Eye Sleuth (3 page)

“To recap, you don’t have a private practice so you’re not the woman’s eye doctor but you’re on staff at the college, full time.”

“Yes. I told you, I work part-time at one of the clinics but I don’t think that woman ever came to the clinic with a child when I was on duty. I don’t remember her and I don’t know her name.”

“Let me be clear about something. She spoke to you in Japanese but you insist you never saw this woman before?” It was Detective Stevens and if her stare was neutral her voice was positively frosty.

“I don’t think I ever saw her before.” Good grief, this isn’t the good cop-bad cop routine. It’s mean cop-mean cop. Between the two of them, I felt like a suspect, not an innocent witness. “Perhaps she spoke Japanese so no one else would understand what she was saying?” I said, keeping my voice calm.

“So what do you think is the danger you allege you were warned about?” It was Stevens.

Uh oh, there it was. They doubted what I was saying. And why had they circled around and come back to the warning of danger, not dealt with it when I first mentioned it? Trying to shake me up? I took a deep breath, I wasn’t so easily rattled. I didn’t know if I could convince them I was telling the truth, but they were wrong if they thought I was lying.

“I don’t know,” I said slowly. “I wish I did. All I know is that a stranger came up to me and warned me of danger. I don’t know what to think.” And it’s pretty damn scary, even if you two don’t think so.

Stevens pressed a few more times for answers but it was with an abstract, practiced ease. As abruptly as she’d arrived, Stevens labored to her feet and left. Going for a walk to distract herself from wanting a cigarette? I felt a twinge of sympathy for the woman, glad I’d never got hooked. I never got beyond token puffs of Pall Malls I liberated from my dad’s pack in a futile effort to be accepted by the cool clique at high school.

“Look, I don’t know if the woman was mentally ill but she gave me a warning and then she was killed. Are you sure you––the police––can’t do something?”

“It’s early. We’ll talk to her family, her neighbors. Find out where she worked. But right now, there’s nothing to go on. We might have more of a handle on it if you could tell me of any reason why you’d be in danger or why someone would say so?”

Riley waited and I couldn’t read anything from his body language or the look in his eyes, just neutral, professional attention. Did he think I was a nut case? I shook my head and took comfort in the fact that he hadn’t said alleged like Stevens.

“No, I told you, I don’t have any idea.”

“I’m sorry, but there’s nothing we can do at this time,” Riley’s voice was firm. “Could be, it doesn’t mean anything.” He paused, then said. ‘It’s important you tell us everything.”

“I have.”

“Sometimes, after the shock of witnessing a crime, memory isn’t crystal clear.” He watched me carefully. When I remained silent, he said, “If you remember something later, get in touch with me right away. Deal?”

He made a certain amount of sense, even though I was certain I hadn’t blotted out anything. My memory banks were frighteningly filled with the whole scary scene.

“Okay.”

Riley didn’t miss a beat or pause in his questions but said, “So you’re sure you don’t know this person. Do you think she was born here or in Japan?”

“I don’t know.” I sounded irritated and I was. What a weird question, what the hell did it mean? “I told you, just as she spoke the shots came. I didn’t have time to think about who she was or where she was born. All I could think was why was she shot––was it a crazy boyfriend or gang war?”

“I see.” Riley’s voice wasn’t as brusque as before but his eyes were sharp, intent. “Tell me, do you think she was someone who’d just arrived from Japan?”

What did
that
mean? Worrying about immigration when someone’s been murdered?

Now I was getting exasperated but I had to cooperate. Diffidently, I explained about intonation and phrasing.

“No matter how hard a third generationer like me tries, there’s a qualitative difference in the way someone born in Japan speaks, reads and writes the language compared with someone born outside Japan.”

My parents, born in California, had been chagrined to discover this on their one trip to the land of their ancestors. Even so, they’d insisted I go to Japanese language classes until I left high school, although we rarely spoke anything but English at home.

“I speak a little Japanese, read less and never learned to write it.” I thought of the teachers who’d struggled to teach me. “It’s a complex language.”

“So I’ve heard. We’ve a detective here who’s Japanese American. He says the same thing.”

Was that the photographer I’d seen outside the college? Would a photographer be a detective? I didn’t ask, I wasn’t that curious. What I really wanted to know was why I’d been warned of danger. Was I ever sorry I’d understood what Mary Sakamoto had said to me. Her murder was mind-blowing. Piled on top of that horror, she’d warned me of danger. Why? Homeland Security made sure we heard about it when the danger code was hoisted up a few notches. Terrorism doesn’t feel personal. The shooting of Mary Sakamoto did.

Detective Stevens came back into the room. “We’ve made contact with the victim’s employer. She worked at Lord & Taylor’s on Fifth Avenue for years, in the designer clothes department. Born in Hawaii, came here in the sixties. Retired last year.”

“She wasn’t always in sales,” Stevens said. “She worked on fashion shows, last-minute adjustments to the clothes. Her manager said she was brilliant. She often sent business Mary’s way, clients who were willing to pay for someone to go to their homes to make alterations.”

I stared at the woman. This was so way out of my league. Stevens must have read my thoughts.

“Yeah, can’t say my wardrobe runs to haute couture,” she said.

In the heavy silence that followed, I did my best to consider their point of view. Yes, I’d told them a stranger had warned me of danger and then that person had been shot. Could be they thought I was lying. The possibilities were endless. Had I hired a killer in a fight over a lover? Was it a drug deal gone wrong? Riley interrupted these lurid thoughts by asking about my work again.

