The Key to Midnight (12 page)

Not love.

He didn’t believe in love.

His parents had proved to him that love was a word that had no meaning. Love was a sham, a hoax. It was a drug with which people deluded themselves, repressing their true feelings and all awareness of the primitive jungle reality of existence. Occasionally, and always with apparent sincerity, his mother and father had told him that they loved him. Sometimes, when the mood seized them—usually after their morning hangovers abated but before the new day’s intake of whiskey had awakened the dragons in them—they hugged him and wept and loudly despised themselves for what they had done the night before, for the latest black eye or bruise or burn or cut that they had administered. When they felt especially guilty, they bought lots of inexpensive gifts for him—comic books, small toys, candy, ice cream—as if a war had ended and reparations were required. They called it love, but it never lasted. In hours it faded, and it vanished altogether by nightfall. Eventually Alex had learned to dread his parents’ slobbering, boozy displays of “love,” because when love waned, as it always did, their anger and brutality seemed worse by comparison with the preceding brief moment of peace. At its best, love was just a seasoning like pepper and salt, enhancing the bitter flavor of loneliness, hatred, and pain.

Therefore, he had not, would not, could not fall in love with Joanna Rand. His feelings for her were strong, more than lust, more than affection. Something new. And strange. If he was not falling in love, then he was at least sailing in uncharted waters, and the guide that he most needed was caution.

He drank two bottles of beer and returned to bed. He couldn’t get comfortable. He lay in every position permitted by his injured left arm, yet sleep eluded him. The injury wasn’t the problem: Joanna was. He tried to banish all thoughts of her by picturing the hypnotic motion of the sea, the gracefully rolling masses of water, endless chains of waves surging through the night. After a time, he did grow drowsy, although even the primordial rhythms and mesmeric power of the sea couldn’t bar Joanna from his mind: She was the only swimmer in the currents of his dreams.

He was awakened by the phone.

According to the luminous number on the travel clock, it was four-thirty in the morning. He had been asleep less than an hour.

He picked up the handset and recognized Mariko’s voice. “Alex-san, Joanna asked me to call you. Can you come here right away? A very bad thing has happened.”

He sat up in bed, shuddering and suddenly nauseous. “What have they done to her?”

“She’s done it to herself, Alex-san.” Mariko’s voice broke. “She tried to commit suicide.”

The sky was still spitting snow, but the accumulation on the streets was no more than a quarter of an inch by the time that the taxi dropped Alex at the Moonglow Lounge.

Black hair cascading over her shoulders, ivory pins forgotten, Mariko was waiting for him at the front door of the club. “Joanna’s upstairs. The doctor’s with her.”

“Will she be okay?”

“He says she will.”

“Is he a good doctor?”

“Dr. Mifuni has been treating her for years.”

“But is he any good?” he demanded, surprised by the vehemence in his voice.

“Yes, Alex-san. He’s a good doctor.”

He followed Mariko past the bar with the blue mirror into an elegantly decorated office and up a set of stairs to Joanna’s apartment.

The living room was furnished with cane, rattan, and rosewood. There were half a dozen excellent watercolors on scrolls, and numerous potted plants.

“She’s in the bedroom with Dr. Mifuni. We’ll wait here,” said Mariko, indicating a couch.

Sitting beside her, Alex said, “Was it ... a gun?”

“Oh, no. No. Thank God. Sleeping tablets.”

“Who found her?”

“She found me. I have a three-room apartment on the floor above this one. I was asleep ... and she came to my room, woke me.” Mariko’s voice faltered. “She said, ‘Mariko-san, I’m afraid I’m making a goddamned silly fool of myself, as usual.’ ”

“Dear God.”

“There were twenty pills in the bottle. She’d taken eighteen before she’d realized that suicide wasn’t the answer. I called an ambulance.”

“Why isn’t she in a hospital?”

“The paramedics came, made her swallow a tube ... pumped out her stomach right here.” She closed her eyes and grimaced at the memory.

