Primitive Secrets (26 page)

The money was missing. And it was a staggering amount. Storm stopped to think. So many people close to Hamasaki needed money. His older son, stressed about keeping his restaurant going. But how could David have had anything to do with Unimed? Same for Martin. He urged a major investment in Unimed stock, wanted his father to be forced to admire his acumen, but where did Martin fit with some kind of purchasing scam?

Someone at the office? What about Wang and his twin obsessions: keeping his mother at home, giving her dignity, and his jade collection. Both drank up dollars. Wang could have pulled this off, could have drugged Hamasaki quite easily.

But maybe the money was merely a distraction. Martin had another reason for anger toward his father, his relationship with Chris DeLario. If Hamasaki had his own private investigator track her life, wouldn't he have turned Benning loose on his own children as well? Setting the “U” folder aside, Storm thought for a moment, then turned back to Hamasaki's desk.

Chapter 36

There was a quicker way to track Hamasaki's actions. Storm pulled open the pencil drawer again and withdrew the checkbook she'd seen. The checks were printed with only Hamasaki's name. Chances were good even Aunt Bitsy didn't know about this account, though Lorraine probably did.

Storm thumbed through the balance record. The account wasn't new; the checks went back fifteen years. He didn't use it often, and E.L Benning's name appeared again and again. She'd been right. Storm went to the most recent entries and looked for Benning's last bill.

Surprise checked her next breath. The check for $1375.06 was made out to the Hualalai Resort and dated June twentieth. The $500 was to cash, as she'd suspected, but there was another check, made out to Benning for $616.88 and marked “expenses.” It was dated June twenty-second, the day before Hamasaki's death.

She sat back in Hamasaki's chair. Hamlin was correct. Hamasaki knew about Martin and Chris. In fact, he had sent Benning to spy on them during their stay at the Hualalai Resort. Even as Bitsy went to help Martin and Chris confront Hamasaki with their “news,” Hamasaki was ahead of them.

Storm sat unmoving, listened to the hum of the air conditioner, and shivered. The office seemed very cold. She ruffled the check register numbly and thought, not for the first time, that Hamasaki should have let his children live their own lives. He had taught her the value of information and getting the scoop in business, but he hadn't separated work from family. He hadn't learned to trust his children's decisions, to allow them to make their own mistakes and recoup their own losses.

Of course, his intervention had probably saved her from doing time in some juvenile home. But according to Michelle, their father was harder on the three of them than he had ever been on her. Storm had come to the family as a teenager with a well-developed personality. One which, according to Aunt Maile, Hamasaki felt was similar to his own.

Michelle was right. After his children left the house and started to pay their own way, their father should have backed out of their affairs. Storm sat back in the deep leather chair. With a flash of insight, she was struck with one of the enigmas of parenthood. How does one learn to let go? He was a manipulator by nature. And he wanted the best for his children.

Fatigue hit Storm like a rogue wave. She felt flattened; her temples pounded and her limbs moved like cast iron. She dragged herself back to the bookcase drawer and flipped through the tabs on the files. There was one labelled “M.” Must be either Martin's or Michelle's. Storm sighed. More stuff that she probably didn't want to know about. She was going to have to pull out the whole bloody drawer and take it home.

She sighed. Reading through this was going to be no fun at all. Maybe she should burn the stuff without ever looking at it. With a sigh dredged from the bottom of a melancholy heart, she knew that she couldn't do that. The key to Hamasaki's killer lay here. It was time to pack them up and go tell Hamlin that they could leave.

Storm stood up, certain that she'd heard footsteps in the hallway. She'd left Hamasaki's door partly open in case Hamlin checked on her. She didn't want even him to see this file, though. Shoving the drawer closed and locking it, she checked the floor for anything she might have dropped, and went back to the desk. She crammed the checkbook back into the pencil drawer and locked it, too.

Of course, it could be Meredith, coming by to do some moving after office hours. According to Hamlin, she loved to work nights. Too late to close Hamasaki's office door, she sat under the bright lights at the desk and decided on the excuse she would give Meredith for having the keys to her new office.

She squinted in surprise at the swaggering approach of a broad-shouldered shape in the dark hallway. Definitely not Meredith, or even Hamlin. Tight jeans, black leather jacket. What in the world was Christopher DeLario doing here?

