Primitive Secrets (28 page)

Wo dropped to her knees, then her side, and curled into a fetal position. Her breathing came in rasping gulps, interspersed with a keening whine, which faded away.

Storm leaped over Wo and even kicked her out of the way to get to Hamlin. “Ian, Ian,” she cried and threw her weight against him. She got him onto his back, crushing the box next to him.

Hamlin was a dead, limp weight. His lips were turning blue. She knelt beside him. “I'll breathe for you,” she gasped.

She raised her head from his mouth and felt her own eyes fill with tears when she read the terror in his. She pinched his nose closed and blew between his slack lips. She gave him ten good breaths and watched the blueness begin to fade from the fingernails of the hand splayed across his chest. She thought even the expression in his eyes had softened, but it was hard to tell. He was like a rag doll.

“You look better.” Storm wiped a trickle of sweat from her forehead. She lowered her mouth to his and blew again, then came up to gasp for her own oxygen.

Hamlin's eyes again held a look of dread. She frowned down at him. His fingernails and lips were pinker than when she'd started. “What's wrong?” she asked, then felt a pain in her left thigh.

Stunned, she looked over her shoulder. The syringe, empty, wobbled in the flesh of her leg. She pulled it out and stared at it in horror. How much had been left in it? How much did she need to be paralyzed?

Frantic, she blew the air she'd inhaled into Hamlin's mouth and sucked in another breath. Then she realized that she couldn't open and close her mouth very well. Her jaw was starting to hang. She could barely close it. Her neck felt weak, too. She gave Hamlin another breath, drew in more air and staggered to her feet. She had to get to a phone.

Storm made it to the doorway, then felt her overtaxed ankle give with a searing pop. Like a marionette whose strings were cut, she dropped. With her face pressed to the floor, she commanded her legs to rise, and could not do it. There she lay, her nose pressed into the plush carpet while the chemical smell of whatever rug shampoo had last been used tormented her. Fibers pressed painfully into the sclera of one eye and she couldn't even blink.

Dizzy nausea washed over her. As the darkness crept in from the sides of her vision, Storm hallucinated a room full of violent, angry shouting creatures. A wild man with red piggy eyes who tossed her helpless body onto its back. The wild boar on the mountainside had finally found them.

Chapter 39

Something dropped on Storm's chest, a thud on her hollow lungs. The shouting continued, her lips felt swollen and bruised, her jaw was in a vice. Noise shrieked around her. She tried to scream, but worse than any nightmare, she couldn't move her lips. She tried to roll from her back, but again she couldn't move, even though she could feel the fierce arms of the beast that trapped her. Tears ran down the sides of her face, and pooled in her ears.

The tears, though, cooled her burning eyes and Storm began to see a blur of white above the black mass that crouched on her face. Her heart lurched, then pounded with dread. A man's gentle voice broke through to her. She could hardly make out the words over the screaming of a siren.

“Hey, you're all right. Gonna be okay. You hear me?”

A woman's voice shouted from behind Storm's head. “You think she's back?”

“I think her eyes are more focused.” The man's face peered into hers. Storm could smell his aftershave.

“Sure,” said the woman's voice. “And you know what she's thinking, too.”

“Marty, you have no imagination. Her PO
²
is pretty good. She's got enough oxygen in her blood to be conscious now. What else do they want us to do?”

Storm heard the static of a radio and recognized the movement of a vehicle. The siren warbled a more frantic refrain. “We're almost there. Rob and Francine are right behind us with the guy.”

She felt the restraints on her arms; bands across her chest kept her from rolling off the stretcher. She must have passed out from absolute exhaustion. The ambulance lurched to a halt and the big doors at Storm's feet were thrown open by a flurry of people. She bumped helplessly on a gurney through a mechanical door where lights shone fuzzily overhead. She was okay. But Hamlin?

People moved around her with efficiency. A woman in green scrubs leaned over her and spoke, waving away a syringe. She put her face in front of Storm's and touched her hair. “Your friend is being treated. We'll send you down to -ray for that ankle. Can you tell us if you took anything, if you were given anything?”

Storm croaked out, “Nothing.”

