The Last Train (Detective Hiroshi Series Book 1)

by Michael Pronko

  Shiho returned with a printout of his departure. He would have to hurry to get to Narita airport in time.

  “Barbara’s coming right now,” she whispered. Hiroshi folded the flight information and stuffed it into his jacket pocket as Barbara walked in the door.

  “Detective Shimizu? What can I help you with today?” said Barbara, plopping down a stack of file folders and a leather portfolio.

  Her manner was even brisker than before and her blue linen business suit tighter and trimmer. She exuded the air of a woman used to being listened to, not questioned.

  “I just had a few more questions.”

  “I hope I can help.” Barbara waved him toward a seat and nodded to Shiho to bring coffee.

  “Our investigation has expanded. So, we need to know the specific companies that Steve worked with.”

  “I’m afraid that would be impossible,” Barbara said. “Those firms are ones that took years to establish relations with.”

  “It would be strictly confidential.”

  “Nothing is ever completely confidential. We can’t lose their trust just because you can’t find any leads.”

  “To have him dead must have shaken everyone’s trust.”

  “It certainly did. The loss is professional as well as personal.”

  “We can get a court order if necessary.”

  “That takes a lot of time in Japan.”

  “The process can be sped up. You don’t want that.”

  Barbara nodded and said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Did you have any hint Steve was being blackmailed?”

  “Pressure is common in the kind of business we do.”

  “Blackmail is common?”

  “I would not call it blackmail. I would call it pressure. A business like ours always engages conflict.”

  “Just like detective work, then.”

  “Except you don’t make money from it,” Barbara pointed out.

  Hiroshi thought of how poor his pay was, and how much he would make at a company like Bentley.

  Hiroshi pulled out his cell phone and scrolled to a document Akiko had found for him. “I have a copy of a filing by Mitsutoki Corporation against Bentley for theft of information.”

  “That was last year. It was bogus. It was resolved.”

  “Was Steve involved in that?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “What kind of information was that? Corporate spying, I know, is the norm. That’s not my concern. I still need to find out why someone wanted to kill him.”

  Barbara stared at Hiroshi and then out the rain-spattered window. “Do you know much about doing business in Japan, Detective, and how hard it is for foreign businesses to break into the Japanese market?”

  “I know it could drive a company or an individual to extremes.”

  “Extremes?” Barbara smirked and looked away. “The central fact of the Asian business world is that connections and information are essential. Our company is about success. Though his methods were controversial, his track record was stellar. I did not ask him details. Neither was he forthcoming.”

  “His methods were in a gray area.”

  “Methods do not show up on quarterly reports.”

  “Neither do deaths.”

  Barbara put her fingers together in front of her. The table was so highly polished it reflected her hands like a mirror. “Our company has a strict business ethics code. Codes do not always work. That’s the Asian business environment.”

  “It’s better for you and the company that this be solved.”

  She paused and then continued, “If I knew who might be involved, if I even had a clue, I would tell you. Before Steve died, he was training Mark to take over his work. That is why it was such a surprise what happened. He seemed already out of the fray.”

  “Did Bentley ever facilitate investment in Kawasaki?”

  “Kawasaki? I think we helped negotiate a building contract there years ago, but I couldn’t tell you details without looking. Steve was the kind of guy who would remember.”

  “We need the names of the companies Steve worked with. And I need to talk with Mark.”

  “I can give you one, but not the other. Mark has taken a leave from the company.”

  “I thought he was taking over for Steve?”

  “He had a family emergency.”

  “Is his leave permanent?”

  “More or less.”

  “More him and less the company or—”

  “More or less on both sides, mutually.”

  “Is his departure connected to the missing funds?”

  Barbara did not betray a hint of surprise. “I see you do your homework.”

  “Being a detective is nothing but homework,” Hiroshi said. “The only thing I could not find is whether it was Steve or Mark who lost the funds.”

  “I wish I knew,” Barbara said, speaking in a voice that Hiroshi, for the first time, found honest.

  Her honesty turned them both quiet. The rain slapped against the huge windows of the room.

  “I’ll have the personnel office bring you Mark’s contact information,” Barbara said, standing and gathering her files and portfolio.

  “I’m in a bit of a hurry,” Hiroshi said, standing up.

  “Aren’t we all?” Barbara pointed him toward reception. “I’ll have it sent to your office.”

  Hiroshi hurried along the hallway with the window glass frosting each office he passed wondering, after the shilly-shally of the accountant and the executive, if anything meaningful ever got accomplished in offices at all.

  If he ran through the underground passageway back to the station, he could just catch the express from Shinjuku and get to Narita in time to catch Mark at the airport.

  Chapter 31

  Once he got down to the underground exit of the building, Hiroshi took off at a sprint, slowing and sidestepping and speeding up to dodge people in the crowd. He swiped his train pass to get inside and headed for the Narita Airport Express platform down two flights of stairs, up an escalator, at the far end of a long platform.

  He got there just as the doors opened and the alarm sounded for the brief few seconds it took to let on people and their luggage. He hopped on and the door slid shut.

