Wading Into Murder (23 page)

“My parents were not rich,” she told the others sadly. “They came to New York because they hoped for nice jobs but alas, my father died and then there was just my mother and I. We tried to save enough to go back to Japan where she had been born but it was hard, very hard, and so we were forced to stay.” She sighed heavily, as if the recollection brought great pain.

“We tried many places, many jobs,” she went on, blinking back tears, “but it was always the same, always that struggle, always so very poor…

“That was true for my husband too, at first,” she added with the same pathetic dignity Laura had noted before. “Then he found a job with a good company and we were finally able to move back to Japan.”

She wagged an admonitory finger at Violet. “It is too bad of you to remind me of these things. They are over now and they only bring sadness.”

Violet ignored the criticism and turned to Claudine. “You too have strong ties with New York, Claudine.” The statement seemed to energize Claudine. She sat up straight in her chair, ready to play her role. How good an actress was she? And had Violet been spotlighting Mr. Takara in order to put the person she thought was really the brains behind the criminal organization off her guard?

“I lived in New York for many years,” Claudine confirmed in a steady, uninflected tone.

“You originated in Brooklyn, I believe,” Violet went on, “and spent those years in New York City either as an actress or model or in various other jobs such as cocktail waitress and club dancer.”

“That is true,” Claudine confirmed again. She didn’t look at anyone except Violet, but her tone held no defensiveness.

“And while you were in those occupations, you no doubt saw something of New York’s seamier side, if I can call it that.”

“I did,” Claudine answered, her voice still steady and unemotional. Her control was remarkable, Laura thought. Violet would have a hard time making her crack if that was her purpose.

“You knew, for instance,” Violet persisted, “that certain organizations, Mafia-like groups, operated in the New York area and that they often infiltrated businesses like nightclub dancing or prostitution, or modeling for sex videos.”

Claudine reacted at last. “I could smell them,” she said emphatically, her lips tight with recollection. “They came, I left.”

“Did you know any of the people who ran these organizations?”

Claudine hesitated before she answered, and Laura glanced quickly at Mr. Takara. His face was frozen now, a veritable mask of fear. Mrs. Takara looked desperate to go to him and steady him. She seemed stronger than her husband now, the determined wife who wouldn’t let him incriminate himself, no matter what he had done. 

Claudine’s voice interrupted the thought. “I didn’t know them personally,” she answered finally, “but I did hear of them. Sometimes I read about them or heard about them from girlfriends who got tricked or bullied into working for them.”

“But you say you avoided that fate because you could
smell
them? That is a little hard to believe.” Violet’s tone was caustic, unbelieving.

The implication that Claudine was lying was obvious. Laura wondered suddenly if Claudine and Roger Brown and Mr. Takara were partners in the organization. They could have been meeting secretly. No one would have known.

Richard looked angry, but Claudine only shrugged. “I guess it is hard to believe, but it’s true. I only made one mistake, long ago, but after that I always sensed when they had infiltrated a place where I was working, and I managed to slide away. I never refused them outright; that only makes them mad. I just kept some money stashed away and used it to get the hell out of there. I got pretty expert at it.

“Besides,” Claudine added, her tone as caustic as Violet’s, “those bastards take everything you earn except for a pittance, and expect you to be grateful for that!”

Violet pounced. “Would that one mistake involve Roger Brown, the man now being held as a suspect in Amy’s murder?”

Claudine paled visibly, and for the first time she was defensive. “I don’t know what that bastard told you, but whatever he said is bullshit! He hates my guts because I outsmarted him, and he’d say anything to get me in trouble. But you’re right. My mistake was letting him sweet-talk me into working at his club. The truth is he found out I had money put by and wanted me to put it into some deal he had going. I refused and got out of there fast. He blames me because the deal collapsed and he went broke.”

To Laura’s surprise, Violet let the subject drop. “I see,” she replied. “So after that experience you managed to
slide away
, as you call it. Can you tell us about any of the organizations you managed to slide away from?”

