by Toby Neal
“Well.” Lei stood, put her chair back in the corner, cleared her throat. “I’m glad you made me sit with him.”
The nurse stopped, smiled, extended her hand. “I didn’t ‘make’ you do anything. My name’s Theresa. Theresa Rodrigues. You have a heart, and that’s a good thing in a cop.”
“If you say so. Met this guy two days ago, and I’m the one at his deathbed. It pretty much sucks. Lei Texeira.” Lei took out her card, handed it to the nurse. “You care too. Must be hard keeping that up, doing what you do.”
The nurse shook her head a little, pocketing the card. “Compassion makes us human, but it does take a toll.”
“Mr. Woo was leaving his millions to the Honolulu Zoo. You ever been?” Lei felt the awkwardness of her overture, but Theresa’s directness and passion for her work intrigued her.
“Of course. I heard one of the giraffes gave birth, and I’d like to see that.”
“Well, I’ve never been. Let’s do it.” They walked out of the room just as the doctor arrived, and Theresa was caught up in the procedure of dealing with Woo’s body. Lei walked away down the hall, feeling bittersweet gladness at finding a genuine human connection in the midst of death..
Chapter 24
Morning’s sparkle made the previous night’s events seem like another world as Lei walked back to her office after the team briefing with Ang, Waxman, and Ken. She’d reported in on the events with Clyde Woo, played the recording for them, and now was on her way to his house to search it again and pick up his computer.
Ang followed her out of the conference room. “You doing okay?” The other agent’s brows had pulled together. “I wouldn’t like sitting with a dying man. This case is really depressing me. Looking at all those suicide photos, looking for ID’s on them—it’s tough.”
“You know, it wasn’t that bad,” Lei smiled at Ang, stopping outside her office. Ken had gone back to the workroom to look through their evidence again. “It was good to do the right thing by him, and it was peaceful. When he went. I don’t think he was suffering. He’d already done a lot of that.”
“That’s good to hear, at least. Don’t tell Waxman, but I’m using DAVID to match the suicide victims in the gallery to known cases.”
“Good. It’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission.”
Ang laughed. “I knew you’d say that.”
“Yeah, I’ve never been much for the finer points of procedure. I get how a defense attorney could tear DAVID apart, but I have a feeling it’s not going to matter much in this case.”
“Well, I hope to get an e-mail today and get in to that final level on DyingFriends. That’s probably where Woo ended—assisting another member’s suicide before one of them offs you. It’s good to have a solid testimony on tape and confirmation on that.”
“Woo did good before he died. Now I’m off to get you another computer.” They got on the elevator, Lei to go to the garage and Ang to go to the tech lab. “Hey, I’m sorry I couldn’t shoot pool with you and Marcella the other night.”
“Just as well. We drank too much.” The tech agent got off the elevator with a little wave. “We’ll catch you next time.”
Lei was walking toward Mr. Woo’s house, already looking strangely deserted with leaves blowing through the entry, when her phone rang. lt omura had appeared on the screen.
“Special Agent Lei Texeira.”
“That does have a ring to it.” Omura’s crisp voice had a note of humor. “But I have an idea for a different title for you.”
“Hey, Lieutenant,” Lei said. “How’s it going?”
“It’s Captain Omura, as I told you last year, but how does ‘Lieutenant’ sound to you?”
“What do you mean?” The front door of Woo’s house was open. She would definitely lock it. Thieves would be there in minutes if they knew, and they probably watched the obituaries.
“I mean I’d like to offer you a job. See if I can get you back from the Feds.”
Lei stopped just inside the door to give the call her full attention. “Did Stevens put you up to this?”
A feminine snort. “Hardly. Don’t know and don’t care what’s going on with your romantic life. Just looking for a good cop to work next to me in a male-dominated workplace. Someone I know I can count on to take initiative. That’s a quality I’ve come to value over time, and you always had good instincts. Here’s the deal: The legislature approved another lieutenant position. It’s a new one, so I’m not under pressure to give it to someone who’s been angling for it. And I want to bring you back, Texeira. You could have a future in the Maui Police Department, and I’m hoping the bright lights and big city aren’t as appealing as Maui.”
