Curse of the Jade Lily: A McKenzie Novel

by David Housewright

  “Amnesia for the events at and preceding a head injury with loss of consciousness is very common,” she said. “It’s possible memory will return, but probably it won’t.”

  “You said there was no demonstrable injury to his brain.”

  “That means nothing.”

  Rask spun around to face me. I lifted my right hand and then let it fall back on the bed because I couldn’t lift my left.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Rask said. “So am I.”

  “Do you have anything yet?”

  “We have the credit card number used to reserve the two rooms,” Rask said. “It was stolen. We have security footage of the young man who registered. He made the reservations late Thursday afternoon during the blizzard. We’re attempting to match his face to the mug shots in our database. No hits so far, and truth be told, we’re not likely to get any. I’ll get you a photograph later. You said you never saw any of the artnappers, but who knows? We have video of what we believe to be the SUV that the artnappers drove in and out of the parking lot. It matches the SUV we saw in the footage taken at the museum when the Lily was stolen—I have a car guy who claims it’s a Toyota RAV4. Unfortunately, we can’t read the plates. What else? Forensics is trying to put the bomb back together, find out where the explosive came from, see if we can read the signature of the bomber—we might get something there, but it’ll probably take a while. The thieves just made a big score, and they’re likely to celebrate. We have people checking strip joints, casinos—the big-buck clubs. All of our undercover guys have been briefed—they have their ears open, and of course, we’re leaning on all of our CIs. The money was marked—the thieves have to know that, so they might try to launder it. We’re watching everyone we know who is available to do that sort of thing. We’ve also alerted Homeland Security in case they try to smuggle the cash out of town by plane or train. Nothing so far.”

  “I wish I could help,” I said.

  “McKenzie?” Donatucci stepped away from the window and turned to face me across the length of the bed. “In your earlier statements, you said the Lily was in the motel room…”

  “No. I said—look, it could have been the Lily, it could have been a fake, I don’t know. I remember examining it. I was looking for the M. That’s the last thing I remember before the paramedics arrived.”

  “Then you did not authenticate the Lily.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Fake or not, you said it was made of jade,” Donatucci said.

  “It felt like jade.”

  “McKenzie, we’ve examined the debris left after the explosion. We sifted through it very carefully and we can’t find any jade. Not a shard, not even a sliver.”

  “Huh?”

  “Can you explain that?”

  “No, I can’t,” I said.

  “You’re absolutely sure it was there, the Lily?”

  “Yes. Or at least something resembling the Lily.”

  “The money…”

  “It was in room 122 last time I saw it.”

  “We found your dolly and the three gym bags—the shape charge blew upward, so room 122 was more or less intact. The money was gone.”

  “Big surprise.”

  Donatucci threw a hard look at Rask. I don’t know what passed between the two, but it was clear that neither of them was satisfied with my answers.

  “I presume you won’t be paying off a claim on the Jade Lily anytime soon,” I said.

  “No,” Donatucci said. “Not until we have more definitive evidence that it’s irretrievably lost.”

  Good, my inner voice said.

  “Have you informed the boys and girls at the museum?” I asked.

  Donatucci quickly glanced at his watch. “They’re having another one of their emergency meetings in about an hour. I’ll tell them then.”

  “Good.” This time I said it aloud.

  “I’m also going to tell them that the investigation will continue. This isn’t over yet, McKenzie.”

  “Gentlemen,” the doctor said from the door, “if there’s nothing else, Mr. McKenzie needs his rest.”

  To emphasize her point, she pushed herself away from the door and then pulled it open.

  The doctor had been very good at protecting me while I was in her care, even refusing to acknowledge to the media that I was in the hospital. Fortunately, if I can use that word, several other people were also injured in the explosion, although none of them seriously—most of them had been staying in rooms adjacent to 222. They were more than happy to provide the news media with all the interviews they wanted, so I was left more or less alone. A TV reporter named Kelly Bressandes, who, to the great pleasure of her male audience, always dressed like a hostess in a gentlemen’s club, recognized my name among the injured—I had given her a story a couple of years back in exchange for a few favors. She had managed to sneak into my room the night before, startling the hell out of me. I hadn’t been put into an immobilizer then, and flinching the way I did caused pain in my shoulder that brought tears to my eyes.