“ Let’s hear more about what you are researching, Dr. Kamimura.”

“I told you, I’m gathering data on the prototypes one of our top professors is developing. We need to document how they affect the vision system.”

“No, not now, not specifically,” I explained. “Last year, I spent about ten months evaluating the reactions and side effects some of the most widely prescribed drugs have on the vision system.”

“What will you be working on after your current project?”

“It depends on what my boss wants.”

Riley looked at me and the pause was lengthy. I braced for more probing but he didn’t say anything and finally turned off the mini-recorder. Was that it? I felt relieved the interview had ground to a halt.

Detective Stevens shifted in her chair and asked if I wanted coffee.

“I’m legally bound to warn you,” she said, “It’s not Starbucks, just from a machine, but it’s hot.”

That made it official. We were done. My mouth was sandpit dry but I shook my head, refusing the offer. Maybe she had a heart despite her steely glare and sniping. Riley walked me out to the station’s main entrance, probably making sure I left the premises. I glanced around but didn’t see Allan. Either he’d left already or was still being interviewed. He was quite the talker so that was possible.

“Here’s my card, keep in touch,” Riley said. “Call if you think of anything else.”

“That’s it? What about me? Do you think I’m in danger? What if that shot was meant for me? She did say I was in danger.”

“You haven’t given us any reason to think you’re in danger. Perhaps you were mistaken for someone else or the woman was shot at random by some nut. Lot of them out there.”

I took the card. Why would I call? I’d told him everything and he’d flatly dismissed my worry. The desk sergeant in the front lobby nodded pleasantly to Riley but the look he turned on me was laser sharp. What is it about the police? Do they learn how to give x-ray looks at the police academy?

I groaned when I looked at my watch. The time I usually allowed myself for lunch was way over but at least my queasy stomach had settled to the point that I could bear to think of eating. The guy I’d seen taking photos outside SUNY came in. He was balancing two large boxes of pizza and the tantalizing smell had me salivating.

“Hungry anyone?” He ignored Riley and nodded to me. Finally, a policeman who didn’t examine me with an x-ray stare or look at me as if I was a suspect. The questioning had left me feeling guilty, even though I didn’t have any reason to feel that way, I was an innocent bystander, damn it. Riley’s voice broke into my confusing thoughts.

“Pizza’s always good, doesn’t matter if you’re hungry,” and the detective laughed, his attention on the boxes.

“Bye,” I said hurriedly, and Riley barely glanced in my direction.

What a relief to leave the police station and an interrogation that made me feel as if I was under suspicion. I headed for the Blimpie on the corner of Third and Twenty-first and ordered a tuna sandwich to take back to the office. Not the first time I’d eat at my desk.

All afternoon, people dropped by my office. Even my boss, Dr. Forrest, stopped in briefly. He was the only one who didn’t quiz me for the gory details about the shooting.

The nonstop flow of visitors kept me from thinking clearly about what I’d witnessed so the interruptions weren’t that unwelcome. Everyone had an opinion but I kept my mouth shut tight about the warning.

“A gang shooting, Chinese gangs are always in the news,” he said confidently when I told him I didn’t know the woman who’d been shot.

“She was Japanese,” I said peevishly.

Allan was a fixture at SUNY way before I graduated, though he was about my age. He was the college’s resident IT genius. Couldn’t have been more different from the other IT specialist I’d known, Charlie, my ex. Allan, your classic geek, was adept at unscrambling technical problems but inept at social contact though he didn’t know that. He was a true brainiac, an admirable quality. Less admirable was the fact that Allan was always certain he was right, even when proved wrong. He was also irritatingly sure that one day I’d come to my senses and go out with him. He ignores the fact I’ve told him pointblank he’s as appealing to me as mud, even if he’s a Mensa man. He’s patronizing and patriarchal and his attitude doesn’t do a thing for my libido. Need I go on?

“You got there pretty quick. Where were you when the shots were fired?” I asked.

“Crossing the street,” Allan said. “At first, I didn’t know you were involved, didn’t see you till I got up close.”

“Trust me, I didn’t want to be involved,” I muttered. Interesting…hadn’t Allan told me this morning that he’d seen that woman talking to me? Maybe he was just confused, mixed up with all the drama. We swapped details on the police questioning. Allan was, of course, certain he’d breezed through his time at the station.

“The two detectives who interviewed me were borderline smart,” he said. “How about the detectives you saw, were they street smart?”

“Allan, you’re too much.” I didn’t say that the detectives who interviewed me were fairly obnoxious and their attitude dismissive and irritating. Allan would want to know exactly what happened and who said what and why. No way was I going to tell anyone, particularly Allan, about the warning of danger. I wasn’t going to open that nightmare to the world. If the police dismissed it, I’d keep quiet for now.

“I don’t think the police have a clue,” Allan carried on as if I hadn’t spoken. “What do you think?”

“How could they if I don’t know what was going on?” I said. For a second, I was tempted to tell Allan about the warning of danger. But I buttoned my lip. He was such a gossip and would never stop chewing it over with me and anyone else who had a spare moment.

Allan leaned forward, put his hands on the desk and stared at me. “Yoko,” he said, “Don’t let it worry you. If you need someone to talk to, I’m right here for you.”

For one brief moment, I didn’t find Allan such a pain. Until he winked at me and said his shoulder was ready whenever I needed to cry.

“I’ll even throw in a drink at the local watering hole.”