She snorted. “I’m surprised that you don’t think I killed him myself! The police detective visited, asking about my whereabouts that day. Ridiculous. Of course I had an alibi.”
“You would never kill with your own two hands. You’d send yakuza thugs to do it.”
Chiyo laughed—a long, nasty cackle. “Little girl, what an imagination you have! I’m just a hardworking entrepreneur. I’m not part of a criminal conspiracy.”
“Gangsters have been spotted here.”
She shrugged. “All my dancers have probably seen the men who come and demand payments from me, just as they take payments from almost all the other entertainment establishments in this neighborhood. Those men are extortionists. If they learn one of the dancers is illegal, they’ll go after him, promising to fix his papers in exchange for a series of fees. They are like jellyfish, sticking their painful tentacles everywhere.”
“Are you current with your payments?” At her blank look, I said, “Are they angry with you for any reason? I was thinking they might have killed Nicky to get a message to you.”
“Absolutely not!” Chiyo cried. “I have a ledger, just like at the bank! Every time I pay, I put my personal stamp, and they put theirs next to it.”
It was like the bank. I couldn’t believe the highly organized nature of things. Changing tactics, I asked, “Has Kunio come back?”
She shook her head. “No. I have many pieces of mail for him. I telephoned his apartment, but it’s disconnected.”
“That is what I found when I called him last week. Why didn’t you give the letters to the police?”
“Why should I? They are interested in Nicky, not Kunio. Would you like to take the mail? I have no use for it.”
Chiyo stuck her feet in marabou-trimmed slippers and shuffled over to a desk. She opened a drawer and held up a box covered with brocade-patterned paper. “This is what you’d like, right?”
“Um, I wouldn’t mind looking at it, but is that …is that legal in Japan?”
She laughed. “You are a very funny girl to worry about the law! Here, take it all. But let me remind you, I’m busy. I don’t want you to come back with questions anymore. You never spoke to me, and you didn’t get mail from me. Understand?”
“I’ll keep it off the record, but I do have one last question, about a young woman called Seiko Hattori. You banned her from this place. Why?”
Chiyo sighed heavily. “She was Nicky’s girlfriend.”
“Really? You’re sure she wasn’t just a friend?” I had suspected that Seiko had strong feelings for Nicky, but because she wasn’t a glamorous-looking young woman, I’d assumed they weren’t reciprocated.
“He treated her miserably while she was here, though she kept looking at him with cow eyes. It was so awful that the rest of the clientele noticed. Being females, that kind of treatment made them angry. It was bad for business. With Seiko gone, Nicky was no longer distracted, and he could perform with his regular charm.”
I picked up the box, which I could see included letters and some returned copies of Showa Story. “Thank you. I don’t know why you’re being so helpful all of a sudden.”
“The police aren’t doing much. I think it’s because they think my boys are lower-class. A gaijin freak wearing a wig and a dress—why shouldn’t he die? Our country is better off without foreign boys who play at manga during the day and corrupt Japanese women at night,” Chiyo said in a low, intense voice. “I care about my business, and I care about my boys. Less than two years ago, as you mentioned, you interfered in my business. But because of what you did, you saved one of my hostesses’ lives. I won’t forget that.”
“Thank you again,” I said, stunned by Chiyo’s words and the tears she was wiping away with her pudgy fist. “Do you, um, see that particular hostess anymore?”
“Tonight,” Chiyo said. “She’s got a good job now, and she’s bringing in some of her girlfriends from work to see the show. She says it’s nice to have men catering to her after all those years of waiting on them.”
“Tell her hello from me,” I said.
“I will. Can you see yourself out? One of my boys can carry the box for you if you need help.”
“It’s not heavy,” I said, giving her a little wave as I left the office.
Chapter Twenty-two
The phone was ringing when I made it to my apartment, via taxi, as I’d promised Tom. It turned out that he was on the line.
“Rei, you’re finally answering. I was worried about you,” Tom said.
“I just got in.”
“What? It took two hours for you to get from the hospital to home?”
