Forgive Me, Alex (22 page)

"It was difficult at first but I've had many years to work through it. I have three primary contacts, jewelers and dealers who move the stones. I'll make the necessary introductions soon and we'll talk about the procedures. As for the IRS, do they even know you exist?"

"Ummm...." My head is spinning, suffering a serious case of information overload. I heft the bag of sapphires and try to gauge their weight, as if that will mean a damn thing to me. "I don't know. Since I haven't officially had income for the past eleven years, and since I've filed no returns, and functioned under several different identities, I suppose not."

"There you go. We'll just maintain that circumstance."

"And what's this about the property?" I gaze about the place that's been as much Frank's baby as anything in life. "I don't want to take your home."

"It's your home too, and I planned to leave it to you in my Will, but giving it to you prior to my death offers certain advantages. Again, you'll learn all this over the next few weeks. I have an attorney to help with such matters. He's a fairly unscrupulous fellow, much more interested in money than in the law but, given the circumstances, he'll do nicely."

The mystery of Frank Willow revealed, quite a story, though there's clearly much more that I should like to learn. I suspect we'll have some interesting conversations.

"I suppose this is overwhelming," he says. He scratches his palm again, something he's been doing a lot today.

"Hell yes! This is unbelievable. Seriously, I couldn't have dreamed this up."

"Do you think less of me for what happened in the war?"

"Are you kidding? Frank, you're one of the most remarkable men I've ever known. You're Gramps. Nothing has changed. If anything, you're more remarkable than ever."

His shoulders relax and he so deflates in a huge sigh, I'm afraid his strength is going to give right out, collapsing him in a heap. I rush to put an arm around him for support.

"Thank you, Son." He pats the back of my hand and nods. "I'm glad to hear it hasn't harmed your feelings for me. I was afraid it might."

"Nothing could ever do that, Gramps."

"Good." He squeezes me tighter in our embrace. "We'll have plenty of time to talk later, assuming I don't keel over. Let's go inside. It's too damned hot and muggy out here, even for these old bones."

***

I was still reeling from Frank's story when I heard the car pull up. I hustled to the front door to await our visitor.

I've been anxious to see Linda, and not just to find out what's happening with Norton and the new murder investigations. I haven't seen her since the day before yesterday, which she took for herself to shop and read her books. It's only been a one-day separation and yet it's made me edgy.

How can that be? I want to hold her and smell her and kiss her and....

She smiles brightly as she walks up, watching me watch her. At the door, she leans in to hug and kiss me.

I swim in her lightly perfumed scent.
That's more like it!

I step aside to let her in and follow her into the kitchen. She lights up when she sees Frank, and she skips around the table to kiss him on the cheek.

"Thank you, my dear," he says. "Don't you smell lovely? How is my flower garden supposed to compete with that?"

There he goes again. If I said that, it would sound corny at best, ridiculous or phony at worst. Yet from Frank it sounds like exactly what it is: sincere appreciation. She giggles and blushes slightly. Frank has an extraordinary talent for bringing out the best in people.

"Listen up, you old charmer," I say with a laugh. "Don't be making a play for my woman."

That brings her head around.

My woman? Did I say that?

I pull out a chair and she sits between us. After we all agree to some Mint Medley tea, Linda recounts her quiet day off. The highlight, a four-hour shopping spree, would have killed me. She also spent some time at the hotel pool reading one of her romance novels, which would have killed me as well.

I set the tea on the table. "It sounds as though you had a relaxing day. So today it's back to the grind?"

"Well, it's not exactly the grind. Chief Radlon did contact me and ask me to stop in to speak to your favorite neighborhood scumbag, but he lawyered-up. I didn't contribute much of anything, although I got a sense of
that man
."

She said
that man
as though the sound of it would strike fear into the hearts of children and small pets.

"You mean Norton," Frank says.

"Yes, he thinks it's a game, and he finds considerable humor in it. He fancies himself some kind of comedian. He's despicable."

"Aren't they all, my dear?"

She laughs in that way people laugh not out of humor, but out of frustration. "Yes, but his smug attitude is more annoying than many I've encountered. Many serial killers are introverted, introspective, even considerate in their own sick way. Norton, on the other hand, enjoys rubbing our faces in it."

I could have told her that. "So you have no doubt that he's responsible for these recent murders?"

She shakes her head and holds up her hand. "It's far too early for that, Tony. The evidence isn't in yet. He may be responsible, or he may be having fun with us while someone else plays the copycat. There are a few subtle differences between these murders and those of 1978, but even if someone else is guilty, he's the sort to find some fun in it."

"It
must
be him."

"Not necessarily. It does seem foolish for Norton to start again, so soon and so close to home. He strikes me as smarter than that, though he might not be able to help himself. It's possible that someone else is getting his jollies here, someone who finds this unique opportunity too good to pass up. He can have his fun in someone else's back yard—one of his own, so to speak—and let Norton take the heat for it. There are so many of them. You have no idea."

She shakes her head as she looks down at the teacup. Frank takes the opportunity to look at me as if to say,
Doesn't she know what you do?

"It's happening too fast," I say. "The sick bastard can't resist. Someone else would have had to be in the area already. No chance."

