Most reacted as she did, with sadness but not shock. Mr. Takara looked uninterested. It seemed not to matter to him which woman had been murdered or why. He was still afraid, though.
Mrs. Takara, in contrast, nodded her head sagely. “Yes,” she murmured to Lady Longtree. “Yes, that could be so. She was not a strong person, Margaret. She did not have good companions I think. She did not judge them well.”
Violet spoke again, and Laura noted that everyone seemed puzzled by her choice of subject matter. She certainly was.
“It has been interesting to us,” Violet said, and now her tone was bland, “that so many participants in this tour have spent time in New York or once lived there. Laura comes from New York and has taught for many years in that area, Hans attends many meetings in New York associated with the United Nations and his own organization; Lady Longtree and William visit often for various reasons. Dr. Bernstein was a regular visitor to New York as well, for academic conferences and less admirable pursuits that we are now investigating.
“He is a suspected pedophile,” she added in a soft but menacing tone. “And a distributor of illegal drugs. He provided them for the babies, to make them sleep.”
Laura winced. The first revelation didn’t surprise her, but the second did. No wonder Violet disliked Dr. Bernstein so intensely.
Abruptly, Violet’s demeanor changed again, and Laura had the feeling that she had gone on the attack now. She took a step forward and her body whipped around to face Mr. Takara. Her eyes were steely.
“You worked in New York for a time, did you not, Mr. Takara?”
His face blanched. “I… I, yes I did, for a time,” he mumbled, and Laura didn’t even need to look to read his fear. His body radiated terror. Violet watched him intensely for a long moment before she turned to Mrs. Takara, who looked nervous and for the first time a little uncertain.
“You too lived in New York at that time, Mrs. Takara?” Violet persisted, but her tone was less menacing now.
“I must go where my husband goes,” Mrs. Takara reproved, seeming to regain assurance by returning to familiar ground. “In these modern times I understand that is not always done, but in Japan it is still so.”
“But you are not Japanese, are you?” Violet asked unexpectedly. “I understand that you were born in New York and lived there and in other parts of the world before settling in Japan. Mr. Takara is not Japanese by birth either, I believe,” she added.
“I am Japanese now,” Mr. Takara inserted angrily, with a sudden resurgence of strength. Mrs. Takara cast him a mournful look and cocked her head to one side like a small bird before she answered for both of them.
“My parents were not rich,” she told the others sadly. “They came to New York because they hoped for nice jobs but alas, my father died and then there was just my mother and I. We tried to save enough to go back to Japan where she had been born but it was hard, very hard, and so we were forced to stay.” She sighed heavily, as if the recollection brought great pain.
“We tried many places, many jobs,” she went on, blinking back tears, “but it was always the same, always that struggle, always so very poor…
“That was true for my husband too
, at first,” she added with the same pathetic dignity Laura had noted before. “Then he found a job with a good company and we were finally able to move back to Japan.”
She wagged an admonitory finger at Violet. “It is too bad of you to remind me of these things. They are over now and they only bring sadness.”
Violet ignored the criticism and turned to Claudine. “You too have strong ties with New York, Claudine.” The statement seemed to energize Claudine. She sat up straight in her chair, ready to play her role. How good an actress was she? And had Violet been spotlighting Mr. Takara in order to put the person she thought was really the brains behind the criminal organization off her guard?
“I lived in New York for many years,” Claudine confirmed in a steady, uninflected tone.
“You originated in Brooklyn, I believe,” Violet went on, “and spent those years in New York City either as an actress or model or in various other jobs such as cocktail waitress and club dancer.”
“That is true,” Claudine confirmed again. She didn’t look at anyone except Violet, but her tone held no defensiveness.
“And while you were in those occupations, you no doubt saw something of New York’s seamier side, if I can call it that.”
“I did,” Claudine answered, her voice still steady and unemotional. Her control was remarkable, Laura thought. Violet would have a hard time making her crack if that was her purpose.
“You knew, for instance,” Violet persisted, “that certain organizations, Mafia-like groups, operated in the New York area and that they often infiltrated businesses like nightclub dancing or prostitution, or modeling for sex videos.”
Claudine reacted at last. “I could smell them,” she said emphatically, her lips tight with recollection. “They came, I left.”
“Did you know any of the people who ran these organizations?”
Claudine hesitated before she answered, and Laura glanced quickly at Mr. Takara. His face was frozen now, a veritable mask of fear. Mrs. Takara looked desperate to go to him and steady him. She seemed stronger than her husband now, the determined wife who wouldn’t let him incriminate himself, no matter what he had done.
Claudine’s voice interrupted the thought. “I didn’t know them personally,” she answered finally, “but I did hear of them. Sometimes I read about them or heard about them from girlfriends who got tricked or bullied into working for them.”
“But you say you avoided that fate because you could smell them? That is a little hard to believe.” Violet’s tone was caustic, unbelieving.
The implication that Claudine was lying was obvious. Laura wondered suddenly if Claudine and Roger Brown and Mr. Takara were partners in the organization. They could have been meeting secretly. No one would have known.
Richard looked angry, but Claudine only shrugged. “I guess it is hard to believe, but it’s true. I only made one mistake, long ago, but after that I always sensed when they had infiltrated a place where I was working, and I managed to slide away. I never refused them outright; that only makes them mad. I just kept some money stashed away and used it to get the hell out of there. I got pretty expert at it.
“Besides,” Claudine added, her tone as caustic as Violet’s, “those bastards take everything you earn except for a pittance, and expect you to be grateful for that!”
Violet pounced. “Would that one mistake involve Roger Brown, the man now being held as a suspect in Amy’s murder?”
