Page 6

In Faith’s experience, there were three kinds of police detectives: the career minded individuals who were more concerned with making lieutenant and eventually captain than with actually solving cases, the bitter veterans who had once been eager gumshoes but had lost their spark when they realized that there would always be another killer, and the tired veterans who had also lost their spark but didn’t resent the fact so much as they waited until they were fully vested in their pension so it could be someone else’s problem.

The man who greeted them at the door of Sushi Amaterasu was one of the tired ones. His half-closed eyes sat above dark circles that sagged nearly down to lips that also sagged in a weary frown. He shook their hands and gestured into the restaurant. “After you.”

Faith and Michael walked inside the restaurant. Turk looked at Faith, and she nodded. “Go ahead, boy.”

Turk dipped his head, then trotted ahead, stopping every now and then to sniff around and catalogue the scents he picked up. Faith looked around at the restaurant.

It was indeed very trendy. The décor was probably intended to be traditional but instead looked like a bad mixture of anime fan boy culture and faux-authentic samurai chic. The furniture and lighting were arranged in jagged semi-crystalline shapes that Faith guessed were supposed to look cyberpunk. The walls were covered with calligraphy and paintings designed to resemble the famous Japanese artists of the Eighteenth and Nineteenth centuries.

“At least there aren’t any bonsai plants,” Michael said softly.

Faith nodded agreement. She turned her attention to the path of destruction weaved by their victim. Several chairs lay overturned and one table had been broken so the top lay on the ground and leaned against the table’s post.

“The victim was sitting over there,” Detective Howard said, pointing at the furthest of the disturbed settings. “He starts freaking out and jumps to his feet, knocking his chair over. Freaks out for a moment, then starts running this way.”

“Was he running for the exit or the kitchen?” Michael asked.

"Not sure. He collided with a few diners, and then eventually one of them tried to give him the Heimlich. That didn't work, of course, so he ends up pitching forward there"—he pointed at the broken table—" and it's lights out."

“Who called it in?” Faith asked.

“Head chef. He’s here now. We cleared him—cleared everyone here, actually—but he agreed to come back to talk to you guys. He’s upset, of course. The restaurant is new, and this could ruin him.”

“He’s the owner too?”

“Co-owner. He’s asked us not to reveal that the cause of death is poison because he doesn’t want people to think his food is tainted.”

“And you’ve determined that it isn’t?”

“Not yet. We sent samples to the tox labs, but it’ll be a few weeks before they come back.”

“Then you haven’t cleared anyone yet.”

Howard frowned. “Not officially, no, but we’re pretty damned sure.”

“Details matter, detective,” Faith said, “and pretty damned sure isn’t as good as certain.”

Howard sighed theatrically. “You want me to call everyone back? We got their numbers.”

“Not yet,” she said, “I just wanted to point out that if it is poison, the food is the most likely vector, and that means that the most likely killer is an employee of this restaurant. The second most likely killer is a fellow diner.”

“Excellent detective work, agent,” Howard said irritably.

Michael glared at him. “Are we going to have problems with you detective?”

Howard chuckled bitterly. “No, sir. But if you get to just point things out, then I want to just point out that I’ve been doing this for thirty years. If you think you need to consider everyone a suspect, go ahead. But the staff here aren’t responsible for Harold Grimes’s death. Call it a hunch.”

“Those are valid sometimes,” Faith allowed. “And Grimes was pronounced dead at the scene?”

“Oh yeah. Lights went out within a minute.”

“Got it. I know the coroner’s report isn’t official yet, but is there anything you can tell us about it?”

“You know as much as I know. We’re guessing poison since there was nothing lodged in his throat, but it could also have been an allergy that popped up out of nowhere. His throat closed up, and there were other symptoms of anaphylactic shock. So allergies were probably a part of it, but there were a lot of other symptoms that make it seem like… I forget what the M.E. called it.”

“A sodium channel blocker?” Michael asked.

“Yeah, that’s it. A sodium channel blocker. Hell if I know what that means.”

“We might want to look that up later,” Michael said to Faith.

“We’ll ask the coroner too,” Faith agreed. To Howard, she said, “The chef is here?”

“Yeah, he’s in the back.”

“I want to talk to him.”

“Sure thing.”

“I’ll look over the scene out here and see if I find anything,” Michael said.

Faith gave him a thumbs up and followed Howard to the back of the restaurant. Behind the counter, things were entirely businesslike. The sushi bar retained a few decorative elements, but the main kitchen was a thoroughly modern stainless-steel marvel that looked like the kitchen of any number of restaurants. It was strangely refreshing to see the homogeneous, unadorned workspace after being assaulted with the clashing décor out front.

The chef was a short, fit Japanese man of around fifty with gray hair and a short, perfectly manicured goatee. He stood and bowed stiffly to Faith. “Good afternoon, Special Agent. Please accept my sincere apology for what happened here last night.”

Faith wasn’t sure if she should bow in return or not, so she settled on a nod. “Thank you, Mister…

“Ito.”

“Thank you, Mr. Ito. Can you tell me what happened last night?”

He bowed slightly once more and said, “Mr. Grimes arrived at eight in the evening. He was seated by Fumiko and was served our traditional refreshment of edamame, spring water and jasmine tea, all of which were prepared by my hand. He ordered a selection of items from our menu, and—”

“Forgive me for interrupting. What items?”

“I can answer for you if you’d like, however, Mr. Grimes expired prior to receiving any of his other food.”