  Hiroshi waited for the conductor in the space between the cars, showed his badge, and got a ticket for a seat. The conductor carefully deducted 150 yen from his train pass and calculated the new fare on his handheld ticket machine.

  Hiroshi called Akiko.

  “Can you find the number for the Narita liaison officer?”

  “You’re going all the way out there?” Akiko asked.

  “Mark’s leaving in an hour and a half and it’s an hour out there.”

  “Do you want me to have them stop him?”

  “I don’t want to tip him off. Just find out where I can get through security. Text me, can you?”

  Hiroshi found his seat, but the Chinese tourists in the other three seats had huge bags, and he could not stretch his legs out. They kept talking, loudly, but he closed his eyes and soon dozed off for the hour to the airport.

  He was first off the train at Narita, hurrying through security and up the escalators to the departure lounge. The plainclothes officer was waiting near the travel insurance and exchange counters right where Akiko said he would be. The officer gave him a security card to put around his neck and asked, “Do you have a gun?”

  “No,” said Hiroshi. “Will we make it?”

  “Maybe,” the officer said. Boarding would start in twenty minutes. A sign said Mark’s gate was twenty minutes away, but that was on foot.

  When they got to the gate, the plainclothes officer separated from him but kept a close eye on him. Hiroshi walked back and forth in the boarding area, and then into the airport bar. A guy with blond hair was staring up at the baseball game on TV. Hiroshi went up to him.

  “Mark Whitlock?”

  He looked up at Hiroshi and said, “Who are you?”

&n
bsp; “I’m detective Hiroshi Shimizu of Tokyo Homicide.”

  “Oh, shit,” he said and threw his hot dog onto the plate. “I knew it.”

  “What did you know?”

  “Barbara would send someone after me,” he said, taking a big swig from his beer. “She’s a vindictive bitch.”

  “She didn’t send me. If anything, she covered for you. I need to ask you about Steve Deveaux.”

  “You were the guy scheduled to interview me at Bentley?”

  “That’s me.”

  “I don’t know anything.”

  “Did you know you were next on the list?”

  “What list?”

  “Can we find a quieter place?” Hiroshi said.

  Mark took a final swallow of beer and rubbed the foam off his lips with the back of his hand. He caught the bartender’s eye and circled his finger over the beer and hot dog with the practiced motion of someone who spent a lot of time in bars. He paid in dollars and followed Hiroshi to a row of empty chairs at an unused gate. The airport security officer waited at a distance.

  “What’s the reason for your emergency leave?”

  “Leave? Who said that? Barbara? I quit.”

  “You quit?”

  “They accused me—”

  “Of stealing the funds for the start-up in Thailand?”

  “How did you know that? Barbara wanted that hushed up.”

  “You were next on that list, too.”

  “What’s with all the lists?” Mark said, sitting on the edge of his chair.

  “Where did the money go?”

  “Are you investigating the money or the murder?”

  “There would not be a murder without the money.”

  Mark shook his head. “I don’t know where it went. I’m not an accountant. It was there one day and gone the next. Steve did everything—budget, accounts, and research—the whole thing. I just know how to talk to people.”

  “He was grooming you to take over his spot when he left, right?”

  “He told me some things, but not everything. Honestly, I couldn’t cut it. Too many reports. Too much schmoozing. Too many meetings. I first came to Japan to be a model.”

  Hiroshi looked at his chiseled features, casual chic jacket and studied-rumpled shirt. He should have stuck with modeling, Hiroshi thought.

  “So, who do you think killed him? Was it a woman?”

  Mark looked at Hiroshi. “Why do you ask that?”

  “Was it?”

  “I don’t know,” he looked away and shook his head. “Steve had many women. Some were business contacts.”

  “Paid for.”

  “He had money to pay. I never had to pay.”

  “I need your help here.”

  “He had many women who gave him information.”

  “Any regular ones?”

  “Some more than others.”

  “They gave him information?”

  “And more. But he wasn’t one to talk about sex. Fortunately.”

  “They gave him information he could use to help Bentley.”

  “He called it ‘re-gifting.’ He was always joking.”

  “How would I find the women he re-gifted information from?”

  “I don’t know,” Mark said, brushing back his hair and looking up at the departure board.

  “The woman Steve had before—beautiful, strong, and special—you had a relationship with her, too, right?”

  Mark nodded his head, yes, and looked down in silence. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

  Hiroshi said, “It’s much safer for you if you get on this plane, but we can take you to a passport control room or downtown where we can hold you for twenty days.”

  Mark sat up. “If I tell you, it can’t get back to me.”

  “You’re leaving, right?”

  “They wouldn’t let me quit. They’re going to keep paying part of my salary.”

  “To keep you working?”

  “To keep the confidentiality agreements. I have to keep certain things secret as long as they pay me. I’ll find a lawyer in the States.”

  “As long as you have secrets, you’ll be next.”

  Mark took a breath, twisted his mouth to the side. “Why do you think I’m leaving?”

  “If we don’t find her, she’ll find you. Even in the States.”