With a jolt, she realized that she still held not only the key to the desk, but the two keys to the bookcase. She shoved them into her shorts pocket.

“Chris, what are you doing here?”

“Did you find it?”

“Find what?”

DeLario looked as if he hadn't slept in a week. His face was grim and pale and no longer held the handsome warmth she'd noticed merely two days before. The tremor in his hands was even worse. Strands of hair had come free from his ponytail and fell in unkempt strands across his forehead. His bloodshot eyes darted around the room, then fell on the mahogany file cabinet, where Storm had left the bottom drawer open.

“Let's get Hamlin. He's right down the hall.”

“Yeah, I know.” He turned away and knelt before the file drawer. “He hasn't told you?”

“About what?” Storm walked over to him. “Hey, Chris, those are client files. They're private. What are you looking for?”

DeLario stood up and faced her. His jaw muscles were knotted with anger and his powerful shoulders hunched under his jacket. Storm tried not to back up.

“Maybe the same thing you are. The files Hamasaki used to make everyone dance to his chosen tunes.” His voice shook with barely controlled fury.

He squatted again and ruffled through the bottom drawer, then stood and opened the top drawer.

“Stop.” Storm put her hand on his arm.

DeLario recoiled as if she'd used a cattle prod on him. He swung at her hand, batting it away with a smack.

Storm lurched backward. “C'mon, you wouldn't want someone going through your private things.” She tried to keep her voice calm.

“Get out of my way, Storm.”

“Look, Chris. I have to move his stuff out of this room. If I find them, I'll call you or Martin.”

After the last entry in Hamasaki's checkbook, she didn't doubt that DeLario had a file. It was probably in the “M” folder, which she'd just crammed back into the hidden drawer. Maybe she should just give the file to him. But then he'd see the rest, the information on Unimed and incriminating details she hadn't even read through yet.

He turned back to the file drawer, shrugged out of the leather jacket, and threw it to the carpet. The armpits of his tee-shirt were stained with perspiration and the acrid odor of stale, unhealthy sweat saturated the room.

“Chris, I won't show it to anyone else. I promise.”

He turned back to her and stared. “He hated me. Why should I believe anything you say?”

“Because I like you and I love Martin. And I don't agree with some of the things Hamasaki did, even though I, well, I loved him, too.”

DeLario locked his bloodshot eyes on hers. Storm swallowed hard. His hands shook as he reached down to pick his jacket up from the floor.

Hamlin's voice caused both of their heads to turn. “She means it, Chris. Let's go, I'll call Martin to come get you.” He leaned against the doorframe, his face pale and miserable.

“Why would you help me?” DeLario's voice cracked.

Hamlin gazed back at DeLario and Storm could feel a current pass between the men. She had ceased to exist for them at that moment.

“Chris, some people would find your actions merciful,” Hamlin said softly.

“Not you.”

“You're right. I couldn't do it.”

Storm looked back and forth, openmouthed, from one man to the other. What the hell was this about?

“You called me a murderer,” DeLario whispered.

“I was wrong, Chris.” Hamlin's voice shook. “Forget it, please. He was dying. What was a day or two? We've both got to go on from here.”

“I can't.” DeLario made a choking noise. “I came here last Sunday to talk to Martin's father, to explain about Neil. The old man's mind was closed. He only saw what he'd guessed as a means of turning Martin away from me. He wouldn't listen, hardly seemed to hear me. Maybe he's succeeded anyway.” DeLario, voice cracking, stumbled out of the room.

“Chris,” Hamlin called out. The door down the corridor banged closed and Hamlin sagged against the wall.

“Jesus,” Storm said. “He told you he killed Neil. And Hamasaki knew it?”

Hamlin nodded. “With an overdose. It would have been so easy to do. Neil was on enough morphine to finish off any of us.” He wiped his face with a shaking hand. “I should have guessed, but I didn't want to know. What difference would it have made, anyway?”

Storm couldn't answer. It might have made a difference. It might have saved both Hamlin and DeLario a lot of suffering. And now Martin.

Hamlin looked sick. “Storm, I need to go home. Can we leave soon?”

“Sure, give me ten minutes. I need to gather up all these things to carry to the car.”

“I'll be back to give you a hand. I'm going to phone Martin and tell him Chris is in a bad way.”

A flash of understanding hit Storm. “What's he using?”