The woman hustled away. Hovering in the background, behind a nurse who pricked Storm's arm with a needle, then connected it to a clear plastic tube, Storm saw the round bespectacled face of Detective Fujita. He looked worried. The nurse spoke to him. “Detective, you'll have to stand back now. She's doing pretty well. We don't know about the guy, yet.”

“We don't do CPR too often.” Fujita's voice was anxious.

“You did great, Detective. We'll take over from here.”

“I'll call later. I need to talk to them.”

Fujita faded out of Storm's vision. She tried with all her might to keep them open, but her eyes closed.

Then light inundated her eyes again. Her heart was hammering in her chest and clammy sweat poured from her face. An attendant trotted to her side with his eyes on the monitor beside the bed.

The nurse rushed over and patted Storm's arm. “You're okay. You're exhausted and you fell asleep.” The doctor returned, checked a gauge by the bed. The worry lines faded.

Storm realized that her eyes were following the doctor's back. She wiggled her arm and felt the sting of the needle to the IV line. She moved her hand, then tried to jiggle a leg. It worked.

“You feeling better?” a man's calm voice asked.

“Yeah. Hamlin?” Storm's voice rasped, dry and painful.

“He's still intubated. Just relax, now. I'm going to give you something to help you sleep.”

“No!” Storm tried to rise to her elbows. Dread swept through her. “I don't want it. Nothing else, please.”

The fellow put his hand gently on Storm's shoulder. “Okay, okay. But you need to rest and you may want some painkillers for that ankle. We'll keep you here overnight.”

Storm hadn't known she was asleep until she woke herself with a shout. Her face hurt, her whole leg throbbed, and she couldn't remember where she was. The sun streamed through Venetian blinds behind a dark head. Another person stood on the other side of the bed, silhouetted against the light.

Aunt Maile leaned over the bed and hugged her. “They called us last night. We came over on the earliest plane.”

Uncle Keone's voice rumbled. “We got plenty scared, honey.”

Storm's eyes filled. Their lined, brown faces had never looked so loving or welcome to her. “I'm so glad you're here.” She looked first at Maile, then Keone. “Who's they?”

“First the police, then someone from the office. One of the lawyers, had a haole name.” Aunt Maile looked at Uncle Keone, who shrugged.

“Oh.” The only Caucasian partner was Cunningham. The breath caught in Storm's throat. “Have you heard anything about Hamlin?”

Aunt Maile opened her mouth, but a light knock on the door interrupted her. “She's awake, Detective.” She sounded pretty happy to see the cop.

Fujita paused at the threshold and fiddled with the plastic top of a paper Starbucks coffee cup. “Mind if I talk to her for a minute?”

Aunt Maile patted Storm's hand. “We'll go get a cup of coffee and come back.”

Fujita sat in the chair next to the bed, pushed his glasses up on his nose, and slurped through the little hole in the top. Storm could smell the rich brew. It was making her salivate. All of a sudden, she was starving.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“Two o'clock.”

Storm looked at him with surprise. “In the afternoon?”

“Yup.”

“You gave me CPR.”

“You had a pulse. I just breathed for you.” He tucked his chin and peered into the little hole of his coffee top.

“What made you come to the office when you did?”

Fujita peered over his glasses at her. “Your stepbrother called 911. He was frantic.”

“Martin, thank God.” Storm paused. “You gave Hamlin CPR, too?”

“No, Officer Roper did that.” Fujita smiled a little. “Sandy claimed she never caught anything from him when they dated a few years ago. She was willing to lock lips with him last night.” He flushed. “Her terms, not mine.”

“Where is Hamlin?”

Fujita looked away. “He's on another floor. You'll have to talk to a doctor.”

“Detective Fujita, is he okay?”

He seemed to be avoiding her gaze. “He's a little more beat up than you. It's lucky we got to him when we did.” He met her eyes.

She looked at the cop, longing to believe him. “What made Martin call you?”

“Wo blasted by DeLario in the parking lot on her way in, nearly knocked his motorcycle into a concrete piling.”

“Oh, no. Was he hurt?”

“He made it home. Who did this to you?” he asked.

Storm looked at him, startled. “Meredith Wo wasn't there?”

“No, she wasn't. Did she give Ian Hamlin an injection of succinylcholine?”

