The Man With The Red Tattoo

by Benson, Raymond

  “Thanks. You say that Yonai Enterprises is located in Sapporo?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve never been that far north in Japan,” Bond hinted.

  “A trip has been arranged. But first you will spend a few days with us here in Tokyo. Tomorrow you’ll see the McMahon home. You can have access to anyone at CureLab Inc. We will try to locate that boy, Umeki. There are plenty of things to do here before you go to Sapporo.”

  After a moment of quiet contentment, Bond asked, “And the girl who picked me up at the airport … Reiko?”

  “Miss Tamura, yes, very able bodied. Very smart girl. She is one of the rare persons who pass our National Official Exams for entering the ministries and therefore never graduated from Tokyo University.”

  “ ‘Never graduated’ is a distinction?” Bond asked.

  “If you are in a top university in the first place, you are a very smart person already. The National Official Exams are given before the university graduation exams. If someone passes the National Official Exams, they do not have to take the graduation exams. They are allowed to walk away from the university and go right into the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. There is great status to be able to say you passed the official exam and never graduated from a top university.”

  The masseuses finished and the men savoured a few more moments of quiet comfort before they finally stood.

  “As much as I hate to mention it, Bondo-san,” Tiger said, “it is late. You are tired and need to be refreshed. My assistant will take you to your hotel. Everything has been done for you, just pick up your key at the desk. I will see you tomorrow morning.”

  Tanaka gave Bond the folder full of various reports and photographs. Bond thanked him, they embraced again, and then Tanaka walked Bond up through the complex, out of the park and to the waiting car, a black Toyota Majesta. The men said good night, and Bond was spirited away.

  Night had fallen, and Tokyo was ablaze with life. The neon was blinding, the billboards were bright and colourful, the traffic was still dense and the noise and clamour bombarded the senses.

  It was a mesmerising spectacle, but Bond couldn’t wait to fall into bed.

  SEVEN

  SCENE OF A CRIME?

  “WHILE WE WERE GETTING DRUNK LAST NIGHT, BONDO-SAN, MY STAFF heard from the old boyfriend, Kenji Umeki,” Tiger said as they rode north-west out of Tokyo to Saitama through a vast network of suburbs that seemed to go on forever. “His cousin found him for us. We’re going to talk to him later this afternoon in Shinjuku. He says that he knows where Mayumi McMahon is. He wants 100,000 yen for the information.”

  “Are you going to pay him?”

  “I think yes, Bondo-san. The question is whether or not we can trust him to tell us the truth.”

  “Is he connected with the Ryujin-kai?”

  “Yes. His motorcycle gang is called Route 66. The Route 66 work for them sometimes, I believe. Miss Tamura will know more about that. We will see her this afternoon.”

  Bond settled back and looked out the window. The roads were jammed with traffic, the trains sped along the tracks taking passengers from one end of the isles to the other, and everywhere one looked there were people. Here in Japan, he couldn’t help but stand out in a crowd.

  The advantage was that the Japanese tended to be extremely tolerant of any lack of etiquette that a gaijin might have. If the foreigner forgot to remove shoes before stepping up from the genkan, or entrance hall, into a house, the Japanese simply shook their head, rolled their eyes and muttered, “Gaijin …”

  After travelling for an hour, the Majesta’s driver brought Tiger and Bond to a pretty street that jutted off from a small park. Bare cherry trees were in abundance, but more impressive were the three large houses that occupied the land.

  The McMahons owned the middle one. It was a two-storey mansion that was a unique mix of Japanese and Western styles of architectures. The interior was mostly Japanese with tatami, fusuma and shoji. Scattered through the rooms, though, were pieces of Western furniture: a dining table, chairs, a sofa, china cabinets and bookshelves.

  Two police officers, introduced as Detectives Gunji and Sugahara, were waiting inside. They greeted Tiger as if they had known him for years, then they guardedly presented their business cards to Bond, bowed and shook his hand.

  Another man moved forward from the middle of the living room. He had white hair and glasses and appeared to be in his sixties. He was wearing a jacket and tie and seemed to be very nervous.

