Dead End Deal (23 page)

Good question, one he had no answer for. But having someone lined up would be a comfort. “I don’t know. What I do know is I’ll feel better if I have someone lined up, whatever happens.”

Wayne muttered agreement. “Okay. Now call Fisher.”

Fisher answered immediately with, “Don’t tell me you’re not out of there. Please, don’t.”

Having just recited the story to Wayne, he summarized the details succinctly and in chronological order. Fisher listened, breaking in occasionally to clarify a point. When Jon finished, he asked, “You say Park claims to have a witness who can place you in the hospital earlier than you were actually there?”

“That’s the thing. He claims the computer records show that my badge was used to enter the main building. I don’t think he said someone visually saw me. But maybe to them we all look alike.”

“Okay, so Feist—or anyone, for that matter—could’ve used your ID and the computer wouldn’t know the difference. When was the last time you know for sure you had possession of it?”

Jon thought about it again but couldn’t be certain. “That’s the thing. I can’t remember. When I got to the hospital I realized I didn’t have it. That’s why they wouldn’t let me past the ER waiting room. When I got back to the hotel room I looked for it, but it was gone. I guess I could’ve dropped it in the dressing room but I know I didn’t leave it in his locker because, now that I think about it, both Jin-Woo and I both looked there before he closed the door. The only thing still in there were the Nikes he wears in the OR.”

“Man, that doesn’t sound good. Someone really set you up.” Fisher paused, muttered something. “The only thing I can possibly do from this end is call Park and explain the Avenger angle. Maybe if he hears it from me, he’ll lighten up.”

“Anything you can think of to help get him to ease up is good. I tell you, his mind’s made up. He wants to pin those murders on me and move on.” Scary just thinking about it again. Bad enough to be falsely accused of murder, but add to the mix being in a foreign country. . . . He felt helpless and alone. Having phone contact with Wayne and Fisher did help. Slightly.

Fisher asked, “Know anyone in Seoul? Other than your friend, Jin-Woo?”

He was about to mention Yeonhee, but stopped, wondering if his cell could be monitored. The fewer people who knew of her, the better. Not that he didn’t trust Fisher, but one slip of the tongue . . . On the other hand, she was his only hope and he desperately needed help. Decided he had to trust somebody, why not Fisher? “His lab tech.”

“No one else? You see the problem, don’t you?”

No, he didn’t. At least not at first. Now that Fisher mentioned it . . . “You’re thinking if Park presses Jin-Woo hard enough, he’ll tell him about her?”

“Exactly. Wouldn’t you?”

Yeah, maybe. “Man!”

When Fisher didn’t say anything more, Jon asked, “What?”

“I didn’t want to mention this, but something’s seriously changed. They found Phelps. He’s dead.”

35

Y
EONHEE LOOKED AT
the computer screen but didn’t make sense of the words, her mind elsewhere. She clasped and unclasped her hands, stood, walked over to the thermostat. 22 degrees, the same as the last time. Went back to the computer, pulled up her email account. Nothing new since the last time. She debated writing an email to a girlfriend, but had nothing to say. She dialed Jin-Woo’s cell again, but like the last four tries, it rang until finally rolling over to voice mail. So unlike him. He always answered. And if he was in surgery, he had someone in the OR answer.

When she’d arrived at the lab a few minutes after seven this morning Jin-Woo and Jon weren’t here. Well, that was okay, she figured. Chances were they were probably in the hospital checking the post-op patients. Not being a physician or nurse, she never ventured onto the wards alone. But today was different, there were two patients with freshly implanted stem cells, so it’d be okay to check too. After all, she was working with Jin-Woo and Jon. More importantly, the future of Jon’s research depended upon the results. What a breakthrough it’d be if the implants worked as they planned.

So she’d walked over to the hospital to look in on the patients, arrived at the first patient’s room but found it empty, the bed freshly made, no personal items or family members waiting. A bad feeling blossomed inside her.

Same thing with the second patient’s room across the hall.

The bad feeling grew worse.

She hurried to the nursing station, directly to the first nurse she saw, asked, “Where are Dr. Lee’s patients, the fresh post-ops?”

