Eye Sleuth (6 page)

“If you want to talk to me or the neurosurgeon, you could wait in the office next to the nurses’ station, but it may be some time before we’re free.” The two doctors left.

Grabbing Lars’ arm, I steered him down the hall. He sighed, a shuddering release of tension.

“Yoko, what happened? Val called to tell me Lanny was at the hospital. You two were meeting for lunch? Val said Lanny’d had a terrible fall and was unconscious. When he gave me your message, I called Lanny’s family doctor and told him what you’d said. He immediately told me he recommended this neurosurgeon who is, thank god, on staff here.”

I shepherded Lars into the doctor’s office, glad to find it empty. I told him what I’d seen at the club, how Lanny had been deliberately pushed over the upper gallery. Lars was by turns shocked and angry. Nothing I told him helped make sense of the attack. Finally, I asked the questions bothering me.

“Could this attack be anything to do with a peace-keeping mission? Or one of the lawsuits about problems at the club?”

“No, she’s not involved in any lawsuit,” Lars said heavily. “I doubt it’s anything to do with peace-keeping trips. Sounds like a spontaneous assault. Today’s terrorists would be embarrassed at the lack of sophistication, the lack of planning, lack of arms. It’s got the mark of an amateur, an unpremeditated attack. What did the man look like?”

“Thin face. Short dark hair, lots of it. No beard or mustache or glasses. A dark gray jacket, pale blue shirt. Solid dark blue tie. I only saw him from the chest up.” I rattled off the sum total of my visual impression and for the first time wondered what Lanny’s attacker had seen when he looked down at me. I was wearing a navy blazer, a red blouse and khaki pants. I tend to be casual, the natural look of underpaid college faculty. This was quite dressy for me, in honor of lunch with Lanny. My straight black hair is cut a couple of inches below my ears. Epicanthic eyelids show my Japanese ancestry.

“Would you know him again?”

“I think so.” Unfortunately. Would he know me again? Bleak thought.

At the back of my mind, I wondered again if this attack was connected to yesterday’s warning of danger? Could it really be coincidence, two crazy situations when I was around? Before I could say anything, an orderly stuck his head round the door.

“A police detective has asked to see you both as soon as possible.”

“I also want to see the police,” Lars said.

The police officer in the bland waiting room was a plainclothes detective, one I recognized––Dan Riley. Today he was in baggy chinos with a black Yankees’ windbreaker. Very Gap. Very nice. We stared at each other for a surprised moment. My heart thudded uneasily. What would he think, finding me at a second catastrophe?

“Mr. Oldenburg? I’m Dan Riley from the Thirteenth Precinct. The National Arts Club where Mrs. Oldenburg was attacked is in our jurisdiction. Can I ask why the two of you are here?” Obviously he’d been briefed. His words were diplomatic but informative, which is more than some diplomats are.

“I was called because the consulate is always concerned about those connected to it,” Lars explained. “Mrs. Oldenburg is my sister-in-law, Dr. Kamimura is part of our family, has been since she was born.”

“I understand,’ Dan said. “The chief caught me before I left home and suggested I swing by the hospital on my way to the station. I can take statements here but it would be best if you’d both go back to the club. Detectives have begun an investigation there.” He paused and thought for a moment. “I’ll call the lead investigator and tell him about your interview yesterday, Dr. Kamimura.” His nod was businesslike, yesterday’s x-ray look was not present.

“We can go to the club together, Yoko,” Lars said. “I want to talk to Aldon and Val.” Lars looked at me. “On the way, you can tell me what ‘your interview yesterday’ means.”

As we left, the two men exchanged appraising looks. Was it my imagination or did Riley give me an odd sideways glance? Who could blame him? How often did he find the same witness at two bizarre situations, one right after another? One woman shot dead, another in the hospital, unconscious. Would he now ask whether there was a connection between these two situations? Would he begin to believe there was danger? Whatever the detective thought, he didn’t say anything about yesterday and I felt too frazzled to revisit that particular issue.

Lars scribbled a note on his business card and left it on the desk in the doctors’ office. He pulled out his cell phone when we reached the street. I listened as he told Dag he’d left a message for the staff doctor that Dag was to be kept informed of everything to do with Lanny.

