“He is, sir!”
“Why is he in handcuffs?”
Sergeant Higgins paused, seemingly caught off guard by the question. “Lieutenant Brigs said to pat him and cuff him.”
“For what reason?”
“Well . . . because the case was a mass murder.”
“A mass murder that had apparently gone down a day or so ago, if I’m not mistaken,” Tom said. His voice was even and matter-of-fact and without emotion or blame.
“Well, that’s true,” the sergeant admitted.
“Uncuff him!” Tom said calmly.
While Ben was being released he watched how efficiently the Bergen County police task force went to work. While the Fort Lee police continued to secure the area, the Bergen County contingent prepared to process the scene. Besides the plainclothes detective, there was a handful of uniformed officers, a number of crime scene investigators, and several medical legal investigators from the Bergen County medical examiner’s office. The MLIs were busily suiting up in bioprotective clothing with some even donning closed circuit breathing apparatus like Aqua-Lungs to be ready to go into the building as soon as the local police declared it safe. There was even a representative from the Bergen County district attorney’s office, who’d gotten out of his unmarked car and had walked over to introduce himself to Detective Lieutenant Janow and ask permission to listen in on the questioning of Ben, which the detective agreed to instantly.
“Sorry about the cuffs,” Tom said, once the shackles had been removed. There had been a brief problem with the key.
Ben acknowledged Tom’s apology. Although he had been worried about the situation when he’d first discovered the bodies, the idea that he might be considered a suspect had never dawned on him. “I’m not considered a suspect, am I?” Ben asked while rubbing his wrists. He wanted to be absolutely sure. He was already nervous enough.
“Not yet,” Tom said. “Should we have our conversation in your vehicle? It might be more agreeable.”
Not completely relieved of his concern about possibly being a suspect, Ben agreed to the use of his car. Tom got in on the front passenger side while Ben climbed in behind the wheel. The investigator from the district attorney’s office seated himself in the passenger-side backseat.
With his pad and pencil at the ready, Tom started with the usual litany of questions, associated with Ben’s identity and history, rapidly writing as Ben spoke. As they proceeded, Ben’s evaluation of the man’s professionalism went up another notch. Tom’s systematic, experienced, and smooth approach to interviewing made it clear he knew what he was doing while making it all appear effortless. Within just a few minutes they had progressed from Ben’s identity to Ben’s personal history to the facts that led up to Ben’s having stopped by the Machitas’ household on that particular day.
When Tom paused in his questioning, Ben could feel himself trembling and hoped it was not obvious. The feeling that Tom was almost too good at what he was doing made Ben progressively nervous that Tom might find out things that Ben didn’t want him to learn. Ben seriously wanted to end the interview but hesitated to say anything, lest the wily detective take Ben’s eagerness to cut things off as a sign that he had something to hide.
There was another reason Ben was nervous: He had not been totally truthful. In fact, he’d lied twice. The first deliberate lie had been when Ben said that Satoshi Machita had given him his home address, and the second had been that he had no idea how Satoshi had found the property.
At that point, one of the Bergen County police had come out of the building and rapped on Tom’s passenger-side window. Tom had gotten out of the car, allowing Ben to turn and acknowledge the thin, bespectacled man sitting in his backseat. For a moment their eyes locked but no words were spoken. The situation did not encourage small talk. Five minutes later Tom climbed back into the car. As soon as he’d slammed the door shut, he went back to his questioning.
“Now, I’ve been told you did go into the house.”
“I did,” Ben admitted. “I can assure you that I would rather not have gone in, but I felt impelled because of the child. I had heard a high-pitched noise from the door. I didn’t know at the time it was a child.” Another lie, and Ben did not even know why he had told it.
“Did you bust the window in the door?”
“I did not. The door window was broken when I got here. The door was unlocked.”
“Did you recognize any of the victims?”
“Just the wife.”
“What about Satoshi?”
“He wasn’t there, at least I didn’t think he was, but I didn’t go into the basement.”
“He isn’t there,” Tom offered. “I’ve been told the bodies are all together in the same room, lined up on the floor: six of them.”
“That’s what I saw.”
“Where is he?” Tom asked casually, as if he was inquiring about an acquaintance.
“I wish I knew,” Ben said. “I had been trying to get in touch with him for several days. He’d been eager to get some lab space. I wanted to let him know it had been arranged. As I told you, the reason I stopped by here is to see him.”
“When and where was the last time you saw him?”
“Wednesday afternoon. We’d had a small celebration in the office in the city after we’d signed a licensing agreement. He left early, saying he wanted to get home to share the good news with his wife.”
“Was this licensing agreement going to be lucrative for him?”
“Immensely so!”
Tom paused for a moment, thinking, then took a moment to jot something down.
“Are you thinking that Satoshi might be the perpetrator, having killed his family except for the child?”
“If this had been domestic violence, he’d be my first choice,” Tom said. “But I doubt this scene represents domestic violence. It’s too smooth, too professional. This smacks of organized crime. I mean, I’ve been told the bodies are lined up like a production line. That wouldn’t happen in a scene of domestic violence. This looks like a drug hit, but that doesn’t mean we don’t want to find Mr. Satoshi as a person of interest.”
