Megan's Cure (12 page)

Chapter 24

IF THE FEDS weren’t good for anything else, at least they had the clout to get information quickly from car rental companies and law enforcement agencies across the country.
 

They had taken only a few hours to trace the Missouri plates from the car parked near Megan Kim’s school on the day of her disappearance to Avis after Chief Davidson made the phone call.
 
The car rental company had quickly furnished a copy of the rental agreement that bore Walter Novak’s name and driver’s license number.

By the next afternoon, Davidson had in his hand a colored printout reproducing Novak’s California driver’s license.
 
It showed a man in his 50s with wispy white hair, glasses, a befuddled expression and an address in San Francisco’s Lower Pacific Heights.
 
The next morning he would ask Lucy Quan if it was the man she had seen on the other side of the schoolyard.
 
Even without that identification, he knew he had his man.

Aside from lending their clout to his records research, the FBI had continued their hands-off posture.
 
Could the police chief definitively call it a kidnapping?
 
Mary Kim’s assurance that Megan was okay gave the feds an out.
 
It was enough of an excuse for them to avoid responsibility.
 
But it wasn’t enough for Davidson.
 

San Francisco.
 

It reminded him of a long weekend in New Orleans at one of the few real training opportunities he had had during his time at the tiny police department.
 
This one had been about crime scenes:
 
Securing the site and collecting evidence.
 
So much had changed with new technologies to identify genetic material, fiber evidence, even the precise composition of dirt or tobacco.

Davidson had only been able to attend the sessions designed as a crash course for small police departments because he could drive the two hours from his home to the New Orleans Hyatt where it was held.
 
There was no budget for hotel rooms.

He recalled nostalgically a bourbon and beer fueled evening when he had introduced a fellow cop to the joys of eating a huge platter of boiled crayfish seasoned with cayenne pepper and garlic dipped in melted butter and lemon.
 
The dish was the one exception to his general aversion to shellfish.
 
Keeping him company that night was a hilarious, brassy African-American woman, he recalled, who had been the best of the instructors that weekend.
 
And she was from San Francisco.

“Connors,” she had said.
 
“Like the tennis player.”

* * *

“Let me get this right,” said Det. Bobbie Connors.
 
“This guy from San Francisco flies to New Orleans, drives two hours to your town, snatches this little darlin’ and takes her to Tennessee.
 
Then she calls her mother who tells you everything is hunky dory.
 
And that’s it?
 
No other explanation.”

She laughed.

“In a nutshell,” said Davidson.
 

“Okay,” said Connors.
 
“So you’ve got a 10-year-old
somewhere
out there and you want to know who this guy is.
 
I get it.”

“I figured you would,” said Davidson.
 
“Think y’all can help me with this one?”

“I’m on it,” said Connors.
 
“But I got to say that just hearing your voice makes me very hungry.”

“Crayfish,” said Davidson.
 
“Any time you’re back ‘round these parts, you stop on in and I’ll boil up a pot for you myself.”

“There’s that,” said Connors.
 
“But I was remembering the key lime pie in particular.
 
I am an expert and that was the best…yes, I would say it was
the
best I’ve ever had.”

“Tell you what,” said Davidson.
 
“You get a line on this guy and I will personally send you one of those pies next time I’m in New Orleans.
 
Pack it in dry ice myself.”

“Ooh…you got me weak in the knees now,” said Connors, laughing.
 
“You got yourself a deal, Chief.”

* * *

Troy Axmann was working on the third-quarter revenue projections he would present to the Merrick board two days later when he got a call from the company’s vice president for public relations.

An SFPD detective had called the main switchboard and asked for Walter Novak.
 
Novak’s office said the scientist had been gone for several days and no one seemed to know when he would return.
 
Since Novak worked in product development – Axmann’s
 
department – the PR executive wanted guidance on what to tell the police.
 
Was there any reason to issue a press release?

Axmann hung up the telephone promising a return call in 20 minutes.

In a panic, he picked up the phone again and called his brother, in Las Vegas.

“Gray,” he said when his brother answered his cell phone.
 
“We’ve got big problems.
 
The police have called us about Novak.
 
They’re asking if we know where he is.”

Gray Axmann listened while his twin brother filled in the details.
 
The top people at Merrick had no idea Walter Novak was missing, explained Troy.
 
How should he play it?

“Play dumb,” Gray Axmann instructed his brother. “Novak works in your department.
 
He’s been ill.
 
He’s home sick as far you know.
 
If anything, you’ve been too generous, trying not to put pressure on him.

“Tell the police Merrick doesn’t know where he is,” Gray continued.
 
“He’s been out sick.
 
And that’s absolutely all that you know.”
 

Chapter 25

MING WAH CHOY had abandoned her stethoscope for a black Mizuno glove and a blue baseball cap.
 
Instead of a stylish Italian dress underneath an opened lab coat and low heels, she wore a shiny yellow jersey, stretchy pinstriped pants and black Adidas cleats.

With her hair tied into a medium-length ponytail, she toed the rubber with her right foot and rocked back with her left, swinging her right arm behind her.
 
Then, she stepped forward as she whipped her arm in a full underhand circle, finishing with a snap of her wrist and a finger flick that sent the yellow softball spinning toward home plate like a cannon shot.

On his knees, Enzo Lee barely adjusted in time to make a backhand catch when the ball dipped to his right as it neared the plate.
 
It hit the palm of his glove with a loud smack.
 
He gave Choy a long look before he pulled out the ball and tossed it back.

“I didn’t know they played softball in Hong Kong,” he said loud enough for her to hear as she set up for her next pitch.
 
“Fast pitch no less.”

“They play some,” said Choy.
 
“But they play a lot more in Australia where I went for boarding school.