Lei rocked back, taking this in. Omura must have thought she was hesitating because the captain went on. “You can keep your years of service in the Hawaii Police Department, continue to build on them, and the years you spent as a Federal cop will still count. Also we have a generous salary package.” She named a figure that was more than what Lei was making or would make for some years as a junior agent. “Unfortunately, I don’t have too long to keep the offer open. Two weeks, and then I have to hire someone or lose the position. So think it over and let me know as soon as you can. You’re my top choice.”
“Wow,” Lei said, looking around the great big sunken living room for Woo’s computer. “Thanks so much. I will give it some serious thought and get back to you by the end of the week.”
“You do that.” Omura rang off with the decisiveness that had made her both intimidating and effective as a leader. You always knew where you stood with Omura, Lei thought, unlike Waxman. She spotted a laptop on a side table next to a La-Z-Boy where Woo must have watched TV and relaxed.
Lei unplugged the machine and power cord and did another quick survey, still distracted by the turmoil the phone call had elicited. There was nothing to see but the remains of a life in an empty setting. She definitely had something to think about.
She decided not to call Stevens about it just yet. He’d just pressure her to take the job, and many of the reasons she’d joined the FBI still stood: the movement around the country, higher-level cases, the latest in equipment and technology.
Looking around the beautiful and expensively-appointed room, she remembered that Clyde Woo was also someone who had put his work first. But in the end, it had been cold company.
Chapter 25
Sophie had decided to clear her head, and now she ran the rugged Koko Head stair trail, Pandora playing some German thrash metal through headphones to spur her on. Hike running was good because it took all her concentration to move at speed on trails that were never intended for that. Finally, an exercise that took all she had and gave something back. She had Fight Club later on but had already checked Alika’s schedule and knew he wouldn’t be in, which had bled the anticipation out of going.
Sophie wondered, with the one brain cell that wasn’t totally engaged with the perpendicular trail with its rail-girder stair dividers, if he was avoiding her. Ever since she’d said no to the women’s fight circuit, he’d been mysteriously absent. She could call him, she thought, jumping a large rock, landing light on her toes and bursting away from the ground. She had his number.
But no.
Maybe just to find out where he was, set up a real coaching appointment.
No. It would be too awful if he figured out she liked him that way and wasn’t interested. She’d rather die. She probably would die. Alone, as so many of the suicide victims in the gallery had been . . .
Sophie reached the top, a stupendous display of clouds, ocean, rugged green slope, and sweeping vista. She stood, panting. Breathing it in, taking it in, feeling endorphins from the exertion flood her system along with appreciation for the natural splendor all around her.
The dark thoughts fled.
There were important things for her to do, and maybe tonight would be the night she tracked the system admin. She closed her eyes and inhaled, the wind cooling her flushed skin, fe
eling literally on top of the world.
Sophie turned and headed back, running even faster downhill.
Kamala was slow warming up, so Sophie did some stretches over her home exercise ball. Fight Club had been good. Marcella had shown up and brought Kamuela with her, so they’d had fun orienting him on the sport. Sophie grinned, remembering. Marcella had improved so much, she was able to take the big detective down at least once.
Spending time as a threesome didn’t seem so bad when they were doing Fight Club.
Sophie had heated up a frozen fish and noodle dish and ate it as she read through the e-mails that had come in the intervening hours. Sure enough, the link she was looking for had arrived. She clicked on it and followed it to the next portal.
On this screen, two choices awaited her click: “DyingFriends in Your Area Live Chat” and “The Ultimate Solution.”
