Final Settlement (21 page)

Charles introduced her as well as himself, and explained they were there to ask some questions about Lorraine Delvecchio.

Leonard Marcus nodded gravely. “I heard she passed away,” he said, his voice surprisingly sonorous. “Do your questions have anything to do with her death?”

“In fact they do,” Charles Dupont said. He looked into the prisoner’s eyes. “I believe she was murdered.”

Leonard Marcus put a finger to his lips and seemed to ponder the statement. He reminded Bitsy of an English professor ensconced in a book-lined office at some ivy-walled college, not an inmate of the Manatuck County Correctional Facility.

The air was still, scented with the odor of dozens of incarcerated bodies. The murmur of other prisoners was background noise for the occasional heavy clank of the locking doors. Bitsy noticed she was holding her breath in anticipation of his response.

Leonard Marcus finally spoke. “Murdered,” he said slowly, nodding again as if considering the concept. He looked up at Bitsy and then flicked his gray-green eyes to Charles Dupont. “You’re saying someone shoved Lorraine Delvecchio off the Breakwater.” He put his hands in the pockets of his orange jumpsuit, a gesture that looked somehow elegant “It’s very likely that she was indeed murdered. The question, dear Chief, is by whom?”

_____

Alcott Bridges’s lawyer was the head of an old Manatuck family firm, Anderson & Anderson. He answered Darby’s call with a hearty hello and then thanked her for responding so quickly.

“This is a somewhat unorthodox request,” the lawyer began, “but I wonder if we couldn’t meet this afternoon? I’m leaving town for a legal seminar in Miami, and I’d like to jet off to Florida knowing that this disposition of Alcott’s property is underway.”

Darby thought a moment. She and Miles were headed to a large estate on Hurricane Harbor to meet Ed Landis, a Special Agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Darby had met Ed several months earlier, and had known he was the one to call with her questions regarding Tokutaro’s journal.

“Can we meet just after noon?” she asked the lawyer.

“Terrific. Do you know where my office is?”

“Yes.”

Darby finished the call and looked up, feeling Miles’s eyes upon her.

“Are you okay?” His voice was gentle. “I know this whole thing with the journal is upsetting.”

She nodded, struggling to contain her emotions. “It’s just that I was so relieved to think my grandfather was above suspicion, that he hadn’t played a part in the taking of so many innocent lives. What if Kenji Miyazaki lied to me about the translation? What if this journal proves incriminating to my family?” She bit her lip, keeping the tears at bay.

He pulled her close. He was wearing the Irish knit sweater he’d brought from San Francisco and Darby, despite her distress, was smitten.

“There, there,” Miles cooed. “What did Ed Landis say on the phone? He’ll have a translation typed up for you by tonight. I think it’s going to turn out that your grandfather was innocent, but at least you’ll know the truth, right?”

Darby moved her head in agreement, not trusting herself to speak.

He gave her a hug. “I’ll go start the Jeep and get it nice and toasty for you. Okay?”

Again she nodded. Miles gave a reassuring smile, pulled on a hat, and headed outside.

Darby took a deep breath. Miles was right—the truth was what she needed. She picked up two coffee cups and carried them into the kitchen. She felt emotion welling up once more, but this time it was anger and she did not tamp it down.

Kenji Miyazaki invaded my home and quite possibly stole my property.
She gritted her teeth. Had he been after whatever secrets the journal held all along?

She thought back to her conversation an hour earlier with Hideki Kobayashi, the president of the pharmaceutical company where Kenji also worked. During the dapper businessman’s purchase of an estate in South Florida months earlier, the two had developed an easy friendship.

It had been difficult to call him with her suspicions regarding Kenji.

At first the older man had said nothing, and then he exhaled a long, slow breath.

“Your remarks sadden me, Darby. I have always thought of Kenji Miyazaki as a son. I have supported him in his climb up the ladder at Genkei, and yet …” he paused.

“What is it, Hideki? Tell me, please.”

“And yet I have wondered if there is another side to him. If so, he keeps it well hidden, like a tiger shields his claws, and yet sometimes I sense it is there, dark, and possibly deceitful.”

“What do you mean? Can you be more specific?”

Hideki Kobayashi sighed and Darby winced. This was causing the old man pain, and yet she had to know the truth.

“Kenji is ambitious.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“No.” He paused. “Desiring power in itself is not a crime.”

Darby felt a twinge of impatience. “Do you trust him, Hideki?”

“Kenji has been helping me with a delicate situation, involving the theft of intellectual property from Genkei.”

“Corporate espionage?”

“Yes. We have tried to conduct our own internal investigation, but at last I consulted an expert in these matters. He came back to me only days ago with painful news. The stealing has been from Kenji’s division.”

Darby swallowed. “Hideki, I’m not sure what these formulas in my grandfather’s notebook are, but I’m worried enough that I’m going to the authorities.” She waited a beat. “I’ve contacted the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

There was silence on the other end. At last Hideki Kobayashi spoke, his voice weary and yet resolute. “Darby, you must take whatever actions are necessary. I will continue to believe in Kenji Miyazaki’s character until there is proof to the contrary, but please let the FBI know that I am ready and willing to cooperate.”

Darby brought herself back to the present. She pulled on her red down coat and grabbed her purse. Gone was her sadness, and even her anger, replaced by a determination to get the journal into the hands of a professional who could unlock its secrets.

Kenji Miyazaki was by now off the island. Darby pictured his boyish face, seemingly so open and friendly, felt again his passionate kiss, and gritted her teeth.
Thank goodness I’ll never see him again
.
Unlike Lorraine Delvecchio, I don’t have to be tortured by memory. I can happily forget all about him.

She walked along the snowy path to the Jeep where Miles Porter waited.

