Aoki peered at him smugly. “I have time for one more question.”
“Have you sent any of your investigators to Coach Ikeda’s stable to look into his claim about being attacked in his own entryway?”
“Not yet. When Ikeda is returned to us from the hospital, we’ll give him another chance to tell us the true story. Then we’ll proceed accordingly.”
“Of course you will, sir.” Kobayashi nodded. “I’m sure you’ll contact my department within the Criminal Investigation Bureau in due time.”
“Hai, in due time.” Aoki raised his brows. “Now, is there anything else, Kobayashi?”
Seeing that Aoki had no intention of altering the course of his investigation, there was no point in dragging out the present confrontation.
“I appreciate you taking the time to see me, Aoki-san.” Kobayashi bowed.
Aoki inclined his head but remained seated.
At the office door, Kobayashi paused. “Oh, Detective Aoki, if you don’t mind, I’ll be making an inquiry into how it is that this case was assigned to your section for preliminary investigation, rather than to the CIB. Just as a matter for my own professional development, sir. Arigatou.”
Kobayashi closed the door deliberately and marched away at double time.
An hour later Kobayashi approached Coach Ikeda’s training stable in Tokyo’s Kita Ward. Stands of trees and bamboo surrounded the place. Kobayashi approached with caution. He started a few blocks away and surveyed each surrounding street and building as he spiraled in closer and closer. All looked as quiet as it should have on a Thursday afternoon in this calm neighborhood on the edge of the city.
Parking fifty yards down the street, Kobayashi walked the rest of the way to the small cluster of buildings that constituted the housing and training facility for Ikeda’s wrestlers. He stood outside for a few minutes but heard no voices from within. Considering all the sumotori would already be at the Kokugikan arena for that day’s matches, he didn’t expect any training to be going on.
The detective knocked firmly but warily on the front door. After a brief wait, the door slid open about six inches, and a very young and apprehensive teen peeked out. It was Yoshio.
Detective Kobayashi held up his badge, introduced himself, and asked if he could come in.
Yoshio looked relieved as he nodded and introduced himself.
“Has everyone else already gone down to the arena this afternoon?” Kobayashi asked.
“No, sir,” the boy responded tentatively.
“They haven’t all gone? Who’s still here?”
“Nobody is here, but…I don’t think anybody’s been here since yesterday.”
“Not even the police?” Kobayashi wanted to corroborate what he supposed, as well as what he had gotten from Detective Aoki.
“No, sir. We all went to the tournament the day before yesterday. Uesugi—he’s one of the sumotori here—he told me to go home to visit my mother that night after the matches were over, so I did. I came back here after the matches ended last night and found the stable empty. Everybody’s belongings were gone except for Tatsuyama’s. And Coach Ikeda’s room is untouched too.” Yoshio was clearly nervous.
“Have you seen the news today?” Kobayashi asked.
The boy shook his head. “I just woke up and started cooking and cleaning. I figured some of the rikishi will have to come back soon.”
“Yoshio, why didn’t you call the police when you noticed everybody’s belongings were missing?”
The teen looked around the entry hallway as though someone might be listening.
“Sir, other men have been coming here lately, especially when Coach Ikeda has been away.”
“Is that so? What men, Yoshio?”
“They’ve been talking to our sumotori about leaving and joining a different stable. They talked about better pay and a better chance at climbing the banzuke.”
“And what else?”
“Again and again they told me I had two choices. They said I could either come to the new stable with them or I could say nothing to anyone about their visits. They said they know where my mother lives. They asked if they needed to explain why that mattered. Of course, I understood.”
Kobayashi asked, “Is your mother OK?”
“Yes, sir. I didn’t say anything to her.” Yoshio fumbled with the sleeves of his kimono.
“I’m glad she’s well.” Kobayashi tried to catch the boy’s straying gaze. “You’re OK with talking to me about this? You don’t fear she’ll be hurt because of what you’re telling me?”
