Ben had complied, pushing away a few empty beer cans and other debris.
In the next minute, several cops ran up behind him and patted him down.
Satisfied he was unarmed, they cuffed him and then hoisted him to his feet. Ben watched as a number of the Fort Lee police ran up to the house with guns drawn and disappeared inside.
“Christ, what a smell!” one of the officers said, standing next to Ben and wrinkling his nose. To Ben he said, “Did you go in there?”
“I did. I didn’t want to, but I heard a noise, which turned out to be this child,”
Ben said, using his head to point through the open driver’s-side door of his Range Rover at Shigeru, whose face could barely be seen within the enfolding blanket. “Why the hell did you cuff me?” Ben pleaded. “Am I a suspect? From the smell, whatever happened here was days ago.”
The officer didn’t answer. The ambulance had arrived, its siren loud enough to cause Ben’s ears to ring. Several EMTs leaped out, one going to the ambulance’s rear to open the door, another rushing to where Ben was standing with his two guards.
“Where’s the child?” the driver demanded. Ben had requested the ambulance when he’d made the 911 call.
“He’s here in the car,” Ben answered before the police could respond. “He’s fine,” Ben added quickly. “He’s dehydrated, but mostly he’s terrified. He’d been in a hidden room in the dark from whenever this disaster occurred. I’m a doctor.
He needs an IV. He needs blood work. His kidney function has to be evaluated.”
Ben turned to one of his captors, a uniformed officer identified on his nametag as Sergeant Higgins. “I’d like to go with the child. As I said, I’m a doctor. I can return here for questioning after the child is stabilized.”
“Are you related to the kid somehow?” Sergeant Higgins questioned.
“No, I’m not,” Ben said, “but . . .” It was at that moment Ben remembered the documents in the office safe: the two wills, one signed, one unsigned, and the 220
trust agreement signed, making him the trustee of the trust that was going to own the key patents for iPS cells. For Ben, remembering the existence of the legal documents was like a sudden burst of sunshine in the middle of a terrible storm. Although he was no lawyer, the idea that he might have something to say about the patents’ future couldn’t be bad for the future of iPS USA and the necessary perpetuation of the licensing agreement.
“But what?” Sergeant Higgins said when Ben had paused.
“But I’m to be the child’s guardian when the father’s will is probated.”
“Is the father in the house as one of the victims?”
“Not that I know of. I only saw the mother.”
“Is the father dead?”
“That I don’t know either,” Ben admitted, making him realize his case for leaving the scene and going with the child was cellophane-thin, even if he was to produce the one signed will he had. Accepting reality, he turned back to the EMT. “Take the child, whose name, by the way, is Shigeru Machita, start an IV, but tell the hospital authorities that I will most likely soon be the guardian, and that I give permission to treat the child as I’ve already described. Also tell them I will be there as soon as I can.”
“Okay,” the EMT said simply, and then took off, rounding Ben’s car to get to the front passenger door.
Ben watched the EMT lift the child, then quickly turn his head away as the smell of the child invaded his airspace. The EMT then ran Shigeru back to the ambulance’s rear and handed him off to the other EMT, who’d gone back to the vehicle to prepare for receiving the child.
For a moment Ben found himself thinking about the legal issues that were sure to arise. Shigeru, like the rest of his family, was an illegal alien, without even a record of his entrance into the country. His Japanese citizenship would impact an American court’s decision about his future. But where was Satoshi, and was he alive or dead? If he was alive, the legal issues were fewer. Could he have arrived home, seen the mayhem, and gone into hiding? It now seemed unlikely. Ben had an awful sinking feeling that Satoshi, like his family, was already dead.
As the ambulance made a three-point turn in the middle of Pleasant Lane, more police cars arrived, though without the same sense of urgency. Ben noticed these squad cars were from the Bergen County police.
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A moment later an unmarked car and several white vans pulled behind the Bergen County police. On the side of the vans was stenciled: NEW JERSEY
DEPARTMENT OF PUBLIC SAFETY, OFFICE OF MEDICAL EXAMINER. From one of the marked police cars emerged a plainclothes detective. He was of medium height and thickset, with a shock of brown hair going gray at the temples. It was clear he was a force to contend with. He was one of those people who radiated authority, determination, and intelligence all at once in a calm, unspoken way.