Hamlin looked at her with gloomy, shadowed eyes. “Probably crystal meth. Who knows?”

“Does he do it often?” She was sure she'd seen him when he was perfectly straight.

Hamlin's shoulders slumped. “Often enough, especially if he's depressed. Maybe that's in Hamasaki's file, too.” He gave a sigh that was almost a moan. Storm watched him leave the glow of light from the office and head down the darkened hall.

Chapter 37

Storm paced around the office, her thoughts whirling. Why would DeLario lie? Could he in fact lie in his present shape? So, rule out DeLario and the family. Who killed Hamasaki? He'd written S.O. in his daily planner for the meeting the night he died. Maybe Hamasaki had confronted Sidney O'Toole about the effects of his drug addiction on his patients and family. God knows, O'Toole had access to barbiturates.

O'Toole didn't strike her as organized enough to cover his tracks after murdering his life-long friend, though Storm could see him doing it as an addled act of desperation. But what would O'Toole have to do with fraudulent purchase orders? Plus, she didn't think he would have been able to sit and commiserate with Aunt Bitsy if he'd done the killing. His grief and confusion seemed genuine the morning of Hamasaki's death. Still, Storm reminded herself, he hadn't wanted an autopsy. Maybe she wasn't giving him enough credit for deviousness.

She rubbed her temples. A headache was probing the back of her eyeballs and moving across the crown of her skull. Contemplating the motives of people she'd once trusted was making her nauseous.

It was easy to get drugs on the street if one had the contacts and knowledge. Anyone could have gotten hold of the pills. She didn't know about Meredith, but Wang, O'Toole, and Sherwood Overton were all familiar with drugs and their administration. For that matter, David Hamasaki knew about injectable drugs, too, and was desperate for the trust fund he thought was due him. Even Hamlin knew how to use a needle. And Bebe had said he was hiding something. But now she knew what it was.

She was missing an important piece of information. Like Benning, she still needed to follow the money. Unlocking the desk drawer again, she reviewed the checks written to the P.I. Then she walked over to the hidden files and reopened them. Where were his P.I.'s notes? Right, in the file marked “U.”

Reading the pages she'd skipped, Storm saw that Benning had found a loose end that disturbed him. Tipped off by a source in the Unimed purchasing department, the investigator wrote that he'd gone through plane reservations to Hong Kong back to January of this year. Meredith Wo's name turned up. She had reservations a week from the date Benning filed his report. The Unimed account with the $12,000—now $7,632.19—picked up the tab. With dread creeping through her, Storm ran her eyes down to the dates of the reservation.

The dates included the day of Hamasaki's death. Storm bit her lip and turned back to the beginning of the report. It was dated three days before his death. Certainly Lorraine had not known about Meredith's trip to Hong Kong then; Storm remembered her running around the office the day he died, asking how to find Meredith in Australia.

With a flash of insight, Storm remembered the cryptic letters following Wo's and Cunningham's names on the list Lorraine had given her. Lorraine had probably asked enough questions about Meredith's whereabouts to alarm someone. If “DC” meant Washington—where Cunningham claimed to be and there was no evidence to the contrary— then Lorraine was telling Storm in her list that “HK” meant Hong Kong.

Wo's flight plan was paper-clipped to the last page of Benning's report. She left Hong Kong on Sunday, June twenty-third, at 2:50 p.m.

The day Hamasaki died.

Storm drew in a sharp breath. She flipped to the first page of Benning's report. Hamasaki had received this on Thursday. According to Benning, Meredith left Thursday night.

She let the notes flutter into her lap. Two invoices, one for $1,375.06 and one for an even $500, floated after the pages. Storm stared at the bills from the detective, dated the day of the report, and felt her brain tangle with whirling thoughts. Were these bills for the investigation of Unimed? Five hundred sounded like a cash payment. What was that for? But most important, how would Hamasaki have handled this knowledge?

He would have been appalled to discover Meredith's apparent involvement in the purchasing deceit. Did he have time to approach her before she left? Did he threaten her with exposure or try to talk her out of her involvement with Unimed? If Meredith had left before Hamasaki read the report, whom else did he approach?