  Tanaka introduced him as Shinji Fujimoto, vice president of CureLab Inc. Fujimoto bowed and presented his meishi to Bond, and Bond did likewise. The man knew little English, so Bond attempted to converse with him in Japanese.

  “My condolences for your loss,” Bond said.

  Fujimoto closed his eyes and nodded. “I appreciate your words. I have been full of grief. Thank you for coming all this way to find out what happened to my niece and her family.”

  The man indeed looked as if he were under a lot of strain. His eyes were bloodshot and his face was puffy. He wasn’t getting much sleep and was probably drinking too much.

  “Why don’t you have a seat, Fujimoto-san,” Bond said. “I’m going to have a look around the house and then we’ll talk, all right?”

  Fujimoto nodded, then reached for a glass of something that he had been nursing.

  The two police detectives took Bond and Tanaka on a tour of the house, pointing out exactly where each body was found and what its condition was. Peter McMahon and his wife had been in the master bedroom, lying on the futon together. They speculated that the couple had felt ill, gone to lie down and died there on the bed. The daughter Shizuka was in the bathroom, having collapsed on the floor.

  As they went through the home, Bond noted the abundance of plants that populated the place. There were tall palms in the living room, while the bedrooms had smaller decorations such as ikebana flower arrangements.

  “Every vase and pot was examined, Bondo-san,” Tiger said. “Nothing out of the ordinary was found.”

  Bond slid open a fusuma that led to a respectably large garden.

  “It’s a Tsukiyama-style garden,” Tiger said. “It is arranged to show nature in miniature, with hills, ponds and streams.” Bond could see that the landscaping featured a pond with stones serving as a walkway to a teahouse on the other side of the garden. Plants were plentiful here, too, and there were a number of mosquitoes buzzing near the water.

  “Here’s your mosquito population,” Bond said.

  “Ordinary mosquitoes, Bondo-san,” Tiger said. “We have already checked. Unfortunately, in this season and with this much standing water about, they will breed easily.”

  “Can they get inside the house?”

  Tiger shrugged. “I suppose if you leave the fusuma open, as you are doing!”

  Bond nodded and slid it closed. “That might explain all the mosquito bites on the bodies. We’ll have to think about alternative ways the virus could have been administered.”

  One of the detectives spoke rapidly to Tanaka, too fast for Bond to understand. Tiger realised this and translated. “He says that they are not treating this case as homicide. They have no evidence that it was so. The family simply got sick and died.”

  Bond said, “Tell him that until he can convince me otherwise, I’m not ruling anything out.”

  They continued to go through the house. Bond examined the screens in each room, looking for an opening. As they came back into the central hallway that led back into the living room, Bond noticed a small electric-powered bonsai waterfall-fountain on a table. It was about two and a half feet high and a foot and a half wide and it was beautifully sculpted out of porous granite. The bonsai grew out of the top and an aquarium pump kept the water recycling continuously through the fountain, providing the constant sound of running water. At the moment, the motor was turned off. Bond looked inside it and saw that there was still water in the basin. He reached behind the contraption and found the switch. He
turned it on, but nothing happened.

  “That was a birthday gift for my niece,” Shinji Fujimoto said. He had walked into the hallway behind them. “I delivered it myself a little over a week ago. When we plugged it in and turned it on, it wouldn’t work. It was faulty. It made me very angry. I had promised to replace it but never found the time. But now, of course …”

  Bond unplugged the device and said to Tanaka, “Have it analysed. Take it apart.”

  Tiger nodded and barked an order to one of the detectives. He proceeded to pick up the fountain, and Bond said, “Don’t spill any of the water. Whatever is in there should be looked at.” The man said, “Hai!”

  Bond turned to Fujimoto and said, “Let’s go back in the other room and talk, shall we?”

  Fujimoto nodded. The men went and sat down on cushions around the table.

