Newcastle, California * September 23, 1943
And you ran the orchards for the Yamadas, in their absence, with every intention of legally returning everything—the house, the land, their cars, the biplane—assuming they would be released one day?” Bonner asks. He is still in the front parlor of the Yamadas’ former house, asking Louis and Ava questions.
“Yes,” Louis answers now.
“That’s mighty generous of you.”
Louis doesn’t say anything.
“I’m sure you must’ve had to put up with some criticism for that,” Bonner comments. “Not a whole lot of folks around these parts are very sympathetic to the Japanese.”
Louis gives a half nod and shrugs.
“Only natural.”
“And from what I understand,” Bonner continues, “your family might’ve had their criticisms, too.”
“I suppose I caught some grief from my brother Guy.”
“Guy Thorn?”
“Yes,” Louis affirms, declining to elaborate.
Bonner notices Louis’s eyes flick to the mantel over the fireplace. On instinct, Bonner stands up and crosses the room. His gaze lands on a framed portrait. He picks it up.
“This him?” Bonner asks. “This your brother Guy?”
Louis’s jaw clenches, a sign that he doesn’t appreciate Bonner touching the photograph, but he nods.
Bonner takes a look at the man in the photo, noticing the uniform straightaway. “A Navy man,” he remarks, and Louis nods again. But then, as Bonner looks at the man’s face, he is startled by something he sees there. He squints to get a better look, scrutinizing the man’s features, taking in his height, his stance.
“You see it, too, don’t you?” Ava pipes up to ask. “Uncanny, almost.”
Bonner blinks, wide-eyed and as unsettled as any man might be upon realizing he has a doppelgänger in the world. He shakes himself and tries to recover. He sets the photograph back down and clears his throat.
“Yes . . . well . . .” Bonner says now. “That is something.” He sits back down. He has forgotten his train of thought, the path of questioning he was in the midst of pursuing. He tries to get the conversation back on track.
“You said your brother Guy gave you grief?”
Louis nods.
“What kind of grief?”
“Well . . . just . . . he never liked the Yamadas. He felt the way our father felt—and how our grandfather before him felt. He said . . . he said if I gave this land back to the Yamadas, then I would be a traitor.”
“Looks like you don’t have to make that choice anymore.”
Louis and Ava stare at Bonner, caught off guard by the abrupt gall of it.
“Awful lucky,” Bonner presses, “in some ways . . .”
“Our friends died,” Ava says, openly fuming. “There is nothing lucky about it.”
“I didn’t mean to offend,” Bonner apologizes.
“You did,” Ava replies, refusing his apology. Bonner can’t tell whether she means You did offend us or You did intend the offense.
Bonner glances at his watch and realizes they’ve been at it for over half an hour, and while Bonner has grown more and more direct in his questioning, he has yet to make his final move: to lay out all the evidence that gave Louis Thorn motive and to dare the young man to deny it. He makes up his mind to try to maneuver Louis outside and confront him alone. He wants to see Louis’s raw expression when he confronts him, and knows Ava is too smart to let that happen; she’ll intervene in the conversation in some way. Bonner flips his notebook shut and tucks it back into his inside jacket pocket.
“I ought to be going,” he says. “But would you walk me to my automobile, Mr. Thorn? I’d like a word with you alone, if you don’t mind.”
Ava’s face lights up with a mixture of panic and outrage. It is clear she senses what Bonner is up to, but can’t think of an appropriate way to object.
“All right,” Louis says reluctantly, standing and following Bonner to the door.
Ava watches them go, frowning, her complexion turning pink with frustration. Bonner places his fedora on his head and politely tips it at her, then steps through the front door. Louis follows him, and they descend the long, steep flight of wooden porch stairs.
Bonner parked the Bureau car some distance away from the house on purpose, at the bottom of the hill, near the edge of the almond orchards. They walk in silence for a few minutes. Finally, Bonner speaks.