“I’m sorry. Are you a relative?”

“No. I work with Dr. Lee. In his lab.”

The nurse glanced away, fidgeted. “We’re not allowed to give out information.”

Yeonhee held up her ID for the nurse to read. “Look at this. I work here in the medical center. I am involved in the patients’ care,” which was a stretch of truth. “I need to know where they are so I can record data.” Now telling a flat-out lie.

The nurse glanced from the ID to Yeonhee’s face, as if weighing what to say or looking to see if she was lying. Finally, “They’re downstairs. In pathology. Waiting for autopsies. They died early this morning.”

Yeonhee knew she should be shocked, but for some reason had already steeled herself for this news, probably because so many unusual little things had already gone wrong this morning. “And Dr. Lee?”

“The police have him. They took him this morning, around the time I came on shift. They’re saying the patients were murdered and that the American is responsible and Dr. Lee helped him.”

“That’s ridiculous! He didn’t kill those patients.”

She had to do something to help. What? Neither Jin-Woo nor Jon answered their cells.

Nothing the nurse had said made any sense. What could Jon possibly gain by killing the patients? Just the opposite: he had everything to lose. The Avengers, on the other hand. . . .

The first day Jon was in the lab he told her the story of the Avengers. Immediately afterward she’d Googled the name, brought up their website, and almost vomited at the sight of Jon’s information there. Post a person’s name on a website for crazies and you never knew what might result. Some real psychos inhabit this world. A reality she knew too well from dealing with her brother.

She was an excellent judge of character and believed Jon was a good person and superb scientist. Knowing little about actual surgery, she couldn’t judge his skills as a surgeon. When first meeting him, his fixation on Alzheimer’s—a nonsurgical disease—seemed a little, well, weird for a surgeon. So one day when she and Jin-Woo were in Jon’s lab, she asked Jon why he was so interested.

For a moment he looked at her eyes, as if questioning her sincerity. Then said, “My grandmother died from it.” And went on to describe her insidiously worsening forgetfulness, the waning interests in bridge club, sewing, and bird-watching, the deepening depression. How she’d fly into a rage over the least little ripple in her daily routine.

“It got harder and harder to care for her,” he’d said. “Finally I had to put her in an assisted living home. The place was awful, but, well, we couldn’t afford anything better. She never forgave me.”

“How long did she live?” Yeonhee had asked.

“Six weeks. Two weeks after I put her in the home, she went into a coma. Never came out.” He seemed to be staring at something far away. “She died like that.”

She eventually learned that his quest for a cure for Alzheimer’s disease had an even deeper motivation. There is an inheritable form of the disease: a gene that produces the protein apolipoprotein E. Everyone, even normal non-demented people, have this protein because it transports cholesterol in the blood. The problem is, the gene has three forms: one protects a person from the disease whereas another does just the opposite, making a person more susceptible.

Jon’s grandmother died relatively young, at an age more likely to indicate the inheritable form. Jon was deeply worried that he might have it. Without having tested his grandmother, the only to way know was to simply wait for the first signs of a rapidly developing disease. On the other hand, if he could find a cure . . .

Suddenly a loud banging started on the door to the hall. She jumped, her body a taut tangle of nerves, and spun around to look. A face filled the narrow vertical window above the doorknob. More banging. Heart beating wildly, she thumbed the intercom button. “Yes?” On the other side of the window stood a man in a suit.

From the intercom came, “Police. Open up!”

She reached for the stainless steel handle, but then stopped, her mind spinning through several scenarios. Had something bad happened to either Jon or Jin-Woo? Both? Was she in trouble? Had her brother injured her mother? Then she remembered: the patients . . .

She cracked the door only enough to converse with him. “Yes?”

A large man, early forties, in a cheap suit and a mean determined expression, pushed the door open, shoving her back far enough to step into the lab, then backing her up even further to get her out of his way as he started inspecting the room. “Lee, Yeonhee?”

“Yes?”

“The American, where is he?” His tone carried an implied threat.

Immediately she felt protective and defensive toward Jon. “Who are you?”

The words seemed to surprise him, as if he didn’t expect a lowly lab tech, especially a woman, to question him. “Detective Park, Metropolitan police.”

