The Plot (20 page)

Cassie watched the policeman approach an elderly black woman standing at the bus stop on the corner, then backed her car out into the sparse traffic, falling in behind Joshua, whose truck looked like it would fall apart as it rattled over a speed bump.

Max scowled as he pulled up in front of Madison Hart's house and saw the black limousine in the driveway with its tall, muscular driver leaning against the hood. “That guy looks more like a bodyguard than a chauffeur,” he muttered under his breath. He parked directly behind the limo and noted the Maryland license plate staring at him-"HB-1.”
Hamilton Bates. Wonder what the hell he's doin’ here.

The burly chauffeur strode over and positioned himself in front of the porch as Max climbed from the car. “Sorry. No one's allowed in,” he said in a deep voice marked by a strong Brooklyn accent.

"That a fact?” Max pulled his wallet from the inside pocket of his suit coat and flashed his badge. “Well, I'm afraid that doesn't include
me
, now does it?"

The chauffeur wasn't impressed. “Yessir, I'm afraid it does. Unless ya got a warrant of some kind."

Max narrowed his eyes at the unexpected challenge. “I don't need a warrant. I'm responding to a call, and if you don't move out of my way, you'll be under arrest for interfering with a law enforcement officer.” He used his well-practiced command voice.

The chauffeur hesitated, started to speak, but a smooth baritone voice interrupted. “It's all right, Busby."

Max and the chauffeur turned to see an impeccably dressed Hamilton Bates descend the broad wooden stairs. His steel-colored hair glistened in the morning sunlight.

"Detective Henshaw, I believe?” He held out his hand toward Max, paused, then dropped it to his side when Max ignored the gesture. “You'll have to forgive my chauffeur, Detective. He is long on loyalty, but somewhat short on discretion. Please, go on in. Miss Hart is not at home, however."

"I see,” Max replied as if he was unaware of Cassie's absence. “In that case, may I ask what business
you
are here on?"

Bates chuckled. “Strictly personal, Detective. Strictly personal.” With that, he turned and walked briskly toward the limousine, not waiting for Busby to open the door for him, and disappeared from sight behind the darkly tinted windows.

"Your boss seems to be in a hurry,” Max remarked, grinning. The chauffeur glared at him but said nothing as he rushed to get into the car. Must be fun to kow-tow through life, Max thought, watching the car disappear around the corner.

May Lee opened the door before he had reached the top step. “Oh, Detective Henshaw! I am so glad to see you.” Her voice was hoarse, her eyes red and swollen, and she held a crumpled handkerchief in her left hand. He wasn't surprised. She'd been frantic when she'd called to tell him that Philip had been charged with murder-a Federal “hate” crime.

Max followed her in and locked the door behind himself, then took the tiny woman's hand and guided her to the living room, seating her gently on the couch. “Why was Bates here?"

May Lee shook her head and dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief. “I have never known such trouble. First Mr. Hart. Then Philip. Now
this
.” She pulled a white envelope from the pocket of her apron. “I never should have answered the door when I saw it was Mr. Bates.” Her body shook from the force of her weeping.

"What are you talking about? Let me see that.” He took the envelope from her trembling hand. The return address read “Bureau of Enforcement, United States Immigration and Naturalization Service.” He opened it, withdrew the letter, and read it twice, shaking his head. “Sonuvabitch,” he muttered under his breath. “Is this why he was here? To deliver this to you?” he asked as he replaced the letter in its envelope and set it on the coffee table.

She nodded. “He said he was very sorry, but when he learned of the INS’ decision to deport me, he felt it would be better if I learned about it from ‘a friend.'” She sniffled and swallowed hard. “I asked him if there was anything he could do to help me, but he said his influence is limited.” She looked at Max, desperation in her eyes. “Maybe you can do something? I mean, I can't leave Philip. Someone has to be here for him. He is not a strong person, and I don't know how he will handle this murder charge. I have to get him an attorney, pay for the cost of his defense. I cannot do that from China."

When she paused for breath, Max spoke. “I don't know about the INS, May Lee. They're a whole different kettle of fish. But I've found an attorney for him. His name is Bernard Schligerman, and he is very good-although not as expensive as some. He talked with Philip last night and will meet with him again tomorrow."