Claudine ignored the sarcasm. “I was careful not to get too close to any of them after that, as I said,” she replied, her voice unemotional again, “so I don’t know much about how they worked. But I do remember…”

She shivered, unable to repress a visceral fear aroused by the memory. “There’s one I remember more than the others,” she resumed, straightening her spine again as if determined to refute the fear. “It was run by a woman they called the ice lady. She was supposed to have a knife that gleamed like ice, and she used it to slice people up who got in her way or girls who refused to do what she told them.”

Laura stared at Claudine as a long-forgotten memory began to surface. Her story was true. There had been a woman like that, although she hadn’t heard about the knife. But she did remember the term
ice lady
. Was that why she had dubbed the woman she had heard from the cellar the icy lady? Was it a subconscious recollection?

Claudine’s voice recalled her. “The story was in the papers for a while but then it fizzled out, maybe because the police never made any arrests.” She shuddered again. “I stayed clear of that one, but she operated in New York for a long time I heard.

“That’s the main one I remember. The others were just the usual mafia types. Threaten the girls who wouldn’t pay, be nice to the ones who did or at least not hurt them, and kill any bastard who got in the way or betrayed them. There should be some police records in New York about them.”

Laura frowned. Why would Claudine tell them about the ice lady if she was or had been that woman, or was even involved with the organization?

Belatedly she looked at Mr. Takara again. He looked as if he were on the verge of a heart attack. His face had bleached to a white mask, and his eyes were petrified. With a cry of distress, Mrs. Takara leaped up to go to him, but Rachel intervened. Laura realized that she had unobtrusively moved closer to the French doors, no doubt in response to a signal from Violet.

“We will attend to him, Mrs. Takara,” Rachel said politely, and ushered the little woman gently but firmly back to her seat.

“But he is my husband! I must go to him,” Mrs. Takara objected, her face drawn with misery. Rachel didn’t answer, and after a moment Mrs. Takara sat down, but her small body was stiff with resentment. She watched her husband apprehensively, as if pleading with him from a distance not to give himself away.

Again, Violet’s next statement seemed to have nothing to do with what they had been talking about, and as far as Laura could tell was a complete surprise to everyone, herself included.

“Mr. Takara,” she said without preamble, “would it help you to know that the woman about whom you are concerned has been taken into protective custody?”

Mr. Takara stared at her in disbelief, and then his face crumpled. He covered it with shaking hands and sat for a long moment trying to control the sobs that racked his body. Finally he raised his eyes again and looked pleadingly at Violet. “She is safe?” he asked desperately.

“She is quite safe,” Violet replied steadily.

“You are certain,” he pleaded again. “If you are certain…”

“I am certain,” Violet repeated, and was silent, as if she were waiting for someone else to react.

Laura looked at her curiously, wondering what she was up to now. Her attention was diverted by a sudden movement. Mrs. Takara half rose from her chair to point an accusing finger at her husband. “So it
was
you!” she exclaimed, her voice shocked. “All the time, it was you who did these terrible things. I did not think it possible…”

She whirled to face Hans. “It is your fault,” she hissed vehemently. “You pretend to be helping little children and all the time you were the one who made him do these cruel things to them. I saw you talking to him, making my poor husband do as you wished,” she went on bitterly. “It is because of you that dishonor has come to our family...”  She subsided into her chair and buried her face in her hands, as her husband had.

“I see,” Violet replied. “So you believe that Hans Gruber is the criminal who runs this organization?”

“Of course he is!” Mrs. Takara exclaimed impatiently. “Has no one told you that? You should arrest him again, make him tell you. That is what
I
say. Then the rest of us can leave.” She sounded like a furious child.

Violet regarded Hans appraisingly. “Unfortunately, Mr. Gruber cannot speak. He was in an accident, and his jaw has been wired shut.”

“He is just pretending,” Mrs. Takara said scornfully. “You must arrest him again.” Hans didn’t react except to look down at the floor. Violet said nothing.

A hushed silence filled the room after that. It went on for so long that Laura thought she would scream unless someone else did first.

Finally Mrs. Takara stirred. “If only I had realized before,” she moaned. “I might have saved that poor girl. She must have seen something, I do not know what, but then the wrong one was killed. But maybe she will know what it was, the one who was not killed. Perhaps she is recovered enough to speak, poor creature.”