Storm wondered if Meredith would kill if she were cornered with enough evidence to ruin her career and send her to jail. Possibly. But she was out of town when he died, even if it was Hong Kong instead of Australia. Storm was sure that the flight from Hong Kong to Honolulu took at least eight hours. Plus, the coffee didn't fit. Meredith would know that Hamasaki didn't drink coffee. She'd shared tea with him.

Putting back the family and Unimed files, Storm locked up, thinking about the grief she'd seen in Hamlin's eyes. Some secrets were like poison, like carcinogens that lurked and destroyed over time. Some of them our bodies seemed to know on a cellular level before our brains could cope with the truth. It was too late to dig any further. She needed to grab a little sleep. She'd come back very early and remove the whole set of files when neither Hamlin nor anyone was around.

With a sigh of her own, she turned to the effort of packing up the books. She began slowly stacking Hamasaki's old books by empty cartons. For her, the fragile old volumes brought memories of laughter and shared humor.

She longingly eyed the Mark Twain and the little markers that Hamasaki had left in it. Too bad that the books she loved also hid secrets in their own way.

A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court was still in her hand when she saw the door open slowly. She flushed with irritation at another interruption. The need to finish this task was even more urgent, now. Storm made sure the books covered the hidden file drawer and sat leafing through the Twain. She waited, but whoever had entered remained silent. Her pulse rate jumped when she saw the slender, wiry figure before her. Oh, shit.

“Hi, Meredith.”

“Storm, what the fuck are you doing in here?” Meredith stood with her hands on her hips, feet planted wide. She wore a black sweatshirt and loose, dark-gray silk cargo pants.

“I'm cleaning out Hamasaki's stuff so you can move in. Wang told me to get it done.” That was true, last week. “Bitsy will come in this weekend to finish—”

“You have no right to break into this room.”

“Me? Break in?” Storm glared at her through narrowed eyes. “You had no right to change the locks.” She stood up and faced the fuming attorney.

“Tough shit. It's mine, now.” Meredith took a step further into the room. Her flat black eyes met Storm's. “What have you taken out of here?”

“Nothing, yet. Meredith, no judge on earth is going to let you walk into this office and take what's in here.”

“How would you know? You're such a legal expert?” Meredith sneered and stepped closer. “I asked you a question.”

“I'm busy, Meredith.”

“Did you find the papers I asked for?” Wo's eyes flicked around the room.

Storm made herself take a deep breath, ready to defuse this situation. She hoped Wo meant the file she'd been asking about since Hamasaki died. “You mean for that cancer patient?” Storm pointed at the mahogany file cabinet. A couple of its drawers were still ajar. “I haven't found anything, yet. If it's earmarked for you, you'll get it.”

Wo's slitted eyes settled on the book Storm held. “What's that?”

“An old book Uncle Miles and I used to read together. You caught me reminiscing.”

“How sweet.” She looked at the title of the book, over at the open bookcase, then let her eyes roam over the room. “Have you touched any of my things?”

“Of course not.”

Wo squinted as if contemplating that statement and walked to the file cabinet. Storm had never seen her dressed casually. In fact she'd never seen her in anything but high heels. Wo moved with a cat-like grace in her running shoes. Storm wondered if she ran marathons. She had that gaunt look, but she must do them when normal people were sleeping. The rest of the time, she worked.

Storm strolled over and sat down at the desk, placing the Twain novel in front of her. “Meredith, leave me to finish up and I'll look for the file and leave it for you.”

Without saying a word, Wo walked to the front of the desk and picked up the book. She ignored Storm, and leafed through it, pausing frequently. When she passed one of the bookmarks on which Hamasaki had made notes, she stopped and read it slowly. Then she snapped the book closed and tucked it under her arm.

Storm was about to demand that Wo put it down when the woman's calculating expression stopped her. Wo wasn't just looking for Hamasaki's old cases. Like DeLario, she was looking for the personal files, the ones with secrets that could hurt if uncovered. Of course, longtime members of the firm might have heard rumors of the secret files and certainly knew the boss's habits well enough to believe them. Perhaps they even knew about Benning. But Meredith apparently suspected that Hamasaki might have left clues in his favorite books as well.

Storm spoke with a light tone. “I just got here a few minutes ago.” She pointed to the book under Meredith's arm. “I'd like to keep some of these old books. He often used quotes from them in his talks.” It was time to get some help. She reached for the phone. “We could ask Hamlin if he knows about any files. Want to talk to him?”