“I think you know the question I need to ask you; it’s the one question I’ve never directly asked,” Bonner says.
Louis neither looks surprised nor comments. It is as if he has been expecting Bonner’s direct approach, so Bonner gets on with it.
“Did you have anything at all to do with that crash?”
Louis shakes his head. “No,” he says. “It looked to me like an accident. And I was standing right there with you at the time,” he says, reminding Bonner of the morning they stood together on the Yamadas’ porch, staring dumbfounded at the sky.
Bonner hesitates for a moment, then makes up his mind once and for all. It is a gamble, but he knows he’s out of chances.
“Well . . . that’s where you’re wrong, as a matter of fact,” he says. “It wasn’t an accident.”
Louis frowns.
“What do you mean?”
“We know it wasn’t an accident,” Bonner repeats, watching Louis’s expressions closely. “And the reason we know that is because somebody cut the fuel line.”
Louis’s rhythmic stride hits a tiny hitch, but he carries on after the brief hesitation, playing it cool.
“That so?”
“Yes,” Bonner replies. “Somebody tampered with the plane’s engine.” He pauses for emphasis. “Somebody wanted that biplane to crash.”
“I’ll admit, it did seem strange,” Louis says, “the way the engine cut out like that. I’d wondered.”
“Not to mention how the plane plummeted,” Bonner reminds him, still steering the conversation.
“That, too,” Louis agrees. “But I still can’t account for that part.”
Bonner pauses a moment before springing his next trap.
“I can,” he says.
Louis looks at him, and a slight twitch appears in the line of his mouth. By now they’ve reached Bonner’s car and come to a stop before the driver’s-side door. Bonner takes his time before delivering the news, taking careful account of the tiny expressions flickering just under the surface of Louis’s stoic face.
“The coroner found an enormous level of opium in Kenichi Yamada’s system,” Bonner says.
Louis only shakes his head, his brow furrowed with confusion. Either he is acting, or else . . . or else he truly knows nothing. Bonner studies him closely.
“Yes,” Bonner repeats. “Opium. A significant amount.”
“In Kenichi Yamada’s body?”
“That’s right.”
“What about Harry?”
“His body was too burned up for us to test,” Bonner answers. “But that much opium . . . there’s no way it was accidental. It had to have been administered somehow. We at the Bureau don’t jump to conclusions, but you can understand from an investigator’s unofficial point of view that the opium, plus the fuel line . . . it doesn’t look very innocent.”
“I know what you’re accusing me of, and I ain’t done it,” Louis says. “You don’t understand. I would trade places with him if I could . . .” He trails off, as though a shocking thought has just occurred to him. There’s a funny look on his face, his jaw slightly dropped. Bonner has been hoping for a raw reaction but can’t tell what exactly this reaction means.
“You said yourself,” Bonner continues, “you didn’t think Harry would do injury to himself or his father.”
“No . . .” Louis murmurs in agreement, looking distracted, lost in thought.
“As far as I can tell, Louis, you had the most reason to be harboring a grudge against Harry. You certainly had access to the biplane’s engine. And we both know you stood to gain the most from the Yamadas’ deaths.”
Louis doesn’t answer. He appears to still be lost in thought, his eyes moving as though doing some kind of math problem in his head. But for some reason Bonner gets the impression that he isn’t focused on the F.B.I. agent’s accusation. He certainly doesn’t look outraged or offended, just thoughtful. Then, all at once, a sharp focus snaps into Louis’s eyes. His head suddenly jerks in the direction of the house.
“Wait—” Bonner begins to say, but it is too late. Something has Louis jumpy, spooked. Before Bonner can get out another word, Louis turns to go, and in a near run hurries back in the direction of the house, taking the long staircase up to the porch two stairs at a time. Bonner stands powerless for a moment, uncertain how to make heads or tails of the interview. He’d laid all his cards on the table and wound up right back where he started.