Redford gave a commanding wave. “A couple of months in Tokyo and you won’t notice them, either.”
They chatted for a while, and after the waitress had taken their order, Redford turned his attention to his phone, looking up after a few seconds and fixing Charlie with a broad grin.
“What?” Charlie took a sip of his water as Redford continued to smirk.
“This is perfect,” Redford began. “A board of trade–type dinner next week, and it just occurred to me that it might be a good opportunity for you to meet some of the expat crowd. It’s a mix of locals and expats — mostly Yanks and Brits, but some Aussies and Kiwis sprinkled in for good measure. There’s usually the odd Canadian there as well.”
“Why do I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me?”
Redford scowled. “Now don’t be like that. You said you needed to get out and meet some people — have a little fun,” he said as the server returned with his gin and tonic. Redford then pulled out a gold lighter and a pack of cigarettes, shaking one out. “You mind?”
Charlie shook his head.
“I think you said I needed to get out and have some fun, actually.”
“Hmm.” Redford exhaled a thick cloud of aromatic smoke above the table — an act that would lead to a public flogging in Canada.
“What’s with the smoking thing in Japan?” Charlie asked. “I see No Smoking signs all over the sidewalks, and no one seems to smoke outside, yet the coffee shops and restaurants are full of smokers. I don’t get it.”
Redford laughed. “Let’s just say the tobacco lobby here is strong. I figure the diehards like me have got a few more years to puff in peace before the health nuts take over. Until then, I intend to enjoy it.” He took another long drag of the cigarette and chased it with a sip of the fragrant coffee.
“So, you talked to Rob last night?” Charlie asked.
“I told you not to get all worked up about him. He was just making up for being bedridden for a week. Although,” Redford said with his trademark grin, “he might have been right back in the sheets with the lovely Ms. Kimura.”
“He says they’re on the outs.” Charlie hoped it was true.
“Too bad.”
“He sounded okay to you?”
Redford shrugged. “How’s he supposed to sound?”
Charlie smiled and took a sip of his water. Maybe Redford was right. Maybe he should worry less about Lepage and more about his own situation. And why shouldn’t he go to the dinner next week? What the hell was his problem? A fleeting and incongruous image of Kobayashi on a Cuban beach passed before his eyes. He reminded himself that was a just a dream.
“Charlie?”
He looked up and realized he had been having an internal debate with himself while Redford smoked his cigarette.
“I was just thinking you’re probably right, that maybe I’m making a mountain out of a molehill with Lepage.”
“Good. Now, let’s get onto more important stuff,” Redford said, crushing the last of his cigarette in the ashtray and rubbing his hands together. “Like all the unattached women who’ll be at this dinner.”
Charlie couldn’t help but laugh, seeing how much Redford was enjoying his role as matchmaker. He had no intention of going to the dinner, but he didn’t have to heart to ruin Redford’s plan. “I’ll think about it, okay?”
It was almost six by the time Charlie made it to the hospital, due to an impromptu consular team meeting called by Louis Denault, the purpose of which wasn’t entirely clear, though Charlie had the sense that part of Denault’s intention was to keep tabs on him. He had mentioned the RCMP report on Seger twice, and a few of his comments suggested that he knew Westwood had met with Charlie in his absence, something Denault was sure to not easily forgive or forget.
Maybe I’m overthinking it, Charlie had considered. He had shared his concerns with Karen Fraser after the meeting and learned from her that Denault had been called back to Ottawa for meetings on HR reform, and that the meeting likely had more to do with that than anything else. She seemed more worried about the Department’s ever more aggressive trend toward shrinking the Foreign Service.
Charlie put all that out of his mind as he rode the elevator up to the fourth floor and made his way to Yamaguchi’s office. He thought he might have missed the neurologist after he arrived outside his office and saw Yamaguchi’s assistant’s empty chair. He was instinctively glancing at his watch when he spotted Yamaguchi rounding the corner, his eyes focused on the document he was holding in front of him as he walked. He looked up and saw Charlie standing there and his face lit up with his usual smile.
