Eye Sleuth (18 page)

Promising Beth I’d get back to her as soon as I had any news, I headed for the staff lounge on a scouting mission. Coffee was a good enough excuse to mingle. How had I missed the arrival of the auditors the previous day? Then I realized that usually Matt Wahr or Allan were my sources of news and gossip and I hadn’t seen either after lunch.

I didn’t have to go far. Halfway to the lounge, I caught up with Martin Collins walking down the hall deep in conversation with Len Preston. Both were senior faculty. They stopped talking when I caught up with them but read the knowledge and query on my face.

White-collar crime. I thought of all the patients who could have been helped, all the corners we’d trimmed, all the equipment we could have afforded with that money.

“Any idea how much is involved?”

“Too much. Yoko, we must keep a tight lid on this. Some details will be public knowledge soon enough but beyond that, do your best to neutralize any rumors, particularly with students.”

I walked back to my office, leaving the faculty lounge for later. The sooner I gave Beth accurate news and the all-important warning, the sooner the grist mill would have truth for grinding. She was busy and our conversation was short. All afternoon, students stopped by my office with questions. I let them ramble but corrected flights of fancy. Predictably, people were upset, outraged and titillated in equal part, most defending Wahr, certain he could not have done wrong. He was well liked and it was hard to believe he’d steal from the college.

Allan kept popping in and out like a damn yo-yo. Fact-finding missions, he said, but before he’d share his news, he’d quiz me about what I’d heard. Only then would he tell me what his latest visitor had said. He alternated between sad and angry.

“How could Matt do this? We thought he was a man of integrity. How terrible to steal from us.”

“Allan, it’s not proven,” I reminded him. “Remember, innocent until proven guilty.”

“You’re too generous, Yoko. From all I heard, there’s little doubt that Matt is implicated in fraud.” He tapped his nose knowingly. He wouldn’t say more and for the n
^th
time I wondered how he always had the latest news.

By the time the day was over, I was starving and I was down to pretzel crumbs. I was eager to get back to Lanny’s to see how she’d coped with her first day at home. I called and left a message on her answering machine that I’d bring in deluxe subs, one sausage and cheese, the other grilled veggies. Foraging for breakfast that morning, I’d spotted salad makings in the fridge so dinner was set. I let myself into the apartment quietly and as I walked through to the kitchen, a young woman came out of Lanny’s bedroom at the end of the corridor, closing the door softly behind her.

“You must be Tina, is Lanny resting?” I asked, introducing myself.

“Sleeping, she’s exhausted,” Tina answered. “It’s a combination of being home, welcome though that is, and medication. Plus she has a definite tendency to try to do too much.”

“Doesn’t want to give in and admit she’s tired?”

“Exactly,” Tina agreed. She eyed the packages I held. “Smells good. Salad’s ready in the kitchen. I ate with Lanny but I can sit with you and tell you what happened today. Lanny managed really well. She handled the move from the hospital to home base with a minimum of fuss but she does complain a lot about serious headaches.”

The details were much as I’d expected. Tina, a nurse as well as trained in security, had experience caring for other TBI survivors and was prepared for the bursts of bad temper and frustration over even simple tasks. When Tina was ready to leave, we tiptoed down the hall and peeked in on Lanny, who lay fast asleep, her face tranquil and relaxed. Lars arrived as Tina was on her way out and I left them to their quick conversation.

‘Lanny, you, and extra-long subs, my lucky day,” Lars said when he joined me in the kitchen. We sat rehashing what Tina had told us. Lars admitted he was dismayed at Lanny’s spotty memory.

“She forgets the simplest thing almost immediately. She always had a good memory. When will it come back?”

“That’s a tough one,” I said. “She’s on a learning curve, a re-learning curve. Give her time. She’ll start therapy soon and you’ll see changes.”

“You warned me,” Lars said. “It’s so hard to accept the difference in her. It’s like she’s another person.”

“She really isn’t the same and may not ever be the person you once knew. Accepting that is a challenge for her and everyone else.”

There, I’d said the dread words, that Lanny might never be the same person that we’d known and loved. I had faith that Lanny and all of us who knew and loved her would surmount the challenges of her TBI.

“Yoko, would you mind going up to the super’s apartment?” Lars asked after we’d rinsed the dishes. “Let him know it’s okay to fix the disposal unit in the kitchen sink tomorrow, any time he wants. Normally, I’d not bother him after five but he left a note asking me to let him know this evening. I think he really wants to hear about Lanny. Besides, he’ll be glad to see you.”

The resident super, Ian Campbell, a gruff-sounding Scot, ran the building with an iron hand conspicuously lacking a velvet glove. Yet underneath his brusque manner was the proverbial heart of gold. He went fishing once a month and moist parcels of the day’s catch appeared on your doormat if you were in his good graces. His father, a World War II veteran, had spent time in Japan with MacArthur and passed on to his family a liking for soba noodle soup and sushi. I always had a warm welcome from Mr. Campbell.

