BLIND TRIAL by Brian Deer (best books to read for beginners TXT) 📗

know.” The duplicity glowed like a neon Liar sign. She knew what was interesting alright. “In any case, be careful. He can say strange things. Take anything with a huge pinch of salt.”

Ben looked at his lunch guest, who’d now removed his suit jacket, and was photographing what was left of his lunch.

“Look, Ben, this is quite urgent. I actually need your help. I want to visit the home of that other volunteer. You remember, Helen Glinski? The husband: Peter. That’s the other one they forged the signature for.”

Here we go again. Still hunting for trouble. She could only be digging for dirt.

“What for?”

“Oh, just for completeness really. For my peace of mind, just to clear it all up. And it’s such a lovely day outside. Sunny and cool. Be nice to see you as well.”

He yawned like a Wookiee. What he most needed now was to go back to bed. But maybe another pointless visit couldn’t hurt. “That I’ll need to check. I can’t do anything unless I’m authorized. What’s it now, anyhow? Not more of that—you know—that thing?”

“Look, I can’t leave it till tomorrow, so I was thinking in an hour or so, if you’re free. It’s only for my reassurance, to be completely complete. It’s such a lovely day. And, you know, my Beetle’s still off the road.”

“What if I’m busy? I mean, I need to find out first.”

“Well, in that case I’ll have to go on my own. I can always catch a cab, if I have to. Don’t worry. I thought you might want to come. It’s such a lovely day. Please come.”

“Or you’ll go on your own?” That might settle the matter. He could report back to Hoffman afterward.

“Yes. But only if I really have to. I’ve got appointments all day tomorrow. But I thought you might want to come with me. Please come.”

They fixed a meeting place, and he pocketed his Samsung. “Sorry about that. Issues in Atlanta, you know.”

“You, me, Trudy Mayr. One big family of science.”

“Just routine kind of stuff. She’s retiring next week.” He topped up their glasses. “And you? Dr. Honda was talking about your proposition the other day. Think she’ll bite at that? I’m not so sure.”

Murayama coughed. “Talking? I don’t think so. Very private matters. No, I don’t think Dr. Honda tells you what we speak of.”

“Yeah, not totally in detail, but she gave me an outline…” He began a scenario he’d come up with in the elevator. But then, across the room, he saw trouble. Big trouble. Doc Mayr had entered the restaurant.

She was meant to be at the hospital but was talking with a waiter. Then she looked to where they sat—and saw.

In approving this lunch, Hoffman ordered, don’t tell her. She hadn’t even known the Jap was in town. But now she knew. She most definitely knew. And she wasn’t one hundred percent delighted.

She shot across the room, feet flapping, arms trailing, and only stopped short of collapsing on the table.

Twenty-five

A WHITE Nissan Sentra turned onto Potrero Avenue and, for a moment, Sumiko feared it was Hiroshi. That would just be her luck, with them driving the same vehicles. Thank you, Dollar Rent-A-Car. Terrific. But no, it was Ben, looking cool in his shades. She waved the manila envelope from the curb.

He signaled, pulled in, and hit the button for the doors. His mouth said it all: he was mad. He lifted the brake pedal, and the car began to creep, even while she still clung to the handle.

“So, the crap’s hit the fan. You better get in.”

“Why? What did he say?”

Ben checked the mirror and signaled to pull out. “Look, let’s just get on with this. Let’s get it over with. I’ve stuff to do myself.”

She was stunned by his tone. He was like a different person. This wasn’t the Ben Louviere of yesterday. This wasn’t the guy she met in Washington, and walked with, talked with, on the Mall. This wasn’t the guy who would save her from a train. He was more like the asshole who shoved her.

“Has something happened then?” She slipped the envelope beside the seat. “Did Hiroshi say something? What did he say? What’s the matter?”

“Doc Mayr’s the matter. She’s all that’s the matter, going up the wall about your friend Murayama. Wants to know what he’s doing in San Fran, and what he’s doing with you.”

“You only told her today?”

“I didn’t tell her at all. Walked right into lunch, she did. Practically dropped dead in the restaurant, yelling and screaming at him. Now she’s saying it’s me in cahoots with him. Now it’s me, not you, she’s saying.”

“What do you mean?”

He edged the car into traffic heading north across the city. “Made me drive her over to the center just now. Says she’s calling Marcia Gelding. I’m definitely getting fired over this.”

“What do you mean, in cahoots? I’m not in cahoots with anybody.”

“Right. That’s what you say. And I’m Homer Simpson. Sumiko, I was there when he came to your apartment. With his proposition. Okay? So I know.”

“He told you about that?”

“It came up.”

“What did he say?”

“Yeah, well, you better hope you know him as well as you think you do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Looks a pretty shifty guy, if you ask me. Because I’m telling you he’s not here dealing Elvis memorabilia.”

She let that pass. He was making no sense. She couldn’t think of any grounds for such hostility. She grabbed the envelope and looked inside. She definitely wasn’t quitting her goal now. “The Glinski address is at Corona Heights. It’s no distance up Market. Won’t take long.”

She wasn’t even sure if he heard what she said. If he did, he didn’t respond. Then on Sixteenth Street, he braked, pulled over, backed up, and switched off the engine. “Now, look, you tell me, what’s going on? Why’s he here?”

And wasn’t that a question? But was she ready to discuss it? “He told you the other day: he’s a tourist. He is. And he’s going