“Okay, dear,” Laurie said, stopping her tape. She knew full well that Jack’s idea of reading in bed was to fall asleep within a page or two. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Jack smiled at her, knowing she was right. In response, he came to the couch, bent over, and gave her a kiss on the lips. “Don’t stay up to all hours watching this stuff,” he said. “I’ll never get you out of bed in the morning.”
“I’ll just watch a little more,” Laurie promised, with good intentions.
When she finished camera four she clicked on camera five. She watched for several minutes until she realized with a start that she’d been asleep. The silent stream of people in and out of the trains was mesmerizing. Since she had no idea when she’d fallen asleep, she reversed the video back to the beginning, recognizing that if she didn’t she might risk missing what she hoped to find.
Struggling to stay awake at least until the end of camera five, she suddenly did a double take. Not quite in the middle of the screen was the man she was looking for. At least she thought so. Quickly she pressed pause on the remote to freeze the scene. At that moment the man was looking back over his shoulder and up the stairs that he’d apparently just descended, although she’d not recognized him until he’d gotten close to the edge of the platform. Picking up the photos of the corpse, she compared them. She was reasonably confident she was correct and the man in the photos and on the screen was the same individual. Though she couldn’t be a hundred percent certain because of the camera angle, the time stamp worked: It was several minutes before the 911 call. Laurie carefully reversed the image and watched the man retreat up the stairs backward. Even watching it frame by frame, she sensed the man was running as he bumped into other people, who were obviously moving more slowly than he was. Checking the other side of the image, she could see that the track was still clear; the train had not yet arrived.
Laurie continued reversing the video frame by frame until the man disappeared from view. The only thing she’d learned was that the man was carrying a canvas bag of some sort. Sitting back in her seat, she allowed the video to run forward at normal speed. The man was indeed running. “He definitely doesn’t want to miss the train,” Laurie said to herself out loud as she watched the man collide into people. At normal speed the collisions appeared more jarring than when viewed frame by frame.
The man pressed into the crowds on the platform, clearly irritating people as he did so. One man even grabbed the Asian man’s arm, but he yanked it from the stranger’s grip and pressed on, continually glancing over his shoulder as if being chased.
“He is being chased!” Laurie blurted, leaning forward again. Two more Asian men had come down the stairs, and like the first one, they forced their way into the crowd with one of them holding an umbrella, the other empty-handed. As Laurie watched, the two pursuing men reached the other man just as the subway charged into the station. At that point, Laurie could just barely see the men of interest, as they were all shorter than the other commuters pressed up against them. For the next few moments there was little movement as the people exiting the train confronted those entering. Finally movement returned to the crowd, and when it did, Laurie could see that the man with the bag was seizing, or at least it looked like he was seizing while still standing upright, his head rapidly and rhythmically fully extending, then relaxing. As people began boarding the train and the crowd slowly thinned, Laurie watched the two men lay the stricken man down on the platform. By this time there was no convulsive activity, and the bag the first was carrying was now in the possession of one of the others. Laurie also recognized that the two men could easily have taken the man’s wallet while they had been holding him upright, to explain why he did not have one when he arrived at the ER.
“My word,” Laurie said out loud. “It was a robbery!” She continued to watch as people continued to pass around and over the supine body. She was amazed by the demonstration of how dispassionate New Yorkers could be. The only positive reaction was a man at the door to the train, who was placing his cell phone to his ear, making Laurie wonder if it was Robert Delacroix. She shifted her attention to the two Asian men as they calmly walked out of sight.
Laurie stopped the video. Running into the master bedroom, she wanted to get Jack. She wanted him to see the video, even though she knew what he was going to say: “Okay, it was an apparent robbery, but maybe it wasn’t. Maybe the bag belongs to one of the two who took it. The key thing is that the autopsy was negative.”