"You'd be surprised. People would be horrified, I think, to know how many serial killers there are in this country. We know of those behind bars, and of several we're still trying to catch, but for every one we're aware, at least one more exists—unexplained disappearances, random killings that appear unrelated, or those spread so far apart geographically that no one makes the connection.

"In fact, we believe most major cities have
at least
one serial killer working them. As the technologies and national databases continue to improve we may eventually be able to connect some of those dots, but we're not there yet, not by a long shot. 1995 is not quite Utopia. Most police forces have insufficient, overstressed staff, often trained inadequately for serial killers. Because they don't make the connections locally, they don't refer the proper cases to us. It's not their fault, at least not usually."

I try to hide my frustration. Bureaucracies never function efficiently; it's the reason—well,
part
of the reason—I do what I do.

"The problem," she continues, "is primarily systemic. We're making inroads and trying to fix the problem, but we need additional technological advances. Those are moving ahead at a breakneck pace, but it will take a few more years.

"In the meantime, too many of these beasts get away with it. Sadly, the worst psychopaths are typically intelligent, which makes things tougher. We know from several recent arrests, for example, that they often keep up with the technologies and try to work around them."

She spins her drink around to mix it, takes a sip, and stares into space. "Damn!"

"It's clearly frustrating for you," Frank says.

She nods. "We've had instances where we knew who the culprit was—I mean we
knew
it—but we didn't have the necessary evidence to obtain warrants and make an arrest."

"So you had to wait until more people died?" he asks.

Linda jolts, taken aback by the question.

"I'm sorry, my dear." He places his hand over hers. "I don't think that sounded quite right. I didn't mean to accuse you of sitting by and watching idly. I meant that you were frustrated by the legal process, the unfortunate result of which was that more people died."

She sighs. "That's the topic of a lot of heated discussions in every stationhouse, every courthouse, and every law school in the country. Ultimately, it's one of the
costs
of our freedom, I suppose. It's difficult to know where to draw that line."

"Indeed it is," he says.

Linda stares at her teacup again.

Frank stares at me again.

What did he do? Did he open some sort of door for me? She's a professional cop, near the pinnacle of her profession. I can't believe she would even consider.... No. No way. Looking the other way where I'm concerned is one thing, and probably quite difficult enough for her, but active participation?

Never.