Her face brightened a little. “He will help Philip? You
know
that Philip did not kill Mr. Hart. Remember? He told you all about what happened. And the police have the body of the boy who really
was
driving the car when Mr. Hart was killed. Doesn't that mean anything?"

Max considered her words.
Had
it been Takazawa who killed Madison Hart-or was he just a fall guy? He shifted his attention back to May Lee. “Mr. Schligerman said he will
try
to help him. But there is a problem. The FBI has a signed confession. Even though Philip says they coerced him, it makes it much harder to defend him.” Max paused a moment and looked down at the envelope on the coffee table. “According to Philip, they told him that if he didn't, uh, ‘accept responsibility,’ they would have you deported."

"Dear God in Heaven. And now they've ordered me to leave anyway. Detective? I don't understand what is happening."

Max sat forward, his elbows braced against his knees, and studied May Lee's face for a long time. “The letter says that, because you have lost your sponsor, you are no longer entitled to remain in the United States. They do have the right to deport you under these circumstances. Why didn't you ever apply for citizenship?"

"I don't know. I was going to, but I just never seemed to find the time. It didn't seem all that important."

Max was quiet a moment, then took his pen and notepad from his pocket. “I'm not sure what, if anything, I can do,” he said, “but maybe if you tell me the circumstances surrounding your immigrating to the United States, I can think of something."

"I worked for the Harts in Hong Kong. When they were accused of ‘espionage’ and sent back to the United States, they asked if I would come with them. My husband had always wanted to come here, Philip was over here, and Miss Cassie was almost like a daughter to me. So I said yes, Mr. Bates arranged for me to get a work visa, and then, well, here I am."

"So it was Bates and not Hart who helped you?"

She nodded. “Mr. Hart no longer had any influence."

"Why would Bates use his influence to help
you
? No disrespect intended, but Bates is a pretty high roller and, as I understand it, was involved in Madison Hart's expulsion from Hong Kong."

May Lee shook her head again. “I don't know. Maybe he just felt he owed it to the Harts. I remember him saying something about how important it was to have someone who could be
trusted
working for the Harts. I only know that I was very grateful for his help."

Trusted? By whom? Max wondered. The Harts? Bates? May Lee had shown more loyalty to the Harts than to Bates, as far as he could tell. But, she was beholden to
Bates,
and a debt was a debt. “Forgive me for asking, but what made Bates think you were so trustworthy?"

"Because I never gossip to outsiders about what goes on in my employer's house."

"What could have gone on that anyone would be ashamed of?” he asked.

"Well, not much. But, sometimes you hear things that are best kept to yourself...” Her voice trailed off, and for the first time, she didn't look at him as she spoke.

"May Lee. I know there was trouble for Mr. Hart in Hong Kong. I know that he was arrested. I know that he was expelled from the country. What I don't know is what happened between Madison Hart and Hamilton Bates. And I think it's important that I do. I can't tell you why, but I hope you will trust me."

She was quiet a long time, looking out the big window. Max followed her gaze toward the rose bushes fluttering in the breeze.

"I do trust you, Detective Henshaw,” she whispered, interrupting Max's thoughts. “But Hamilton Bates is a very powerful man, and I already have enough trouble. I'm not sure that knowing any more than you do would help either of us."

Max considered her words but pressed on. “Let me be the judge of that. Please. Tell me what you know."

After a moment's hesitation, she stood and walked across to the curio cabinet, opened the door, and took out a small glass ball. Holding it gingerly, she came back and gave it to him.

He turned it over in his hand, studying it. About three inches in diameter, the hollow globe was etched in great detail with the nations, mountains, plains, and oceans of the world. Confused, he looked up at her.

"That is what came between Mr. Bates and Mr. Hart,” she said simply.

"This? Why? Is it of such great value?"

May Lee smiled sadly. “No, not in and of itself. There are many just like it in the souvenir shops in Hong Kong. No, it is what it represents. You see, Detective, Mr. Hart and Mr. Bates had been very good friends for many years. Mr. Bates was Best Man at Mr. and Mrs. Hart's wedding. He was even Miss Cassie's godfather. But they had a serious, uh, philosophical disagreement, and Mr. Hart was using his position with Bates News Service to undermine Mr. Bates’ goals.” She stopped as if gathering her thoughts.

