Tokyo Enigma (12 page)

A hard cold rain had started, and wind gusting around
buildings blew it in unexpected directions. Morimoto had lent me his
umbrella, but I was still getting wet from the chest down. My feet
were drenched by the time I reached a subway entrance. I made a
mental note to ask Yuri and Nozaka where they buy their
gumshoes.

Will had said he'd meet me at a TexMex restaurant called El
Zapato. I was afraid his sense of humor had taken a turn for the
worse, but it turned out the food wasn't bad. Not great, but better
than a lot of what you'd find in the States north of the Red River or
east of the Sabine. They even had Tecate.

I told him about the bugs in Lance Allworth's office and
asked if there was much likelihood they belonged to a law
enforcement agency. He didn't think so. It didn't strike him as a
yakuza tactic either. "It sounds more like the work of a snoop like
you, Sanchez."

Good insight, bad joke.

"I haven't gotten much on Ueno, the FCC guy's secretary. No
prior convictions though." He grinned.

"Not an ex-con then, at least not yet," I said, and hoped that
we were done with our aren't-we-clever banter.

"He graduated from the same university as his boss, but one
year later. They probably knew each other from school, so that
ensures personal loyalty. Even though they are only one year apart
and in their sixties today, there would still be some sense of a
sempai-kohai, senior-junior relationship on a personal level, not just
professional."

I could get cultural tidbits from a Japan travel guide, but
since I wasn't paying Will for his advice, I didn't interrupt.

"Japanese use the English term 'secretary,' but a closer
equivalent would be top aide or chief of staff. Those guys do more
than look after schedules. Do you remember the Black Peanut
scandal that brought down Prime Minister Tanaka, back in the
seventies? Lockheed bribe money paid to Tanaka was called peanuts
and the press attached the adjective 'black.'"

"Yeah, I read history."

"That seems to have been the kickoff to a round robin of
political corruption scandals from construction kickbacks to
multimillion-yen evenings with geisha. You'd think folks would
learn."

"Which means?"

"It's background. Be patient." Will sipped beer and carefully
patted his lips dry. "As far as I know, Ohashi is clean, but there was a
little incident a few years ago. Something like eight million yen went
missing from his office and was never traced. Ueno took the blame,
even though he never said where the money went. It was just lost. He
cited his own incompetence in order to protect Ohashi. And Ohashi
was powerful enough to protect Ueno from prosecution. Cozy."

"Any tie in?"

Will shook his head. "It was years ago. The thing is,
whatever Ueno's faults are, 'incompetence' isn't among them. These
secretaries wear a lot of hats—political adviser, financial manager,
fixer, fall guy and sometimes..."

Will picked up a jalapeno by the stem and bit off the whole
pepper. A trace of tear filmed his eyes.

"Mmm, good." He pushed a side dish of peppers toward me.
"Dessert?"

"Sometimes what, Will?"

He picked up another jalapeno and smiled. "Sometimes
bagman, Mick."

It was still raining, and lunch hadn't lasted long enough for
my shoes to dry. By the time I got back to Protect Agency, I was
squishing water with each step. Yuri wrinkled her nose when she
saw me.

"That'll ruin leather. You ought to get a pair of these." She
lifted her pants leg to show me a sneaker.

I grunted and went to the restroom to wring out my
socks.

We took a company car to the meeting with Sayoko. It was
at a tearoom in a central Tokyo ward, a relatively quiet area
compared with the play-and-sin West side or the financial and
shopping districts around Marunouchi and Ginza. We got there early
and sat at separate tables. I had started to worry whether Sayoko
would show up, but she arrived just in time to be fashionably—as
opposed to frustratingly—late.

She was obviously a beauty, despite a floppy hat that she'd
pulled down to her eyes and baggy clothes that would have been
suitable for either a mountain hike or a hip-hop club. Her hair was
tinted chestnut brown.

I had nothing to read while Sayoko and Yuri talked, so I
doodled in my address book. Tried to keep an eye on the area
without appearing to have an interest in anything but my drawings.
One looked like a pointillist Picasso that took cubism into a fourth
dimension. Maybe I'd take an art course and get famous. Go by one
name, like Cher and Suharto. Mick.