He walked directly up to Ben, who was instantly wary, and said, “I’m Detective Lieutenant Tom Janow of the Bergen County police.” Without waiting for a response, he turned to Sergeant Higgins. “Is this the nine-one-one caller?”
“He is, sir!”
“Why is he in handcuffs?”
Sergeant Higgins paused, seemingly caught off guard by the question.
“Lieutenant Brigs said to pat him and cuff him.”
“For what reason?”
“Well . . . because the case was a mass murder.”
“A mass murder that had apparently gone down a day or so ago, if I’m not mistaken,” Tom said. His voice was even and matter-of-fact and without emotion or blame.
“Well, that’s true,” the sergeant admitted.
“Uncuff him!” Tom said calmly.
While Ben was being released he watched how efficiently the Bergen County police task force went to work. While the Fort Lee police continued to secure the area, the Bergen County contingent prepared to process the scene. Besides the plainclothes detective, there was a handful of uniformed officers, a number of crime scene investigators, and several medical legal investigators from the Bergen County medical examiner’s office. The MLIs were busily suiting up in bioprotective clothing with some even donning closed circuit breathing apparatus like Aqua-Lungs to be ready to go into the building as soon as the local police declared it safe. There was even a representative from the Bergen County district attorney’s office, who’d gotten out of his unmarked car and had walked over to introduce himself to Detective Lieutenant Janow and ask permission to listen in on the questioning of Ben, which the detective agreed to instantly.
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“Sorry about the cuffs,” Tom said, once the shackles had been removed. There had been a brief problem with the key.
Ben acknowledged Tom’s apology. Although he had been worried about the situation when he’d first discovered the bodies, the idea that he might be considered a suspect had never dawned on him. “I’m not considered a suspect, am I?” Ben asked while rubbing his wrists. He wanted to be absolutely sure. He was already nervous enough.
“Not yet,” Tom said. “Should we have our conversation in your vehicle? It might be more agreeable.”
Not completely relieved of his concern about possibly being a suspect, Ben agreed to the use of his car. Tom got in on the front passenger side while Ben climbed in behind the wheel. The investigator from the district attorney’s office seated himself in the passenger-side backseat.
With his pad and pencil at the ready, Tom started with the usual litany of questions, associated with Ben’s identity and history, rapidly writing as Ben spoke. As they proceeded, Ben’s evaluation of the man’s professionalism went up another notch. Tom’s systematic, experienced, and smooth approach to interviewing made it clear he knew what he was doing while making it all appear effortless. Within just a few minutes they had progressed from Ben’s identity to Ben’s personal history to the facts that led up to Ben’s having stopped by the Machitas’ household on that particular day.
When Tom paused in his questioning, Ben could feel himself trembling and hoped it was not obvious. The feeling that Tom was almost too good at what he was doing made Ben progressively nervous that Tom might find out things that Ben didn’t want him to learn. Ben seriously wanted to end the interview but hesitated to say anything, lest the wily detective take Ben’s eagerness to cut things off as a sign that he had something to hide.
There was another reason Ben was nervous: He had not been totally truthful. In fact, he’d lied twice. The first deliberate lie had been when Ben said that Satoshi Machita had given him his home address, and the second had been that he had no idea how Satoshi had found the property.
At that point, one of the Bergen County police had come out of the building and rapped on Tom’s passenger-side window. Tom had gotten out of the car, allowing Ben to turn and acknowledge the thin, bespectacled man sitting in his backseat. For a moment their eyes locked but no words were spoken. The situation did not encourage small talk. Five minutes later Tom climbed back into 223
the car. As soon as he’d slammed the door shut, he went back to his questioning.
“Now, I’ve been told you did go into the house.”
“I did,” Ben admitted. “I can assure you that I would rather not have gone in, but I felt impelled because of the child. I had heard a high-pitched noise from the door. I didn’t know at the time it was a child.” Another lie, and Ben did not even know why he had told it.
“Did you bust the window in the door?”
“I did not. The door window was broken when I got here. The door was unlocked.”