Coming into the bedroom, Laurie pulled up short. As usual, when Jack said he was going to read in bed, he was already fast asleep. The heavy textbook he’d brought into the room was open and lying across his chest. Carefully, Laurie lifted it off and placed it on the side table. Then she turned off his bedside light. It was a ritual that occurred almost every night. Unlike Laurie, Jack had no difficulty whatsoever falling asleep or getting up in the morning, two activities that had always been difficult for her.
Back in the family room, Laurie took the disk from the DVD player and retreated into the study. There she put it back into the computer, went to camera five, and scanned through the file until she found the best frame of the second two men, then printed out a copy. Looking at the two thieves, she totally changed her mind about the case. Initially she’d been disappointed that her first case was an unidentified natural death, and totally pathology free to boot—hardly a case to challenge her competency. Now her perseverance was proving it to be much more interesting than anyone expected, especially herself.
Laurie began to feel the old excitement she used to feel when figuring out complicated and different cases, and she actually couldn’t wait to get into the office in the morning and get the lab results and histology slides. The truth of the matter was that her intuition, which she’d worried might have abandoned her during her leave, was back and strongly suggesting that there were surprises ahead. Her plan was not to reveal what she’d learned from the security tapes until she figured out what had killed the man. Laurie knew that by law, perpetrators of crimes have to assume responsibility of the health of the people they victimize: If a person has a heart attack and dies while running from a thief, it is considered a homicide, not a natural death, and the thief will be tried and punished accordingly. Laurie knew she was now dealing with a definite homicide, changing the case from boring to engaging, at least that’s what she thought as she packed away the photos and the disk in her bag she carried back and forth from work.
The next job was to try to fall asleep—a trick for her, given the new development she’d discovered with the security tapes. On top of that was the realistic concern about JJ possibly waking up. Sometimes Laurie wished she did not need sleep, believing she’d be content to read during the night. But every morning, no matter what, she felt exhausted during the first hour or so and recognized what the reality was.
After checking on JJ, who was fast asleep, Laurie got herself ready for bed. When she at last climbed between the sheets and turned out the light, she reflected on the day. In hindsight it had not been entirely smooth. In fact, it had been rather bumpy. She’d missed JJ, as all her calls home reflected, and she’d been hurt when he’d seemingly rejected her, suggesting a definite vulnerability. On the work side, her case initially had not totally reassured her of her sense of competency, but that seemed to be changing with her evening’s discoveries. When all was said and done, she recognized she very much liked her job and felt reasonably sure she could be both a medical examiner and a mother, and do equal justice to both.
16
MARCH 25, 2010
THURSDAY, 10:44 PM
There they are!” Carlo said as Brennan turned onto 17th Street on the north side of Union Square. As usual the area was alive with people, including sidewalk musicians, panhandlers, and students of all ages and ethnicities. Despite the crowds, Susumu Nomura and Yoshiaki Eto still managed to stand out slightly because of their attire. Like the previous night, they were dressed in black sharkskin suits,
white shirts, black ties, and dark glasses.
“Let’s be clear on this,” Carlo said. “We drive to the pier, supposedly to get the explosives for the supposed distraction, we all get out, saying we need everybody to help carry the explosives back to the SUV, and head inside. That’s where we’ll do the hit. Remember, these guys are going to be armed, and they don’t hesitate to use their weapons.”
There was a general grunt of acquiescence from all present. Brennan and Carlo were in the front seat, with Brennan again driving. Arthur and Ted were cramped back in the third row. The middle seats were left empty for Susumu and Yoshiaki.
Brennan pulled over to the curb in front of the Barnes & Noble store, which had closed some forty-five minutes earlier but whose interior lights were still on. Susumu and Yoshiaki were busy glancing in at the window display.
“Okay,” Carlo said, twisting around in his seat and looking back at Arthur and Ted. “You guys ready? You have your pieces handy?”
Both Arthur and Ted raised their hands to give Carlo a quick glance of their respective automatics and then lowered them out of sight. “Good,” Carlo said. “We don’t expect any trouble, but we might as well be prepared.” Carlo then turned to Brennan. “Are you ready?”