She clicked on “The Ultimate Solution” and was confronted by a bold printed contract. It read as Lei had led her to expect from Woo’s disclosure. The contract designated a commitment to the “ultimate solution” to end his or her suffering, with areas to fill in the subject’s top three suicide choices. Once that was submitted, the subject made a commitment to assist or support in the suicide of another member in their local area by one of their three chosen methods, photographing the body and uploading it to the DyingFriends site when complete.
The contracted member could choose the method and the time, effectively surprising the suicide victim. All notes must be written ahead of time and photographic evidence of their completion submitted to the system admin via e-mail for the contract to be enabled.
This was it, Sophie thought, her heart speeding with excitement. Hopefully, the system admin would vet her contract and suicide note personally, and when he did, she could finally track him.
The suicide notes were to be handwritten, photographed, and uploaded to the site. A link she could click on led to “examples of the most effective notes.” Effective for whom? In what way? She wished she understood the psychology of the site administrator. She hesitated to click on the “examples.” She’d looked at more than enough already in the suicide gallery.
What she should do was write ShastaM’s suicide note.
Sophie seldom had any use for paper and a pen, so none were immediately handy. She looked around her workspace—as usual, nothing there but the keyboard, the monitors, the mouse pad, and a mug of cold tea from the morning. She got up, went to her bill-paying area at the other end of the desk. She did most of that online too, but some vendors continued to send paper bills, and in a file drawer she found a yellow legal pad and a ballpoint pen.
She paused. Would ShastaM use a yellow legal pad?
No. The identity she’d been developing was more feminine and girly, traditional even. She needed a card of some kind. She remembered her father’s desk, a formal affair in one corner of the living room. She went across the room, pulled out drawers until she found a stack of embossed all-occasion cards. One of them would work.
She sat on the gilt chair at the shiny black lacquer desk, the card open, one of her father’s black rolling-ball gel pens in her hand, poised above the creamy paper.
It felt real, this note. Maybe it was all those dead faces she’d pored over in the last few days; maybe it was the depression and loneliness that had dogged her in spite of all her efforts to outrun it, outfight it. But when she put the pen to the paper, the words flowed easily.
Dear family,
First of all, you need to know this was never about anything you did or didn’t do. I always knew you loved me the best you could. It was my fault I never felt it, never took it in, and somehow landed on this planet feeling alone and different.
I take responsibility for that and even for how this choice to escape my pain and loneliness is, at the heart, a selfish one.
This once, I choose me and what’s best for me and trust that you will understand someday. And even if you don’t, that you come to accept that I did what I had to do.
I love you.
Shasta (Mom)
She signed it with the series of three smileys she’d been using as an online signature. If there was a part of the note that felt faked, it was that.
She spread the note open and used her phone to photograph it. Sent it from the phone to Kamala’s hard drive. She’d have to upload it to the site from there, behind the masking program, or KevorkianFan, as she’d come to think of the system administrator, could track it to her phone. She sat up, feeling disembodied, as she often did lately, looking around the spacious, elegant space.
It would probably bother her father to know what she’d just done at his desk. It had been overlong since she called him, and a pang of guilt made her thumb to his number on the phone and call it. She tore the card into thin strips and dropped them in the wastebasket.
“Hello.” Her father had a resonant voice that had reminded her of Morgan Freeman.
“Hello, Papa. How are you?”
“My girl.” His voice felt like a long-distance hug. “Having wild parties in my apartment?”
She gave a little bark of laughter. “Hardly. Your Internet bandwidth is always tapped out, though. How’s Washington?”
“Crazy people, crazy traffic, crazy politics, but I’m doing my tour of duty.” An ambassador, he had rotations between Southeast Asia and Washington. “Looking forward to retirement. In fact, either we’re going to be roommates or I’ll be kicking you out next May.”
“Really, Papa? You always say that, then don’t do it.”
“Really. I put my papers in. It’s not like I need the money, and lately, I really don’t need the stress.”
“Well, good. I hope you do it this time.” Sophie looked out at the view—perhaps she would miss it more than she thought. Or, they’d try being roommates. The thought made her smile.