She peered up through stiff fingers at Violet, and Laura saw that her face was mottled by distress. “Has she told you why the other one was killed, what she saw?”

“Margaret has said very little,” Violet replied impassively.

“But she must have told you about that terrible man, about what he did,” Mrs. Takara said indignantly, dropping her hands from her face. “I will tell then if she has not.”  She opened her mouth to speak again but Mr. Takara interrupted her.

“Where is she?” he asked Violet suddenly.

“I cannot disclose her location,” Violet replied, “but I can assure you that she is safe and well cared for.”

“Then I will speak.” Mr. Takara rose to his feet and held his body straight as a ramrod as if preparing for a difficult task. “I think you know anyway, do you not?” He didn’t wait for an answer but looked steadily at Violet. Laura had the impression he was afraid to look anywhere else.

“I will tell you all you wish to know,” he repeated, but his voice wavered. His eyes went furtively to his wife’s face. With a cry, she sprang to her feet and took a step toward him. Again, Rachel restrained her with a firm hand and a quiet word.

Mr. Takara lowered his eyes to the floor. “I am the only one who knows, and I must,” he whispered into the breathless silence that permeated the room. “I cannot go on living as I have lived all these years. I must put a stop to it. They will make sure; they would not lie...”

He hesitated again and then seemed to gather the courage to speak. “She,
she
is the one you want,” he said in a voice of quiet assurance. He pointed to Claudine and Mrs. Takara, but he didn’t look at either of them. “She is the monster, the ice lady you seek.”

Desperation filled Laura. Who did he mean?

“Will you please name the ice lady for us, Mr. Takara?” Violet’s voice was firm.

A shudder moved through Mr. Takara. Slowly he turned his head. “The ice lady is my wi -”

He got no further. The center of the room erupted into movement. Mrs. Takara leaped onto her seat and hauled Claudine up in front of her. One wiry arm wrapped itself sinuously around Claudine’s neck in a practiced gesture. In her other hand Mrs. Takara held a gleaming knife.

Laura watched her in horror. All trace of the little woman’s former identity had vanished. Her face was cruel, and utterly remorseless, and her black eyes gleamed with malice. She was someone else… someone who would kill and torture…

With the knife, the gleaming silvery knife, as long and thin as a shining sliver of ice but wickedly sharp, sharper than ice could ever be…

Alan and Richard both made a movement toward Claudine, as did Violet. “You will not move, any of you,” Mrs. Takara ordered. “I will kill her if you do.” Her tone was icy, commanding. The voice of the ice lady, Laura realized, and wanted to weep with the hopelessness of the situation.

Mr. Takara paid no attention to his wife’s threat and advanced on her. “It is too late,” he told her. “You cannot get away.”

His courageous gesture did no good. As soon as he came within range, Mrs. Takara’s knife shot out and stabbed him in the shoulder. “That is what you deserve,” she hissed venomously. “You have dared to betray me… You of all people know what will happen now. My people will find her and kill her slowly as I order.”

Mr. Takara staggered back, clutching the wound. Blood poured through his fingers. He looked pathetically at Violet.

“They will not find her,” Violet assured him steadily. Laura cringed. How could Violet be so calm?

With an easy agility Laura would never have suspected in her, Mrs. Takara stepped down from her chair and kicked it savagely out of the way. The skinny arms that had once seemed stringy and old were firm with muscle now, and there was no hesitation in her springing step or the vicious kick. Her face was supremely confident.

Walking backward with Claudine held in front of her, she proceeded slowly to the French doors, keeping the knife pointed at Claudine’s chest.

Richard, watching in helpless dread, let out an indeterminate sound of choked rage and took a step forward, then another. Watching Mrs. Takara carefully, he followed from a short distance, not venturing too close lest he make Mrs. Takara angry, but staying near enough to wrench Claudine from her grasp if the opportunity arose. Claudine looked terrified, and appallingly helpless in Mrs. Takara’s iron grasp. Laura noticed that she was twisting a silk scarf in her hands, as if to contain her terror with the small gesture.