Better yet just a letter. M.

Easier to sign autographs.

I'd filled a few pages before Yuri stood up and walked over
to my table. That must have looked interesting. I started to take out
my wallet to complete the imagery, but without a charm discount,
Sayoko cost fifty thousand yen. Didn't have that much on me.

"I told her who you are. She's glad you roughed up the, ah,
'creep' at Foxx Starr."

"I'm not."

"She wants us to take her to her apartment. What do you
think?"

"I doubt the place is staked out, but if we make her feel safer,
let's go."

She lived in another part of town. I drove so Yuri could
continue her interview.

The apartment building had a brick façade and a
potted plant at the entrance. Otherwise, it was a featureless,
eight-story chunk of concrete that could have passed for a prison block.
Long rows of doors, spaced about fifteen feet apart, faced onto
narrow walkways. Iron railings were the only barriers to prevent
clumsy residents from toppling off.

Sayoko fumbled in her purse for the key as we climbed the
stairs, but it wasn't necessary. Whoever had been here last hadn't
bothered to lock the door when they left.

The room had been dismantled. Doors and shelves had been
removed from kitchen cabinets, the closet and the bathroom. The
back of the refrigerator had been ripped off. The cushions on her
sofa bed had been shredded. A chest of drawers had been reduced to
a pile of boards. Any article of clothing that had a lining or a pocket
had been ripped apart. If the object of this search was bigger than a
mouse ear, then it had been found.

Sayoko blanched. She braced against a counter. Her body
clutched in spasms as though she fought not to vomit.

Yuri and I looked through the rubble for some evidence of
who had done this. We didn't find anything.

I held Sayoko's shoulders on the way back to the car. She
wasn't still shaking, but she didn't have normal control. Her weight
suddenly shifted right or left every few steps. From the time we
entered her apartment until we got her into the back seat of the car,
she hadn't spoken a word.

"I think she should stay with me tonight." Yuri said after we
closed the door and Sayoko couldn't hear.

"So do I. Do you want me there. You take the bed, she can
have the sofa and I'll sleep on the floor."

"If you stay with me, you'll sleep in my bed, but I think it's
better tonight if it's just she and I. We'll be all right. I'll try to get her
to talk more. It could be a long night."

Yuri let me off at the hotel. After she drove away, a cold
hollow awoke a feeling that had long been numb. If I hadn't known
better, I'd have thought it was a touch of the blues. Probably just the
autumn rain, but in the back of my mind was a steel guitar,
harmonica and Lightnin' Hopkins baring his heart. He said he was
tired 'o walkin' that big road by himself.

Me too, Lightnin'.

I got an early morning call from Abe. Someone from the
embassy was scheduled to check on Dorian and I was on the
visitation list. If I wanted to be there, I might learn something.

In his transition from military to civilian life, Abe had
learned how to make a lawful order sound like a suggestion. I
skipped breakfast and asked the concierge to call a taxi.

The representative from the State Department was a serious
person, with a serious job that entailed more important things than
ensuring the welfare of accused murderers. She returned my "Good
morning" with a world-weary smile and a glance at her watch.

Dorian looked as well as the last time I'd seen him. He said
that pressure to confess had eased. The embassy rep advised him to
let her know if there was any violation of his rights. She would
personally see to any problems he had.

I was sure she would. She reported to the ambassador, who
reported to the President, whose political party reported a million or
so in contributions from Kyle Solutions. For my part, I told Dorian we
were making progress in proving he was innocent. He looked
grateful. The rep looked bemused.

After our interview, she was in a hurry to leave, but I
stopped her. "He's not guilty. I know it looks bad for him, but he
didn't do it."

"Then I'm sure he'll be acquitted." She turned on her heel
and walked away.

"Me too. I'm working on it." I don't think she heard, but
someone else did.

"Mr. Sanchez?"