“Connect with the staff doctor and the neurologist as soon as possible. Reiterate that I want you to keep the consulate updated on Mrs. Oldenburg’s condition. Let me know the room number when one’s ready. Set up round-the-clock supervision in the hall. I want you inside the room, she must not be left alone for a minute.”

I knew Lars too well to doubt this would be done.

“All right, Yoko, what did the detective mean about an interview yesterday?”

Quickly, I filled Lars in on the shooting I’d witnessed and the stranger’s warning of danger. Lars nodded slowly. I didn’t say how worried I was still.

“Yesterday’s warning might mean nothing, but what if it’s connected to the attack on Lanny?” I asked. “When I was at the police station, the police totally dismissed my concern about the warning of danger.”

“I can understand the police would feel there was little to be done about the warning of danger, if you can’t think of any reason why you’d be in danger?” Lars looked at me. “Can you?”

“No, none,” I said.

“It’s hard to see any connection between the two situations. It sounds like a psychotic attacked Lanny,” Lars said.

He had found a legitimate parking space for his Volvo on Greenwich Avenue near the hospital, even though he had diplomatic plates. We drove east and turned uptown on Park Avenue and Lars negotiated potholes and jaywalkers with equal care. His face was calm but I knew his insides had to be churning like mine.

“Oh, Auntie Ai,” I suddenly said. “We have to let her know, but….” I stopped in mid-sentence. I didn’t have to explain to Lars how hard it would be to break the news to Auntie Ai. She was my only living relative and loved Lanny as much as I did. It was going to be a horrible shock for Auntie Ai, whoever telephoned with the news. Auntie Ai’s multiple sclerosis had worsened so that these days she wasn’t able to get out and about without a lot of planning and a someone to help her. A trip from Brooklyn to the hospital would be impossible, which is why Lanny often visited her and I went out regularly.

Lars understood my sudden silence. “Look, why don’t I call her? It might be easier on both of you.”

“Thank you, Lars,” I said gratefully. “Let her know that we’ll both be visiting Lanny and will call her with updates. She knows that when Lanny’s out of the hospital, she’ll be sure to visit. ”

Lars and I exchanged one of those long looks where nothing is said but much passes between two people.

At the club, Lars was immediately closeted with police in the main office. Aldon and Val descended on me.

“Thanks, Val, your message got through. The hospital did have a neurosurgeon who knew about the specialized work of Dr. Ghajar. No, Lanny didn’t come round before we left the hospital,” I answered Val’s query miserably. It didn’t bear thinking about, easier to bury the emotion, put on a calm face. “She’s scheduled to have surgery as soon as possible.”

“A terrible, terrible accident, if it was an accident, given Mrs. Oldenburg’s connection with ombudsmen negotiations,” Aldon said. “We’ve police swarming through the club. They’ll find out what this is all about.”

“Lars thinks the attacker wasn’t a professional,” I told Aldon and Val, who digested this insight in silence. “And Andy mentioned to me when I came in that he saw someone who followed Lanny and was talking to her. He didn’t recognize the guy but said he looked upset. We have to ask Andy again what the man looked like. ”

“Of course. But even if the desk attendants don’t see everyone who comes in or out, the video cameras do.” Val was distressed that he or his staff might be to blame for Lanny’s attack. “After the ambulance left, I went upstairs and found the sign barring the entrance to the balcony that runs round the dome had been knocked over. It looked as if there’d been a scuffle. Perhaps Mrs. Oldenburg was trying to run away from that…that terrible man? I don’t know what we could have done to prevent this tragedy, we try to protect each person who comes to the club, whether they live here or not.”

“Val, accidents happen,” I said to Val. “Lanny would be the first to defend the club, everyone knows the club is security conscious, always has been.”

It definitely was. Partly because of the prodigious art collection that had grown steadily since the club’s founding in 1898 and partly for the security of those who lived there, as well as visitors. The double brownstone, originally the home of Samuel Tilden, a governor of New York––best known for losing the presidency to Hayes by one electoral vote after winning the popular vote––had been remodeled to form the club. A modern building with studios and apartments for artists was built on what had been Tilden’s garden and stables on 19
^th
Street and was connected to the clubhouse by a long corridor lined with art.