“Yes, but I thought she was badly hurt, unconscious. I mean, I tried to stop her…”

“That would be the smashed picture frame?”

Storm nodded.

“Looked that way.” Fujita swirled his coffee in the cup, then regarded her with raised eyebrows. “We found some interesting stuff in the box under Hamlin. Does the name Tong Choy ring any bells?”

“Yeah,” Storm said slowly. “He's the guy who died on Mauna Kea, right?”

“Yes, and we found immigration paperwork for him and his brother on the floor of Hamasaki's office.”

“His brother?”

“Kwi Choy. Kwi has an apartment here in Honolulu, right off the freeway. It's a crummy neighborhood, but he has one of those huge TV screens and a closet full of new clothes. You ever heard of this guy?”

“That's the guy who tried to run me off the road.”

The detective pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Right. They were Wo's clients. Maybe Wang's, too. We're going to search his files, too. Any ideas about what happened to Choy on Mauna Kea?”

“I think a boar chased him.”

“They have tusks, but they don't usually break necks.” Fujita squinted at her. “Storm, what were you doing in Hamasaki's office last night?”

She looked down at her fingernails, still dirty from working on Sam's farm. It seemed like she'd been in Waimanalo weeks ago rather than only yesterday.

Fujita waited and Storm drew breath. “I heard about some private files that Hamasaki had kept on his family and probably some other people. I was trying to get them out before Meredith moved into the office.”

“Are these the ones you told me about?”

“Probably, but when I told you about them, I had no idea they held so many secrets. He used a private eye to get his information.” She picked at a hangnail. “I didn't want any more people hurt.”

“And Meredith Wo knew about these secret files?”

“I believe so, but I don't know how, or when, she found out.”

Fujita drained off what was left in his coffee cup. He stood up. “I'm glad to see you're okay. I'll drop by later on.”

“Detective, Meredith Wo killed Hamasaki.”

“We're trying to find her now…and we're looking into that possibility.” He gave her a little wave and walked out the door.

Storm clamped her teeth together in frustration. Why was Fujita so bloody nonchalant while that murderous bitch was still running around? And where was Hamlin? She looked around for a hospital official. Anyone—nurse, orderly, whatever. When she was trying to sleep or find a little privacy in the bathroom, they were all over her.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and gritted her teeth at the throbbing ankle. A wave of dizziness toppled her back to the pillows. She closed her eyes to stop the whirling room.

Aunt Maile popped her head through the door. “I brought you a papaya. Good food for healing.” She gave Storm a cellophane-wrapped piece of fruit on a flimsy plastic plate. “Keone's down in the snack shop. Some people from your office are with him. Everyone's worried about you. You feeling better?”

“Yeah, I'm okay.” Storm sounded grumpy even to herself. She softened her voice. “Aunt Maile, would you find the doctor who took care of me last night? Or someone who knows how Hamlin is doing?”

“Sure, honey. I'll find Uncle Keone and we'll be back in ten or fifteen minutes.”

If Uncle Keone's in the snack shop, you can make that an hour, Storm thought. She set the papaya on the bedside table and stared at the blank TV screen on the wall opposite her bed. Her ankle was killing her. She looked around for a button to call the nurse. Weren't they supposed to be right nearby? What if she fell out of bed? Or had a seizure? Or died of boredom? Sighing, she lay back and was shortly asleep.

Chapter 40

Storm awoke to a darkened room. Someone had turned out the light, closed her door. She pushed the call button. The hospital aide, switching on the light, told her that her aunt and uncle were in the cafeteria and would return soon. And, if she was awake, that policeman was back. She was.

Fujita, smiling, walked in. A steaming cup of Starbucks went to the bedside table. He sat, perching another cup on his crossed knee.

“You think your doctors will mind?” he asked. “It's decaf.”

Storm inhaled the aroma. “I hope not.”

Fujita sipped. “You're better. I've been back to Hamasaki's office. Talk to me more about the files you saw. Not the family stuff. We're still getting a handle on how Wo knew—”

“I think I can help.”

A low voice from the doorway caused both of them to turn their heads. Hamlin sat in a wheelchair and one side of his face drooped. The lower lid of one eye was pulled down by the weight of the paralyzed cheek to show bright pink lining. Now it pooled with tears. “Storm, I'm so sorry.”