“Ah. In that case, please continue.”

He bowed again and said, “Fumiko noticed a disturbance when Mr. Grimes stood abruptly and began demonstrating signs of choking. Chef Daisuke immediately set his knife down and moved to assist Mr. Grimes, as he is trained in CPR and first aid. Mr. Grimes began to panic and rushed away from his table. I arrived in the lobby at this time and observed him appearing to solicit help from our staff and diners.”

“He didn’t see Daisuke coming to help him?”

“I don’t believe so, no.”

She nodded, and he continued. “One of our other diners, a Mr. Thiessen, reached Mr. Grimes before Chef Daisuke and attempted to perform the Heimlich maneuver on him. Mr. Grimes’s distress appeared to increase just before he collapsed to the floor unconscious.”

“When did you call emergency services?”

“I dialed as soon as I arrived in the lobby and saw what was happening. Unfortunately, Mr. Grimes was already deceased by the time help arrived.”

“Do you happen to have the items from his table service?”

“I immediately had the items sequestered and provided them to the police upon request.”

That wasn’t ideal. That would mean extra fingerprints from the staff that could be from the murderer or could be from following their head chef’s orders. Then again, considering the kind of zoo that occurred at crime scenes like this, they might have lost more evidence by not separating the order.

“Thank you, Chef Ito. I apologize for having to ask my next question, but have there been any complaints of illness or allergy here before?”

“None. We have signs posted at the entrance to the restaurant and on each table that remind guests that our food is made with soy, seafood and sesame and that allergies to those can be quite serious. Fortunately, no one has had any reactions prior to last night.”

Faith made a mental note to confirm that Grimes wasn’t allergic to soy. She highly doubted it since he was a food critic and had chosen to eat it, but if she was going to be a stickler for Howard doing his due diligence, then she needed to do hers.

“And no complaints of illness?”

Ito frowned slightly but maintained his professionalism. “No. We take painstaking care to ensure that every product we serve is of the highest quality. And we don’t serve fugu here either.”

She lifted her eyebrow. “ Fugu?”

“Puffer fish. It is one of the most prized delicacies in Japan, but it is quite poisonous if prepared incorrectly. I am licensed to prepare it, as is Chef Daisuke, but the fugu I can purchase here is of lower quality than I am comfortable serving.”

“If you don’t serve it, then why bring it up?”

“I assumed you would ask. A man was poisoned in my restaurant.” Emotion flickered across his face at that statement. “I felt it was only natural you would suspect me or a member of my staff. Fugu is not common in the United States, but it’s not unknown, and there have been rumors that it has been used as a tool to kill diners in the past in Japan. The police have inspected my restaurant and perused my order sheets and confirmed that Fugu has never been inside this restaurant.”

“Could it have been brought in by a third party?”

He stiffened. “It would be exceptionally rude to bring a separate meal to a restaurant. Had anyone committed such rudeness, they would have been noticed immediately and asked to leave.”

“Of course. I just had to ask.”

Ito relaxed a little. “I understand. Please forgive me. This is the most horrible thing to happen to me in twenty-nine years as a chef.”

“No need to apologize. I’d be upset if I were you too. Tell me, was Grimes a regular visitor of your restaurant?”

“No. As far as I know, this was his first time eating here.”

She nodded. That made sense. Food critics rarely had “regular” restaurants. “Did anyone recognize him before he was identified by the police?”

“Fukimo believed he was a food critic when he placed his order based on the selection he chose and the size of the order. None of us knew who he was before he was identified, however.”

“Have you heard of him?”

Ito shook his head. “Sushi restaurants are rarely featured among mainstream food critics in the United States. In fact, our industry exists somewhat separately from the rest of the fine dining world. I don’t pay much attention to noteworthy individuals of any profession in the wider fine-dining world.”

She nodded again. “I see. Thank you for your time, Chef Ito. I’ll get your contact information from Detective Howard if I need to ask you any more questions. In the meantime, if you think of anything else that might be useful, please call me.”

She handed him a business card, which he took carefully with both hands, bowing low. She flushed a little, wondering if she should have offered it the same way.

“Thank you, Special Agent.”

“Thank you, Chef.”

She left him and joined Michael and Turk in the lobby. Michael was frowning. Not a good sign.

“Nothing?” she asked him.

“Too many things. Fingerprints and footprints all over the place. At least a half-dozen people touched Grimes’s table and chair, and most of the prints are too smudged to know how recent they are or who they belong to. What about you?”

“Well, I know it’s not fugu.”

“What’s fugu?”

“Puffer fish sushi. I guess it's a delicacy, but they don't serve it here."

“Ah. So nothing.”

She sighed. “Yes.”

He nodded. “Well, no one ever said this job would be easy. I say we visit Cucina Toscana and see if we can find anything there.”

“It’s going to be even more muddied than this place. Crestwood died a week ago.”

“True, but we might be able to learn something from the chef.”

She shrugged. “It’s worth a shot.”

“Atta girl.”

She grimaced. “Don’t call me that.”

“Atta strong independent woman?”

She rolled her eyes and walked out of the restaurant, Turk at her heels. Michael followed a moment later.

She played the scene in her mind and tried to put herself in the killer’s shoes. Poisoning someone in public took balls. Or careful planning. Or both. Whoever had done this had put a lot of thought into it.

And unless they found him quickly enough, he would absolutely strike again.