  “Fujimoto-san, my government has asked me to find out what happened to your niece and her family. I am also supposed to try to locate your great niece. I know that you have answered many questions that the police have asked you, and that my colleague Tanakasan has asked you, but I need to ask them as well. Is there anything that you can tell me about CureLab that might have a bearing on the case? Did Peter McMahon have any enemies?”

  “He had many enemies,” Fujimoto said with a sigh. “McMahonsan was a very good businessman. One goes hand in hand.”

  “Can you give me an example of what you mean?”

  Fujimoto thought a moment. “About three years ago, there was a Japanese company that sold digital microscopes. They were based in Tokyo. McMahon-san had wooed them, making them think that he was going to buy a great number of them. It would have been a hundred million yen contract. At the last minute, before the sale, McMahon-san met with some Swiss manufacturers of the same type of product. He got a better deal, cancelled the order with the Japanese company and bought the Swiss models. And while you might say it was simply a business arrangement—he had found a less expensive product—it was dishonourable to cancel the contract he had already made with the Japanese firm. He was criticised in the business community for this.”

  “How did the business community feel about a British citizen running a Japanese company?”

  Fujimoto sucked in air through his teeth. “Difficult to say. I think he was respected because he was good at his job. But he was resented for being a gaijin. You see, in Japan, there are clearly defined, invisible circles of influence in the business world. If you work for one company, then that is your inner circle. Your colleagues are also your friends. You go out drinking with them every evening. You develop a second family with them. Say, for instance, you accept a job at another company. You cannot then socialise with your old friends at the old company. You are now out of that circle. It would not be appropriate. I think Tanaka-san would agree with me that in our world, these circles of influence are very important. You stay within your circle, whatever that place is in society. You might be invited to visit another circle, you might be a guest and be entertained by the members of another circle, for business purposes, but you will never be a part of that circle. Do you understand what I mean?”

  “I think so.”

  “McMahon-san was a man who ignored the boundaries of these circles. He stepped over the lines many times. He played the game his way.”

  Bond studied the man’s face. Fujimoto’s eyes were sincere, but Bond could detect a faint hint of animosity. “What is your function as vice president?” he asked.

  “I am in charge of administrative duties,” he said. “I also run the research division.”

  “Doing what?”

  “We are working on new techniques of controlling the spread of various diseases and looking for cures.”

  “Do you work with mosquitoes?”

  Again, Fujimoto inhaled through his teeth. “Not really. We study them, of course, but only for reasons of learning how diseases are transmitted.”

  “When was the last time you saw your niece or any members of her family?”

  Fujimoto was clearly irritated at being questioned, especially by a gaijin. “Like I said, I brought the bonsai waterfall over last Wednesday. A little over a week ago. Only Junko and Shizuka were here. Peter was at the office.”

  “Do you have any idea where Mayumi is?”

  Fujimoto sucked in air through his teeth again. “Saaa … I wish to God that I did. There is no telling what kind of trouble she is in. She was always a mischievous girl. A problem child. Reckless and wild. I hope that the police will locate her soon. I am very worried about her.”

  “I’d like to find her, too,” Bond said. “I want to ask her a few things. After all, she’s the sole inheritor of the family’s shares in CureLab, isn’t she?”

  Fujimoto nodded. “Yes, but I am sure she had nothing to do with this. My niece had not spoken to Mayumi in four years. This has caused my niece much pain. Peter too.”

  “What kind of relationship did they have when Mayumi was younger?”

  “It seemed to be always bad. Mayumi is a very smart girl but she was not a good student in school, she rebelled at an early age. She always fought with her parents and sisters. As long as I can remember. I hate to say this now, but when she ran away from home four years ago, I told my niece that she was better off without her.”

  “How did your niece react to that?”

  “She was very upset. She made me apologise.”

  Bond shifted on the cushion. “What will happen to the company now?”

  “The shareholders will decide the company’s fate,” Fujimoto said with conviction. “If and when Mayumi is found, she will have to deal with selling her share of the stock, I suppose. She knows nothing about the company itself. I can’t imagine that she would want to remain involved. Peter and Junko owned sixty per cent of the stock. I own twenty per cent, so CureLab has always been controlled by the family. The other twenty per cent is owned privately.”