“Oh, Ian, I've been so worried about you.” She struggled to sit up. “What happened to you?”

“Seventh cranial nerve damage. From the lack of oxygen.” He held a hand in front of his mouth when he spoke, but Storm could see that one side of his mouth hung flaccid and his proud moustache straggled above the loose lower lip.

“Why are you sorry? I'm sorry I didn't knock her out better.” Storm tried not to stare at his stricken face. “Will this go away?”

“Maybe, time will tell.” He wiped at an eye. Storm could not tell if the tears were the result of sadness or injury, but he went on. “I'm sorry that I ignored all the signs that pointed to Meredith. I should have known. Remember her big lawsuit against the neurosurgeon?” Hamlin looked at the detective, who looked down at his coffee cup.

“She was going after twenty million. It was not only going to make her reputation, her retainer was forty percent.” He met Storm's eyes. “When we were dating, she was in the middle of the case. She talked about the hospital's involvement and whether to name Unimed in the lawsuit, too. She went to Ed Wang, who was the personal attorney for Sherwood Overton, CFO of the company. After ranting in my office one afternoon about how she'd been stonewalled, she completely shut up about it.” Hamlin looked at Fujita, then Storm. “She got a two million dollar settlement. A few months later, she was asked to be a full partner at the firm.”

Fujita interrupted. “She never filed suit against the HMO?”

Hamlin shook his head. “No. We broke up soon after.” He paused. “A couple of years passed and I didn't think much more about it. But then, in the way unresolved issues keep popping up, I overheard Hamasaki arguing with someone the afternoon he died. They were really shouting at each other.

“I would have closed my office door, but the word ‘Unimed' kept coming up. So I left the door open, and about ten minutes later, Sydney O'Toole stomped out of Hamasaki's office. Edwin Wang must have heard it, too, because he dropped in right after O'Toole left. Soon after, Lorraine Tanabe took Hamasaki a cup of tea. A few minutes later, Hamasaki went to the men's room, then returned to his office.”

Hamlin's sad eyes went back and forth between Fujita's and Storm's rapt faces. “All was quiet and I left soon after. Lorraine was pulling covers over the office equipment, so she apparently was planning to leave soon, also.” Hamlin looked miserable. “Next morning Hamasaki was dead.”

Storm's eyes narrowed. “When you told me Hamasaki was preoccupied, you knew he was upset about Unimed.”

“No, I still believe it was about Martin. I just didn't tell you about the quarrel with O'Toole.”

“Why not?” Fujita asked. “And why didn't you tell the police?”

Hamlin glared at Fujita. “You have to ask?”

Fujita picked at the top of his coffee cup. “Okay.”

“Okay, what? What are you talking about?” Storm sat up straight.

Hamlin looked disgusted. “The careers of the good detective, here, and I both benefited from Meredith's lawsuit. The police, the prosecutor's office, even the hospital administrative bigwigs hopped around and said they'd long ago suggested he stop cutting. We jumped all over that poor surgeon looking for criminal negligence. He was a big target to bring down.” The lines in Hamlin's face dragged on his mouth and his drooping eye filled with tears again.

“The doctor had a stroke in the middle of the trial,” Storm said.

“Right. I was damned if I was going to ruin another guy in the twilight of his profession. I thought it would be better to ask some questions, first. After all, I saw O'Toole leave and Hamasaki was still fine.”

Fujita regarded Hamlin from the corner of his eyes. “And then what?”

“I took O'Toole out for a drink a few days later.” Hamlin looked sheepish. “He wanted to talk. He thought he'd stressed out his old friend and given him a heart attack.

“After about four rounds of Jameson's, he loosened up quite a bit.” Hamlin shook his head. “That guy can drink. I wondered if I was going to stay sober enough to remember what he told me. He said he'd started the whole mess when he went to Hamasaki for advice about a patient of his who needed a bone marrow transplant. Seems the HMO wouldn't pay for the procedure, though they talked a big story about how they were building a state-of-the-art cancer treatment clinic. O'Toole was frustrated because their equipment was obsolete and continually under repair.