"There is a tide in the affairs of men, which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; omitted, and all the voyage of their life is bound in shallows and miseries." – William Shakespeare,
Julius Caesar, IV, iii

~~~~~

The dojo sat north of town center on West Algonquin Road. My master, forty-two-year-old Ben Komura, was a first generation American born to Japanese parents who'd immigrated in 1922. His family had studied the martial arts for centuries. Once upon a time, his ancestors had been samurai. He took the family tradition, one he sought to pass down to me, quite seriously.

The most unassuming man I'd ever known, and almost obsessively polite, he insisted on sharing his hospitality with all who visited, whether family, friends, or someone who walked in off the street. He assured me that this was in proper respect to the Japanese culture engrained in him, along with the language, by parents determined that he not forget his history. He honored that cultural heritage while remaining fiercely patriotic toward the country of his birth.

He'd volunteered for the army during the Vietnam War, where he served two tours with the Special Forces in the mid '60's. I once found, inside a case on his bookshelf, three medals from the war—a Purple Heart with two clusters, a Bronze Star and a Silver Star. He bore nasty scars on his right leg and on his back that spoke clearly of his extraordinary deeds, yet he never spoke of them, or his courage. No surprise there.

I could easily imagine him killing an enemy in hand-to-hand combat, and then kneeling to pray for his enemy's soul.

Such was the nature of Master Ben Komura.

I stopped in for training, but also for his guidance. He'd taught me the martial arts for ten years and the ways of the samurai for the last three. He'd made me his special student; I no longer attended his regular classes, full of kids anxious to get their next belt. They improved their strength and balance, broke boards and practiced combat with their fellow students. They did this in preparation for the real thing, something he advised avoiding at all costs. Many students struggled with the concept. Why learn the martial arts, they wondered, if they should never fight? Self-defense was always acceptable, a responsibility we had to ourselves and to those who relied on us, but Master Komura would not tolerate offensive behavior. He'd refused to instruct more than one student who'd refused to accept this vital distinction.

What would he say about my plan?

The dojo sat dark but for the candles that always burned in the corners of the main room. He lived in modest comfort with his wife, Naomi, in a loft above the dojo. Naomi was pregnant and Master wore his excitement on his sleeve. He desperately wanted a son, though he would cherish a daughter.

I changed into my robes in the small locker room eight feet right of the stairs to his apartment.

Normally, after changing, I would ring the chimes to alert him to my presence, but Master already knelt in meditation on the pad in the center of the room. Despite my effort to make no sound at all, once again he'd heard me enter. We played this little game. I must enter and change clothes without him hearing. I must then use the chimes.

Though I'd never done so, I was determined to get him on that—someday.

I knelt before him and joined in the mental preparations and breathing exercises, which we always completed before starting. He slapped his legs to signal that we were ready, and I opened my eyes.

He looked at me thoughtfully. "You are troubled, my son?"

"
Hai
. These are troubling times, Master."

"You are still saddened by the loss of young Alex."

I nodded and glanced toward the floor.

"But there is more to it than that."

I nodded.

"You clearly find it difficult to speak of, yet all things may be said here, as you know. Together, we will seek answers. Then you must make your own decisions. You are my special student because I know your heart and soul. You need not fear of disappointing me."

He functioned as more than my mentor and teacher; in many respects, he served also as my confessor. I could tell him anything, and he'd give me guidance both contemplative and just. I also knew that I must
accept
his guidance—an important part of our relationship. I could argue for myself, and we would discuss all possibilities, but in the end,
his
decision somehow became
our
decision.

I'd never been disappointed by the outcome.

This time....
Shit!
Sweat pooled in my palms, and my heart and breathing raced. I needed to consider my words carefully, explaining both my dilemma and my intended course of action, and seek his advice on how best to proceed. Yet what would I do if he counseled
against
such action?

I held a deep breath and... and farted! I stared at him for an instant, and then we broke into laughter.

Thirty minutes later, I'd explained everything. He knew of Diana's abduction at the hands of Mitchell Norton, of the hypnosis that had provided so much information, of how my life was on hold, due first to the murder of Alex and now to the possible loss of Diana. He knew of my plans to postpone school for a year, of my intention to marry Diana when the time was right, of my dad's withdrawal into a bottle. In all, I'd explained my utter frustration at the circumstances: the helplessness, the loneliness, the anger, the fear.

Lastly, I told him of how I stood at the edge of an abyss. If Norton murdered Diana, I would fall in. "I must
act
," I said. "I have to do
something
to save her."

He sat attentively throughout my speech, never breaking eye contact. Ever the stoic, his eyes nevertheless conveyed sadness and regret, understanding and love. When he looked to the floor with closed eyes, I knew he was contemplating the next step.

I joined him in meditative silence; no more need of words.

Five minutes later, he slapped his legs and sat straight. "You will remain here, my son. Continue your meditations. I will return shortly."

I nodded obeisance as he walked up to his apartment. Though still nervous, I also felt at peace now that I'd said what he needed to know. All that remained was to trust in his guidance.

When he returned, he carried several items, which he set on the floor between us before taking up his previous position.

On the pad lay three swords, one full-length samurai sword called a
katana
, and two short swords called
ninjaken
, each sheathed in black with black hilts. He'd also brought a ring called a
shobo
, with a small notch on it designed to strike pressure points on your opponent, to inflict sharp pain or temporary paralysis. There was also the traditional, at least in modern times, garb worn by the ninja, all black, called
shinobi shozoku
. It included boots called
jika-tabi
, with small spikes on the bottom called
ashiko
. The
jika-tabi
had a split-toe design to aid in gripping and climbing. He'd obviously obtained my sizes in advance. Last was the head cover, which utilized the
sanjaku-tenugui
, or three-foot cloths.

When dressed in the entirety, I would be both lethal and virtually invisible in the dark.

"I have had these things for you for several months," he said, "but I awaited the proper moment to give them to you. This, I believe, is that moment."

"It's an awful lot to accept. Are you sure I'm ready?"

"Yes, though we will continue your training with greater purpose and intensity than before. You must commit to excellence, as always."

"
Hai
."

"Twice a week remains adequate, but the sessions must be longer. Three hours will suffice."

Talk about intense!

"Are you prepared to make this commitment, my son?"

There was no such thing as halfway with Master Komura. I would have to give every ounce of energy to the effort. Or nothing. "
Hai
."

"Good, then these things are yours."

"Thank you, Master, this is extraordinarily generous. I understand the swords, but why have you given me the ninja garb? I'll be ready to audition for a Chuck Norris movie." I half chuckled, half swallowed my nervousness.

"Hold to your sense of humor. It will serve you well." He smiled in mock admonition. "Ninjutsu is but one of the arts we study, and you may need these items. You must use every available tool."

"I feared you would disapprove of my intentions."

"Self-defense comes in many guises, does it not? It means defending yourself, but it also means defending your family and dear friends. This is a matter of honor. We must pray that Diana is still alive and plan accordingly. Rescuing her is more than an opportunity. It is your responsibility. It is the way of the samurai."

"
Hai
."

"This is your task, but I will assist you in any way you ask. We will start with your continued advanced training. However, you must know that if you require my assistance in the field, you have only to say the word."

"I know you would help me in this but, as you said, it's my task. My opponent is cruel, but he is unskilled. If something changes and I need your help...."

He watched me as if expecting me to say something more, then continued, "The dinner hour approaches, and Naomi will be upset if I fail to invite you. She always enjoys your visits. We will eat lightly and drink some tea, and we will speak of other things in Naomi's presence. I do not wish to upset her and, consequently, our child."

"Yes, Master. Thank you."

"Very well, we will dine before training. Then we will begin with the proper wearing of your garb before moving on to the proper use of the three swords, with which you are already familiar. We will also continue your focus on combining balance and power, but we will add the skill of invisibility, which is the true purpose of the garb. This will be important for you, I think."

"
Hai
."