A man about five-ten, with a short neck and thick body, had
caught up with me. "I am Kuroda."

In halting English, he introduced himself as a mid-level
officer in the Metropolitan Police Force. The verbal description was
redundant. Considering where we were, his wrinkled suit, gray
temples, thick-soled shoes and stony face had already said
police
.

He stepped between me and the doorway. "Do you have
time? I want to talk."

I gave him my best world-weary smile and glanced at my
watch. "Sure."

I thought I might get a look at their interrogation rooms, but
instead he led me outside to a coffee shop. The carpet was faded and
the waitresses wore stained uniforms. Kuroda fit in nicely.

"We know you are working for Dorian's company. Is that
why you say he's not guilty?"

"No."

"Why, then?"

I explained my reasons and that I had given a report to
Dorian's lawyers. Kuroda was unimpressed.

"He is guilty. It is obvious. If he signs a confession, he can..."
Kuroda pressed his palms together then separated them about an
inch. "...shorter time."

"No confession. He's not guilty."

"If you believe it, you have to prove it."

Prove that Dorian is not guilty. Not the other way around. I
hoped that was a language problem but was afraid it wasn't.

"We can help each other," he said. "You tell me what you
find. If it shows Dorian is innocent, I will try to help free him."

I figured he must be sincere. No one insincere would lay out
such an unappealing argument. "I'm working with Dorian's lawyers.
It's better if you get information from them."

He sat silent for a minute or so, then took out an electronic
translation dictionary and punched in a word.

"I want justice," he said.

"Good word. I do too."

"Lawyers are no good, just you and me. It's better if it
doesn't go to
saiban
, to court."

I don't think he quite meant what he said about lawyers, but
I got the point. This was an interesting proposition. Getting Dorian
off the hook without going to trial would be easier on him, but it
might look like a back-room deal to the public. Vindication through
the courts might ultimately look better for Kyle Solutions, but it
would leave Dorian on ice for months. I told Kuroda I'd have to talk it
over with my associates. Tie up my loose roots,
nemawashi
,
as they say in Japan.

He understood that and said he'd be in touch. Then he asked
a waitress for separate checks. Thanks for the coffee,
Kuroda-san.

I called Yuri.

"How are things with Sayako?"

"We're still at my place, but we'll be going to Protect Agency
soon."

"I'll beat you there. I want to have a chat with
Morimoto."

My encounter with Morimoto proved pointless. I asked him
what he made of my encounter with Kuroda and of Will Simon's
opinions that the bugs in Lance Allworth's office were not the work
of yakuza or law enforcement.

He said, "unh" a few times.

"
Muzukashii desu ne
."
It's difficult isn't it?
I
gave my Japanese skills a try.

"Unh."

When I first met him, I thought he might be reticent. I'd
since changed that evaluation to either vacuous or lazy. Outside his
narrow range of expertise, he didn't have any ideas that didn't
originate with someone else. That might explain why he was
mustered out of bank management. The question was how he had
gotten there in the first place. Our non-conversation was interrupted
by Yuri and Sayoko.

"Pizza or sandwiches? We haven't eaten all day."

Yuri had ideas, bless her. I hadn't eaten either. We ordered
from a deli and settled into a conference room.

Sayoko said she and Hosoi had joined Foxx Starr agency
about the same time and had worked on several assignments
together. She also admitted to occasional prostitution. Ito, however,
had been first to propose it. She was paid well, thirty thousand to
fifty thousand yen depending on the client.

I remembered what Nozaka said.

"Do you set your own price? Is there a charm discount?" I
didn't think how that might sound until I'd asked.

She looked wary. "I set my own price and kept all the
money. Ito didn't take any. She just thought it was good for
business."

"Why the range?"

"Those prices were just for regular sex. It depends on the
person. I never went with anyone I didn't like."

"Did you ever do anything that wasn't regular?"

"A few times I had to travel or do role-play. Ito-san set those
up and I think she got a percentage of the payment."

Yuri was doing the translating.

"Tell her if she has any names, we'll keep them confidential
unless they're tied to Maho's murder."