“Hamasaki picked up on this right away. O'Toole chuckled about how no one ever could pull the wool over his friend's eyes. Hamasaki talked to hospital department heads, listened to the company line, then looked up the purchasing orders on his own. He found the discrepancies, then went back to O'Toole to find out what was going on.”

Hamlin took a deep breath. “This is where O'Toole got fuzzy. And it wasn't just the booze. He was nervous, like someone was threatening him. He tossed back the rest of his drink and got up. I threw some money on the table and followed him out of the bar. Had to practically chase him down the street. He wouldn't let me call him a cab, either, the crazy fool. Last thing he said as he shuffled off was that he'd told Hamasaki to clean his own nest. And he told me to do the same.”

Fujita looked thoughtful. “So, not just Wo, Wang was in on this, too.”

“Of course. That wimp never could say no to her,” Storm said.

“That wimp is dead.” Fujita's voice was grim. “He died yesterday afternoon, while you were up in the Ko'olau Mountains. Looks like a heart attack. His face was a mask of pain-—or maybe fear—hard to say.”

Fujita looked puzzled. “The odd thing is, he was wearing just one tennis shoe. We couldn't find the other.”

Storm and Hamlin both gaped at him. “Jesus,” Storm whispered. Hamlin opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Storm knew she'd have to talk to Aunt Maile and to Bebe and Sam. Later. Storm forced herself back on track. “Did she get the files?”

“Where were they kept?” Fujita asked.

Storm told him about the hidden drawer in the old bookcase.

“The glass was broken, but no books were moved. She would only have had a minute or two before we got there.”

“It's real private stuff.” Storm's eyes slid to meet Hamlin's. “A lot of it Hamasaki shouldn't have kept.”

“But you found information about Unimed?” Fujita asked.

Storm nodded. “Overton, Wang, Meredith, and Unimed are all connected.” She looked at Hamlin. “Like Ian said, Hamasaki found out that money was being diverted from one of Unimed's accounts.” Storm sighed. “I think he approached her or Wang with questions about the equipment purchasing orders. O'Toole virtually told him the problem lay within the firm, right?”

“Makes sense.” Fujita took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Storm, I need to see those files.”

“I knew you would say that.” She pointed to her bagged clothing in a corner of the room. Fujita handed them to her and she dug out the key. “Could you leave the family files behind? Please?”

Fujita shook his head. “I have to go through them, but I promise we'll bring anything unrelated to this case to you. I'll do it myself.” He gestured to someone in the hall. “You and Hamlin have twenty-four-hour guards until we find her.”

A nurse walked into the room. “Mr. Hamlin, you've got an appointment with neurology.”

Hamlin nodded and turned his chair slowly.

“Ian, I'll come see you,” Storm called after him.

Fujita jingled the keys in his hand. “You think Wo blackmailed Wang?” he asked Storm.

“Maybe. Or maybe he just couldn't face up to her, even in the end.” She watched the door for a minute. “Do you know if Wang had any Chinese immigrant clients?”

Fujita's eyebrows shot up. “Yes, the papers we found on Tong Choy showed he was Wang's client. We're getting a search warrant right now for Wang's office.”

“I was thinking. Wang had this incredible jade collection. He talked to me about it, once. He loaned it to museums, you know.”

“And?”

“People came to him to sell their family heirlooms. He talked about how it was tougher these days to get good pieces.”

Fujita stared at her.

“Maybe he offered sponsorship to the United States for jade.”

“Immigrants do need guaranteed employment. Yeah, we can check that out. What's the connection to Meredith?”

“She would have known.”

“Maybe Wang had Meredith do his paperwork?”

“Wang got everyone to do his paperwork.”

Storm slumped back on her pillow. Sadness and fatigue had drained her. Fujita gave her a pat on the arm and walked slowly from the room.

Storm thought about all those hidden documents. She believed that Fujita would keep them private, but she was embarrassed to have anyone else see what was in them. A tangled mess of family skeletons and betrayals ensnared them all. Faith had been an elusive quality in the Hamasaki family and she couldn't help but feel that Miles Hamasaki himself had set the first example. He had been unable to relinquish his power, and by striving for new ways of control, he'd doomed the foundation of trust for which he'd worked so hard.