  “Who owns the other twenty per cent?” Bond asked.

  Fujimoto shrugged. “Different private individuals. I suppose I can find out and get you the names?”

  Tanaka asked, “Did not Yonai attempt to buy CureLab?”

  “Yes, they are our biggest rival. Yonai Enterprises has made several bids for a takeover, but Peter always refused to sell. Yonai will want to buy Mayumi’s shares, and that concerns me. I would hate to see CureLab under their thumb.”

  “Why is that?” Bond asked.

  “They use … questionable business practices.”

  “And if Mayumi can’t be found? What will happen?”

  Fujimoto shrugged. “As I am the only other relative and I hold a letter from Mayumi’s parents giving me power of attorney to act in the event of their deaths, I suppose I will continue to run the company. The board has already voted that I will be acting president for now.”

  “And would you sell your stock?”

  Fujimoto reached for his glass of liquor, took a sip, and began to cough violently.

  “Did it go down the wrong pipe?” Tanaka asked.

  Fujimoto nodded as he set down the glass and made an attempt to control his cough. He wiped his damp forehead with a handkerchief and stammered, “Excuse me. Now, what were you asking?”

  “I asked if you would sell your stock,” Bond repeated.

  “My brother built the company from the ground, and I would not want to see it leave the family. Assuming she reappears what Mayumi decides to do with her sixty per cent will have a major impact on what happens to us in the future. If she cannot be found, then I will use the power of attorney to hold on to her stock in the family name. I do not understand why you are asking me all these questions. My niece’s family is dead due to a tragic accident. Why does all this about the company concern you?”

  “Fujimoto-san, we are simply trying to cover all angles,” Tanaka said.

  Bond thought it was time to ask the man the crucial question. “Tell me, why did your brother not leave the company to you? You were with him at the start-up.
Why did he leave it to his only daughter?”

  Fujimoto frowned. He didn’t like that inquiry. “As my brother is no longer with us, I cannot speak for him.”

  Tiger’s mobile rang. He answered it, spoke some quick words, and then rang off.

  “That was Miss Tamura,” he said. “She is in Shinjuku. It’s Mayumi’s old boyfriend, Umeki. He’s dead. Looks like a homicide. We should go.”

  Fujimoto gasped. “How did it happen?”

  “I do not know yet,” Tiger said. He turned to Bond and said, “What did I tell you about that boy?”

  Bond stood and thanked Fujimoto for his time.

  “Please feel free to contact me at any time, day or night,” Fujimoto said. “I would like to help with your investigation as much as possible.”

  Bond thanked him and said, “We’ll be in touch. In the meantime if Mayumi contacts you or you are successful in reaching her, please let us know.”

  “I will.”

  They said their goodbyes, bowed, and left the house. As they got back into the Majesta, Tiger remarked, “I think I know why Hideo Fujimoto left the company to his daughter and not to his brother.”

  “Why is that?” Bond asked.

  “Because Shinji Fujimoto is not a leader. You can see that. He was very nervous, very unsure of himself. He probably drinks too much. It is fairly obvious that his brother had no faith in him.”

  Bond asked Tiger, “You want to know what I think?”

  “What is that, Bondo-san?”

  “I think that Shinji Fujimoto hated his niece’s husband.”

  EIGHT

  YAKUZA TERRITORY

  SHINJUKU IS A MASSIVE COMMERCIAL AND ENTERTAINMENT CENTRE THAT surpasses Times Square, Piccadilly, the Sunset Strip and Las Vegas. One would not have to go much further than here to find nearly everything that makes Tokyo tick. With the highest concentration of skyscrapers in Japan, the country’s busiest rail station, government offices, high-class department stores, discount shopping arcades, theatres, pachinko parlours, restaurants, stand-up noodle bars, hostess clubs, strip clubs, hidden shrines and crowds upon crowds of people, Shinjuku is the place to see and be seen.