“I asked the taxi to make a detour. I thought it best to pick up some supplies I needed so that I would able to relax at home for the evening.”
“Ah so—” As Tom spoke, a harsh beeping sound interrupted. “Sorry, I’m being paged now. I’ll have to speak to you later.”
After hanging up, I took a bath and washed down an ibuprofen tablet with a glass of milk. I still had no intention of taking the Valium; I wanted all my faculties intact.
I spread the letters into piles. First came three copies of Showa Story that the post office had been unable to deliver. I tried to scan the addresses of the places the magazine had gone, but there was a postman’s stamp over the lettering. The back issues were all of the same issue, the first one I’d picked up at Animagine.
There was a letter from an art supply company, a letter from a cleaning company, a letter from an insurance company—all were standard junk mail. There was only one letter with a hand- addressed envelope. It was in a red-and-white striped envelope that looked familiar.
Hattori Copy Shop. Oh, my goodness, I thought. It seemed as it Seiko had written Kunio a letter.
Tired as I was, I rifled through the bag that had carried my photocopies made at the shop and found my receipt. Sure enough, it had the shop’s phone number printed on it.
I dialed and was relieved when a female voice answered.
“Seiko-san?” I asked.
“No, this is her mother. Who’s calling, please?” The woman on the other end sounded tired but not unfriendly.
“I’m a casual acquaintance. I have something that belongs to her that I wish to return.”
“She’ll be in the shop starting at ten tomorrow morning. You can speak to her then.”
“I really need to speak to her tonight—“
“She’ll be in tomorrow,” Mrs. Hattori said, and hung up.
I stared at the letter. How I itched to open it. But I knew doing that was against the law in the United States, and probably in Japan as well. I couldn’t use information I’d gathered illegally in my article. On the other hand, if Seiko had sent the letter, wouldn’t she have the right to open it?
She’d said that she didn’t like Kunio very much. Was that the reason she had written to him? Because she couldn’t stand to have personal contact?
I held the letter to the light and tried to sense what was inside the thin envelope. It seemed like a very light piece of paper. There was obviously no contraband inside: just a communication.
I didn’t think I’d be able to sleep with such a worry on my mind, but eventually did, although in the morning I felt terrible. The fall down the stairs was beginning to show its effects—a line of bright bruises down my back, my buttocks, one arm and leg. I also had a bruise on my jaw where the man had hit me. I thought for a minute about taking the Valium Tom had prescribed, then dismissed that thought. I needed to be sharp to handle what was ahead.
I put on a pair of light cotton shorts and a T-shirt by habit, then realized I was too achy to jog. So I made myself a pot of tea, and once I was fortified, I placed a telephone call to the stationmaster’s office at Kasumigaseki to ask whether any progress had been made on tracking down the man who’d hit me.
“Are you the lady who fell down the stairs?”
“It wasn’t exactly a fall. An assailant pushed me.”
“Nobody saw any
such person of the type you are describing. We have on record that a lady called Rei Shimura wore unsafe shoes and slipped and fell.”
“Well, then,” I said, feeling bitter, “maybe I should report my shoes.”
The station’s information clerk didn’t rise to my bait. He said stiffly, ‘The Metropolitan Police were here yesterday, and they agreed that there was no evidence of a crime committed.”
“It happened to me. I know.”
The employee made another grunt and hung up on me.
I was in a cranky mood as I dialed Lieutenant Hata. It was just eight o’clock, and he was in the office but not available to come to the phone. I grumbled a little bit about important information that I had, and the secretary promised to have him return my call.
After that, I covered my tea table with piles of all the materials I had for the article. On one side was a stack of Showa Story issues and Takeo’s translations. On the other side I had the notes taken from interviews. In the center was Seiko’s letter to Kunio.
I stared at it so long that my eyes started to blur. I looked up at last when I heard a noise outside my door. It was a knock.
“Who’s there?” I called before touching any of my bolts.
“Alec and Rika,” came the answer in Rika Fuchida’s chirpy voice. I looked at my watch again. Yes, it was only 8:15 a.m. Alec Tampole and Rika Fuchida, together? Coming to my place?