When I reached the hall, I could hear the hum of the elevator on its way up. It stopped on the floor below and then someone rang for it from the ground floor. Rather than wait, I took the stairs. The elevator didn’t go to the top floor anyhow, since that had originally been maids’ rooms. The super’s wife said her husband was in the furnace room. After I’d told her Lanny was home and doing well, I clattered back down the stairs to the basement. The super was coming out of the enormous room where the furnace, a goddess of heat two stories tall, was housed. Lars was right, the super wanted to know about Lanny.

“I’m very happy to hear the news,” he told me, his r’s a purring resonance. “Give Mrs. Oldenburg and her brother-in-law my regards. I’ll stop by tomorrow for that sink unit, lassie.” I hovered, hoping for one of his historical gems. Over the years, the super had entertained me with stories of the building’s famous residents. Apparently, Jimmy Cagney had owned a ground-floor apartment that backed on to the small courtyard where the trashcans were stacked “Must have been infernally noisy when they picked up the trashcans,” the super had mused, “but that man never complained.”

He didn’t disappoint me this time. “Did I ever tell you that we had Albert Schweitzer visiting in this very building for several days? Truly a fine man. Perhaps he’d have recommended something to help Mrs. Oldenburg.” The r’s rolled magnificently.

I left the super and walked down the long corridor away from the furnace room. The faint echo of the elevator buzzer was audible, someone in the entrance hall ringing for a ride. I decided to take the stairs back to Lanny’s, this way I’d get the exercise I was missing by not being at home. I was on the last flight up from the basement when a man rounded the corner from the entrance hall. He began to descend the stairs, I continued up. About half way, we drew level with each other and I was about to step around him but my heart damn near stopped when I glanced up and saw who it was on the stairs––it was the man who’d attacked Lanny at the National Arts Club.

What the hell? Was he after Lanny again? Or had he tracked me down?

Eight

His silhouette had been etched deep on my mind’s eye from the day I’d seen Lanny callously pushed over the gallery railing at the club. That menacing shadow had moved dimly, terribly, through my nightmares. Here was harsh reality. The man raised one hand and I didn’t wait to find out what the gesture meant. Atavistic rage burst out of me in a piercing cry and I surged forward, pounding the man’s chest. We careened against the wall and fell heavily on the stone stairs in a tangle of arms and legs. I struggled to get free, suddenly mindful I was being beyond foolish. What was I thinking, tackling such a dangerous man? I took off for the basement and met Mr. Campbell hurrying up the stairs, all bristling energy.

“Never on my watch,” he said and took off. A ripe Scottish curse floated behind him. I hung on to the heavy brass stair rail as I labored back up the stairs, fuzzy-headed but not in serious pain. My exploring fingers found a tender place on my forehead but I wasn’t bleeding. I made it to the hall to find the super and the doorman standing by the open elevator, flanking a third man.

When I saw the man I’d taken for Lanny’s attacker, I stared incredulously. It was Matt Wahr. This was not the jaunty figure from SUNY’s halls but a disheveled, disconcerted man. We eyed each other in surprise and Wahr asked, concern on his face.

“Are you all right, Dr. Kamimura? I’m not sure how we collided.”

The super looked curiously from me to Wahr and the three men waited for my answer. Staring at Wahr, I saw how I’d made such a colossal error. Wahr’s build was similar, even the shape of his head was identical to that of Lanny’s attacker. Trouble was, an awful lot of Manhattan’s male population fit that mold. The differences between Wahr and the brute at the club were glaringly obvious in the strong light of the hall. Wahr’s head was balding, his hair wispy, Lanny’s attacker had a curly thatch, which I’d seen when he and Lanny were struggling above me in the gallery. I’d also seen the attacker’s head from the back when I viewed the video of him exiting the club and the man definitely had a full head of hair. Now that I’d literally crashed into Wahr in a place where I never expected to see him, it was clear my perceptions were jittery and had played tricks.

“I telephoned earlier and you suggested I drop by around this time,” Wahr said to him. “I headed for the basement like you said and Dr. Kamimura was on her way up. Somehow we collided.”

Now it was my turn to stare from Wahr to Ian Campbell. Was Wahr planning on moving into the building? 34 Gramercy Park was a coop, not a condo, residents bought their apartments but not the land under it. It was against the rules to rent out your place but it did happen now and then. The typical cover story was that a relative or close friend was conveniently staying in the apartment while you were on a trip. If Wahr was planning on hiding at 34, it was a strange place to choose, so close to SUNY, now that Wahr was officially not welcome at the college.

I made one of those split-second decisions that sometimes rear up later and bite you in the ass big time. I didn’t want to hassle the guy. Innocent till proved guilty is good enough for me.

“The dean wants to hear from you.”

That was all I said. I didn’t offer an apology or an explanation for charging Wahr on the stairs. I moved towards the elevator, making it clear I was done. The super took charge.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” Mr. Campbell said and put one large hand under Wahr’s arm and set off for the front door.

“Best get yourself upstairs, put some ice on that head,” the super called to me. He and Wahr walked to the street door, where they stood talking. I got into the elevator, glad to collapse on the bench against the back wall.

“Mr. Campbell’s right, you need something cold on your head,” the doorman said as he started the elevator.

One look at me when Lars opened the apartment door and he saw something was wrong. He searched the fridge for the aloe vera gel and gently spread it on the swelling on my forehead. It felt tender to his touch but I knew from experience the gel worked wonders.