Irish Chain (37 page)

“Let’s eat,” Elvia said with a sigh, picking up her soup spoon. “As Mama says, at least when your stomach is full, you have one less problem.”

During lunch Elvia and I perused the photographs, arguing about which ones we preferred. We were halfway finished with our meal when a familiar pair of Army boots came clumping down the stairway.

“Ramon,” I called out. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking—”

The boots stopped and started backing slowly up the stairs.

I jumped up from my chair and stuck my hand through the railing, grabbing one large foot. “Hold it right there, buddy. The SWAT team’s got you surrounded. Come out with your hands up.”

“Oh, geeze,” he whined.

I walked around and stood at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed. “Ramon Aragon, you get down here right now.”

He slowly descended the stairs. “Look,” he began, “I’ve been meaning to come by the museum, it’s just that ...”

“Get over there and sit down,” I said, pointing at the table where his sister sat, a knowing grin on her face. “We have to talk about this history project that you’re supposed to be helping me on. Where have you been? How can I honestly tell your teacher you worked on this project when I haven’t seen you for days?”

“I swear I was going to call you today. It was on my list of things to do.” He patted the pockets of his baggy jeans. “It’s here somewhere, I swear. Maybe I left it in the car—I’ll go—”

“Forget it,” I said, pushing him down in an oak chair. “You and I have to make some plans here. I’ve got a list here of people who have agreed to be interviewed and they’re all right here in town. Now, if you can find Todd...”

“He’s at the pier today. At least that’s where he said he was going. Hey, look at these funky old pictures,” he said, ignoring my lecture. I gave Elvia a peeved look. She just shrugged her shoulders, with the same resignation expressed by her mother a few days ago.

“Ramon,” I said. “You have got to take more responsibility. Now—”

“Hey, here’s one of Todd’s great-grandma and his grandma. He was real upset when his grandma died. She cooked the best noodles.”

“Let me see,” I said. He handed me the picture.

“This is Todd’s great-grandmother and grandmother?” I asked, looking intently at the picture. It was the one of Mrs. Yamaoka, Toshi and Toshi’s daughter. “Are you sure?”

“Sure,” he said, looking at me oddly. “I saw his grandmother lots of times. And she had this picture on the piano at their house. Except it was bigger. She was always giving Todd money. She was really cool. For an old lady, that is.”

“What’s wrong?” Elvia asked. “Your face looks funny.”

“Nothing,” I said and turned to Ramon. “I want you in my office tomorrow at nine o’clock sharp. If you’re not going to help on the interviews, then you’re at least typing this stuff into the word processor.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, holding up his hands. “Can I go now, Officer?”

“I guess,” I said, still peeved.

At that moment, more steps sounded on the stairway. “What in the heck’s keeping you, runt?” Miguel asked. He wore his blue patrolman’s uniform and an impatient frown. “You were supposed to ask Elvia about Saturday and get back up here. I’m not running a taxi service here.”

“It’s Benni’s fault,” Ramon said. “She’s been keeping me here against my will. Isn’t that against the law? Isn’t that kidnaping?”

Miguel gave his brother’s ponytail a hard tug. “I’m going to get you drunk one day and cut this thing off,
Señorita
Aragon.”

“The drunk part sounds good,” Ramon said, pushing his brother’s hand away.

“What are you two up to?” Elvia asked.

“Mama asked me to drop him off at school,” Miguel answered. “His truck blew a head gasket last night.”

“How’s the crime business doing these days?” I asked casually, tearing at one of the biscuits on my plate.

“Everyone’s goofing off today, as you can imagine. While
el gato grande’s
away and all that ...”

“Gabe’s out of town?” Elvia asked and looked at me curiously. I shrugged and continued to make bread crumbs.

“Got a call last night about his son. Kid apparently got mixed up in some trouble down in Santa Barbara where he goes to school. Chief was really pissed off when he left. Things have been real tense around the station lately, since there hasn’t been any headway on the murders. The mayor called the chief four times yesterday. Cleary even pulled some patrol people off street duty to run down leads.”

“I’ve gotta go,” I said, scooping up the pictures. “Thanks for your input, Elvia. I’m going to go on home and try to paste up some kind of reasonable facsimile of a book.” Besides, I had a phone call to make.