“Sir,” Yoshio said, “if nobody comes back by tonight, I plan to go to my mother’s house and tell her everything. I’ll quit sumo. I may quit anyway. I was just hoping…”
“Hoping what?”
“I was hoping Tatsuyama and Coach Ikeda and the sumotori I trust would come back and prove that everything can be OK. You know, like it was before.”
Kobayashi looked past the boy at the walls of the entry hallway. There were signs of a struggle—elbow-high dents in the papered wallboard and black scrapes on the lower parts of the walls. Who would’ve been wearing shoes indoors? And who would’ve kicked the walls that way?
“Coach Ikeda doesn’t allow sumotori to engage in horseplay here in the front hall, does he?” Kobayashi asked.
“Nobody would do that up here. Maybe back in the training area, but not here. Junichiro would be all over us about that.”
Kobayashi nodded. “Did either Tatsuyama or Coach Ikeda tell you where they were going just before the last time you saw them?”
“No, sir. But Coach Ikeda went to the tournament, of course. I saw him there Tuesday night and last night.”
Kobayashi heaved a breath and slowly exhaled as he peered back and forth. “Go get your things together, Yoshio. I’m going to drive you to your mother’s house. There’s no sense in waiting here. None of the rikishi will be back today. They’ve either gone over to the other stable or they’re too afraid to come back here.”
The teen frowned. “Why do they need to be afraid? They’re strong. Together they don’t need to worry!”
Kobayashi hesitated. “Coach Ikeda is in…well, he’s in the hospital. He’s been hurt.” The detective couldn’t yet bring himself to tell the boy his coach was also suspected of murder. He’d wait and explain that once the boy was with his mother.
Yoshio cocked his head but then went on to gather his belongings.
Kobayashi stooped and examined the dark red-brown spots and smears on one side of the hallway. Blood, he concluded. There was more on an exposed wooden stud. He’d send his department’s crime scene experts.
He wandered into the kitchen, looked around, and turned off the stove. He then ambled through the rooms, training areas, and hallways of the stable. There were no other signs of a struggle.
Once Yoshio was ready, Kobayashi drove him to his mother’s place. At the end of a carefully worded conversation with the boy and his mother, he asked the young rikishi one final question.
“Those times when other men came to recruit wrestlers from Coach Ikeda’s stable, did you ever hear whose stables they were encouraging your friends to move to?”
“The other men never said it in front of me, but I did hear Uesugi say that Yamada-sama’s facilities and trainers would be much better for everyone.”
Kobayashi nodded. “Arigatou, Yoshio-san.”
He bowed to Yoshio’s mother and excused himself.
That very afternoon, Yoshio and his mother packed a few belongings, went to the Japan Rail station, and left Tokyo for good.
30
Tatsuyama accelerated around a slow-driving sightseer on the Ise River Bridge, sixty miles from Kyoto. “Still angry at me for not telling you about being followed?”
Shiori touched his arm. “I saw you put yourself between him and me. You did nothing but try to protect me. I’m sorry I got mad at you.”
He nodded. “I’m glad we’re OK.”
“Tatsuyama, if Kyoto wa
sn’t safe, where will we have to go to escape Yamada?”
“The question is not only ‘where’ but also ‘for how long?’ I don’t know whether a yakuza boss would ever be satisfied to let us live in peace. Not even on the assurance that we’d go away forever and never pose any further inconvenience to his plans. More than likely, since we can link his daughter and employees to criminal activity, he’ll consider us a threat as long as we’re alive.”
“That’s a sobering thought,” Shiori said. “And we can’t exactly risk knocking on his front door to ask for a truce. So what do we do?”
“We work with any small opportunities that come our way. Naoko wants to meet me in Kitanomaru Park tomorrow. She claims she wants to help.”
She shook her head. “I don’t trust her.”
“I don’t know if I do either, but what if she can help us? We don’t have a lot to work with so far.”
Shiori was quiet. She stared out the car window at houses and businesses in suburban Nagoya.
Tatsuyama said, “And what if she really has been an unwilling participant all along? Wouldn’t it be gratifying to help her escape Yamada? She’d be happy and free—which is the very thing we wish for ourselves.”