I opened the door cautiously and peered out at them.
“Aren’t you going to let us in?” Alec asked.
I looked coldly at him. “Just wait a minute. I’ll get my things and we can sit outside.”
“Whoa! Who’re you hiding in there? The bloke who punched your lights out?” Alec bellowed.
“Rei-san, are you all right? Your face!” Rika chorused.
“No, I’m not all right. I had an accident at the subway station yesterday.” I was shocked to hear what came out of me. I was saying “accident,” just as the stationmaster had, all because I wanted to divert attention from myself.
I turned to search for my house keys, since I intended to lock the door while I was outside, and in that time Alec walked straight into the apartment, with Rika behind him.
“Oh, what a nice place, Rei!” Rika said. “The decoration is extraordinary! Alec-san, please learn from Rei how to improve your living room. That is an interesting texture, Rei-san. Is it regular paint?”
“It’s glazed,” I said, feeling the same. So Rika had been to Alec’s apartment. They were together at eight-fifteen in the morning. Yes, they had to be sleeping together, and they obviously didn’t care to keep it secret. Alec was in a fresh Chemical Brothers T-shirt, but Rika was wearing the exact outfit from yesterday—the Belldandy T-shirt over jeans. Her hair was no longer in a little-girl topknot but flowed freely down her shoulders. It was damp, as if it had been washed just an hour or so earlier.
How long has it been going on? I wondered as I opened a few windows, knowing that once they were in, there was little point in shoving them out. I was opening the windows as a precaution, recalling how well sound traveled. I’d scream if they made a move to attack me. I still was worried that Alec might have been the one who hit me at Kasumigaseki Station.
Rika settled down on the cushions by the tea table, gazing pointedly at the still-hot teapot. “What kind of tea is that?”
“Darjeeling,” I said sourly, and banged down two teacups from my kitchenette.
“Milk and sugar for me, love,” Alec said. His eyes were going over the papers I’d laid out on the table. “Glad to see that you’re working on the story. I was a bit worried it was all show and no go.”
“If you’re so worried, why didn’t you volunteer to help with the reporting yesterday?” I shot back.
“Please remember I’m an editor, not a writer. Kind of like I’m a lover, not a fighter,” Alec said with a laugh.
“Does Mr. Sanno know how much of a lover boy you are?” I asked pointedly.
“This is Japan. Sexual harassment—seku hara, as they call it—is just another form of foreplay. Right, Rika-chan?”
“Shh, Alec-san. Don’t talk in a naughty way,” Rika said. She had begun leafing through the materials on the table.
“Let’s go over to the window seat and have the tea there, so there’s no danger of spillage,” I said, feeling an overwhelming sense of shame and sorrow for Rika. The position she was in with Alec was intolerable, but to her, it was probably a step up. The next man on her to-do list could be Mr. Sanno.
“What is this letter addressed to Kunio?” Rika held aloft the letter that I’d been trying to decide whether to open.
“Well, yes, it is a letter to Kunio. If I get in touch with him, I’ll give it to him—”
“Let’s open it first.” Rika slit open the end of the envelope before I could stop her. “Ah, here. . . ” She pulled out a thin piece of stationery. “Oh, well, it’s not much. Just a bill.”
I lost my temper then. “Who told you that you could open that letter? Put it down this minute!”
“It’s for paper and photocopying. Twenty-five thousand yen, billable to Kunio Takahashi and Nicky Larsen from Hattori Copy Shop. Oh, how boring. I thought it would be something exciting. A letter from the murderer!” Rika tossed aside the letter.
“Do you realize you could be breaking the law, opening someone’s mail like that?” I asked.
“Who’s going to report me?” Rika asked.
Alec snorted. “You’re not much of a reporter, are you?”
I took a few deep breaths. “Maybe not. In fact, because you have no faith in me, I may as well turn over all my research to the Tokyo Metropolitan Police.”
“Come on, give us a laugh!” Alec offered one of his own. “You and Rika are going to scoop this story, not give it up to the authorities.”