“No!” Wo dropped the book to the floor and jerked the phone from Storm's grasp, then hurled it across the room. Barely checked by the wire, which tore free as if it were a thread, the projectile flew into the antique bookcase. Glass shattered with such force that shards struck Storm's legs fifteen feet away. Storm rocked back in Hamasaki's chair with shock. She had never expected that kind of explosiveness from Wo.

Wo's eyes glittered at her. Storm stared at her with wariness as if regarding a swaying cobra.

Wo's eyes, flat and black as buttons, flitted around the room. Her breathing had accelerated with this last effort and Storm could see the quick rise and fall of her chest. Jesus, the woman was wound tightly. Where the hell was Hamlin? The breaking glass should have brought him running.

Wo's gaze slithered to Storm, darkened, and slid away. She took a step closer, appraised Storm's position at the desk, then moved on across the room to the filing cabinet. Storm felt anger overcoming fear.

Storm got to her feet. “Go through the files, Meredith, if you must. I'm going to the restroom. I'll be back in a minute and pack the books. Then I'm gone.”

Meredith lunged across the room, her slick face inches from Storm's nose. “Sit down, Storm,” she hissed.

“Like hell, Meredith. You're being an asshole.”

Meredith struck fast, a stunning blow with the back of her hand. Her heavy jade ring sliced across Storm's jaw. Storm sat, stupefied, and reached up to her face. Her hand came away with a trace of blood. “Christ, Meredith. You're crazy.”

The blackness of the woman's irises was indistinguishable from the opaque tunnels of her pupils. It was like looking into the one-dimensional, amoral gaze of a rodent.

“You're not leaving, you conniving twit.” Wo spit the words at her. “You're just like the almighty Hamasaki.”

Storm recoiled from the saliva Wo splattered in her rage. “I'm not going to beg. I won't negotiate with the likes of you.”

“Negotiate what?” She knew it was critical to defuse Meredith without sounding afraid, and at the same time, without being threatening. She straightened with what she hoped was confidence in Hamasaki's deep chair. Meredith's eyes jumped from the files, to Storm, and back again.

If she hadn't so carefully locked her own office door, Storm would have bolted down the hall to sanctuary. But she knew she wouldn't be able to outrun Meredith and unlock the door in time. More than the ten minutes she'd promised Hamlin had passed and she was starting to get a bad feeling about why he hadn't shown up. She strained to hear footsteps in the carpeted hall, but the smooth hum of the air conditioner was the only sound in the office. With a gulp, she forced her clammy hands under her bare legs for warmth.

One thumb encountered a hard round object, sunk in the deep leather crease between the back and seat of the chair. What could Meredith have done to Hamlin? She closed her fingers around the little round item and tried to swallow away her apprehension.

As if Wo read Storm's thoughts, she turned toward Storm, forcing her to meet Wo's poisonous gaze. Storm knew if she showed fear, she'd merely feed this madness. Wo looked away and Storm glanced down at her own clenched fists. Inside one of them was the hard, round object she'd found in the seat of the chair. It was an imported mint.

Meredith had offered a candy just like it to Storm when she had come seeking information about the cancer patient. With a bolt of comprehension, Storm was convinced that Wo had done the same thing to Hamasaki.

Like Hamasaki, Wo worked long hours. No one would think it was surprising that she was in the office on a Sunday. Plus, most people thought she was in Sydney. Only Benning and Hamasaki, and perhaps Lorraine, Storm remembered with a lurch, knew that she was in Hong Kong. It still didn't explain why Benning's information on Meredith's departure time didn't jibe with Meredith being in Honolulu on Sunday night.

Storm was certain that Hamasaki, with a practiced graciousness, would have taken a mint from the proffered box. A skillful courtroom adversary, he would likely have had a confident, perhaps arrogant manner. So he'd sat toying with the mint on the desktop and made Wo stutter out her explanations.

People like to fill silences, Storm. Let them. Yoa discover the best information that way. It was one of her mentor's favorite interrogation techniques. He would drop a nugget of information, let Wo begin her story, then fill in the gaping holes left by her lies with Benning's information.

The cup of tea was probably sitting on Hamasaki's desk when she entered. Somehow she had been able to drop the barbiturate into it without his noticing. Paul Andrews had said that the barbiturate would knock out a horse, but probably not kill. So what had she done next?