Eye Sleuth (14 page)

Much later, when I was brushing my teeth, I started to consider in all seriousness the fact that Fred Anders’ work might hold clues to the bizarre events of the past days. I was too tired to try to write anything down or even think more about it but for sure I needed to search for answers. I wouldn’t get in the way of any official investigation, if there was one, which I doubted. If a government agency really was interested in the prototypes, and the underground news was certain about that, then other groups––and not legitimate ones––might be also, and not for therapeutic purposes.

Six

The next week was wonderfully boring––nothing remotely terrible happened. It was a string of days when life cooled to placid routine despite my anxiety about Lanny, which wasn’t eased despite regular visits to the hospital. Then, one evening, yet another of my late sessions, the tedious work of sorting through the giant stack of files on my desk was eased by a tuna salad sandwich. The mayo dressing had a serious zing, more like wasabi than Grey Poupon. The phone rang and I swallowed a mouthful hastily, eager to answer. Most likely a personal call, evening classes were almost over by now.

“The doctors say Lanny will need therapy but to see her awake––she recognized me….” His voice broke, faltered to a stop. I waited for him to catch his breath.

“She’s taking liquids with a straw, not a tube.”

The news of Lanny’s return to consciousness was a beautiful end to the day. I listened eagerly to Lars, cramming the tag end of the sandwich into my mouth in my excitement so that I had to cover the speaker end of the phone to muffle the sounds of chewing.

“Dag called from the hospital to say Lanny was conscious. I broke a few traffic laws getting there. Lanny was groggy but she recognized me right away. When the neurologist is satisfied with the results of the tests he’s ordered, she can leave the hospital. Yoko, it’s over, Lanny’s going home soon.”

The joyful news silenced us both for a moment.

“The doctor said Lanny will need––how did he put it?––cognitive rehabilitation with a speech pathologist,” Lars said. “Why? I didn’t have a problem understanding what she said. It wasn’t that clear but for God’s sake, she just came out of a coma.”

I was too elated to stay at my desk any longer, I had to see Lanny. I gathered the files I’d been working on and dumped them in the file cabinet, locked it and set off for the hospital. As I walked, I considered what Lars had told me. A coma is serious but already, on the meager information Lars had given me, Lanny’s situation sounded more positive than I’d dared to hope. My level of worry had held constant at high but now it went down a notch or two. Obviously, Lanny’s long-term memory was reasonably intact if she’d recognized Lars. The days ahead would reveal the state of her short-term memory.

I recalled classes when Dr. Forrest had outlined how our brains work.

“The left half of your brain is the analytical, dominant side, where we do our logical thinking and reasoning. It’s where our speech areas are and where we process and understand and store words. The brain’s right side is the creative side, the visual-pictorial side that stores visual memories. As for interpreting language, that’s the domain of our temporal lobes, the lower lateral cerebral hemispheres.”

We’d turned to the pages in our textbooks with the gruesome account of the first documented case of brain injury. A railway spike had gone into the eye of an engineer working on the railroads out West, hundreds of miles from a doctor. Pictures showed the spike protruding above the victim’s eyebrow. Astonishingly, the man survived. However, damage to the injured part of the brain had shocking results––it literally altered the victim’s personality. The good-mannered, dependable, well-liked engineer was transformed into someone who drank heavily, cursed constantly and was totally unreliable.

In the short time since Lanny had been conscious, Lars said she’d sounded like and behaved like her usual self. Time would tell just how her brain had been affected. I reached the hospital in record time and found Lars at Lanny’s bedside. My godmother moved her head slowly to look at me and smiled, it was a small smile but my heart soared, Lanny recognized me. I hugged her gently and felt the light pressure of her arms as she hugged me back. I wanted to ask her about the attack, but decided to talk to Lars first. Had he asked Lanny already? What about the police? They’d want to interview Lanny. When would that interview take place? A nurse came in to monitor Lanny’s blood pressure and vital signs, so Lars and I moved away from the bed and quietly I asked if he’d spoken to Lanny yet about the attack.

“Yes, but she doesn’t have any memory of it.”

And that was what Lanny told me when the nurse left and I sat beside my dear godmother, holding her hand, talking in a matter-of-fact way.

“Do you remember what happened to you at the club?”

“Dear heart, I remember nothing about the past few days. Nothing.”

I patted her hand lightly, not too surprised. I’d hoped Lanny could shed some light on a reason for the attack but I knew she probably had amnesia.

“Don’t worry. I’m just so glad to see you looking much better.”

Dag cleared his throat, the signal that it was time to leave. Lars and I smiled at each other. In his unobtrusive way, Dag was a mighty presence.

Outside the hospital, Lars and I chatted for a few minutes then I set off for home. Once I got over my excitement at Lanny coming out of the coma, I discovered I was hungry, I needed a little something after the sandwich I’d been eating when Lars had called with the good news. I decided I had every right to skip a healthy choice, which would be salad––who ever heard of salad for a celebration? I bought Purely Decadent’s Cherry Nirvana. I won’t tell you how much was left in the container by the time I finished celebrating. Let’s say it was enough to top a brownie. Right, we’re talking a spoonful. OK, a teaspoon.