“Obviously I’m ready,” Brennan responded with a bored tone. Sometimes he thought Carlo was a bit too melodramatic.
Carlo lowered his window and whistled. Susumu and Yoshiaki both snapped around at the sound and quickly came to the car, bowing to Carlo as they did so. They lost no time climbing into the middle row, although they paused ever so briefly when they realized there were people in the backseat whose faces were dimly illuminated by the ambient streetlight.
“That’s Arthur and Ted back there,” Carlo called out in explanation.
The Japanese pair twisted in their seats to look at Arthur and Ted once they were settled and the door was closed. They bowed multiple times, repeating “Hai, hai” over and over. It was apparent to the others that they were significantly jazzed up, in anticipation of the planned burglary.
Brennan hooked a left around Union Square and traveled east on 14th Street all the way to the East River. There he headed north on the FDR Drive. For a while no one spoke. Everyone was juiced up but for different reasons. Arthur was the only one who was actually worried about what might happen, as he was by far the most reflective in the group and a firm believer in the adage: If something can go wrong, it will.
Brennan exited the FDR at 34th Street, got onto Third Avenue, and from there descended into the Queens-Midtown Tunnel. As Susumu and Yoshiaki had expected to head farther north on the FDR, they became restive at having entered the tunnel and immediately lapsed into an argument with each other in Japanese. It was obvious they were confused. It was Yoshiaki who spoke up.
“Excuse!” he said, leaning forward. “Why we go to Queens?”
Carlo turned in his seat, making eye contact with Yoshiaki. “Must get explosives,” he said, mistakenly believing he had to use pidgin-like English. “We use explosives to make diversion while we break into iPS USA to get the lab books. Understand?”
“Where do we go in Queens?” Yoshiaki questioned.
“An old Vaccarro family warehouse on a pier at the river,” Carlo said, still facing around. “We use it for storage. There’s explosives there that we will use for tonight’s explosion.”
“What’s a pier?”
“It’s this long thing made out of wood that goes out into the water so ships can park next to it.”
“Futou?” Yoshiaki questioned.
“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t know.”
“East River?”
“That’s right. East River. The pier is on the East River.”
For a few miles Yoshiaki and Susumu spoke loudly back and forth, to the point that Carlo became concerned they might refuse to go along and demand to be taken back to the city. But it didn’t happen. Abruptly they fell quiet, and Carlo hoped they would stay that way for just a little longer.
Emerging from the tunnel, Brennan exited the expressway as soon as he could, crossed over Newtown Creek on McGuinness Boulevard, and turned right on Greenpoint Avenue. At first there were lots of bars and restaurants, but as they approached the river, the neighborhood deteriorated to a point best described as dilapidated-industrial. As Carlo looked out his window, the two things that stood out were the lack of lights and the lack of people. In sharp contrast to the vibrancy of Union Square, the area looked like a postapocalyptic movie set. There seemed to be nothing alive until he saw a large rat whose eyes suddenly sparkled like diamonds as the rodent looked in the direction of the Denali’s headlights.
Five minutes later Brennan pulled right up to the padlocked gate in the ten-foot-high chain-link fence, topped with coiled razor wire that surrounded the Vaccarro property. Carlo hopped out with the key, and in the glare of the headlights unlocked the gate to allow Brennan to drive in. Then, in the darkness, he relocked the gate before running forward and climbing back into the SUV.
The hulk of the concrete-block warehouse was on Brennan’s left as he drove forward toward the base of the pier. About midway along the building’s side, there was a small porch fronting a heavily padlocked entry door. Above the door was a wooden sign with peeling paint faintly bearing the name AMERICAN FRUIT COMPANY.
“Explosives here?” Yoshiaki questioned, staring out at the dark warehouse.
“This is it,” Carlo said. He slipped his hand beneath the lapel of his jacket and unsnapped the strap that secured his Glock .22 in its shoulder holster. Then he opened the storage compartment between the two front seats and got out two flashlights, handing one to Brennan. When Brennan turned off the headlights, both he and Carlo switched on the flashlights. With no moon, it was black as pitch outside.
