“Thank you for coming on short notice,” she said, in lightly accented English. “Please come with me.”
She led the way back through the secure door, past a warren of hectic cubicles where phones rang and printers whirred. On the far side, she led him into a small meeting room with a table and four chairs. She gestured to one side of the table and sat opposite, in front of a single file folder. Its bottom edge was perfectly parallel with the edge of the table. Kobayashi was all business as she opened the file and carefully pulled out a document with Japanese text on one side and English on the other. Charlie made out the English title before she had begun to speak: Police Report — Foreign National.
“I regret to inform you that we believe a Canadian national was found dead early this morning in the Roppongi Hills prefecture.” She paused, then pulled out some more papers from the folder and slid them across the table for Charlie to see. They were photocopies of Mike Seger’s passport. “I also understand that you knew the man we consider to be the deceased,” she continued. “Again, I am very sorry.”
Charlie looked at the photocopied passport picture, which showed a much more serious version of the man he had briefly known. It occurred to him that he had just spoken with Seger yesterday, and now he was dead. “I didn’t know him well,” he said. “We met a few days ago, in connection with a consular case I’ve been working on.”
Kobayashi nodded. “I understand that you are prepared to make a formal identification of the body?”
Charlie nodded. He hadn’t been anywhere near a dead body up until a few years ago — a definitely unexpected and unwelcome part of his job with Foreign Affairs — but he was far from used to the idea and, whatever his recent experience, it didn’t make the prospect of viewing Seger’s corpse any more palatable. “Can I ask what happened? I mean, how did he die?”
“We were waiting to contact you before conducting any examinations, but we suspect … a possible non-accidental death.”
“Can you be more specific?” Charlie asked, wondering what the hell a possible non-accidental death looked like.
“He was found in an alley in a part of Roppongi where assaults and other crimes are not uncommon. He had no wallet, phone or … jewellery.”
“What did he die of?”
“Again, without the results of any examin …” She paused, seeing his plaintive expression and abandoning the stock response. “He had a wound to his head — it might have been fatal.”
She let him digest the information, then pulled out another set of papers and set them in front of him. “If you can please sign these, I can take you to do the identification.”
He glanced at the forms and then looked back at her. She had the same, stoic expression on her face, but her eyes were softer — more empathetic, somehow. He picked up the pen and signed the forms in triplicate. “Where is he?”
“Downstairs. I can try to answer some of your questions when we’re done. Please, follow me.”
Charlie sat at the table in the cafeteria, the disturbing image of Mike Seger’s lifeless body still fresh in his mind. The bruising on his face was consistent with Inspector Kobayashi’s theory that he had been mugged, though whether his attackers had intended to kill him was less than clear. Charlie had only known Seger for a couple of days, but his death was no less unsettling. He looked up to see Kobayashi standing by the table. She had set a cup of coffee down in front of him and seemed to be waiting for his permission to sit.
“Thank you.” He gestured to the chair opposite him.
“It is always an unpleasant task,” she said as he sipped at the aromatic coffee. “But we are grateful for your co-operation.”
He nodded, wondering how the Japanese bureaucracy would respond if no one had been available to identify Seger’s body. Not well, he thought, considering the number of forms he had filled out after the identification was done. “So, do you normally handle liaison on consular files?”
Kobayashi nodded. “In some cases. I will be happy to assist you with the medical examiner’s office if you decide to request an autopsy, and with the release of the body, once you have been in touch with the family.”
Charlie considered the prospect of finding and contacting Seger’s family back in Canada. It was bad enough in Lepage’s case, having to deliver news that a loved one was in hospital. Suddenly, that sounded like good news. “How long do I have?”
“We will hold the body for as long as is necessary, Mr. Hillier.”
“Call me Charlie, please.” He noticed her awkward smile. “And what about the results of the blood tests, and any other preliminary medical findings?”
Kobayashi’s face returned to its default setting of pure business. “I will let you know as soon as possible, of course. Tomorrow, we may have some preliminary results, I think.”
Charlie nodded and sipped at his coffee. “Your English is very good.”
“Thank you,” she said, with another demure smile and a slight bow of her head. “I studied English literature at university, and also spent a year in Australia.”
“Well, it was obviously time well spent. I have a feeling my Japanese won’t be anywhere near as good as your English after a year here.”
“I’m sure you are being modest.”
He laughed, and noticed a slight grin on her otherwise impassive face that made him wonder if she was pulling his leg. The truth was, he spoke mostly English at the embassy and the best he could realistically hope for was to stumble through those occasions when he had no choice but to speak Japanese.
“Tell me something,” he said, taking advantage of the moment of levity. “Do you think Seger was murdered?”
She frowned and spoke after a short pause. “I think it is too early to tell. Perhaps when the preliminary medical results are back, we will have a better idea.”
“But you have a hunch.” It was a statement, not a question, and it was based not on the bruises on Seger’s face or any of the other information he had learned. There was something in Kobayashi’s hesitation that told him she knew.
She seemed to weigh her response.