“Charlie. How are you?”
“I thought I might have missed you.”
Yamaguchi gave him a puzzled look, as though to suggest the improbability of any self-respecting Japanese professional — let alone a neurologist — missing a scheduled meeting. “Come,” he said, leading the way into his office, flicking on the lights and gesturing to one of the chairs opposite his spotless desk. He flipped the cover back on the report he was reading and dropped the folder on his desk, then sat in his chair.
“I heard Rob came by for some tests today?”
Yamaguchi nodded. “I told him he had to check in more regularly,” he added, with his lips slightly pursed.
“I said the same. Cliff was the only one who wasn’t worried.”
Yamaguchi laughed at that. “Ah, Redford-san. Worry is not something that comes to him naturally.”
“So, how was he? Rob, I mean.”
Yamaguchi stripped off his glasses and set them gently on top of the file folder, which sat squarely in the middle of his desk blotter. “His test results show improvement, all within the normal range.”
Charlie smiled. “Well, that’s good news.”
“Yes.” Yamaguchi’s slow and unconvincing nod suggested something else was on his mind.
“What is it?”
“When you spoke to Mr. Lepage yesterday, how did he seem to be adapting to life outside the hospital?”
Charlie shrugged his shoulders. “Fine, I guess. Why do you ask?”
“Some of his responses to the questionnaire were … inconsistent with his test results.”
Charlie frowned. “What do you mean, inconsistent?”
Yamaguchi seemed almost reluctant to say more, preferring to look at Charlie for a moment before continuing. “Retrograde amnesia recovery patterns are not always … precise, but there are general principles.”
“And you don’t think he’s following the pattern?”
Yamaguchi opened the file folder on his desk and flipped to the back of the pile of documents inside, plucking out a sheet of paper. “I did a full set of tests when he first came out of the coma, which included a questionnaire designed to assess what he could remember from before the accident.” He paused and tapped the top page in the folder. “I compared his responses then to his answers to yesterday’s assessment.”
“And?”
“Some are consistent, some are not.” Charlie tried to get his head around what Yamaguchi was saying, and wished he would cut to the chase. His frustration must have been apparent. “What I mean,” Yamaguchi continued, “Is that Mr. Lepage’s responses yesterday suggest reduced recall over a time period that seemed to be unaffected based on the initial assessment.”
“You mean he’s saying he can no longer remember things that he originally could?”
Yamaguchi nodded. “Precisely.”
“I take it that’s not normal?”
“The neurological test results all indicate recovery, not regression,” Yamaguchi replied, frowning. “and as I said at the beginning, it is generally inconsistent with usual recovery patterns for retrograde amnesia.”
They both sat in silence for a moment as Charlie digested the information. He leaned forward in his chair. “So what could explain this inconsistency?”
Yamaguchi shrugged. “I have no explanation.”
“But there must be possibil
ities.”
“I suppose he could have mistakenly reported his recollections in the first assessment, but that seems unlikely, given that his answers were quite specific.”
There was a pregnant pause as Yamaguchi visibly held back, waiting for Charlie to prompt him to spit out the words.
“Or?”
“Or he is not accurately reporting now.”
“You mean he’s lying, or faking an ongoing memory loss that no longer exists?”
Yamaguchi was clearly uncomfortable with the directness of Charlie’s choice of words and waved a warning hand. “I don’t like to suggest that a patient is lying. He has been through a very traumatic experience and we are dealing with the brain, after all. There is always an exception to every rule.”
“Of course,” Charlie said, though he was sure Yamaguchi didn’t believe his own words. In his indirect way — the Japanese way — the doctor had told him all he needed to know. He had to remember the cultural discomfort with confrontation and directness. “So where do we go from here — with his treatment, I mean?”