“So what’s up that you called?”
“Nothing. Just hadn’t talked with you in a while and . . . I wanted to tell you I love you.”
A pause. She racked her brain. Had she ever said that to him before on the phone? She didn’t think so.
“Are you all right?” he asked, voice sharp with alarm. No, apparently, she hadn’t.
“Fine. Really.” She reached up, played with a bit of hair, rolling it between her fingers. “Just wanted to tell you that. Also I found a new sport, and it’s fun.” She told him about run hiking. “I want to take you when you come.”
“That can be my first project. Getting in shape,” he said. “Well, I’m glad there’s nothing wrong. And in case you didn’t know it and I don’t say it enough—I love you too. There’s something in the mail for you.”
He was a gift giver. Always had been. “Great, Papa. I’ll look forward to it, and the apartment is clean and beautiful whenever you decide to drop on in.”
“I kind of wish you’d mess things up,” he said. “It feels like no one lives there but your computers whenever I come. Mess the place up for me, will you? Really live in it.”
She smiled. “Okay. I’m having a rave here this weekend. I’ll tell everyone you said so.”
“You better.” She heard the smile in his voice. “Have fun. And I love you.” He rang off.
And she really felt his love, for the first time in a long time. She was beginning to suspect that was her fault, not his. Sophie walked over to the formal couch with its cream leather cushions and velvety throw pillows and tossed them around. One landed on the floor, and she left it there.
“There. Someone lives here,” she said aloud and walked into the bedroom to fill out the rest of her suicide contract.
Sophie got up in the pitch-dark of her room at the beeping tone of her phone alarm, which she’d set to wake her at five a.m. Dressed in the silky tee she wore to bed, she padded over to her computer bay and turned Kamala on, apprehension and anticipation clenching her belly. Today was the day; she just knew it.
Sophie walked into the living room and immediately spotted the cushion on the flo
or. “No, I’m not going to pick you up,” she said aloud, and went into the kitchen, turned her electric kettle on, and walked to the bank of windows.
Sunrise was just beginning to gild the silhouette of Diamond Head with a rime of gold against cobalt-purple sky. Night was pulling back, yielding its hold, but the full moon still hung over the ocean—a silver sequin on the dress of a new day.
Sophie began a sun salutation: Inhale, arms up in a point above her head. Exhale slowly as she spread them, fingers wide, bending over to touch the floor with her palms. Inhale as she put one foot all the way back in a runner’s lunge, exhale as she extended the other and hoisted her butt high, arms straight so she formed the pyramid shape of Downward Dog. Inhale as she brought the right leg in, keeping the left out in lunge position. Exhale as she brought that leg in, staying doubled up over straight legs, face between her knees. Inhale, unrolling the spine one vertebra at a time, lifting the arms arrow straight above her head, palms together. Exhale as she spread them wide in a fan, bringing them open, down, and back to center.
Palms touching.
Breathing.
Feasting her eyes on the morning.
Filling her eyes with beauty and her mind with peace.
Calm settled over her. She would know what to do when the system admin revealed himself, and she could finish her double life as ShastaM with its haunting overtones. She couldn’t wait to be done with this case.
Her teakettle whistled.
Sophie broke the pose and poured her tea, returning to Kamala, who hummed with readiness to work. She opened her e-mail.
The system admin had responded, and she immediately set her trace program working on his message even as she read it. It appeared to be a personalized note.
“Dear Shasta,
Your decision to join those who have participated in the ultimate solution is not an easy one, I’m sure. I found your note moving and a true declaration of liberty. Since you have chosen peaceful means of departure from this world, take that note out and leave it somewhere prominent. Live with it in the days to come. Make sure it says exactly what you want it to say, and revise it if you need to. The personal details, location, and means of departure of someone in your area will be e-mailed to you as soon as they are available. When you’ve assisted them on their journey, you will be met by another member of DyingFriends.com who will assist you on yours.
