left her apartment at seven-fifteen and walked the few miles from the North End to Chinatown. She sensed some apprehension at having to deal with Jeremy Mallon, and was still bewildered by the frightened, stuttering man and by Rosa Suarez's strange warning. But the morning was bright and unusually clear, and she felt upbeat-about taking this step to eliminate her herbal supplement from suspicion and about seeing Matt Daniels again.
She had known Kwong from her days at the Ettinger Institute, and following her return from medical school, she had checked him out with several members of the Boston holistic community. He was still highly regarded. Nevertheless, she interviewed him twice before selecting him as her supplier. He spoke almost no English, but Sarah's once-decent Chinese was still good enough to conduct business with him. When she needed a translator, Kwong would rap his cane on the ceiling or strike it against a certain steam pipe. And within a minute or two, one of his American-born grandchildren would appear.
Sarah was impressed with the man's knowledge and drawn to his consistently optimistic outlook. And of course, there were the striking similarities-physical and metaphysical-between him and Louis Han. She could not help but believe that in Kwong, she was getting a glimpse of her mentor had he lived into his seventies.
Initially Sarah picked up her herbal orders herself. But as the pressures of her medical training mounted, she had begun having the mixture delivered. Now, perhaps for the first time, she realized how much she missed her visits to the shop. The frayed connection with Kwong was, she thought sadly, just another item on the list of casualties exacted by her residency.
The shop was on a narrow street, barely more than an alley, off Kneeland. As Sarah rounded the corner, she saw the old man and Debbie, one of his granddaughters, standing by the building. She was wondering why the two weren't inside when she noticed the yellow vinyl ribbon crisscrossing the doorway and windows. It pained her to think of Kwong's humiliation and confusion when some sheriff's deputy or constable showed up with a court order to seal off the place.
'Hello, Mr. Kwong,' Sarah said in Cantonese. 'Hello, Debbie. I'm sorry for this.' She gestured toward the ribbons.
Kwong brushed off the apology with a gnarled hand, but Sarah could tell he was agitated. She suddenly realized that it had been perhaps a year since they had actually seen one another. His gray-white goatee was unkempt and stained with nicotine below his lip. His blue silk robe-possibly the only outfit she had ever seen him wear-was threadbare and frayed. Had he aged so? Or had she simply been viewing him through younger, more naive eyes?
'A man has been guarding the shop ever since they put up those ribbons,' Debbie said. 'He goes from the alley back around to here, and then to the alley again. He said he wants to make sure no one tampers with anything inside. What does he mean?'
'Nothing, Debbie,' Sarah said. 'Things will be back to normal for you before you know it. I'm just so sorry that you and your grandfather have to go through this at all.'
The old man's frailty was striking. Sarah prayed that Mallon and his people would simply take whatever samples they wanted and leave. If they tried intimidating Kwong in any way, it would be up to Matt to protect him at all costs. She was about to try to explain the situation to Kwong through Debbie when Matt entered the street from the far end. Eli Blankenship was lumbering along beside him, gesticulating forcefully, as if to get across a difficult point. Sarah was relieved to have him along. There was no finer intellect at MCB, nor any more imposing physical presence, either. Matt was reasonably tall and well built, but next to the professor, he looked slight.
With Debbie's help, she introduced the men to Kwong. It seemed clear the herbalist had no interest in any of them beyond having them leave him alone.
Matt immediately excused Sarah, Blankenship, and himself and led them to the other side of the street.
'Does the old guy know what's happening?' he whispered.
Sarah shrugged.
'He's not addled by any stretch,' she said. 'I suspect he has a pretty good idea of what's going on. But I'm not sure he understands that it all has to do with me, and not with him.'
'He looks like he's spent more than his share of time with his lips curled around the stem of an opium pipe.'
'So what? Opium is part of his culture. Any idea where Mallon is?'
