Mary: Doctor Yoshida

Upon waking this morning to some much-needed sunshine, I spent the first few hours of my day touching base with various clients and contacts back in Madison, assuring them that I was still alive and still in business. I spent most of my time giving referrals, as it seemed clear that the case here in Milwaukee was just getting started.

I had hoped that Mrs. Howland would be feeling better today, but once again I saw that her room was decorated with opened, leather-bound books. Jeff was holding a book up for her to read, and when I shot him a quizzical look he just shook his head, silently indicating that no progress had been made.

Retreating to the office, I once again settled in and dialed, hoping Doctor Yoshida would be more helpful than Doctor Liddel had suggested. After eight rings I had just about given up hope, but finally a young-sounding male voice said, "Konichiwa."

"Uh, hello. Pardon me, do you speak English?"

His voice came back with only a slight accent. "Yes. Continue."

"Is this Doctor Yoshida?" I asked, skeptical based on his apparent youth.

"This is Doctor Yoshida. Who are you and what do you want?" he snapped, his patience evidently having reached its limits early.

"My name is Mary Stroud, and I'm calling from the United States of America. I would like some assistance in seeing if you can identify where a rabbit infected with Rabbit Calcivirus Disease is from. Just roughly, even if it could be narrowed down to a continent, it would help-"

His response was equal parts bored and annoyed. "I believe I understand. You are trying to reach Doctor Shigekazu Yoshida. I am Kisho Yoshida, his son."

"I see. Could you please tell me how to get in touch with your-"

His voice was cold and flat. "He died last year. Is that all?"

I took a deep breath, not wanting to continue the conversation but knowing that we needed some way to get the rabbit's foot tested. "I am so sorry. My condolences. I don't want to keep you, but is there anyone you could recommend who could identify-"

"No."

Wondering if I was going to get to finish a single sentence during the telephone call, I hastily added, "My client is wealthy and would pay well. It is very important."

There was silence on the other end of the line, and after a few seconds I wondered if he had hung up and I just didn't hear the click. Finally he asked, "How much?"

I invented a number and hoped Mrs. Howland would back me on it. "Ten thousand American dollars."

He came right back. "Fifty."

"Twenty."

"Forty firm. Plus expenses. If that isn't suitable then simply hang up and stop wasting my time."

He sounded like he meant it, and based on what Mrs. Howland was paying on this case already I didn't think a difference of twenty thousand dollars would stop her. "I have to clear it with my employer, but I think she will agree. If I can overnight the sample to you, how long until you could identify a strain?"

There was another, longer pause. "I cannot give a time estimate. I will say that I will work on nothing else, and that if I cannot determine where the sample is from then you owe me nothing beyond expenses. Do we have a deal?"

"That sounds fair." I was dying to pry into what his father had been doing since the end of his time on Wardang Island. As a private investigator, I knew well that there was a thin line between professional curiosity and just plain nosiness, but since I was about to hand him forty thousand dollars, I decided to cross it. "Pardon my asking, but did your father continue his research into RCD after his time with the Wardang Island Project?"

Doctor Yoshida sighed, clearly displeased that he was being forced to continue the conversation. "No. After the project ended he had no interest. Send the sample to this address." He gave me the necessary information, then received my e-mail address and phone number in return. There was another pause, then he said a touch awkwardly, "I may need some notes... from my father. They are there in America. One of the expenses will be to have them shipped from a storage locker there to my home in Japan."

"Not a problem." I thought a moment, then asked, "Your father... he died in America?"

"Yes. Last year. The car he was driving was blindsided by a semi-truck. Will there be anything else?"

All the blood drained from my face, and I distantly felt my phone drop down on my lap. I fumbled for the receiver and placed it back to my ear with a hand that shook slightly. My voice came out in a husky whisper. "What did you say?"

"Hit-and-run. I believe that is the term for it in English. He was killed instantly." His voice took on a harder edge, saying, "Now if that is all, I have some studies to return-"

"No. No, that is definitely not all." It felt good to interrupt him for a change. "We need to talk. I have a story to tell you about the woman I'm working for, and what happened to her. Get comfortable, Doctor, you're going to want to hear this."