The upper floors of the main building contain the club’s administrative offices and those of several other organizations, including the Poetry Club and the National Federation of Press Women. The three bedrooms––bathrooms down the hall––are for members who live sixty miles or more from the club. The club’s front entrance on Twentieth Street faces Gramercy Park and is the main access to the club and apartments. A street door exits onto Nineteenth Street from the apartment building but when the police examined it, they found it locked and undisturbed. Deliveries and staff use a back entrance.

“We checked the tapes from the surveillance cameras for the outside doors,” Val said.

I knew all about the row of closed circuit cameras that sat behind the front desk and monitored key areas. One-eyed robots, they’d sat silently on duty when I worked at the club in my student days.

“He must have left by the front door,” Val said. “The tape from the camera on the main door shows a man shielding his face with his hand as he left. It was about the time of the attack.” Val looked from Aldon to me, his frustration clear. “Why would someone attack Mrs. Oldenburg?”

“Lars thought it probably was a madman but Andy said that man he saw talking to Lanny seemed really angry. Has he told the police about that?” I said.

Finally, the two left and I sat waiting to be called in by the police. Val reappeared with a cup of hot tea and I drank it greedily. Lars eventually emerged from his interview and I waited as he checked his cell phone for messages.

“Dag called with good news, Yoko,” Lars said. “The first part of Lanny’s surgery went well. I’m heading back to the hospital. Keep in touch?”

We hugged. I watched him hurry off then reluctantly went in to talk to the police.

The detective who interviewed me was a real Archie Bunker type. Burly body, pugnacious speech patterns. When I was shown in and introduced as Dr. Kamimura, he took one look at me and decided I must have arrived from Tokyo that morning and although I was young for the job, I might have had a hand in the bombing of Pearl Harbor. Hostility oozed out of his every pore. A thoughtful look crossed the detective’s face when I said I’d been born and raised in Brooklyn. I didn’t say that my dad’s father was in World War II, in the 442
^nd
infantry regiment, all Japanese Americans. Their bravery in combat resulted in the 442
^nd
becoming the most decorated unit in U.S. military history.

Archie let me know straight off that he’d heard from Detective Dan Riley.

“You were at the station yesterday over a street shooting, right?” He headed straight for the jugular. “Think there’s any connection between that and this?” He turned on his small tape recorder and made a show of opening a notebook and settling it in front of him. He stared at me, pen poised.

I swallowed hard but didn’t let the detective see that his frontal attack shook me up––I still wasn’t over the shock of yesterday’s murder, let alone the warning, and today’s attack on Lanny had sent tentacles of worry deep into my psyche, worry that there was a connection. On some deep level, I was numb. The senses of shock and anger were surface emotions.

“I don’t see a connection. I didn’t know the woman who was killed on the street and I don’t know why my godmother was attacked.”

“But you got a look at the man who did this, isn’t that true?”

“Yes, I did but it was only a quick glimpse, enough to know I didn’t know him but enough to believe I’d recognize him if I saw him again. Did you talk to Andy the front desk clerk? He mentioned to me that he saw a man follow Lanny up the stairs and he seemed to be angry.”

“We’ve talked with Mr. Andy Greer and have a description. I’d like to hear what you saw.”

“He had dark hair, lots of it. I only saw him from the waist up because he was standing behind the gallery railing. Mostly it’s a blur, it happened so fast––but I could tell he was angry, furious.”

“That’s it?” Archie asked incredulously.

“Yes, that’s all. If I could tell you any more, I would.”

I kept my voice neutral but still got a nasty look. Archie decided to move on. He had me watch the morning’s security tape of people coming in and exiting the club but nodded, unsurprised, when I said I didn’t know the man shielding his face as he left. The videotape held no clues and Archie didn’t look too disappointed that I couldn’t help identify the man.

“You work where?”

He nodded at my answer, comfortable with the familiar name, State University of New York.