“I’m not sure how we could really know her motives. She’s obviously good at deception.”
“What if I go early—really early—and find a place to hide and observe without being seen?”
“Observe what? Whether she shuffles in looking pitiable or skips in like a grade-three schoolgirl?” Shiori pulled her feet up under her on the car seat and turned to sit facing Tatsuyama. “Remember, she invited you to meet her at Hole in the Wall. Four of her father’s gangsters were there waiting for you. I wouldn’t expect any less than eight, maybe twelve in the park.”
“Shiori, we need some kind of leverage against Yamada. If we could take Naoko away from him—”
“What? Are you talking about kidnapping Naoko?” Her eyes were wide.
The only sound for the next minute was the rhythmic beat of the car’s tires on the freeway.
Tatsuyama rubbed his forehead. “I’ve got to confess: I’d really love to hurt Yamada and hurt him bad right now. But I’m not a kidnapper. Never will be. And I’m not going to get involved in a game of revenge and retaliation. Coach Ikeda is extremely vulnerable to Yamada’s schemes right now. There are two lives I won’t gamble with against Yamada—yours and Coach Ikeda’s. I’ll go into Kitanomaru Park alone.”
“Iie!” she said, shaking her head. “Tatsuyama, I told you that if she wanted to see you just one more time, you’d fall for the bait, and that on Yamada’s third attempt, he’d have you. I’m not going to let you walk into that park alone!”
“There’s no point in both of us being caught in a trap, if this actually is one…but we need some help against Yamada. And Naoko may be able to do more than anybody else for us against her father.”
Shiori took her time. “What about Kobayashi?”
“He’d want some kind of assurance from her—something that could be used to apprehend and prosecute her father. What if she’s willing to help you and me, but she’s not willing to see her father go to prison?”
She began to chew her thumbnail.
“How well do you know Kitanomaru Park?” he asked. “Let’s just talk through a plan. If at the end it’s just not worth the risk, we can scrap it and go to Kobayashi.”
She waited till he glanced at her. She nodded. If he read her right, her eyes said she’d walk through the gates of hell itself with him.
“All right…Kitanomaru Park. Lots of trees, the statue of Yoshida Shigeru. Of course there’s the Nippon Budokan, the old Olympic judo arena they use for rock concerts now, at the north end of the park. Kudanshita Station’s up there too. If Naoko escapes being watched, she may come by train. Otherwise I would guess her father or Haruta or Yamashita will just drive her to the park. In that case she could enter from any side.”
“OK then, we’ll both go into the park—very early,” he said. “I told her four forty-five. We’ll be there at two o’clock. We’ll walk the garden paths and find the right spot. We’ll make sure Yamada and his goons aren’t already in the park waiting for us.”
“Let’s do this,” Shiori suggested. “Let’s hide where we can see Naoko approach the statue of Yoshida Shigeru. We’ll see what direction she approaches from. If she was sincere on the phone, I bet she’ll come in from the train station near the Budokan to the north. Once we see her, we remain behind the cover of trees and bushes. Then we parallel her when she heads back north. If we see any sign of someone looking remotely like a Yamada thug, we leave the park and disappear again. If we feel absolutely certain she’s at the park alone, we wait even longer.”
Tatsuyama tilted his head. “Why? What then?”
“If nobody other than Naoko shows themselves, and if Naoko looks like she’s given up and is heading back for the train station, then—and only then—do we approach her. And it has to be toward the train station.”
“Why does it have to be toward the train station?”
“We want to know that she came alone and that she’s leaving alone…not catching a ride home with Yamada or his gangsters.”
“True.” He glanced to meet Shiori’s gaze again. “Look,” he said, “I want you to know, if she resists at all, we will leave her and get out fast. We can’t afford to cause a commotion.”
“Thanks for reassuring me of that.”
“But if she comes with us quickly and willingly, we’ll bring her back out of Tokyo. Then we can give her the chance to tell us that she was forced to do all that she’s done.”