  “McKenzie,” she said as she approached the bed, her honey-colored hair reflecting the lights of the monitors. I had no idea why she was whispering.

  “Monica?” I said.

  “It’s Kelly. Kelly Bressandes.”

  “Monica?”

  “No, it’s Kelly. McKenzie, what happened at the motel?”

  I brought a knuckle to my eye yet did not brush away the tears. I turned my head so she could get a good look at the scratches on my cheek and the bruise on my forehead. I was hoping I looked as pathetic as I felt.

  “Motel. Boom,” I said.

  “Yes, there was an explosion. McKenzie, tell me about the Jade Lily.”

  “Lily?”

  “Yes.”

  “Lily Bressandes?”

  “No, I’m—the Lily, McKenzie. The Jade Lily.”

  That’s when the doctor entered the room. She demanded to know who Bressandes was but clearly didn’t care, because in her next breath she told her to get out and never come back. As the reporter was leaving, I called to her.

  “Good to see you again, Kelly. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  The doctor told me I was pathetic, so I knew the look I was going for had worked. She then interviewed me as she had just hours earlier. I never did get much sleep, so I really was tired when she told Rask and Donatucci it was time to leave.

  Lieutenant Rask was tapping my knee through the bedsheets.

  “We’ll talk again,” he told me.

  “Sure,” I said.

  Both men moved to the door. Donatucci left the room first. I called to Rask.

  “LT?” I said. “What happened to my car?”

  “I had it towed to the City of Minneapolis impound lot,” he said.

  “The one near International Market Square?”

  “Yes.”

  “I suppose that’s as secure a place as any.”

  Rask paused for a moment as if he were trying to decipher a coded message and then gave it up.

  “I have your Beretta,” he said. “Come see me when you get out of here.”

  “Sure.”

  After he left, I closed my eyes and settled against my pillows as best I could without moving my shoulder. I hated like hell to lie to them, especially Rask.

  “I’ll make it up to you guys first chance I get,” I said.

  “What did you say?”

  I opened my eyes. The doctor was standing inside the door.

  “When can I leave?” I asked.

  “As far as I can tell, you’re neurologically intact—”

  “That sounds promising.”

  “You have a normal CT. I am concerned about the confusion and amnesia you demonstrated earlier, however, especially when you were in the ER and speaking to the investigators from the police department and insurance company for the first time.”

  “I am not confused any longer.”

  “If you want to make a big deal out of it, I can l
et you go right now. Otherwise, I’d like to keep you overnight.”

  “Are you going to wake me up every two hours?”

  “I’ll wake you once. How’s that?”

  I thought about it for a few beats. On one hand, I needed to move and move fast if I was going to get the money back. On the other hand, my broken collarbone meant I would need help, and I wasn’t sure who to ask. On the other hand, all hell was going to break loose as soon as Mr. Donatucci met with the museum’s executive board. On the other hand, I wanted all hell to break loose. I was counting on it. On the other hand, I wasn’t prepared for it yet—all hell breaking loose, I mean. On the other hand, this wasn’t rocket surgery. I mean brain science. I mean—Jeezus! How many hands have you got? Focus.

  Confusion and an inability to concentrate are symptoms of a concussion, my inner voice said. That and the ringing in your ears.

  “That could be simple tinnitus,” I said aloud.

  “What?” the doctor asked.

  “Tinnitus—ringing in the ears. Everybody experiences ringing in the ears at one time or another, right? It doesn’t need to be a symptom of a concussion, right?”

  “You tell me.”

