Eye Sleuth (19 page)

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” he said.

“That’s just it,” I said, holding an icepack wrapped in a kitchen towel to my forehead when Lars was done smearing on aloe vera. “For one dreadful nanosecond, I thought the man who attacked Lanny at the club was right here, on the stairs when I was coming up from the basement.”

Lars sat down heavily. “Dear God.”

“I was wrong. The lighting was low and I guess my nerves are still stretched tight,” I said and reminded Lars about the full head of hair on Lanny’s attacker. “Matt Wahr doesn’t have a full head of hair, just a few straight wisps.”

“It must have been a terrible shock,” Lars said as he made us comfrey tea, a remedy Swedes recommend for soothing the nerves. Sipping the warm tea, I filled him in on how I’d mistaken Wahr for the attacker, then I told Lars about the news of Wahr’s white-collar crime.

“It’s alleged but since the problem with the financial records was discovered, he hasn’t been at the college. He was asked to stay away and is supposed to be at home but apparently he’s been AWOL.”

Before Lars could comment, Lanny walked into the kitchen, a cherry red housecoat snugly belted round her waist. She smiled at us.

“I suspect the cause could be structural,” I answered. “See if Tina can take Lanny to the chiropractor you went to for the back trouble you had last year.”

I didn’t want to make promises, but if medication wasn’t helping, possibly a chiropractor could make changes for the better.

At college the next morning, the bump on my head wasn’t noticeable. It had shrunk to almost nothing through the magic of the aloe vera gel, which also stopped any bruising. The mountain of work I had to get ready for the conference in England was almost complete so I settled down in front of the computer for what I hoped was the final tweaking and polishing of the paper about the prototypes. The peculiar encounter with Matt Wahr was the last thing on my mind but it flooded back when I had a surprise call from Detective Riley.

“Occasionally, she worked for several of the execs who were top aides to Ken Lay of Enron fame. Even after that scandal, those guys are living high on the hog. Mary Sakamoto went from one home to the other, fitting cocktail dresses, tuxedos, that sort of thing. Ring any bells?”

“Not one,” I said. “I still can’t fathom what connection she thought she had with me or why she’d think there was danger.”

“Let me know if something does occur to you,” Riley said. “How’s life at the college? The fraud squad say the finance manager is in trouble.”

“Yes, it’s hard to believe. Matt Wahr has always seemed a regular guy.”

“The usual candidates, money, revenge, sex, any one can turn regular guys inside out,’ Riley said.

I decided to tell him about the bruising tangle with the college’s discredited man of finance. Perhaps it would make me feel better about not mentioning my suspicions that the prototypes might be the cause for some of the strange events in the all-too recent past.

“I’ll make a note in the file,” Riley said. “It might help to see if there’s a pattern. Why don’t you ask the building super why Wahr visited him? If Wahr’s a crook, maybe he didn’t tell the truth about not moving into the building, though now that you’ve seen him there, it’s not much of a hiding place.”

I said I’d talk to the super and that was the end of the conversation.

In the cold light of day the mishap with Wahr was more like an unsettling mistake. Shrugging, I turned back to my preparations for the conference. My revisions to Fred Anders’ paper were as good as they were going to get. It was ready for review by the dean, who’d have some of Fred’s peers critique it. The equipment Fred had created was worthy of prize-winning attention and it hurt to think that the man who’d labored so long had died before he saw his work put to practical use. He’d known the tests promised well and he’d told me a few weeks earlier that Bernell, the Indiana manufacturer, never took on any project without independent analysis.

“Too much money at stake,” Fred had said, adding that the company’s president had called to share the glowing recommendations of a panel of behavioral optometrists from colleges in California, Pennsylvania and Illinois. “Peer review pleases me more than commercial interest,” Fred said.

The rest of the week before I was to leave for England was a blur. Days of intense work were balanced by quiet evenings with Lars and Lanny. Lars and I listened carefully to Lanny’s comments about what doctor she’d seen, what hurdle she’d crossed. Lanny’s trauma was considered mild but that didn’t make her rehabilitation straightforward or easy.

Lanny had started the rounds of specialists. She tired easily but was cooperating with Tina, who made sure Lanny had plenty of rest. TBI victims can sometimes be difficult to persuade to tackle the hard work of rehabilitation, not Lanny. Part of this was the type of injury to her brain, part it was her relationship with Lars, which was wonderful motivation. Lanny was determined to meet the enormous challenge of regaining a normal life.

Her excruciating headaches, the ones she’d been warned she might have for the rest of her life, had been eliminated by a chiropractor. X-rays showed that the top vertebra of her spinal column was almost dislocated. Skilful chiropractic manipulation sent Lanny home in happy tears. As is often the case in TBI, Lanny’s long-term memory was vivid but her short-term memory was almost non-existent, which worried her and she was working hard to learn how to cope.

“The most important thing in my life right now is this notebook,” Lanny said, holding up a small black book. “I keep it with me all the time and write down my schedule so I know what I have to do.”

We finished our meal of green beans and Swedish meatballs, the house specialty that Lanny had no problem remembering, although putting together the ingredients and making the meatballs was hard for her. Lars discreetly helped Lanny find and measure ingredients. Something as simple as setting the oven heat baffled Lanny but Lars was there, ever ready to help. As soon as we’d finished eating, Lanny hugged me and went to bed, tired from her day.

“It’s early days yet,” I said. “Lanny’s going through a developmental process. She has to redevelop the tone and function of her gross musculature before she gains control of the fine muscles.”

“How long will that take?”

