Megan's Cure (27 page)

Chapter 52

TAKEO HAYASHI WAS worried about his nerves so the Kimura Pharmaceutical executive didn’t leave the Tokyo restaurant where he was sipping green tea until he knew the Shimbashi station on the Ginza subway line would be jammed with the rush-hour crowd.
 

On his way, he passed a sliding-glass doorway off the sidewalk with yellow plastic flowers in boxes outside.
 
The facade around the doorway was designed to look like Roman columns and also was painted a rich yellow – the color of gold. Through the opened door, he heard the bells, electronic pinging and rattling of the balls ricocheting inside the banks of pachinko machines.
 

Even how, he felt an urge to walk in and down the center aisle bordered by the rows of machines.
 
This is how it had all started for him as a teenager.
 
All the hours in the neighborhood parlors.
 
Racking up the points.
 
The excitement and adrenaline.
 
Winning and losing.
 
Losing and winning.

He forced himself to continue on. He reached the subway station and dropped down inside. It was as he had expected.

The platforms were packed with people.
 
Any relief when the crowd jammed onto a train after it rolled into the station was short lived.
 
Within a couple of minutes, new waves of humanity replaced the old, pouring down from the street-level entrances and surging over from the other lines that intersected there with the Ginza.

He positioned himself toward the end of the platform where the Ginza train would arrive.
 
He wanted to make sure it was moving at maximum speed.

First, he felt the vibrations in his feet.
 
Then the sound – a rumbling that he knew would soon be overwhelmed by the squeal of the brakes. Then the wind as the air in front of the train was pushed forward in the tunnel and out onto the platform area.

He only had a few seconds.

He pulled out his phone.
 
The email he had composed to the reporter in San Francisco was ready.
 
He clicked on the button that instructed a huge email server somewhere to send it out – but only after a delay.
 
A “send” date a few days from now seemed safe.
 
Then he reached into his right coat pocket and found the subway card.
 
It showed he had entered the station here rather than arriving on his usual train for the transfer home.
 
He let it flutter to the ground.

He walked along the edge of the platform with his back toward the oncoming train.
 
He went to a clot of people crowding the place where a door would soon open.
 
The squeal of brakes was loud behind him and getting close.
 
He deliberately walked into a man, said, “
Abunai!
Watch out!” and flung himself off the platform.

As he hung for a moment in the air, he said silently, “I’m sorry.”
 

He was sorry for the massive gambling debts he had incurred as he doubled up and redoubled up in an effort to dig out of his financial woes.
 
He was sorry he would miss seeing his children grow up and have lives and families of their own.
 
He was sorry to leave his wife alone.
 
Most of all, he was sorry that the terms of his life insurance policy cheated him of what he would have traded for almost anything – the chance to say ‘Good bye.’
 

* * *

“Enzo!” said Lorraine Carr when Lee picked up the telephone in his flat.
 
“Are you okay?”

“I am,” said Lee.
 
“But it’s been a rough couple of days. So you heard about what happened in the hospital.”

“Well, yeah,” said Carr.
 
“I mean it was in the newspaper.
 
Plus Ray Pillman called me.”
 
She referred to an editor at the News.

“Well, still alive and kicking,” said Lee.
 
“And trying to figure out how I got in the middle of this and how to get out of it.”

“You’ll find a way,” said Carr.
 
“At least you usually do.
 
And how is Grandma?”

“Not too much change at the moment,” said Lee.
 
“But I’m hopeful.
 
Very hopeful.”

“Good,” said Carr. “Give her a big hug for me.
 
And…uh…I gotta go.
 
But…uh…I just have to say.
 
I miss you, damn it!”

“Me, too, Lorraine,” said Lee.
 
“Me, too.
 
And…uh…listen.
 
If this guy…Billie Bob…Willie Joe…or whatever his name is…”

“Barry,” said Carr.

“Right.
 
Barry.
 
If he’s not good to you, tell me and I’ll come out there and beat the holy crap out of him.
 
He’s not very big is he?”

“He’s huge,” she said.

“Oh, shoot,” he said.
 
“Well…doesn’t matter.
 
If he’s big, he’s big.”

Carr was silent for a moment.
 