Elvia gave me an odd look. “What’s going on,
gringa?
”

“I’ll call you later,” I said. I didn’t want to start talking about the murders in front of Miguel and put him in the uncomfortable position of being caught between our friendship and his job.

On the way back to my house, all the information seemed to swirl around my head like cream in coffee. Passing by the city hall, a thought occurred to me and I swung into the municipal parking lot across the street. Thirty minutes and ten bucks later, I had a copy of Keiko Simmons’ death certificate. It only took me a few seconds to count back from her birth date to the time when she was most likely conceived. Right around the middle of December 1941. Before Hatsumi—Hati—was sent to the assembly camp at Santa Anita. Before she married Mr. Morita in that same camp and had the illegal picture taken by the guard. Pregnant by a white man whose genes would eventually show up in Todd. Especially in his bright blue eyes.

20

THE MINUTE I pieced everything together, I knew I needed to tell someone. And the most logical someone, since Gabe wasn’t here, was Mac. “He’s visiting his grandmother,” his secretary told me when I got to his office. “And then he has a meeting with the board of deacons.” She eyed me suspiciously. I couldn’t help but wonder how much she knew and how much she blamed me for Mac’s dilemma.

I found him sitting next to Oralee’s bed at Oak Terrace. He wore a pale blue button-down-collar shirt and a brown corduroy jacket. She looked as if she’d been ill. The color in her cheekbones was high and bright, like someone who had run a fever for a long time. They silently watched a talk show on the small television atop her chest of drawers.

“Well, look who’s come to see you, Grandma,” he said, standing up.

She looked at me without saying a word, her blue eyes narrow and watchful.

“Hi, Mac,” I said, glancing up at him, then back at Oralee. “Oralee, you know we have to talk.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” she said, her face hardening.

“No matter what happened, people can’t be allowed to get away with murder. You know that.”

“Benni, what’s going on?” Mac asked, his voice low and urgent. He sat back down and took his grandmother’s hand.

“I think I know who killed Mr. O’Hara and Miss Violet. And I think I know why.” I paused. “Oralee, you have to tell us about what happened fifty years ago.”

She pulled her hand out of Mac’s and touched her cheek. “Oh, Mac,” she whispered. “I thought it was over. When they died, I thought it was laid to rest.”

“It can’t be until the murderer is caught,” I said. “You know that.”

She answered with a jagged voice. “We carried the burden for so long. Rose Ann and I never thought it would work, but it did. And justice was served. It was the only justice she would have ever got.”

“Who?” Mac asked.

“Go ahead, Oralee,” I said. “Tell Mac what happened, what he gave up his reputation and career for. He deserves at least that much.”

Oralee gave a deep, bone-wrenching sigh and began. “At one time, Rose Ann and I were best friends, did you know that?”

“No, I didn’t,” Mac said.

“We’d known each other since we were five years old. It was funny, her and I ending up in the same room, two old ladies. We used to talk about going to live in the city—San Francisco or Los Angeles, and getting an apartment together. But neither of us ever left San Celina. It was all just girl talk. We read too many romance stories, I think.” She laughed, her eyes glazed over remembering their plans.

“I loved him,” she whispered. “He was such a handsome man and it was me he picked. Me.” She looked up into Mac’s face, her eyes bright and wondering. In them, I caught a glimpse of the young Oralee. I felt a cool dampness start to collect on my breastbone.

“Who, Grandma?”

“Brady.” Her eyes closed. “Brady O’Hara. The catch of the town. He used to bring me yellow roses every Saturday night before we went to the picture show. Yellow roses and a silver box of chocolates he had sent from San Francisco. I saved the boxes out in the barn for years.”

Mac turned to look at me, surprised. Apparently, he’d never heard about the engagement of his grandmother and Mr. O’Hara. “What happened?” he asked.

She opened her eyes and her face hardened. “I broke the engagement.”

“Why?” Mac asked.

“I was there when he received the telegram, you know. December fourteenth, 1941. I’ll never forget that day. I’d come to town because we were going to pick out our china. Me picking out china, can you imagine that? He made me feel like such a lady, me, this little old country girl.” She paused for a moment and took a deep breath. “They came to his office at the store because that’s where he always was. He was certain his brother was still alive. Other people had gotten telegrams already and he hadn’t, so he figured his brother was still alive. But he wasn’t. They didn’t even find his body. It’s there, on that ship in Hawaii. People have their pictures taken in front of it now.”