“Okay,” Carlo said. “Everybody out to help carry the equipment.” He and Brennan climbed from the car simultaneously. Carlo opened the rear passenger door for Yoshiaki, who was sitting behind him. Brennan did the same for Susumu. To emphasize that they were supposed to be carrying out material, Carlo continued to the back of the car and opened the tailgate. The plan was to go inside the office for the takedown.
Carlo continued on to the office door, pulling out the same ring of keys he’d used for the outer gate. With the flashlight under his arm he first unlocked the padlock and then the door itself. Just as he was about to open the door and get the interior light, on he became aware of commotion behind him. Turning, he witnessed Yoshiaki knocking away Brennan’s hand. Brennan was merely trying to urge Yoshiaki forward. Both Yoshiaki and Susumu had stopped short of the porch in front of the entrance.
“We wait outside,” he said. Behind him, Carlo could see Arthur and Ted emerging from the car. The problem was that they still had their guns in their hands as Carlo had ordered, in case there was some kind of emergency. The other problem was that Susumu happened to be looking in their direction while Yoshiaki was looking forward. Obviously, both Japanese enforcers had gotten suspicious about what was going down.
Susumu’s reaction was to cry out “Kaki,” or guns, and draw his own weapon and pull off several shots, hitting Arthur in the right upper arm with the bullet exiting out the back. With his gun at the ready, Ted let fly a barrage of bullets of his own, several of which found their mark, one hitting Susumu directly in the chest, piercing his heart and killing him instantly.
Yoshiaki’s reaction was to take off running. With no choice in the matter, he sprinted away in the direction of the pier, ducking and weaving as he did so, his reaction time catching everyone by surprise. Carlo and Brennan quickly directed their flashlights in the fleeing man’s direction while struggling to get their own weapons from their shoulder holsters. Ted had to run a few steps forward to clear the car in order to get an open line of sight. He pulled off several more shots in quick succession but couldn’t tell if he’d hit the fleeing man or not. Regardless, Yoshiaki kept running, ducking, and weaving, as he quickly disappeared from sight into the misty darkness
hanging over the pier.
“Help Arthur,” Carlo yelled to Ted. Arthur had fallen to his knees, holding his right arm with his left. He’d dropped his weapon after being struck. An expanding patch of red stained his shirt over his upper arm. “Shit, shit, shit! The fucker shot me!” he yelled, as if surprised. “Why did he have to shoot me?” he demanded. With Carlo’s and Brennan’s flashlight beams quickly receding as they ran after Yoshiaki, Ted and Arthur found themselves in complete blackness. Lucky for Arthur, there was little or no pain, just a heavy dullness.
Ted made his way back to the SUV, and opening the driver’s door, he snapped on the headlights. Going from near perfect darkness to a bright illumination caused both men to squint. Wasting no time, Ted searched for something to use as a tourniquet, then pulled his belt free from his trousers. “Let’s see the wound,” he said as a warning before ripping Arthur’s shirt from the cuff up to its armhole. On the front side of Arthur’s arm midway between the shoulder and the elbow was a clean quarter-inch entrance wound. On the back side the exit wound looked like a disk of hamburger meat. Luckily for Arthur, it was not bleeding as much as oozing.
“You’re going to live,” Ted pronounced, realizing the tourniquet, for the moment, was not needed.
Brennan and Carlo had run the length of the warehouse and then pulled up short. Yoshiaki had run out to the end of the pier and stopped himself.
“We cannot allow him to escape,” Carlo said, out of breath.
“You don’t need to tell me that,” Brennan said, equally out of breath.
“What is he doing?”
“It looks like he’s taking off his shoes.”
“Oh, shit!” Carlo said. “He’s not going to try to swim, is he?”
“I think he is. He’s taking off his damn clothes.”
“Run out there and shoot him before he tries to get away.”
“The hell I will,” Brennan said. “He’s sure to have a gun. You run out there!”