Lee thought maybe he’d lost the connection.

“I love you,” she finally said in a whisper so soft that Lee almost wasn’t sure he’d heard it.

“Lorraine?” he said.

But she was gone.

* * *

Novak and Roxanne Rosewell had barely settled into her home when the San Francisco Sheriff’s deputies came for him.

Two were in uniform and two wore plainclothes.
 
They were polite but adamant.
 
One of them immediately placed a steel-toed boot in the open doorway in case Rosewell tried to close the door.

Then, when they saw Novak watching them from the living room, they marched right in and surrounded him.
 
They insisted on handcuffing Novak and would not let him change out of his tattered sweatpants, white T-shirt and sandals.

One of them read Novak his Miranda rights and then they were out the door, back into the two cars they had left sitting outside.
 
Novak was alone in the back seat of one of them, slumped behind the metal grill that separated the back seat from the front.
 

 
Of course, the media had been called to witness Novak’s arrival for booking into the county jail where he was formally notified of the charges – four counts of theft of trade secrets and office supplies from Merrick & Merrick.
 
The evening news footage showed a gaunt, aging man who stared into the cameras as if hypnotized by the bright lights.
 
The chaos around Novak confused him – the photographers jostling for position and reporters shouting questions.
 
He plodded numbly in wherever direction the deputies steered him, an old, defeated bull being led to slaughter.
 

At the same time that Novak was being paraded before the media in handcuffs and sweatpants, the lawyers that Roxanne Rosewater had sent to defend him from Merrick & Merrick’s legal assaults in other parts of the country weren’t faring much better.

The Delaware courts – always reluctant to give up a case that has any connection to the state – denied his lawyers’ efforts to have the lawsuit attempting to reverse the Medvak acquisition transferred to California.
 

And in Louisiana, Novak’s lawyers lost their first attempt to stop the extradition proceeding, arguing that since Megan’s mother had given her permission for the Roxaten treatment it could hardly be considered criminal battery.
 
They had no idea the Louisiana judge in the case was the second cousin of Sheriff Jules Dupont who had filed the extradition request immediately after the deposit of Edwin Merrick’s 50 “good ideas” into his campaign coffers.
 

But it was the arrest, of course, that made the biggest splash and dashed any hope that Novak could rest, recuperate and gain some distance from the raging controversy.

He spent less than an hour behind bars but was exhausted by the time Rosewell got him back to her house.
 
He slouched in a chair.
 
Then he began to weep.
 
He couldn’t stop.
 
Only after he took a powerful tranquilizer could Rosewell lead him into a back bedroom, tuck the blankets around him and put an end to the tumultuous day.

Chapter 53

THE TABLE AT Greens Restaurant was right up against the bank of windows that looked out over the adjacent marina.
 
The bright white of the boats against the deep blue of the ocean water was almost painfully blinding in the crystal clear noon sunlight.

Bobbie Connors and Enzo Lee took a moment to enjoy the view while the waitress put their menus in front of them.

“I assume this is just dabbling on the vegetarian side of life, huh?” said Connors.

“Well, a few times a year I like to remember that there is life beyond meat,” said Lee. “I don’t think you’ll miss it.
 
If I could eat here for every meal, I might actually consider it – going vegetarian.”

“You can actually say that with a straight face,” said Connors.
 
“I’m so impressed I’m going to let you order for me.”

“Well, okay,” said Lee.
 
“The only provision is that we share everything.
 
That way you can get a better feel for all the options.”

They started with a salad that had Chioggia beets, grilled artichoke, spring peas, tiny carrots and sliced radish in a dressing of olive oil flavored with lemon, mint and chunks of bleu cheese.
 
Then came spring rolls with green papaya, red cabbage, jicama, sautéed tofu, cilantro and rice noodles served with fresh peanut sauce.
 
Lee ordered them two glasses of a dry Austrian Veltliner.
 

“I just love it when you pump me for information,” said Connors when she paused for a moment between bites of the spring roll.

Lee shrugged.

“Well, you rarely disappoint,” he said.
 
“Plus you said maybe I could help you out somehow.
 
So, I’m all ears.”

Connors finished chewing while she pondered what she would say next.