“It’s hard to say. Right now, the physical therapy is what she needs. The simpler the activity, the more frustrating for her when she finds it difficult. That’s why she can be cranky sometimes. It’s tough having problems with coordination and balance when you’re an adult. Perhaps she’ll be ready for a visual exam in a few more weeks, she still needs plenty of rest.”

Lars nodded thoughtfully but didn’t let the matter drop.

“What will you learn from that exam?”

“It’ll help us understand how she’s functioning,” I explained. “The visual system is a relationship of sensory-motor functions throughout the body. Because the brain is the organizer and control center, if you insult the cortex, you cause problems with the way you function.”

“I didn’t know vision was so complicated,” Lars said. “Lanny’s not permanently disabled, is she?”

“No, thank God,” I said, grateful Lanny had been spared that. “But her life has been changed. Some TBI survivors go back to the work they were doing before, some don’t or can’t. So much depends on the individual and the rehabilitation.”

“You’re easier to understand than the medics and a lot more positive.”

“That’s because I’ve seen TBI rehabilitation fly in the face of zero hope predictions. The specialists are often reluctant to talk about the future. I believe Lanny can regain a lot of her old lifestyle. It takes patience and perseverance and a strong support system. Lanny has all that.”

At last it was the day before I was scheduled to fly to England. The conference material was ready and I had one task left, the pleasant one of going to the dedication ceremony. All I had to do was show up, enjoy free food and listen to speeches thanking donors. The Infants’ Clinic had been able to replace equipment and chairs and refurbish the treatment rooms, all long overdue, and the fund-raising committee had organized a sit-down meal. I found the staff room transformed by flowers and tablecloths. The long head table was filled with bigwigs and there weren’t many seats left at the six small tables. Dr. Forrest came hurrying over when he saw me.

“Yoko, I need your help, will you keep an eye on the rep from the police? They raised quite a donation. Besides, you two are the only ones here under the age of sixty.” He took my arm and led me to where a tall man sat at a half-empty table.

“Dan Riley, I believe you’ve met my colleague, Yoko Kamimura.” My boss pulled out the chair to the left of Riley, courteously ushered me onto the seat and abandoned me. Riley grinned at my obvious surprise.

“Dr. Forrest said you’d be here,” he said. “Shall we get some food before it’s too late?”

The x-ray look was gone, the voice was friendly. Fine, two could play that game. We filled our plates at the buffet and returned to the table, small talk all the way. Either Dan Riley was a good actor or he was genuinely relaxed and glad to be at the dedication. I was tempted to ask if there was any new information about the woman who’d been murdered but decided not to go there, why spoil a pleasant meal? Riley didn’t have any such qualms.

“Any insight into what’s been going on since the street shooting?” he asked, casually enough, eyes steady on me.

“I wish I did,” I said. The tone of my voice was believable and Riley nodded acceptingly. I felt somewhat guilty at not sharing my suspicions, nebulous though they were, but I reminded myself I didn’t have a shred of proof. If I did find out something to back them up, I’d tell Riley, I promised my conscience.

“You’re off to a conference in England?” the detective asked.

It no longer surprised me that Dan Riley had a handle on what was going on in my life. Between Dr. Forrest and the various police departments, he probably had regular updates on my daily activities I thought gloomily.

“Yes,” and I smiled at the thought of the upcoming trip.

“You can e-mail me if you remember something about any of the various, ah, situations,” Riley said. He gave me his card––again. The speeches began and we were quiet. The ceremony was a success and as soon as I could, I slipped away, leaving Dan chatting to my boss.

The evening at Lanny’s apartment was peaceful and when Lanny headed for bed early, so did I. My flight didn’t leave till 6 PM but I had to be at the airport by mid-afternoon so I spent most of the morning with Lanny and Lars then walked downtown to buy more cat food.

“You won’t starve,” I told the cats, “I’ll only be gone a week but there’s enough food here for a month.” The cats still stared reproachfully so I opened a can of tuna and gave them each a huge spoonful. Larissa, my neighbor, had promised to spend time with them each day and I scribbled her a note, asking her to give them the rest of the tuna the next day.

Finally I was on the plane and heading across the Atlantic. The meal had been cleared away and cabin lights turned low. A lucky few were napping. The optometrists on board were scattered in different rows. I recognized several from the photos with their journal articles, Steve Gallop from Pennsylvania and Sam Berne from New Mexico. I watched our flight path develop on the individual screen in front of me and relaxed. Lanny was home and doing well, I’d be out of the country for a week, what a welcome change from recent events.

Someone tapped on my shoulder and I looked up into the friendly eyes of Bob Bertolli. He was attending the conference in place of Gus Forkiotis, who was still on crutches. We stood in the aisle and talked. First thing Bob asked about was the financial scandal at SUNY––good news travels. I gave him the party line and said that the chances of recovering the money were slim but insurance would cover the loss.

“The fact that there’s insurance makes the theft a federal offence, so the financial manager could get a prison sentence,” I explained.

“Really? I heard Wahr disappeared, true?”

“His wife says she doesn’t know where he is, apparently he’s not living at home.”

I’d told Lars and Dan Riley about Wahr’s unexpected appearance at 34 Gramercy Park but had put that strange encounter out of my mind. The police knew about it, that was good enough for me. The past few days had been so hectic as I prepared for the trip to England, I’d forgotten to ask the super why Wahr had been visiting him.

“I don’t see any one else from SUNY, are you the only representative?”

“Yes, no one else could spring free at such short notice after Dr. Anders’ death. Final exams and state boards are coming up. Do you know Steve Farge?” I asked. “He’s head of research and development at Bernell.”