The next morning I woke from a luxurious sleep, feeling optimistic. Hard work faced Lanny, rehabilitation takes time, but she’d survived and she was awake, I was encouraged by these facts. Slathering almond butter and blueberry jelly on a bagel, I reflected happily on how life had changed. Lanny had come out of her coma and was coherent. Life had been calm for day after tranquil day. I was still worried about my godmother but she was started on the road to recovery. I turned my thoughts to work. I was on schedule with everything. Yes, things were looking brighter than they had for some time.

Eager to finish the changes to Dr Anders’ paper before I was due to start at the Infants’ Clinic, I arrived at the college early and walked into an uproar in the lobby. Mike at the front desk was on high alert. He gave me his fish-eye stare. You’d have thought he’d never seen me before today. This translates roughly to, “Show me your ID even if you are the dean.” I whipped out my ID and he waved me through with a nod, no pleasant chat today. His face was serious, his attention divided on listening to what one of the security guards was telling him and keeping a watchful gaze on the people milling around in his territory.

Puzzled, I looked around but didn’t see anyone I knew. SUNY is one of several tenants in the building and I only know college people. Clearly Mike wasn’t in the mood to answer questions. If it was an anthrax or bomb scare, the building would be closed. Couldn’t be fire, either. Shrugging, I went on up the stairs.

I decided to drop in on Fred Anders before heading for my office. He’d been away for a few days visiting the Ohio company that was to manufacture the equipment he was developing. I was looking forward to the latest news. I might even finally fully grasp what this brilliant man was doing. Odds were that Fred was already at his lab bench, would have been for hours.

He wasn’t. Two strangers were in the tiny space. One, a slender woman, twenty-five-ish, in black jeans and a light jacket, was busy with something on the top of the crowded bookcase. The other, a dark-suited man also in his twenties, was bent over staring in fascination at the littered lab bench. He looked up and held out a hand in warning.

I stopped. Something was strangely familiar. The way the two had taken over, their tight focus on me, the question instead of an answer. Had that woman been dusting for prints? I was willing to bet my retinoscope these two were police. Non-uniforms meant detectives. What the hell was going on?

I stared at the man. Detectives could only mean an accident or major trouble. My mouth dropped open as I made the connections. It didn’t bother me that I must look like a stranded fish, I felt like one.

“I’ll take you to the staff lounge. We’re gathering people there.” Detective Dark Suit ushered me out and down the hall. My stomach knotted and my palms were wet with sweat but I walked steadily beside him. My heart skipped a beat when I saw Dan Riley in the lounge, this definitely had to be trouble. He and his partner were talking with two senior faculty.

“Dr. Kamimura, I thought you might be in early. ”

Detective Dark Suit looked inquiringly at Riley, obviously wondering why I merited any comment.

“Bad news?” I said, annoyed at the undertone of fear in my voice. It crossed my mind that Riley might think I attracted trouble––did he think there was any danger yet? It had to be serious for police to be swarming around the college like bees buzzing around honeysuckle.

“Yes. I’m sorry to tell you that Dr. Anders was found dead early this morning,” Riley said, his voice sympathetic, his eyes intent but concerned. Detective Dark Suit watched me carefully, maybe to see if my pupils dilated. Maybe he knew the eyes are a treasure trove of information. Dilation could indicate I was going to faint or tell a lie.

I shook my head. This was going too fast. Riley indicated a chair but I didn’t want to sit down, I wanted to know what had happened.

“Did Dr. Anders have a heart attack? What time did he log in?”

“He signed in around ten PM. The cleaners’ log shows he was working in his lab when they stopped by at eleven last night. He asked them not to bother to clean, told them he’d been away and the place was fine. The front desk doesn’t show him signing out.”

Riley hadn’t answered my first question. Usually, I have enough self-control to wait until I’m sure there’s no more information. Not today.

“He often pulls all-nighters. Probably couldn’t wait to get back to his lab bench,” I babbled. “His wife is very understanding of his long hours. She’s a biochemist at….” My voice trailed off as I thought of Fred’s wife.

How understanding would she be when she heard her husband was dead? She’d be devastated and confused, like me, like everyone who knew Fred Anders, but she might not be suspicious. I was. This was one too many coincidences. Mary Sakamoto’s warning was clear in my head. Danger. Be careful. Perhaps Fred’s death was natural causes, people died of natural causes all the time. On the other hand, my scientific self questioned if this was something to do with Fred’s work. His prototypes could be used for a lot of purposes, not only for vision therapy. Somewhere, somehow, I slotted into the equation. But what in heaven’s name was the connection with Lanny? And what about Gus’s accident? Okay, that could be kids running amok. Then and there I knew I had to get serious about sleuthing. No more putting it off because of work overload. Riley might have a badge and this might be official police work but I had a need to know, a personal need to find out for myself what was going on. I owed it to my godmother and now, to Fred Anders. I definitely owed it to Mary Sakamoto. Riley coughed and I jerked out of my thoughts back to the stark reality of Fred Anders’ death.