“But Tatsuyama…”
“Hai?”
“Whatever she may tell you, be certain you test it before you believe it. She brought you to the concert. She nudged you to go help Akiko-chan when Yamashita faked that rude, drunken behavior,” Shiori reminded him. “Whether or not her father made her do it, she lied to you.”
Tatsuyama swallowed hard. He wanted to believe that Naoko would run from her father if only she had the chance. Especially after seeing the stakes raised: a man hospitalized with a knife in his chest; an honorable coach in jail, framed for that stabbing; her recent boyfriend on the run.
He wanted to believe that Naoko’s relationship with him from January to May had not entirely been a ruse. But he was no longer sure. Was Naoko a spider, or a fly? Was she spinning the web along with her father? Or was she caught—just as sadly and unfortunately as they were—in a web of somebody else’s making?
Tatsuyama took his eyes off the highway for a moment and looked at Shiori. Her face was noticeably flushed and her eyes were moist, but she gave him that hint of a smile uniquely and winsomely her own.
“Naoko is a Yamada,” he told her. “For now, I’ll treat her like one.”
“For now, that’s all I need to hear,” she said.
“We need to eat and find a place to stay.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“You can’t go home tonight,” he said. “I’m sure Naoko knows who answered my phone this afternoon.”
“I don’t think I want to stay alone tonight anyway. That newspaper article about Coach Ikeda has me worried.”
“If you stay with a friend, that friend could be pulled into the circle too. If it’s OK with you, I’d rather keep the circle of endangered people closed. It’s bad enough that you had to be brought into it. Before the concert last week, you had nothing to do with sumo, and now you’re in the middle of history’s biggest underworld move on the sport.”
“I came into this situation on my own. I could’ve kept quiet at 109. Nobody would have been any the wiser about what I knew. Once I saw the danger you were in and what kind of people were after you, I couldn’t just look the other way.”
Tatsuyama nodded and squeezed Shiori’s hand. “Arigatou, Shiori,” he said softly.
“So we can help look out for each other, one day at a time, OK?”
“Hai, on
e day at a time.”
Tatsuyama dropped off the car at the rental company lot near Haneda Airport without going into the office. His cash deposit would more than cover the three days he’d had the car. They caught a taxi to a neighborhood soba noodle restaurant recommended by their cabbie. An hour and a half later, they were at a clean, unremarkable hotel in Tokyo’s Ota Ward.
Shiori showered. Tatsuyama, exhausted, stretched out on one of the twin beds. We both need to be sharp and alert tomorrow, he thought. Hope we rest well tonight.
His eyes were already closed when he heard Shiori come out of the bathroom. The fresh smell of soap and shampoo dragged him back from the edge of sleep.
“Feel better?” he asked without moving.
“Hai, I do,” she answered pleasantly, even if not energetically. Dressed in the yukata provided with the hotel linens, she sat on the edge of the other bed. As she toweled her hair dry, she asked, “Tatsuyama, when this is all over, will you take me to a sumo tournament? I’ve never really even watched sumo on NHK.”
He smiled to himself, eyes closed again. He enjoyed the sound of her voice. Quietly and somewhat slowly he answered, “Of course I’ll take you. Why the sudden interest?”
“I just want to learn about what it is that you do…and it is a big part of our national heritage.”
“You’ll like sumo. I promise.” He listened as Shiori combed her hair. His thoughts grew hazy, and he drifted off.
That night, Tatsuyama didn’t dream of fighting the dark-suited guy from the Kyoto train station. Instead just before dawn he woke up from a different troubling dream. All he could remember of it was Shiori carrying a samurai sword, trying and trying to find her way out of a dimly lit sumo arena. He rubbed his eyes and tried to make sense of it…to no avail.
Turning onto his side, he peered through the dim light, grateful to hear her soft, steady breathing.
I’ve never made much of dreams and premonitions, he thought. Hope there’s no real reason to begin to now.
Sumotori: A 21st Century Samurai Thriller Page 14