  Mark looked at the crowds milling around in the waiting area, wondering if his hunch was right. It seemed to be.

  “There’s no need to say how I found out. I just need to know,” Hiroshi said.

  Mark twisted his shoulders. “There’s a coffee shop called Les Chats Gris. Steve went there when he needed to get a hold of them.”

  “Hostesses?”

  “Ones who had information.”

  “How did he pay them?”

  “He never explained that. They had the information ready for him at the café always.”

  “You have names and photos, I’m sure.” Mark knew all about Steve and the woman, just as he guessed.

  Mark pulled his cell phone out and clicked through the photos. Finally, he held up a photo of himself with his arms around two Japanese women. One was tall with long hair, her eyes covered by sunglasses and the other was short and cute with a ripe, plump face. The tall woman stood rigid and unsmiling, but the short one had her arm around Mark, laughing.

  “Where was this taken?”

  “A club in Roppongi.”

  “What’s the name?”

  “The Venus de Milo.”

  Hiroshi showed Mark the screen of his cell phone, “Here’s my text address. Send that photo to me right now.”

  Looking at the address, Mark clicked the buttons to attach the photo and send it, looking up as he heard his boarding call announcement. “That’s my flight,” Mark said.

  “You never felt threatened by her?”

  “What do you mean?” Mark asked. “She’s just a woman.”

  “You never ended up too drunk with her?”

  Mark shook his head, thinking. “Yes, twice.”

  “Once recently?”

  Mark reluctantly nodded his head, yes, looking confused, starting to connect the dots Hiroshi was drawing for him.

  “She drugged you,” Hiroshi said.

  “What? No way!”

  “She uses Rohypnol.”

  “Ro-what? What’s that?”

  “It’s called the date rape drug in America because victims lose consciousness and cannot remember clearly what happens. She used it to weaken men before she threw them in front of trains.”

  “Whoa! What are you talking about? Steve was…what men?”

  “That woman, the taller one, killed Steve.”

  “No way. Steve’s death was an accident. He often drank too much.”

  “He was helped along by Rohypnol. We found it in Steve’s blood during the autopsy. And in another victim, too.”

  Mark sat up and shook head. “I can’t—”

  “You better believe it.”

  “Both times I ended up a lot drunker than I expected, but—”

  “And you were with her both times?”

  Mark nodded, yes. Hiroshi could see he was chipping away at his denial.

  “Steve set you up with her?”

  “In a way, I guess. He knew her, but with us, with her and me, it was…different,” Mark said, shaking his head. “I can’t believe…she would—”

  “What? Kill someone?”

  “Drug me and—”

  “Her name was Michiko, right?”

  Mark leaned back. “How did you know?”

  Hiroshi checked his cell phone and opened the photo Mark had just sent him. The sunglasses covered half her face, and the flash solarized them, but it was a better image than the black and white closed circuit security cameras.

  “Tell me who the short one in the photo is.”

  “She’s her friend, Reiko. They grew up together. They’re like sisters.”

  “Where can I find them?”

  “Good ques
tion. Michiko always found me. She didn’t even give me her phone number. I posted her a LINE message, but she opened and closed chat rooms all the time.”

  “Can you give me the ones you have?”

  “I—” Mark sighed. “Here,” he said and gave Hiroshi the LINE names. “She has a million names, though, so she won’t accept your connect request.”

  “I’ll try anyway,” Hiroshi said. “And where can we find Reiko?”

  “Les Chats Gris. But she only goes there certain nights.”

  “We’ll give it a shot,” Hiroshi said.

  Mark stood up.

  “You’re lucky to be alive, you know?”

  Mark nodded and gathered his travel bag. He shook his head still confused. “She—”

  “—was so beautiful?”

  “Yeah! I mean who would think a woman like that—”

  “—could kill someone?”

  “I’ll never understand women, or Asia, or business,” Mark said.

  “Maybe leave them alone for a while.”

  “That’s what I plan on doing.” Mark shook his head. “Tokyo’s a strange, lonely, wacko place. I won’t miss it. If I could tell you all the weird shit that happened to me here—”

  Hiroshi half listened as they walked toward the gate.

  “I’m outta here.” Mark said, saluting with his boarding pass, and getting in line for the boarding gate.

  Hiroshi watched him go, and after Mark walked down the boarding tunnel, he mumbled, “Bon voyage.”

  Heading back toward the express train into Tokyo, Hiroshi emailed the new photo of Michiko to Akiko, asking her to get clear copies printed.

  The plainclothes officer came back over to Hiroshi. “Did you get what you needed?”

  “Made some lucky guesses.”

  “Those always help.”

  Hiroshi called Sakaguchi. “Can you meet me in an hour?”

  “In Roppongi?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Need extra weight?”

  “Sumo weight.”

  “We’ll meet you in Roppongi at nine.”

  He called Takamatsu again, but there was no answer.

  Chapter 32

  Sono heard the doorbell and was surprised when he didn’t hear his secretary’s voice. Seconds later, he looked up to find Michiko towering over the entryway to his cubicle, her black outfit refusing the glare of the accountancy office lights.