“Hmm,” Ben voiced. Although he’d come to the same conclusion about the killing not representing domestic violence, he’d decided not to offer any more insight or information unless specifically asked.
“Did you know that the killer or killers made a specific point to remove all identification? If it hadn’t been for you, we would have no idea who these people were.”
“I didn’t know,” Ben said, progressively wishing he’d never come. “I did notice that the home had been ransacked.” It was Ben’s thought that the killer or killers had searched for something above and beyond identification. He had guessed it was Satoshi’s lab books, but that idea he was unwilling to share.
“How much effort have you made looking for Satoshi?”
“I’ve called him repeatedly on his cell. Other than that and coming here today, I’ve done nothing specifically.”
“As careful about removing identification as the intruders were, if they were to have caught Satoshi before coming here and killed him, they probably would have gotten rid of his identification as well. Did you contact Missing Persons in the city on the odd chance that there is an unclaimed Japanese corpse hanging out in the morgue?”
“I certainly did not,” Ben responded.
Tom opened the door, stepped out, and yelled for one of the uniformed officers to kindly come over. When the officer did, Ben could hear Tom ordering him to go back to the car and call the Missing Persons Squad in New York City and inquire about any unidentified Japanese corpse coming in over the last several days.
Tom returned and climbed back into the car. As he did so, he caught Ben glancing at his watch.
“Are we keeping you from something important?”
“Actually, yes,” Ben said. “I’m worried about the child. Do you know where they’ve taken him?”
“The nearest hospital is in Englewoo
d,” Tom said. “You probably know that, since you live in Englewood Cliffs. How critical was the child, in your estimation?”
“Surprisingly enough, seemingly not critical at all. He was dehydrated for sure but probably not enough to cause internal organ damage.”
“I’d guess that they probably took him to Hackensack University Medical Center. I can confirm that. Meanwhile, let me ask you a question. As far as you know, does your company, iPS USA, have anything to do with organized crime?”
Ben was stunned, and before he could help himself, he’d sucked in a tiny but audible gasp of air. The unexpected nature of the question had taken him completely off guard. Instantly recovering, he asked in the calmest voice he could muster, “Why would our biotech start-up, which is trying to cure degenerative disease for the sake of humanity, have anything at all to do with organized crime? Excuse me, even asking such a question is ridiculous.”
Tom raised his eyebrows slightly and commented, “It’s interesting your response to a question is a question, rather than a direct ‘no.’ ”
“It is not surprising that I might be shocked by a question connecting my company to organized crime when we were talking about organized crime being related to this mass murder,” Ben said, defending himself and his response. “Of course I would be taken aback. I think it is clear I came upon the scene totally unawares. I had absolutely no knowledge of this tragedy or anything possibly to do with it.”
Tom took Ben’s disclaimer in stride, and instead of responding, merely looked back at his notes. Ben felt his anxiety ratchet up another notch. He now had the feeling he was being played. He needed to get away; he needed time to think.
The officer dispatched to call Missing Persons rapped on Tom’s window. Tom lowered it and looked at him expectantly.
“They do have a body that fits the description,” the officer said. “It’s at the New York OCME.”
“Thank you, Brian,” Tom said. He looked over at Ben and elevated a single eyebrow. “I think we are making progress.” Turning back to the officer, he said, “Go back and find out where the boy from this disaster was taken.”
The officer did a kind of half-salute before returning to his squad car.
“Maybe, just maybe,” Tom commented, “we’ve solved the mystery of Satoshi, which I believe might ultimately provide key information for the death of the six people in this house.”
“Possibly,” Ben said without enthusiasm. A moment earlier he didn’t think he could possibly get more nervous. But he had been wrong. He didn’t see finding Satoshi as a positive step, at least not dead.
“I tell you what,” Tom said, as if sensitive to Ben’s mind-set. “I still have questions for you, but why don’t I let you go and see the child. I have to go inside and view a scene I don’t want to see. But you have to promise me two things. After you’ve seen the child, I want you to call and then go to the New York OCME over in the city and identify or not identify, as the case may be, the body they have in their cooler. Then I want you to come back here, or if I’m gone, drive out to the Bergen County police station, which is also in Hackensack. Is that a deal?”
“That’s a deal,” Ben said, eager to get away.
“Now, hold on for a minute! I’ll find out for sure where the kid was taken.” Tom climbed out of the car. Simultaneously, so did the investigator from the district attorney’s office, who had been listening in the backseat.
Good grief, Ben said to himself, once alone. There had been nothing he’d liked about the conversation with Tom. Ben shivered at some of the things that he’d said and how he’d acted. From his perspective, it had been an interrogation, plain and simple, in which he did not shine. In a sudden burst of paranoia, Ben thought that the only thing positive about the interview was that he’d not been read his Miranda rights.
Ben straightened up and tried to calm himself. At least the conversation, or whatever it was, was over for now, and when it recommenced he’d have had time to think.
Ben started the car when Tom returned to the driver’s-side window. “As I suspected, the child was taken to Hackensack University Medical Center. I hope all is well with him. And here, take my card.” Tom handed over his card. “It’s got my mobile number. I want to hear immediately, yes or no, on the ID in the city.”