“Okay.
 
This is off, off, off the record,” she began. “As in career-changing off the record.”

“All right,” said Lee.
 
“I assume this has to do with the guy who put me to sleep for half a day.”

“It does,” said Connors.
 
“Michael Leonard.
 
It turns out he has so many aliases I’m surprised he remembers his real birth name.

“He actually refers to himself as ‘Mr. Average,’” she continued.
 
“As in being anonymous by not standing out.
 
Blending in.
 
Anyway, the brain trust at the department has adopted that name for him – Mr. Average.
 
Seems to fit.
 
The man is very eager to cut a quick deal.
 
His court-appointed attorney is dangling all sorts of stuff in front of us – glittery prizes that are looking very tempting.
 
All we’ve got to do is take his deal – 20 years.”

“Okay,” said Lee.

“And that’s the problem…for me at least,” said Connors. “Guy killed a cop.
 
Probably killed at least one other person.
 
Maybe more.
 
Plus hurt lots of people.
 
Look what he did to you.”

“Let’s see,” said Lee. “What does 20 years mean in real time?”

“Good question,” said Connors.
 
“Of course that’s part of the deal.
 
We can’t mess with the ‘good behavior’ formula and whatnot.
 
Let’s say he gets out in 15 years, maybe even a couple less.”

“Yeah,” said Lee.
 
“That does seem pretty light.”

“No kidding,” said Connors.
 
“Don’t get me wrong.
 
I’ll do the deal to climb the ladder and get the top guys if I have to.
 
But it hurts me big time.
 
I went to Mendoza’s home.
 
You know.
 
Visit the widow.
 
Let her know we’ll take care of her and all that.
 
We’re all a big family at a time like this.
 
It could have been any of us.
 
He’s got a couple of kids.
 
Two and four.
 
Boys.
 
They wore department T-shirts.
 
It…it just broke my damn heart.”

Lee nodded his understanding.

“And so, Mr. Average and his attorney have raised their skirts a bit,” Connors continued.
 
“They gotta give us the peek so we know what we’re paying for.
 
Just part of the dance.”
 

“And how does it look?”

“Oh, it looks real,” said Connors.
 
“He poisoned the patients.
 
Eight total.
 
We matched his travel…plane flights…with the list you gave us from Novak.
 
The people in the medical trials who got sick.
 
Mr. Average will tie it all together.

“And his boss did a pretty good job of hiding his identity – no names, changing phones, running the money off shore,” Connors added.
 
“But he made a mistake.”
 
The detective paused for dramatic effect.

“Okay,” said Lee. “
Ta-da
.
 
Any time now.”

“He called once on a land line,” said Connors.
 
“It shows up on Mr. Average’s phone records.
 
He’ll confirm this and tie it all together, too.
 
Came from the Palladium Casino…Las Vegas.
 
Odds are we’ll be able to trace it to a specific extension once we have a subpoena, which would be easy to get after Mr. Average signs on the dotted line...or maybe I should say ‘if’ he signs on the dotted line.”
 

“If?” said Lee.

“And here is where you come in,” said Connors.
 
“What do you think about writing a story that covers most of this, attributing it to ‘anonymous law enforcement sources’?”

“What I think is…are you kidding me?
 
I’m all over it,” said Lee. “But how does this work on your side exactly?”

“It’s a calculated risk,” said Connors.
 
“Maybe we tip off the target.
 
But I’m betting he’s already on high alert.
 
If they can run, hide, destroy evidence, whatever…it’s already been done.
 
My plan is to launch an unofficial rocket up their tailpipe – with your help.
 
My guess is we’ll see a couple of people come flying out the window…or at least something interesting will turn up.

“Of course the whole reason we do this is so we don’t have to cut a deal,” she added.
 
“So Mr. Average goes directly to Death Row, which is only right.”

“And how could this go wrong and what happens then?” asked Lee.

“Yeah…well, my ass is on the line big time with this,” said Connors.
 
“His defense attorney will go nuts.
 
He’ll make sure the judge pees her pants when the story hits.
 
But at least I don’t have to start drafting my apology to the Mendoza boys.
 
Not yet, anyway.”