“How well did you know Mr. Seger?” she finally asked.
“Like I said, I just met him a few days ago, and I barely scratched the surface, if you know what I mean. Why do you ask?”
“He was found in an area where there is a great deal of prostitution.”
Charlie considered the information and, somehow, was not surprised. It certainly didn’t seem beyond the realm of possibility to imagine Seger in a strip club or a brothel.
“Murders are not common, but assaults are,” Kobayashi continued.
“You mean it might have been an assault that accidentally went too far?”
“Let’s talk again tomorrow, when the results are in,” she said. “We shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”
“Good advice,” he said, draining his coffee. “In the meantime, I’ll make some calls and see if I can locate his next of kin.”
“Until tomorrow then?”
Charlie stood and bowed. “Thank you, Inspector, you’ve been very helpful.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hill—”
“Charlie, please,” he said, with a smile.
“Very well, Charlie.”
CHAPTER 9
Charlie got out of the embassy car in the underground drop-off point under Mori Tower, a sleek fifty-five-storey office building in Roppongi. He took the escalator up to the main level, noticing that the lineup was just as long at a Japanese Starbucks as anywhere else in the world as he inhaled the smell of freshly ground coffee beans. He promised himself a pit stop on the way out. Making his way over to the reception counter, he pulled out his passport.
“I have a meeting with Nippon Kasuga,” he said, pulling up the meeting notice on his BlackBerry and searching for the name of the person he was to meet. “Mr. Etsuro Mashida.”
“Passport, please.” The young woman behind the counter tapped some efficient keystrokes before glancing at his passport and
ultimately producing a visitor’s badge. “Floor thirty-seven,” she said, handing him the badge and pointing to the bank of elevators beyond the security gates.
“Thanks.” He clipped the badge onto his jacket and walked through the guarded entrance and into a crowded elevator. He glanced at his watch and realized he was a few minutes early. Stepping out onto thirty-seven, he was greeted by another receptionist and offered a seat in one of the many soft leather chairs in the large reception area, the decor suggesting that Nippon Kasuga was doing just fine. Two men in the ubiquitous dark suit and white shirt ensemble sat on the other side of the room, the younger one immersed in his phone, while the other, who looked to be in his sixties and wore a pale-blue tie, read a newspaper.
Charlie turned his attention to the table in front of him, glancing at the firm’s brochure. He had done some online research on Nippon Kasuga, and from what he could tell they were an established securities firm that had been around for about fifteen years before being gobbled up five years ago by a larger competitor. They had retained the smaller company’s name in the merger though, which was listed on the Nikkei. It was also a member of a number of Japanese, Asia-Pacific, and International financial associations. Cliff Redford had said something about Japanese business culture being all about the facade, and the fact that a firm hadn’t been caught at something didn’t mean they were squeaky clean. Not that Charlie had any reason to believe something was amiss with Nippon Kasuga, though he did find it odd that they seemed to be completely disinterested in the fate of one of their employees, or contractors — or whatever it was that Rob Lepage was to them. He looked up as a man in his early forties came around the corner and made his way to where Charlie was sitting.
“Mr. Hillier?”
Charlie smiled and got up. “Mr. Mashida?”
“Yes. Welcome.” Mashida bowed and produced a business card. Charlie accepted, and this time he was ready with his own to exchange after a quick bow. All in all, his delivery was pretty good, and he silently congratulated himself for his improving form.
“Please,” Mashida said, leading the way back past reception, along a rounded hallway, and past a series of occupied meeting rooms. At the fourth door, Mashida opened it and led him into a small meeting room with a spectacular view of Roppongi and the northwestern sprawl of Tokyo beyond.
“Great view,” Charlie commented, as Mashida followed his gaze. He wasn’t sure about his geography, but he thought the mountain in the distance looked familiar.
“Mount Fuji,” Mashida said, confirming Charlie’s suspicion. “We can only see it on a clear day. Today, you are in luck.” He pointed out some landmarks and then they made their way over to the table, exchanging pleasantries for a few minutes before Charlie decided to get to the subject of the meeting. He always felt that his transition from banter to business was awkward and wondered whether he came across as blunt to his Japanese host. If he did, Mashida gave no indication.
“I wanted to talk to you about Rob Lepage.”
Mashida nodded. “Of course. It was a tragic accident, but I am very glad to hear that Mr. Lepage will make a full recovery.”
“Well that’s certainly what we’re hoping for,” Charlie said, wondering if Mashida knew something he didn’t. Dr. Yamaguchi had certainly been optimistic about Lepage’s recovery, but the fact remained that the young banker didn’t even know his own name. “I understand you sponsored him, for immigration purposes, so I assume he was working for your company?”
Mashida smiled, but there was something in his expression that betrayed a discomfort with the topic. “Mr. Lepage is what we call a foreign consultant. He was brought in because of his specialized expertise.”
“And I understand he’d been working with Nippon Kasuga since coming to Tokyo about four months ago?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“Do you mind me asking what his specific expertise is?” Charlie watched for a reaction, but this time, Mashida gave nothing away.