“His medical condition is excellent, and as I said, from a neurological perspective, he appears to be on his way to making a full recovery. I’ll give him a final assessment in a few days, after which he can be unconditionally released.”
“Well, that’s good,” Charlie said, to conceal his internal turmoil. He felt like he had to get out of the confined office. “Thanks for your time today, and let me know if there’s anything I can do,” he added, getting up to leave. Yamaguchi walked around his desk and followed him to the door.
“Will you see him this evening?” he asked.
“I wasn’t planning on it. He’s supposed to check in by phone.”
Yamaguchi frowned. “Perhaps you should visit him, if you can.”
“Perhaps I should.” Charlie nodded and gave a bow before stepping into the hallway.
He rode the elevator down to the ground floor in silence, his mind spinning with all the possible reasons why Lepage would lie to his neurologist about his recovery. Could he know more about his girlfriend’s involvement with organized crime than he was letting on? And what about Mike Seger? Had Lepage known him well? Did he know why his supposed childhood friend had ended up dead in a Roppongi alley? Yamaguchi was definitely suspicious, and so was Charlie. What did he really know about Rob Lepage? Had he been lying to them both all along?
Charlie checked his watch as he stepped onto the sidewalk and pulled up the collar of his jacket against the cool night air. Walking toward the Metro station, he pulled out his phone and dialed Lepage’s number, letting it ring a dozen times with no answer and no service to leave a message with. He put the phone away and pulled out his wallet, searching for a Metro ticket and pausing as he caught sight of a plain, white plastic card — the key to Lepage’s apartment that Charlie hadn’t gotten around to returning. He stood there on the sidewalk for a moment, staring at the card as the crowd flowed around him toward the station. Then he made up his mind and set off.
CHAPTER 23
Charlie got off the elevator on the sixth floor and looked both ways before setting off in the direction of Lepage’s apartment. He was half expecting Elizabeth Farnsworth to poke her head out from further down the hall as he reached Lepage’s door and rang the bell. He waited a few seconds, then rapped lightly and waited until he felt certain Lepage wasn’t there. Sliding the key into the lock, it occurred to him that he was technically breaking the law from this point on. At least he would be in Canada, and he assumed the Japanese authorities equally frowned on unauthorized entry.
Once inside, he shut the door and leaned his back against it, surveying the dimly lit apartment. It seemed a little more lived-in than the last time he had been there, and for a moment he had a horrible thought that perhaps Lepage was sleeping, or in bed with Kimura, and hadn’t heard the door. He considered calling out Lepage’s name, but realized he had no plausible explanation for how he came to be inside the man’s apartment. He decided to stop worrying and get on with it, so he could get out again as soon as possible.
He went straight to the master bedroom, being the farthest point in the apartment, and after confirming that it was indeed empty, he did a quick search of the dresser, night table, and closet, finding nothing of interest. He did a quick scan of the ensuite and medicine cabinet, before moving on to the next room, where Lepage had set up his study, and where Charlie had found the novelty pen on his last visit. He resisted the temptation to turn on the lights and sat at the chair in front of the desk, where Lepage’s monitor displayed a snowy mountain scene that looked like the Rockies. He didn’t even try to search the computer, focusing instead on the files on the little desktop rack, which hadn’t been there the last time around. A quick search revealed that they were nothing more than his discharge papers and some correspondence from an insurance company about Lepage’s wrecked Nissan. He put the files back and slid open the top drawer of the desk, freezing at what he saw. Sitting on top of a bright-yellow legal pad was a handgun. He sat staring at it for a moment, plucking a tissue from the box on the desktop and using it to move the gun aside as he looked through the rest of the drawer, finding nothing. He gently put the gun back in its place and slid the drawer shut again.
What’s a banker doing with a gun?