“Mr. O’Hara’s brother was on the
Arizona?
” Mac said.

“Yes. And he hated the Japanese for that. He wanted to join up himself—go and kill them all. He ranted and raved about it all afternoon. But I talked him out of it. Said he was of more use here, that he was too old to go. But it was just selfishness on my part. I didn’t want him to go. Maybe if he’d joined, his hate would have been better served. At least it wouldn’t have hurt innocent people.”

“What innocent people?” Mac asked.

“He started drinking. He always kept a whiskey bottle in his drawer. He would read the telegram out loud to me, then take another drink. When I couldn’t make him stop, I finally just left. I hated being around him when he drank, and he knew it. I should have told all his employees to leave so he would have to close the store, but I was too embarrassed. I figured he’d drink until he passed out. I hate admitting it, but he’d done that before. I was so giddy in love—I never really believed he would hurt anyone. I went back to the ranch and figured he’d be fine the next day. Later that night, Rose Ann called me.”

“What did she want?”

“She told me to get over to her place right away. The sound of her voice made me drive that old Ford pickup like a banshee over the pass. When I got there, they were both huddled on the sofa, crying. I remember I just stood as still as could be looking at them. She sounded like a bird, her head buried like that in Rose Ann’s shoulder. ‘What are you going to do about this?’ Rose Ann asked me. I just stood there. I didn’t know what to do.”

“Who was with Rose Ann?”

She shook her head mutely.

“Hatsumi Morita,” I answered for her, walking over to the side of Oralee’s bed. “Only she was Hatsumi Ikeda then. Everyone called her Hati. She was a pretty sixteen-year-old, excited and proud about her part-time job at the town’s only department store. The first Asian ever to be hired. Someone who was young and timid and taught to be obedient to authority. Even the authority of a drunken boss.”

“Benni, what are you saying?” Mac asked. Oralee and I stared at each other.

“He raped her that night, didn’t he?” I said to Oralee.

“I didn’t know he’d do something like that,” Oralee whispered. “He was so mad at the Japanese. She was too ashamed to go home, too afraid her parents would blame her. So she ran to the only person she felt safe with, a teacher who’d been her friend since she was a little girl.” Oralee looked at me, her eyes dark in a face the color of bleached bones. “If I’d just taken the bottle of whiskey, told everyone to leave, if I’d stayed ...” Her voice trailed off.

“Why didn’t you call the police?” Mac said.

Oralee silently shook her head, so I answered. “Oralee called Dr. Brownmiller the night of the rape and he treated Hati, set her broken hand, prescribed pain pills. But they all knew one thing. There was no way that the word of a young Japanese girl would stand up in court against one of the town’s leading citizens. Especially when feelings against the Japanese were already escalating out of control. Think about what rape victims go through today, Mac, when our laws are supposedly in their favor. Imagine what Hatsumi would have had to endure. No, Rose Ann and Oralee knew they couldn’t get justice from the authorities, so they decided to extract their own justice, and I suppose, in a way, they did.”

“What did they do?” Mac asked.

“Thanks to Mr. O’Hara’s money, many of the Japanese-Americans were able to come back from the internment camps without having lost a single dime.” I looked at Oralee. “I’m curious, though. How did you get him to agree to do that all those years?”

She gave a crafty smile, and the steel-backed Oralee that I’d always known replaced the frightened old woman. “We went to his house the next day. I held a shotgun on him while he handwrote the confession that Rose Ann dictated to him. It was one of the sweetest moments of my life.”

“Is that what I took from the nightstand?” Mac asked.

“Yes,” she said, disgusted. “Rose Ann, that stupid ninny, had her lawyer get it from her safety deposit box where she’d kept it all those years. She wasn’t right in the head those last few months, was getting confused about things and people. She’d memorized the whole letter and would walk down the corridors reciting it. Most everyone took it for the rambling of an old woman, a soap opera she’d mixed up with real life. Only I knew she was telling a real story.”

“You and Mr. O’Hara,” I said.