“North American markets, and financial systems, mostly.”
It sounded a bit vague to Charlie. Then again, he knew next to nothing about global finance. “And how long is he expected to stay in Tokyo, assuming he makes a full recovery?”
Mashida shifted slightly in his chair. “He was to be here for a year, initially. After that, it would depend on finding a mutually agreeable arrangement.”
Charlie went through some more questions about Lepage’s work, some of which Mashida clearly didn’t want to get into, citing client confidentiality. As for the rest, Charlie got similarly vague answers, but whether it was his own lack of understanding of securities practice or an attempt by Mashida to be deliberately obtuse, he wasn’t sure.
“Do you know what he was doing on the evening of the accident?”
Mashida shook his head. “I understand he was on his own time. We don’t interest ourselves with our employees’ activities outside the workplace.”
“I just wondered if you knew any of the details about the accident, or the events leading up to it. Have the police spoken to you?”
Mashida seemed to recoil at the thought. “Why would they?”
Charlie shrugged. “Just to try to get a sense of what happened. It seems as though no one has much information about the accident.”
“Not unusual in the case of accidents, Mr. Hillier.”
Charlie smiled. “No, I suppose not.” He noticed Mashida glancing at his watch and figured he was running out of time. “Do you know another Canadian named Michael Seger?”
Mashida shook his head. “I don’t know this name — Seger. In what way is this person connected to Mr. Lepage?”
“He’s a friend of Mr. Lepage’s.” Charlie decided to omit the fact that he was lying on a slab in the morgue, most likely as a result of foul play. He pulled out a photocopy of Seger’s passport picture and put it on the table. “He visited him in the hospital.”
Mashida barely glanced at the picture before shaking his head. “I have never seen this man before.”
“Just a long shot,” Charlie said with a smile, tucking the picture back into his pocket.
Mashida gave a little shrug and Charlie proceeded to ask a few more questions about Nippon Kasuga’s work and Lepage’s prospects when his recovery was complete.
“We hope he will return very soon,” Mashida said. “Until then, we will continue to cover all costs related to his medical care,” he made a point of adding.
“That’s good of you,” Charlie said, though he wasn’t sure if it represented anything above and beyond standard practice for any Japanese employer. “I want to thank you for your time today.”
Mashida stood and led him back out to reception, where they parted ways with a formal bow. As he rode the elevator back down, Charlie reflected on the meeting. He hadn’t learned much, other than getting confirmation that Lepage worked in a world that was very foreign to Charlie, and the fact that Mashida didn’t know Seger, which was no surprise. All in all, it had been a necessary but largely fruitless exchange. Maybe Kobayashi would get back to him soon about the results of the preliminary medical examination on Seger’s body. He was back at lobby level, on his way down the escalator to fulfill his promise to himself to pick up an aromatic coffee, when his phone went off. He saw a local number and hit accept call.
“I’m very sorry to disturb you, Mr. Hillier.”
Charlie recognized the voice at once. “Inspector Kobayashi? You’re not disturbing me at all. What can I do for you?”
“I have some results that may be of interest to you, regarding Mr. Seger.”
Charlie considered his schedule and quickly dismissed the administrative meeting at eleven. This was far more important. “I’m just leaving Roppongi now. Do you want me to meet you at your headquarters?”
“If it is convenient for you, then yes.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“I will leave your name at the entrance.”
Charlie hung up the phone a
nd kept walking past the Starbucks. He had detected a difference in Kobayashi’s tone since yesterday. Excitement was too strong a word, but the reserve in her voice had failed to conceal a heightened interest.
Charlie hustled up the steps of Kasumigaseki Station and set off north toward the police headquarters building, wondering what news Kobabyashi had to deliver. He didn’t have to wait long, as she was waiting for him as he came through the general reception area.
“Thank you for coming,” she said with the usual bow. Charlie reciprocated and followed her through the secure doors. This time, though, instead of taking the elevators up to the homicide department, she led him to a little meeting room on the main floor, just down the hall from general reception. She had the same thin file folder under her arm as she shut the door behind them.
“So you got some results from the medical examination?”
She nodded and took out a sheet of paper that looked like a lab report, or would except for the Japanese text that was illegible to Charlie. “There was a considerable amount of alcohol in Mr. Seger’s system,” she began, which didn’t sound surprising to Charlie. From what he had heard of nightlife in Roppongi, it was almost expected. And Seger’s weathered features and gravelly voice, tinged by years of cigarette smoke, had given the impression of someone who enjoyed life and all of its vices. He was a big guy, though, and didn’t seem the type not to be able to hold his liquor.
“How considerable?”
Kobayashi glanced at the lab results. “Point one three percent blood alcohol.”
“Hmm,” Charlie said. It was almost twice the legal limit in Canada for driving, but for a practiced drinker like Seger, not so much as to be disabling. Something in Kobayashi’s expression told him there was more, though. He looked at her and waited for her to continue.
“There was something else in his blood, traces of flunitrazepam.”
Charlie frowned. “What’s that?”
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