Claudine paled visibly, and for the first time she was defensive. “I don’t know what that bastard told you, but whatever he said is bullshit! He hates my guts because I outsmarted him, and he’d say anything to get me in trouble. But you’re right. My mistake was letting him sweet-talk me into working at his club. The truth is he found out I had money put by and wanted me to put it into some deal he had going. I refused and got out of there fast. He blames me because the deal collapsed and he went broke.”
To Laura’s surprise, Violet let the subject drop. “I see,” she replied. “So after that experience you managed to slide away, as you call it. Can you tell us about any of the organizations you managed to slide away from?”
Claudine ignored the sarcasm. “I was careful not to get too close to any of them after that, as I said,” she replied, her voice unemotional again, “so I don’t know much about how they worked. But I do remember…”
She shivered, unable to repress a visceral fear aroused by the memory. “There’s one I remember more than the others,” she resumed, straightening her spine again as if determined to refute the fear. “It was run by a woman they called the ice lady. She was supposed to have a knife that gleamed like ice, and she used it to slice people up who got in her way or girls who refused to do what she told them.”
Laura stared at Claudine as a long-forgotten memory began to surface. Her story was true. There had been a woman like that, although she hadn’t heard about the knife. But she did remember the term ice lady. Was that why she had dubbed the woman she had heard from the cellar the icy lady? Was it a subconscious recollection?
Claudine’s voice recalled her. “The story was in the papers for a while but then it fizzled out, maybe because the police never made any arrests.” She shuddered again. “I stayed clear of that one, but she operated in New York for a long time I heard.
“That’s the main one I remember. The others were just the usual mafia types. Threaten the girls who wouldn’t pay, be nice to the ones who did or at least not hurt them, and kill any bastard who got in the way or betrayed them. There should be some police records in New York about them.”
Laura frowned. Why would Claudine tell them about the ice lady if she was or had been that woman, or was even involved with the organization?
Belatedly she looked at Mr. Takara again. He looked as if he were on the verge of a heart attack. His face had bleached to a white mask, and his eyes were petrified. With a cry of distress, Mrs. Takara leaped up to go to him, but Rachel intervened. Laura realized that she had unobtrusively moved closer to the French doors, no doubt in response to a signal from Violet.
“We will attend to him, Mrs. Takara,” Rachel said politely, and ushered the little woman gently but firmly back to her seat.
“But he is my husband! I must go to him,” Mrs. Takara objected, her face drawn with misery. Rachel didn’t answer, and after a moment Mrs. Takara sat down, but her small body was stiff with resentment. She watched her husband apprehensively, as if pleading with him from a distance not to give himself away.
Again, Violet’s next statement seemed to have nothing to do with what they had been talking about, and as far as Laura could tell was a complete surprise to everyone, herself included.
“Mr. Takara,” she said without preamble, “would it help you to know that the woman about whom you are concerned has been taken into protective custody?”
Mr. Takara stared at her in disbelief, and then his face crumpled. He covered it with shaking hands and sat for a long moment trying to control the sobs that racked his body. Finally he raised his eyes again and looked pleadingly at Violet. “She is safe?” he asked desperately.
“She is quite safe,” Violet replied steadily.
“You are certain,” he pleaded again. “If you are certain…”
“I am certain,” Violet repeated, and was silent, as if she were waiting for someone else to react.
Laura looked at her curiously, wondering what she was up to now. Her attention was diverted by a sudden movement. Mrs. Takara half rose from her chair to point an accusing finger at her husband. “So it was you!” she exclaimed, her voice shocked. “All the time, it was you who did these terrible things. I did not think it possible…”
She whirled to face Hans. “It is your fault,” she hissed vehemently. “You pretend to be helping little children and all the time you were the one who made him do these cruel things to them. I saw you talking to him, making my poor husband do as you wished,” she went on bitterly. “It is because of you that dishonor has come to our family...” Sh
e subsided into her chair and buried her face in her hands, as her husband had.
“I see,” Violet replied. “So you believe that Hans Gruber is the criminal who runs this organization?”
“Of course he is!” Mrs. Takara exclaimed impatiently. “Has no one told you that? You should arrest him again, make him tell you. That is what I say. Then the rest of us can leave.” She sounded like a furious child.
Violet regarded Hans appraisingly. “Unfortunately, Mr. Gruber cannot speak. He was in an accident, and his jaw has been wired shut.”
“He is just pretending,” Mrs. Takara said scornfully. “You must arrest him again.” Hans didn’t react except to look down at the floor. Violet said nothing.
A hushed silence filled the room after that. It went on for so long that Laura thought she would scream unless someone else did first.
Finally Mrs. Takara stirred. “If only I had realized before,” she moaned. “I might have saved that poor girl. She must have seen something, I do not know what, but then the wrong one was killed. But maybe she will know what it was, the one who was not killed. Perhaps she is recovered enough to speak, poor creature.”
She peered up through stiff fingers at Violet, and Laura saw that her face was mottled by distress. “Has she told you why the other one was killed, what she saw?”
“Margaret has said very little,” Violet replied impassively.
“But she must have told you about that terrible man, about what he did,” Mrs. Takara said indignantly, dropping her hands from her face. “I will tell then if she has not.” She opened her mouth to speak again but Mr. Takara interrupted her.
“Where is she?” he asked Violet suddenly.
“I cannot disclose her location,” Violet replied, “but I can assure you that she is safe and well cared for.”
“Then I will speak.” Mr. Takara rose to his feet and held his body straight as a ramrod as if preparing for a difficult task. “I think you know anyway, do you not?” He didn’t wait for an answer but looked steadily at Violet. Laura had the impression he was afraid to look anywhere else.