  “Hey, you’re the doctor. I’m the one with the degree in umm, in umm … What did I go to college for? Criminology. I have a degree in—Doc, is irritability also symptomatic of a concussion? I bet it is.”

  “McKenzie…”

  “You know, it probably wouldn’t kill me to spend another night in this fine establishment. The food sucks, but I could always send out for pizza. I know this great Vietnamese place that delivers, too. Yeah, I’ll stay. I’m going to need my cell phone, though.”

  * * *

  I was sitting up, a plastic plate on top of the hospital’s roll-away overbed table and both positioned so that they were tight against my stomach. I had attempted to eat beef lo mein with chopsticks and failed miserably, so I switched to a fork. That didn’t work out any better. Most people lean over their plates when they eat, only leaning forward was suddenly a painful practice for me. So I tried to eat while keeping my back straight, tilting my head down, and bringing the fork to my mouth instead of meeting it halfway. I kept spilling food all over the napkin I had tucked into the neckline of the hospital gown they had insisted I wear.

  “Need any help?” Nina asked.

  “No.”

  Nina shrugged and continued to consume her kung pao chicken. She was sitting at a table near the window, her feet resting on a chair opposite her, eating directly from the white takeout carton. She didn’t have any problem at all working her chopsticks. Every once in a while she’d fish a cheese puff or a bite of egg roll from one of the other cartons arranged on the table.

  “This sucks,” I said.

  “You did say you wanted to lose a few pounds,” Nina said. “Here’s your chance.”

  “I said I needed to work out more. I didn’t say anything about losing weight.”

  Nina smiled.

  “Do you think I need to lose some weight?’ I asked.

  She smiled some more.

  “This sucks,” I said.

  “You’re the one who insists on visiting the dark side all the time.”

  I didn’t like the tone of her voice, so I asked, “Are you mad at me?”

  “No more than usual,” she said. “I’m tired of visiting you in hospitals, though.”

  “When did you visit me in a hospital?”

  “There was the time after we first met…”

  “Oh, yeah, but that doesn’t count. We weren’t even dating then.”

  “It counts. And then…”

  “Yeah?”

  “And then there was that time in South Dakota.”

  “You didn’t visit me in the hospital in South Dakota.”

  “I would have if I had known you were in the hospital in South Dakota. The point is, I’m tired of it. Don’t make me do this anymore.”

  “I promise.”

  “Okay.”

  “Are we going to have another one of those conversations?”

  “No, I’m tired of that, too. You are who you are and I’m who I am. How the hell we ended up together, God only knows.”

  “Actually, it was God’s doing. Didn’t you know that?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “God said to me, ‘McKenzie…’”

  “He talks to you personally?”

  “All the time. He said, ‘McKenzie, you get Nina.’”

  “Did he tell you why?”

  “Because he likes me.”

  “Obviously.”

  I tried to eat more beef lo mein, but it fell off the fork as I was about to scoop it into my mouth.

  “Are you sure you don’t need any help with that?” Nina asked.

  “No, but you can come over if you like.”

  Nina set down her meal and made her way to the bed. She sat on the edge of it and leaned in. Her kiss was as soft as a butterfly’s wings.

  “Exactly how long did they say you have to wait before you can start working out again?” she asked.

  “God knows.”

  Nina kissed me without putting any pressure on my shoulder at all. I felt her warmth all down my right arm and chest and spreading through the rest of my body. I wanted to shove the tray away and see how far we could take this before I started screaming out in pain, but I didn’t get a chance. There was a heavy knock on the door, and a moment later Jeremy Gillard sauntered into the hospital room, stopped, looked at me, looked at Nina, looked back at me, and said, “Boy, do I know when to enter a room.”

  Nina eased herself off the bed and returned to the table.

  “It’s okay,” I said.

  “I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I can leave and come back in an hour.”

  “Jeremy,” I said. “What’s going on?”