ELEVEN

“
S
O WHAT DID
L
EONARD
Marcus do that was so bad?” Bitsy asked as they walked across the snowy parking lot to the car. “He certainly doesn’t look like a criminal.”

Charles Dupont gave a wry grin. “No, he looks like a wealthy businessman, which is just what he was until he was indicted for money laundering and concealment of records in a federal investigation.” He opened her door and waited until she was tucked inside. “Right now, he’s serving time for driving under the influence. That’s why he’s here in Manatuck. Meanwhile, the Feds are building their case against him.”

“For what?”

“It appears that Marcus masterminded a pretty successful insurance scam. The authorities think he and his partner bilked thousands of investors out of some $700 million.”

“That’s unbelievable! Did they rip off anyone around here?”

“All over the world. They convinced people to buy life insurance policies held mostly in the names of people dying of AIDS. The proceeds were used to purchase several homes—including a $3 million waterfront place in Westerly.”

“Who owns it now, the Feds?”

“Not yet, but if he’s proven guilty, it’s theirs.”

“So he stole and Lorraine Delvecchio …”

“You’re not to repeat a word of that conversation.” Charles Dupont’s voice bore a hard edge.

“Sorry.” She put a finger to her pink lips, signifying that she would be discreet. “And what about Marcus’s partner? Is he locked up, too?”

“Hanged himself in his cell last year. Guess he didn’t like prison food.”

Bitsy giggled. “Oh, Charles! Gallows humor, right?” She rested her hand on his thigh. “I love it when you make me laugh.”

He shot her a look. “Then I’ll have to do it more often.”

The squawk of his police radio interrupted the quiet. Charles pulled over and put the car in park. “Chief Dupont.” He listened intently. “I know where that is. I’ll be there.”

He hung up, his lined face flushed.

“What is it?”

“Police work. The Manatuck guys need me later today.”

She frowned. “But it’s Sunday!” She looked out the window at the winter white landscape. “I wish you were already retired.”

“Soon enough,” he said. He looked at his watch. “We still have time to go to the shelter …”

“Yes!” She clapped her hands, her mood transformed in an instant. “I almost forgot, and now I’m as excited as a kid. Let’s head there right now, Charles! I can’t wait to get my hands on those puppies.”

_____

The turn-of-the-century Merewether estate lay blanketed under several feet of snow. Darby and Miles kept the engine running while they peered across the white landscape of the estate’s sweeping lawn, broken only by a snow-covered cedar playset. By now the storm had completely subsided, and slivers of blue sky were visible behind retreating clouds.

“Seems our friends are tardy,” Miles commented, checking his watch. He frowned. “Remind me again of how you know this FBI fellow Landis.”

“He was on the island in June,” she said, putting her hands in front of the car’s heater. “Undercover work having to do with organized crime and the Fairview transaction.”

Miles thought back to the events that had led up to the sale of that property. “Why is it we’re meeting here?”

“It’s the only place on the island with a private airstrip,” she explained.

“An airstrip! Whatever for?”

“The previous owner headed up a corporation and needed to be able to get back and forth for business meetings. And the current owner …” She paused. “After last summer, I tried to find out who owns the Merewether estate. It’s a little hush-hush, but it’s definitely government property.”

Miles regarded the hulking house and snow-covered lawn. “Whatever would the Feds want with this big place?” He tilted his head at a faint whirring sound. “Amazing how quickly these fellows work. You rang Landis up this morning and he’s wasted no time getting here.”

The noise grew louder. Darby scanned the sky and spotted a helicopter buzzing over the ocean and toward the estate. “There he is, Miles. This should be quite the grand entrance.”

They peered out the Jeep’s windows, watching as the blades of the helicopter whipped up loose snow into a blinding whiteout. Through the curtain of flakes a figure clad in a dark blue survival coat with a fur-lined hood emerged and ran toward them.

“He thinks he’s in Alaska,” murmured Miles.

The man motioned to the back seat as if wanting to enter, and Darby and Miles both nodded. The door beside Darby’s was yanked open and a rush of cold air entered the vehicle.

The door slammed and the newcomer removed his hood and gloves. “Ed Landis, Special Agent, FBI,” he said, extending a hand. “Good to see you folks for a second time, although I’m sorry it’s once again under difficult circumstances.”

Darby swiveled in her seat to see Ed Landis straight on. She remembered how his curly brown hair framed a classically Roman face, and watched as he rubbed his hands together, trying to warm them up.

The agent gave them an intent look. “I’m all ears.”

“A man named Kenji Miyazaki arrived in Maine sometime earlier this week,” Darby began. “Through what might or might not be coincidence, he came to see me on the island on Friday. He ended up staying as my guest overnight due to the blizzard. I showed him a journal, written by my Japanese grandfather during the Second World War, and Kenji gave me some idea of what it said. The next morning I saw him with his phone and the journal, and he remarked that he was not getting cell reception.” She paused. “This morning, Miles was looking at the journal and noticed some pages are missing. We think Kenji may have removed them with a razor, perhaps because he wasn’t able to send photographs with his cell phone.”

Ed Landis pointed at the journal. “May I?”

Darby handed it to him. “It’s a record of my grandfather’s time in China—or at least that’s what we think.”

Landis gave an emphatic nod. “I’ve got a translator on standby. We’ll be sure you get a complete report of whatever material isn’t classified.”

“Classified? What do you mean?”

“I can’t go into it, I’m afraid.” He blew air out of his lips and seemed to reconsider. “Look, I spoke to Hideki Kobayashi. Some pretty serious corporate espionage is happening at Genkei Pharmaceuticals, and it’s unclear whether this fellow Miyazaki is involved. He had a reason for tracking you down and reading this journal, I’m sure of that. We don’t yet know what he was after, or why.”