"It happened about the time Britain turned over control of Hong Kong to the Chinese,” she continued. “Mr. Bates stopped by after dinner one night, feeling very festive about the impending change of government. ‘Just think of all the strife this will resolve,’ I overheard him tell Mr. Hart. But Mr. Hart was very dour. ‘It sure will, Hamilton. Just imagine all those unruly, freedom-loving people who will finally learn to toe the line.’ Then Mr. Bates started to grow irritable. ‘Yes, Madison. That's exactly the point. People will be forced to work together for the
common
good. The two governments will no longer be vying for control of the resources, the people, or the money. The threats of war and bloodshed between Britain and China-with the people of Hong Kong caught in the middle-will disappear forever!'

"I was in the dining room clearing the table and couldn't help seeing and hearing what was going on, and neither of them paid any attention to me. I remember Mr. Hart picking up a globe just like this one from the coffee table, walking over to Mr. Bates, and holding it out toward him, saying, ‘Hamilton, you're so blasted wrong. Look at this. See how unique every nation is? Some are mountainous, others plains, some desert. Their citizens are also unique, and a one-size-fits-all government won't
work
. Combining control of the nations of the world may prevent war-as you hope-but who will thank you for it?'

"Mr. Bates got kind of a strange smile on his face and said, ‘Everyone but you, I imagine, as long as you insist on living in the past. Don't you realize that the thirst for liberty has been quenched by the desire for security?’ But Mr. Hart said, ‘Don't
you
realize that without liberty there
is
no security? Mankind was meant to be
free
, Hamilton.
Free!
What you seek will destroy the human spirit, for God's sake.'

"Mr. Bates looked at the globe for a minute, then grabbed it from Mr. Hart and crushed it in his bare hand. I will never forget the blood streaming from his fingers onto the white terrazzo floor. You can still see the long scars on his fingers. ‘Madison,’ he said, ‘this is what will happen to the world if your idealism were to prevail. Mankind will destroy not only itself, but the world, and with it, the very
freedom
you so cherish.'” She shook her head. “I went into the kitchen, and when I returned, Mr. Bates had left. A few days later, Mr. Hart's column criticizing the British appeared in the newspaper. Twenty-four hours later, he was arrested for ‘espionage.'

"Mrs. Hart told me later that Mr. Hart bought
this
globe at the airport before they returned to the United States. It was a reminder, he said, to be very careful into whose hands our fragile world is placed."

Max gave the globe back to her. “If Mr. Hart was so antagonistic toward Bates, why does Cassie still regard him with such affection?"

She returned the globe to its place of honor among the other mementoes and closed the door tightly, replying as she did so, “Miss Cassie was very young at the time and probably remembers very little of what happened. Mr. Bates was always very fond of her, and the Harts did not believe it was right to involve her in their disagreement. Don't misunderstand. The Harts remained cordial to Hamilton Bates, but the closeness they had once shared was gone, and neither the Harts nor Mr. Bates made any attempt to resurrect it."

Max leaned back against the soft couch, staring at nothing in particular. When he did speak, he was somber. “So Bates came all the way out here just to deliver a letter and refused to be of any help to you despite all his money and connections.” He paused. “Or was there more to his visit, maybe?"

"Well, he did ask about Miss Cassie. Whether I have heard from her, things like that. He said he was concerned about how she was dealing with her father's death."

"What did you tell him?"

"Only that I believed a vacation was a good idea for her and that, no, I haven't heard from her. He wanted to know if I knew how to reach her, and I told him I don't.” She sat on the piano bench and began wringing her hands. “Detective? What am I going to do?"

"I don't know, May Lee, but I'll do some checking and let you know what I find out."

"I only have 36 hours,” she whined.

"I know. I'll do what I can,” he replied. “I promise."

Selena watched from the front porch of the old house as the truck emerged from the thick woods and rumbled up the winding, red clay driveway. When it stopped in front of the porch, she mentally crossed her fingers and hoped it wasn't a mistake having Cassie come here, wondering-again-whether it was really necessary. So much was at stake. But they needed to talk, and there was no safer place than here.