“‘At’s a bloody good catch, mate,” she added in an Aussie brogue.
 
“The next one rises at the end.
 
Watch ‘er face.”

Lee was thankful for the warning.
 
It avoided a possible concussion and the embarrassment of having a softball seam engraved on his forehead for the rest of the evening. After another 15 pitches under the lights of the ball field, Choy walked off the mound and joined her teammates and Lee on the small bleachers off the first base line.
 
A handful of family and friends were scattered around, sprawled in the stands and on the surrounding grass, working their cell phones and minding dogs and small kids.

The field was in a remote park in the hills of San Francisco’s Bayview, a district in the southeast corner of the city.
 
The neighborhood held rundown homes just a few blocks from the freeway that was bordered by lumberyards and warehouses.
 
The evening winds were picking up, swirling and cold after sweeping over the frigid ocean waters off the coast.

By the time Choy took the mound, her team had a four-run lead.
 
The high point of the game for Lee was in the fourth inning when Choy faced her opponent’s best player for the second time.
 
The other team’s center fielder had taken her deep for a two-run homer the first time around.

He guessed that a speed gun would have shown Choy adding an extra 4 or 5 mph to her pitches.
 
Her focus was absolute as the first three pitches broke down and away from the batter. Two were strikes.
 
As the slugger leaned in on the fourth pitch to protect the outside of the plate, Choy delivered a waist-high fastball on the inside corner that forced her to pull back.
 
Strike three and a satisfied grin that was erased as soon as it appeared.

After five innings and 90 minutes, the umpire invoked the mercy rule and ended the game.
 
Choy’s team was ahead by 13 runs.
 
She had given up four runs.
 
Everyone was relieved.
 
Even the dogs looked cold.
 
Lee and Choy threw their gear in the back of his Toyota Spyder.

He took her to Francisco’s in the nearby Noe Valley district, a neighborhood café where you could wear your worst jeans but still have a great dish of pasta, a choice of fine veal entrees and a good Italian Barbera.
 

Lee ordered them an initial antipasto of sliced heirloom tomatoes layered with slices of fresh mozzarella marinated in herbs and olive oil, and topped with fresh basil leaves.

For himself, he ordered veal marsala with three types of mushrooms and a Perrone beer.
 
Choy opted for vegetarian lasagna and a glass of Umbrian Barbera.

After their first sips and bites of bread, Lee leaned back and studied Choy.

“I always thought our children would be basketball pros,” he said.
 
“You know, part of the new wave of Asian backcourt players.”

“Hmmm,” said Choy.
 
“I was thinking, perhaps, tennis.”

“Why is that?”

“You can play it late in life,” she said.
 
“It’s social.
 
Girls can play boys.”

“Uh oh,” said Lee.
 
“Do I sense a challenge coming?”

“I do a play…a little,” said Choy, shrugging.
 
“If you want, I can get a time at my club.”

The reporter laughed.

“Why do I think I’m being set up?” he said.
 
“Okay.
 
Your serves can’t be that much faster than your pitching and I know the balls are softer.
 
I’m game.”

He held up his beer and Choy tipped her wineglass in return.

“So,” she said after returning the glass to the table.
 
“You saw your grandmother today?”

“Yes,” he said.
 
“We talked a little bit.
 
But she seemed exhausted.
 
She fell asleep again after a few minutes.”

“She’s very tired,” said Choy, nodding in agreement.
 
“I don’t mean just lack of sleep.
 
This type of treatment.
 
The chemo.
 
The ups and downs.
 
It’s very draining even for the young healthy patients.
 
And psychologically, when things aren’t going as well, it becomes very difficult.”

“I know,” said Lee.
 
“God do I know.”
 
He suddenly felt completely drained as he remembered the past few weeks and the many hours at the hospital by his grandmother’s side.
 

He stared up at the ceiling and exhaled long and slow.
 
Watching her steadily losing strength and seeing her in pain had taken its toll.
 
He remembered how he had felt when his mother died and knew he was already grieving for his grandmother.

Choy reached over and put her hand on his forearm and gave him a squeeze.
 
He smiled wistfully at her and put his hand on top of hers.

“Thanks,” he said.

“She’s had a long, full life,” said Choy.
 
“Sometimes the best we can do is help them at the end. Help them find the most peaceful path.”

Lee shook his head.

“She’s still fighting,” he said. “She hasn’t given me any indication she wants to stop.
 
Until she does, I’m going to help her.
 
Do anything I can.”

Choy nodded her understanding.
 
She pulled her hand back from underneath his and rearranged her silverware.

“And how is your…your investigation going?” she asked. “Have you found out anything about the ‘mystery’ medicine?”

Lee shook his head.

“I don’t think that’s going anywhere,” he said.
 
“Merrick & Merrick bought it, or at least the rights to it.
 
But the trials have been put on hold.
 
There might be a story there eventually.
 
At least there’s some controversy.
 
But I don’t think it translates into anything that will help my grandmother.”
 

“I’m sorry,” said Choy.
 
“But I can’t say I’m surprised.
 
And…uh…how are you holding up otherwise?
 
Has your girlfriend been out to see you? Your grandmother told me about her.
 
Has she been to visit you?”

Lee shook his head.

“Not for a while,” he said.
 
“Her paper has her running around like crazy.
 
She’s been trying to get away but things keep coming up.”

Lee looked up and saw Choy’s eyes fastened on his.
 
Behind her pretty politeness were a hundred questions.

“It’s one of those times in a career when you have to pull out all the stops,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.
 
“I understand it.
 
I’ve been there.
 
Believe me.”

Choy looked down, picked up her glass of wine and took a sip.
 
Lee wondered how she was able to drink wine and bite her tongue at the same time.