'Nope. I expected him to be late, though. It's an old legal ploy to unnerve and annoy the other side. It's survived in the law game over the ages mostly because it works.' He motioned them back to Kwong and the girl. 'Debbie,' he said kindly, 'please apologize to your grandfather for our imposing on him, and promise that we will compensate him for the trouble and inconvenience.'
The girl, dressed in baggy jeans and a sweatshirt, was perhaps thirteen. She had a plain face and short, jet hair. Sarah was about to suggest that Matt choose words she was more likely to understand than impose and compensate, when the teen rattled off a translation to Kwong. The old man responded with no more than a grunt and a dismissive wave of his hand.
'He says that it is his pleasure to serve you, and that you need not think about paying him,' Debbie said.
At that moment, a Lincoln Town Car pulled up at the end of the street. Sarah turned to Kwong to reassure him about the new arrivals.
'The pudgy guy's Sheriff Mooney,' she heard Matt say to Eli, 'and that tall guy-isn't he the one from the weight loss shows on TV?'
She groaned softly and looked back at the Lincoln. Peter Ettinger, ramrod straight, towering above Mallon and the sheriff, was staring down the narrow street, straight at her. Even in the pale, indirect morning sun, his silver hair looked almost phosphorescent.
'You bastard,' she muttered to herself. This must be Mallon's expert witness.
She gave Kwong, who now looked somewhat confused, a gentle touch. Then she stood back and watched as the two groups of men, like combatants in some macabre sport, approached one another for introductions. She took the moment when Matt reached across to shake Peter's hand and froze it in her mind for future reference.
The county sheriff, the MCB chief of medicine, Peter, Matt, a bewildered old Chinese man, a precocious teen. The whole affair was suddenly taking on a carnival atmosphere. In just a few minutes, when the eight of them worked their way inside, things were bound to get even more bizarre. Kwong's shop was an impressive hodgepodge, with no clearly defined aisles. Eight people would be well beyond its critical mass.
Matt led the opposition back to where she was standing. Peter allowed himself to be introduced to her. He reached out his hand, but Sarah refused to take it.
'So,' he said. 'It appears we've gotten ourselves in a wee bit o' trouble.' His smug expression was close to the one Sarah remembered from that last horrid day in his office.
'And it appears we've become even more overbearing and unpleasant than we used to be,' she replied.
This isn't the wide-eyed earth child you brought back from the jungle, Peter, she was thinking. If it's a fight you're spoiling for, you're not going to be disappointed.
'You two know each other?' Matt said.
'Dr. Baldwin once did some work for me,' Ettinger said quickly.
'Hard labor would be a more descriptive term, Matt. I'm not proud of it, but we lived together for three years before I woke up and jumped the wall.'
'Lived together!' Matt exclaimed. 'Mallon, what in the hell?'
In the second or two before Mallon responded, Sarah could see the confusion in his eyes. Peter hadn't told him! The bastard wanted to get back at her so badly, he hadn't said a word about their past.
'He-um-Mr. Ettinger is being used to help us organize our case,' Mallon said, blustering. 'We-we certainly never intended having him appear in court. He is serving us strictly in an advisory capacity.'
'Well, I would certainly hope you can do better than a rebuffed suitor for your expert witness,' Matt said. 'I'd hate to have my job made that easy. Shall we go in and get this over with?'
Mallon said nothing. But it was clear from his stony expression that Matt had drawn blood, if only a drop or two.
'Nice going,' Sarah whispered. 'Now please, just make sure Mallon doesn't take it out on Mr. Kwong.'
The vinyl ribbons were cut away, and the combatants, led by Kwong Tian-Wen and his granddaughter, filed into the herbalist's shop. Carnivale de Baldwina, Sarah mused. Sheriff Mooney, the ringmaster, in his white seersucker suit. Jeremy Mallon, snake and charmer in one. Eli Blankenship sans leopard skin, nearly spanning the narrow doorway. Peter Ettinger, the Human Stilt, ducking to enter. Carnivale de Baldwina. Once inside, Sarah noted