“I’ve seen it done,” Alex said. “It isn’t pleasant.”

“I held her hand. By the time they were finished, Dr. Mifuni arrived. He didn’t think a hospital was necessary.”

Alex glanced at the bedroom door. The silence behind it seemed ominous, and he had to resist an impulse to cross the living room and yank the door open to see if Joanna was all right.

Looking at Mariko again, he said, “Is this the first time she tried to kill herself?”

“Of course!”

“Do you think she actually intended to go through with it?”

“Yes, at first.”

“What changed her mind?”

“She realized it was wrong.”

“Some people only pretend suicide. They’re looking for sympathy, or maybe for—”

She interrupted him. Her voice was as cold as the vapor rising from a block of dry ice. “If you think Joanna would stoop to such a thing, then you don’t know her at all.” Mariko was stiff with anger. Her small hands were fisted on her lap.

After a while he nodded. “You’re right. She’s not that mixed up ... or that selfish.”

Gradually the stiffness left Mariko.

He said, “But I wouldn’t think she’s the type to seriously consider suicide, either.”

“She was so depressed before she met you. Then after she ... rejected you ... it got worse. At one moment she was so far down that death seemed the only way out. But she’s strong. Even stronger than my mama-san, who is an iron lady.”

The bedroom door opened, and Dr. Mifuni entered the living room. He was a short man with a round face and thick black hair. When meeting someone new, the Japanese were usually quick to smile, but Mifuni was somber.

Alex was sure that something had gone wrong, that Joanna had taken a turn for the worse. His mouth went as dry as talcum.

Even under these less than ideal circumstances, Mariko took the time to introduce the two men formally, with a good word said about the qualities of each. Now there were bows and smiles all around.

The introductory ritual almost shattered Alex’s brittle nerves. He nearly pushed past the physician and into the bedroom. But he controlled himself and said, “Isha-san dozo
yoroshiku.”

Mufini bowed too. “I am honored to make your acquaintance, Mr. Hunter.”

“Is Joanna feeling better?” Mariko asked.

“I’ve given her something to calm her. But there’s still time for Mr. Hunter to talk with her before the sedative takes effect.” He smiled at Alex again. “In fact, she insists on seeing you.”

Unnerved by the emotional turmoil that gripped him, Alex went into the bedroom and closed the door behind him.

Joanna was sitting in bed, propped against pillows, wearing blue silk pajamas. Although her hair was damp and lank, although she was so pale that her skin seemed translucent, although vague dark smudges of weariness encircled her eyes, she was still beautiful to him. The suffering showed only in her amethyst-blue eyes; that evidence of her pain and fear made Alex weak as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“Hi,” she said softly.

“Hi.”

“After they pumped all the sleeping pills out of me, I’ve been given a sedative. Isn’t that ironic?”

He could think of nothing to say.

“Before I fall asleep,” she said, “I want to know ... do you still think I’m really ... not who I think I am?”

“Lisa Chelgrin? Yes. I do.”

“How can you be so positive?”

“There’ve been developments since we had lunch. I’m being followed everywhere I go.”

“By whom?”

“I need time to explain.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said.

“But your eyes are beginning to droop.”

She blinked rapidly. “I reached the breaking point tonight. Almost did a stupid thing.”

“Hush. It’s over.”

“I wanted to die. If I don’t have the courage to die ... then I’ve got to find out why I behave the way I do.”

He held her hand and said nothing.

“There’s something wrong with me, Alex. I’ve always felt so hollow, empty ... detached. Something happened to me a long time ago, something to make me the way I am. I’m not just ... not just making excuses for myself.”

“I realize that. God knows what they did to you—or why.”

“I have to find out what it was.”

“You will.”

“I’ve got to know his name.”

“Whose name?” he asked.

“The man with the mechanical hand.”

“We’ll find him.”

“He’s dangerous,” she said sleepily.

“So am I.”

Joanna slid down on the bed until she was flat on her back. “Damn it, I don’t want to go to sleep yet.”