“Did you recognize any of the victims?”
“Just the wife.”
“What about Satoshi?”
“He wasn’t there, at least I didn’t think he was, but I didn’t go into the basement.”
“He isn’t there,” Tom offered. “I’ve been told the bodies are all together in the same room, lined up on the floor: six of them.”
“That’s what I saw.”
“Where is he?” Tom asked casually, as if he was inquiring about an acquaintance.
“I wish I knew,” Ben said. “I had been trying to get in touch with him for several days. He’d been eager to get some lab space. I wanted to let him know it had been arranged. As I told you, the reason I stopped by here is to see him.”
“When and where was the last time you saw him?”
“Wednesday afternoon. We’d had a small celebration in the office in the city after we’d signed a licensing agreement. He left early, saying he wanted to get home to share the good news with his wife.”
“Was this licensing agreement going to be lucrative for him?”
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“Immensely so!”
Tom paused for a moment, thinking, then took a moment to jot something down.
“Are you thinking that Satoshi might be the perpetrator, having killed his family except for the child?”
“If this had been domestic violence, he’d be my first choice,” Tom said. “But I doubt this scene represents domestic violence. It’s too smooth, too professional.
This smacks of organized crime. I mean, I’ve been told the bodies are lined up like a production line. That wouldn’t happen in a scene of domestic violence. This looks like a drug hit, but that doesn’t mean we don’t want to find Mr. Satoshi as a person of interest.”
“Hmm,” Ben voiced. Although he’d come to the same conclusion about the killing not representing domestic violence, he’d decided not to offer any more insight or information unless specifically asked.
“Did you know that the killer or killers made a specific point to remove all identification? If it hadn’t been for you, we would have no idea who these people were.”
“I didn’t know,” Ben said, progressively wishing he’d never come. “I did notice that the home had been ransacked.” It was Ben’s thought that the killer or killers had searched for something above and beyond identification. He had guessed it was Satoshi’s lab books, but that idea he was unwilling to share.
“How much effort have you made looking for Satoshi?”
“I’ve called him repeatedly on his cell. Other than that and coming here today, I’ve done nothing specifically.”
“As careful about removing identification as the intruders were, if they were to have caught Satoshi before coming here and killed him, they probably would have gotten rid of his identification as well. Did you contact Missing Persons in the city on the odd chance that there is an unclaimed Japanese corpse hanging out in the morgue?”
“I certainly did not,” Ben responded.
Tom opened the door, stepped out, and yelled for one of the uniformed officers to kindly come over. When the officer did, Ben could hear Tom ordering him to go back to the car and call the Missing Persons Squad in New York City and 225
inquire about any unidentified Japanese corpse coming in over the last several days.
Tom returned and climbed back into the car. As he did so, he caught Ben glancing at his watch.
“Are we keeping you from something important?”
“Actually, yes,” Ben said. “I’m worried about the child. Do you know where they’ve taken him?”
“The nearest hospital is in Englewood,” Tom said. “You probably know that, since you live in Englewood Cliffs. How critical was the child, in your estimation?”
“Surprisingly enough, seemingly not critical at all. He was dehydrated for sure but probably not enough to cause internal organ damage.”
“I’d guess that they probably took him to Hackensack University Medical Center.
I can confirm that. Meanwhile, let me ask you a question. As far as you know, does your company, iPS USA, have anything to do with organized crime?”
Ben was stunned, and before he could help himself, he’d sucked in a tiny but audible gasp of air. The unexpected nature of the question had taken him completely off guard. Instantly recovering, he asked in the calmest voice he could muster, “Why would our biotech start-up, which is trying to cure degenerative disease for the sake of humanity, have anything at all to do with organized crime? Excuse me, even asking such a question is ridiculous.”
Tom raised his eyebrows slightly and commented, “It’s interesting your response to a question is a question, rather than a direct ‘no.’ ”
“It is not surprising that I might be shocked by a question connecting my company to organized crime when we were talking about organized crime being related to this mass murder,” Ben said, defending himself and his response. “Of course I would be taken aback. I think it is clear I came upon the scene totally unawares. I had absolutely no knowledge of this tragedy or anything possibly to do with it.”