Charlie tried to think of plausible reasons that were consistent with innocence but had a hard time. He opened the second drawer and recognized most of the same stuff he had seen before. Some immigration papers, tax forms, and the like. Nothing that shed any light on anything, least of all why Lepage suddenly needed a gun. One file folder looked new, and Charlie plucked it out, finding only a blank yellow legal pad inside. He was about to toss it back in, but decided to flip through the first dozen pages or so, stopping on the fifth page. Written across the middle of the page in pencil was a simple diagram of four circles in a row, connected by dotted lines. The first one contained the initials “AK”; the second, “MVA”; the third, “MS”; and the fourth circle was drawn around a hashtag symbol. He stared at the diagram for a moment, trying to make sense of it, then pulled out his BlackBerry, lined up the page, and took a couple of photos. When he was satisfied that he had captured all of the scribbled text and the diagram, he put his phone back in his pocket and the notes back in the folder, sliding the drawer shut.
On his way back to the entrance, he did a quick scan of the kitchen — the fridge barely had any more food in it than the last time he had seen it — and the living room, which offered no further clues. He decided it was time to leave and quickly made his way out into the hall toward the elevator, with the sensation that someone was watching him from down the hall. He turned around once to confirm that it was nothing more than a feeling and continued on to the elevator. He was thinking about the gun in the desk drawer when the elevator dinged. Two seconds later, the doors slid open and Lepage was standing there.
“Charlie?”
“Oh, hi, Rob.” Charlie tried not look as he felt — caught like a rat in a trap. “I just dropped by, hoping I’d catch you home.”
“Oh yeah?” Lepage stepped out of the elevator and into the hall. He was eying Charlie with what looked distinctly like suspicion. “Well, here I am.”
“I just wanted to see how you were doing.”
“I’m doing pretty good. How are you doing?” There was an awkward pause as the two men stood face to face in the hallway, then Lepage slapped him on the shoulder. “What’s the matter? You look like you need a drink. Come on.” He led the way toward his apartment and Charlie followed, his mind racing to find an excuse to leave and coming up empty. “So, what did you want to see me about?”
“I talked to Dr. Yamaguchi,” Charlie said as they arrived at Lepage’s door and he slid the key card in. Charlie’s heart leapt into his throat as Lepage swung the door open. Had he left a light on, or some other clue that he had just been there? Lepage’s expression remained neutral as they entered the apartment.
“He told yo
u my tests were normal, then?”
“Yeah, but he thought I should try to see you. Make sure you’re adjusting okay, see if you need anything.”
Lepage led the way into the kitchen and hit the wall switch, bathing the ultra-modern kitchen in halogen light. “That’s very … thoughtful of you.” He gestured to the marble-topped table. Charlie hated lying and was grateful that Lepage’s back was to him as he searched in the fridge, unable to see the guilt on Charlie’s face. By the time Lepage came over to the table with a couple of beers though, he had managed to compose himself.
“Here you go.” Lepage opened the first beer and handed it over. “Cheers.” They both took a sip. “Ah, that’s good. I never really knew Japanese beer existed until I came here, and it turns out they’re pretty good at it.”
“Couldn’t agree with you more.” Charlie smiled.
“So what did Yamaguchi have to say?”
“He said you passed your neurological tests with flying colours.”
“He say anything else?”
Charlie sipped his beer, considering his response. “He mentioned you were still having some trouble with your memory from before the accident.”
“To be expected, I guess.” Lepage watched Charlie’s reaction.
“Have you seen Aiko?” Charlie thought it might be a good change of subject, but it came out wrong, and Lepage seemed surprised.
“I told you, man. We’re done.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Look,” he said, gathering himself. “I hope you don’t think I’m poking my nose where it doesn’t belong, I just want to make sure you’re doing okay.”
Lepage ran his finger around the top of the bottle and looked at him. “I’m sure you’ve only got my best interests at heart, Charlie, but you don’t have to worry. I’m doing just fine. Speaking of my memory,” he continued after a slight pause. “Do you still have that postcard — the one you brought to me in the hospital?”
“Um, yeah. I’m sure I have it back at the office.”
Remember Tokyo Page 19