“Unless you leave my apartment this instant, I will!”
The phone rang then. Beautiful. For once I wasn’t hoping for Kunio or Takeo or Seiko on the line. I picked up and said, “Hello?”
“It’s Hata here.” My lieutenant friend sounded out of breath. “Sorry I had to call you back. We were doing morning exercises.”
“Lieutenant Hata. How good to hear your voice,” I said loudly in English, looking straight at Alec and Rika.
“You’re just faking,” Alec sneered.
“Do you want to speak to him yourself?” I asked Alec.
“What’s going on, Shimura-san? Are you safe?” Lieutenant Hata asked.
“I’m quite safe, Lieutenant. Just a minute, please.” I put my hand over the receiver and said to Alec and Rika, “If you don’t leave, I’m telling him everything.”
Rika and Alec exchanged glances.
“We’re going to be late if we don’t leave now,” Rika said, offering a face-saving excuse.
“Righto. But we’ll be speaking soon about the story, won’t we, Rei? Ta.” Alec didn’t bother to close the door on his way out.
“Sorry, Lieutenant. I had some unwelcome visitors.” I sighed gustily.
“I must apologize to you, Shimura-san. You were correct about the identity of the man who was found dead in the river. Maybe you already heard about the identification in the newspaper?”
“Yes indeed,” I said.
“What do you want to tell me? I heard you saying something to your guests. Are they gone?”
“Yes, but can you tell me something first? How’s the investigation going?”
“We are still examining clues taken from the scene,” Lieutenant Hata said. “I would like to hear more from you about why you thought you knew the victim in the first place.”
Cagily I answered, “I met Nicky Larsen when I paid a visit to a bar in Shinjuku called Show a Boy.”
“You go to places like that?” Lieutenant Hata sounded stunned.
“It was for something I’m writing,” I said. “So I saw Nicky on a Saturday night, and then I saw him on Monday morning, the day he was killed. That time I knocked on his apartment door by ac
cident, because I was really looking for a neighbor. I wanted to interview his neighbor for my art and antiques feature in the Gaijin Times.”
“Yes, yes. I know you write for them. What was the exact time of your meeting? I should really have you down to the station for questioning.”
Things were going a bit faster than I’d wanted. I said, “I saw him at ten a.m. Getting back to what I’ve been trying to tell you, I am working on a project that relates loosely to Nicky and, more principally, his missing neighbor, Kunio Takahashi. I’ve left messages for Mr. Takahashi everywhere, and the only thing that’s come of it is that I was attacked yesterday in Kasumigaseki Station.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this first?” Lieutenant Hata flared. “My goodness, what happened? Are you all right?”
“Well, I wasn’t pick-pocketed or groped or anything you’d expect to suffer at a criminal’s hands in a train station. I’d just exited the train, and when I was walking up the steps to transfer to another line, a man a few steps ahead of me called my name before hitting me in the face. I fell down a flight of stairs before someone caught me.”
“Why is there no police report?” Hata said. “Didn’t you tell the stationmaster to call us?”
“The stationmaster said the Metropolitan Police heard the story and decided that it was an accident.”
“We must get the testimony of the person on the steps who caught you,” Hata said. “I don’t suppose you have his name?”
“Her name,” I corrected. “Seiko Hattori said that she was aware of other people on the staircase but hadn’t noticed a particular man who hit me.”
“I wonder if it was yakuza,” Hata muttered. “Did he look like a thug?”
“I wish I could tell you what the guy looked like, but I’m thinking he was just a typical man. Dark hair, medium height—I know a million guys like that.”
Among them, Alec Tampole and Mr. Hattori. I’d have to ask someone who knew Kunio Takahashi about his height.
“What about age? Couldn’t you tell from his face?”
“He’d disguised it. He was wearing a little nose-and-mouth mask, the type people wear when they have allergies and colds. But his eyes—it’s a blank. I keep thinking of the color black.“
The Floating Girl: A Rei Shimura Mystery (Rei Shimura Mystery #4) Page 18