“Wait a second,” Ben said, just as Tom was about to walk away. “I have a suggestion. I’m worried the child might be in danger. Obviously, whoever killed the entire family would probably have wanted to kill the child as well, and if and when they hear about his existence, they might want to finish the job.”
“Good point,” Tom admitted. “Thanks for the suggestion. I’ll put a detail on him right away.”
The route to the Hackensack University Medical Center had been quite direct, and even though it required going through several small towns, Ben arrived in short order. With his M.D. license plates, he used the doctors’ parking lot near the emergency-room entrance even though he knew he shouldn’t.
Although Ben’s visit to the Machita residence was far more harrowing and unnerving, the hospital visit was not a whole lot better, given his mental status. But as troubling as the deaths at the residence were—if, in fact, Satoshi was dead—there was little risk involving a change in the status of the licensing agreement concerning the iPS key patents, a situation that would have been disastrous to iPS USA. Thanks to Satoshi’s insistence on a bit of estate planning, Ben had an ace in the hole, even without the wife’s signature on her will. He had Satoshi’s will and the trust document, which didn’t need the wife’s signature, both fully signed and executed, with the will creating a trust for the key patents and the trust document appointing Ben trustee. What that all meant to Ben was that after probate he would control the trust for the benefit of Shigeru, meaning there would be no challenge to the licensing agreement.
Unfortunately after the hospital visit Ben’s rosy understanding of the legal issues would be sorely undermined, and what had previously provided a modicum of comfort, the will and the trust document, he now feared might be more paper tigers than solid support for the status quo.
Ben had entered the emergency-room door and presented himself as Dr. Benjamin Corey to command more respect, as the ER was packed. Unfortunately, the ruse did not work with the harried emergency-room clerk, and Ben was forced to stand to the side and wait.
“I’m looking for a toddler who came in earlier,” Ben said authoritatively once he had the clerk’s attention. “He came in by ambulance. His name is Shigeru Machita; he’s about one and a half years old. Is he still here in the emergency room, or has he been admitted?”
The clerk, dressed in scrubs, was being unmercifully hounded by several of his coworkers, but to his credit he stayed to finish with Ben. “There’s been no Shigeru Machita since noon,” he said, looking up from the screen.
“There has to be,” Ben said. “The police told me he was coming here.”
“Could it be under another name?” Ben asked.
“If it is, you’ll have to tell me,” the clerk said.
“Of course,” Ben said, hitting his head with the heel of his palm. “How about a generic name, like Baby Jack?”
“Yes, here’s one!” the clerk said, before shouting across the registration area to a coworker that he’d be there in a second. “It’s a baby John Doe,” he said to Ben. “Could that be it?”
“Maybe,” Ben said. “What time did he come in?”
“Two-twenty-two this afternoon.”
“That’s about right,” Ben said. “Where is he?”
“He’s been taken up to pediatrics, room four-twenty-seven.”
“Gotcha,” Ben said. “How do I get there?”
The clerk gave rapid, complicated directions that concluded with the suggestion of following a blue line running on the floor. Ben forgot the directions and just followed the blue line on a labyrinthine route to a bank of elevators.
As he exited the elevator on the fourth floor and despite the chaos that rei
gned, one of the nurses from the nurses’ desk caught sight of him and called out, “Excuse me. Can I help you?”
Ben angled over to the desk. The woman’s nametag read SHEILA, RN.
“I’m Dr. Ben Corey. I’m here to see baby John Doe in room four-twenty-seven.”
“That’s nice,” Sheila said sincerely. She was a boxy woman with dark skin and mid-length brown hair heavily streaked with blond. “I’m the charge nurse on the floor. We were hoping someone would be coming in. The little darling hasn’t said a peep. The word is that his parents were killed in a mass murder.”
“So far it appears only the mother was killed,” Ben said, hoping it would remain true. “The father is missing. How is he doing?”
“Fine, considering what he’s been through. He was dehydrated when he came into the ER, but that’s been rectified. His electrolytes are now normal, and he’s eating and drinking. But he’s so quiet and hardly moves. He just stares at you with these huge, dark eyes. I’d like to have him say something, even cry.”
“I want to take a peek at him.”
“I’m afraid we can’t allow that, but you can speak with the police officer who’s here to guard him.”
Ben did just that. After the guard looked at Ben’s ID and looked at a list of doctors who had access, he was reluctant to let Ben in until Ben suggested Detective Janow be called. That was all it took, and Ben was escorted in by Sheila.
As Sheila described, Shigeru was lying motionlessly on his back in the crib with his eyes wide open. His eyes followed Ben as he came alongside the crib.
“Hey, big guy!” Ben said as he reached out and gently pinched the child’s skin on his upper arm. After releasing it, Ben could see the skin immediately pop back into its original position, something that hadn’t happened when Ben had gotten him out to the Range Rover. It was a crude but reliable test for dehydration. “Are they treating you okay here?” Ben twisted around the IV bottle to see what he was getting.
“Okasan,” Shigeru said suddenly.
Ben and Sheila looked at each other in surprise.