He took one of the two pillows from beneath her head and drew the covers to her chin.

Her voice was growing thick. “There was a room ... a room that stank of antiseptics ... maybe a hospital somewhere.”

“We’ll find it.”

“I want to hire you to help me.”

“I’ve already been hired. Senator Chelgrin paid me a small fortune to find his daughter. It’s about time I gave him something for his money.”

“You’ll come back tomorrow?”

“Yes. Whenever you want.”

“One o’clock.”

“I’ll be here.”

Her eyes fluttered, closed. “What if I’m not ... not awake by then?”

“I’ll wait.”

She was silent so long that he was sure she had fallen asleep. Then she said, “I was so scared.”

“Everything will be fine. It’s okay.”

“I’m glad you’re here, Alex.”

“So am I.”

She turned on her side.

She slept.

The only sound was the faint hum of the electric clock.

Neither of us used the word
“love,”
Alex thought.

After a while he kissed her forehead and left the room.

Mariko was sitting on the living-room couch. Mifuni had gone.

“The sedative worked,” Alex said.

“The doctor said she’ll sleep five or six hours. He’ll be back this afternoon.”

“You’ll stay here with her?”

“Of course.” She rose from the couch and straightened the collar of her shapeless brown robe. “Would you like tea?”

“Thank you. That would be nice.”

While they sat at the small kitchen table, sipping hot tea and nibbling almond wafers, Alex told Mariko Inamura about the Chelgrin case, about the burglar he had encountered in his hotel suite, and about the man who had followed him in the Gion a few hours ago.

“Incredible,” she said. “But why? Why would they change the girl’s name ... change her complete set of memories ... and bring her here to Kyoto?”

“I haven’t any idea. But I’ll find out. Listen, Mariko, I’ve told you all this so you’ll understand there are dangerous people manipulating Joanna. I don’t know what they’re trying to cover up, but it’s obvious that the stakes are high. Tonight when you opened the door for me downstairs, you didn’t ask who was there. You’ve got to be more careful.”

“But I was expecting you.”

“From now on, always expect the worst. Do you have a gun?”

Frowning, she said, “We can’t protect her every minute. What about when she appears on stage? She’s a perfect target then.”

“If I have anything to say about it, she won’t perform again until this is settled.”

“But in spite of everything they’ve done to her, they’ve never hurt her physically.”

“If they know she’s investigating her past and might learn enough to expose them, God knows what they’ll do.”

She stared into her tea for a long moment, as if she had the power to read the future in that brew. “All right, Alex-san. I’ll be more careful.”

“Good.”

He finished his tea while she telephoned the taxi company.

At the downstairs door, as he stepped into the street, Mariko said, “Alex-san, you won’t be sorry that you helped her.”

“I didn’t expect to be.”

“You’ll find what you’ve been looking for in life.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I thought I’d found it already.”

“Men are the same.”

“As what?”

“Men of all cultures, societies, races are equally capable of being such fools.”

“We pride ourselves in our dependability,” he said with a small smile.

“You need Joanna as much as she needs you.”

“You’ve told me that before.”

“Have I?”

“You know you have.”

She smiled mischievously, bowed to him, and assumed an air of Asian wisdom that was partly a joke and partly serious. “Honorable detective should know that repetition of a truth does not make it any less true, and resistance to the truth can never be more than a brief folly.”

She closed the door, and Alex didn’t move until he heard the lock bolt slide into place.

The black taxi was waiting for him in the snow-skinned street. A few snowflakes still spiraled out of the morning sky.

A red Toyota followed his cab all the way to the hotel.

Exhaustion overcame insomnia. Alex slept four hours and got out of bed at twenty past eleven, Thursday morning.

He shaved, showered, and quickly changed the bandage on his arm, concerned that he wouldn’t be ready to meet the courier from Chicago if the man arrived on time.

As he was dressing, the telephone rang. He snatched up the handset on the nightstand.

“Mr. Hunter?”

The voice was familiar, and Alex said, “Yes?”