  “I was just at the museum.” He threw a thumb at the door as if the museum were just on the other side of it. He smiled at Nina. “Ms. Truhler,” he said. “It is a pleasure to see you again.” He crossed the room and shook Nina’s hand, holding it much longer than I was comfortable with. “You’re looking as lovely as ever.”

  Nina thanked him and offered an egg roll.

  “Oh, I couldn’t,” Gillard said.

  “Please, help yourself,” Nina said.

  Gillard said, “Well, if you insist,” scooped an egg roll from the carton, and took a bite. “Oh my God, this is amazing,” he quickly added. “Where did you get these?”

  “There’s a Vietnamese restaurant in Northeast Minneapolis called Que Viet Village House.”

  “These are great. You know, there’s this joint in Chinatown in Chicago that I go to that makes egg rolls, but these…”

  “Hey, guys,” I said.

  “The difference is the filler,” Nina said. “The Chinese use cabbage, and the Vietnamese use noodles. Plus, the Vietnamese wrappers are thinner and crispier.”

  “Guys?”

  They both turned toward me.

  “I presume you’re here for a reason, Jer,” I said.

  “Oh, yeah,” Gillard said. “I was just at a meeting at the museum. The insurance guy, Donatucci, he told us that you got blown up trying to retrieve the Jade Lily. I just wanted to drop around and see how you were. Donatucci said you were okay, but honestly, McKenzie, you don’t look okay. Are you okay?”

  “I have a concussion, a broken collarbone, sprained left ankle, my forehead looks and feels like someone hit me with a baseball bat, and I have cuts and bruises all over the place, so to answer your question—yeah, I’m okay.”

  “Just rub some dirt on it, right? That’s what my old football coach would have said.”

  “I played baseball, and my coach would have said to walk it off. ‘Don’t baby yourself. Walk it off.’”

  “I’m really sorry about this, McKenzie.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “Yes, it is,
” Nina said.

  We both looked at her.

  “Not all your fault, but you get your share of blame,” she said.

  “I’m sorry,” Gillard said.

  “Have some more egg roll.”

  He did.

  “How did the boys and girls take the news?” I asked. “The boys and girls at the museum.”

  “Everyone’s pretty upset,” Gillard said. “What’s her name, Perrin Stewart? I thought she was going to break down and cry. That Anderson guy, the one with the big mouth? He went a little crazy; wanted to fire everybody. Said they should get rid of Stewart; said he knew just the woman who should take her place. Stewart claimed that Anderson had wanted to get rid of her ever since he started sleeping with some blond bimbo who knew nothing about art but plenty about, well”—he smiled at Nina—“since there’s a lady present I won’t complete the quote. But by the reaction around the room, I’m guessing not everyone knew about Anderson’s extracurriculars. Accusations really began to fly. It was all very entertaining. I wouldn’t be surprised if Bravo made a reality TV series out of it.”

  “Did you get a name?”

  “A name? Oh, for the woman. No, she was always referred to as ‘the bimbo.’ Why?”

  “What about Randolph Fiegen? How did he take all this?”

  “The man who’s really in charge?”

  “You noticed that, too, did you?”

  “Yeah, I noticed. Fiegen was very quiet. Didn’t say much of anything. You could see the wheels spinning in his head, though. While everyone else was carrying on, I think he was wondering about the same thing I was wondering about—how come there was no sign of the Lily in the debris?”

  “Good question,” I said.

  “You don’t know anything about it?”

  “Not that I recall.”

  “That’s what Donatucci said. The concussion, because of that you don’t remember what happened.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you, Jer.”

  “Well…” Gillard picked up another egg roll, prepared to take a bite, and then put it back in the carton. “Well. The insurance company is going to drag its feet just like you said. I suppose if we knew for sure that the Jade Lily had been destroyed in the explosion…”

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “Nothing, huh?”

  “Sorry.”

  “If you were to remember, it would be worth a lot of money.” Gillard waved at me then. “If you remember. No worries. That damn Lily—you know what? I think it really is cursed.”