His surprise steeled her confidence. “I’d like to see some identification please.”

This time Park didn’t bother to hide his irritation. But she knew her rights. Besides, a uniformed officer was witnessing this from the hall. Reluctantly, Park pulled a wallet from his suit coat, held it up to her.

She waved it away without a glance, happy at the small bit of control it gave her and the shift of dominance in the interaction. “I don’t know where he is.”

Park continued inspecting the lab, checking closets, looking in sink wells. He eyed her suspiciously. “The last time you spoke with him, when was that?”

She saw no reason not to answer truthfully. “Yesterday.”

“What time yesterday?”

“In the morning.”

He rounded the bench in the center of the room heading back to the door, dropping a business card on the corner of the counter as he passed. “If you see him, call me. You understand? Anytime, day or night.”

She resented the arrogance and condescension but something unstated in his attitude seeded enough fear of him that she exchanged a sarcastic reply for, “Yes, I will.”
Never in a thousand years will I help you.

Inspector Park glared at her from the doorway. “For your sake, I hope you do.”

36

J
ON DECIDED IT
would be too conspicuous to hang around one place for long so pushed off the concrete wall and moved a half block. A Westerner in a city of Asians might draw unwanted attention, especially from police. He stopped to survey the area once again, hoping to see a familiar landmark, but saw nothing but generic big city buildings, pedestrians, vehicles, and neon. Another half block and he stopped to fish the scrap of paper from his wallet with Yeonhee’s cell number. Again, no answer. Where was she? Jin-Woo too?

By now his battery indicator showed only one segment, so he powered off the cell, replaced it in his pocket, walked another block to the corner and glanced up and down that street for a familiar landmark. Although he’d visited Seoul previously, he hadn’t had reason to learn the city from a pedestrian viewpoint. Most of his time had been spent inside the medical center or the hotel, on the outskirts of the main business district. As he now faced a multi-lane street of bumper to bumper traffic, a whiff of food caught his attention. Half a block away, a street vendor sold what looked like chunks of chicken on a stick. When had he last eaten? Breakfast at the hotel? Seemed like days ago, yet he didn’t feel hungry.

Well, hell, couldn’t just stand here, had to go somewhere. At random, he turned right and resumed walking, figuring that a street this wide stood a good chance of intersecting with another major avenue so if he walked a mile or so he might spot a familiar landmark.

Yeah? Then what? What good will that do? You still won’t know where you are.

True, but seeing something familiar would be comforting.

One corner and three blocks later his logic paid off: directly ahead was the Seoul Intercontinental, towering over the neighboring buildings. Jin-Woo had driven him past the hotel several times. An idea formed: a hotel this large should provide sufficient anonymity for a day, maybe two, depending on how aggressively Park hunted him, to be able to work with Wayne and Fisher and the embassy on obtaining a new passport that would get him out of the country. For the moment, having a plan rounded off the edges off his anxiety.

He dodged a cab exiting the driveway, hurried past a taxi with a trunk full of luggage, and followed an elderly Asian couple through the main revolving door into a cavernous lobby of maroon oriental rugs, huge Chinese vases, and chairs. To his left, two rows of chrome stanchions linking red velvet rope formed a switchback to the registration desk. He stood in line behind two men in expensive-looking business suits and Tumi attaché cases. As he waited, he discreetly scanned the lobby for police. To his relief, there were none.

After a couple minutes wait, his turn came, and a clerk at the counter motioned him over. When he got there the clerk continued to click away on a keyboard. For a minute Jon waited patiently until the receptionist finally glanced up. “May I help you?”

“A room for one or two nights.”

His eyes immediately went back to the computer screen. “Name on the reservation?”

“I don’t have one.”

He adjusted wire-rimmed glasses, typed, waited for a moment. “Smoking or non-smoking?” Still no eye contact, which, on second thought, might be best.

“Non-smoking.”

The keyboard started clicking again. “One or two nights?”

He considered two, but decided to move to another hotel tomorrow. “Just one.”

The clerk studied the screen a moment, nodded, flashed a toothy smile at him. “Credit card and passport, please.”