No, he had not gone out of his room during the night. No, he had no idea who might have killed his employer.
Unlike the Panther, Nishimura had been hired specifically as a bodyguard and far more recentlyless than six months previously. The stated reason for the hiring had been threats, but his employer had never given the threats any specificity.
Kays glance at the bulge under his arm prompted a smile and the volunteering, through Tokumi, of how the local police authorities were aware he carried a gun. He assured her he was properly licensed to do so.
Kay covered the same ground she had with his companion, only omitting references to events antedating Nishimuras employment. She ended with much the same feeling. Little had been added to what she already knew. The morning was proving to be discouragingly fruitless.
Mr. Ono was a generous but demanding employer; Sigrid Ono a friendly person; Shigeru a devoted son (Nishimura even used the same qualifier as the Panther had); and Mariko Ono, a dutiful wife, happily occupied a quiet background in her husbands shadow. Since Nishimura had been hired long after the death of Onos daughter, Kay did not sound him out about her. In general, the interview seemed to have produced little of value. It was Tokumi who gave her something to think about.
After the door had closed on the departing figure, Tokumi leaned back in his chair, an enigmatic smile playing across his face. Kay smiled in return, knowing he had something to tell her but wanted her to ask. “Come, Sensei, you know something I dont know. Please dont make me beg.”
“Do you mean you didnt notice, Keiko? It was really quite obvious.”
Torn between mild annoyance at Tokumis playing out of the game and amusement at his enjoyment of the situation, Kay said, “It was obvious to you, but not to me. After all, you know the language.”
“You didnt have to know the language for this.”
Kay waited, saying nothing, still certain Tokumi would go on.
“He answered too fast.”
“What does that signify?”
“He knows English.”
“Are you sure?”
“I suspected it almost from the first, so I changed one of your questions slightly. He answered the question you asked, not the one I asked. He knows English. Believe me, Keiko, he knows it well.”
Chapter 15
The most surprising thing about him, Corky decided, is he looks so damn much like Domingo De Rego. I guess there are a lot of women like Chichi. They go for the same kind of looks in man after man. Hes even a wife beater too.
Corky went on with her musings as Hank initiated the questioning of Roderick Perreira, Chichis husband. Hes half Portuguese, boozes, and he seems just about as dumb as De Rego. What the hell! She might just as well have stuck with what she had at home. At least shed probably be alive today if she had.
Neither Corky nor Hank could tie Roderick Perreira to the death of either his wife or the electronics magnate. Roderick worked from midnight to eight at the Plantation, dispatching cane trucks. If he had been absent from his job for any length of time during either night, it had never been for more than five minutes at a time.
Hank continued to press him. Corky knew the driving force behind the questions was the experience of years in the homicide division. By far the most likely perpetrator of any murder was a close relative or friend. Of those, the bereaved spouse all too frequently turned out to be the killer. Hank was playing the odds which typically pointed to a husband as a womans murderer, even though those odds had now been reversed and lengthened beyond any reasonable expectation the typical ones still applied.
“ Anyone at work who can verify you were there until eight?”
“Maybe half duh night crew. I check „em when dey drive cane at night and duh molasses trucks from six to eight wen dey go out in duh morning. And I punch out at eight.” The tone became increasingly defensive and dismissive. “Check wid duh boss.”
“I will. Who do you think might have killed your wife?” The brusqueness of Hanks questions, which might have been out of place in questioning a grief-stricken husband, seemed to match the emotional flatness Roderick exhibited in the face of his loss.
“One a dem bums she was screwin.”
Corky decided the scenario of a jealous husband did not apply to this particular killing. Roderick was about as indifferent to how Chichi had lived as to how she had died. The questions dwindled and, when Corky made no attempt to ask any of her own, Hank called it quits without even the usual warning to stay on the island.
Corky said nothing on the way back to the station, knowing Hank was always in the foulest of moods when faced with blank walls. In this case the wall could have been no more innocent of any marks. Suddenly, he broke the silence. “Im bringing De Rego back in, and Im going to charge him this time.”
Corky was aghast. “Hank! You cant do that! You dont have a shred of evidence against him. You cant even come up with a motive. Hell probably find some drinking buddies wholl swear he was having coffee with them in some greasy spoon downtown while Chichi was being murdered. The prosecutor will think youre crazy if you try to make a case against De Rego with what we have right now.”
Hanks face was set in the look Corky knew was a sure sign of imperviousness to any further argument. “When I get through with him, well have a case,” he continued. “As soon as we get back to the station, find out where hes at and send someone out to pick him up.”
Corky reported back to Hank a few minutes after her first attempts to locate De Rego. “I checked his house, and no one answered, so I phoned his wife at work. She says he called her and said he was going to spend the day looking for a job. Her suggestion is to check the bars.”
“Send a patrolman out to his house. If he isnt there playing possum, get an all-points out on him.”
“Jeezus, Hank! Youre really going all out. Why in hell are you so anxious to find him?”
“Well, first of all because we arent making any headway in the Ono case, and I know Chief Yamadas going to start jerking my chain about that.”
“Thats a damn poor reason. Whats the second one?”
“Because I know De Rego killed Chichi.” Hank leaned back in his chair, his arms behind his head, glaring at his sergeant as though defying her to contradict him. “Its the only possible explanation.”
***
The others had well described Mariko Ono. Shy, self effacing, quiet, unobtrusiveany and all of those terms fit her exactly. Coming into the room, her first move was to bow to Tokumi, who Kay knew glowed inwardly at seeing a pretty Japanese woman act as she should.
She looks out of place in Western clothes, Kay thought. She should be wearing a kimono and obi, and walking around in wooden clogs…and living a hundred years ago. Kay also noted her pregnancy was not yet showing.
Mariko sat down carefully, pulled the hem of her skirt down over her knees, smiled expectantly at Kay, and waited for the first question. Kay decided to start with some irrelevant but easy ones.“How long have you been married?”
The answer came in a high, musical voice, and Kay became aware Tokumis questioning had taken on a different tone. Even his English translation seemed to have adapted itself to Marikos answers. Kay was certain he was presenting them more literally than those of the earlier occupants of the chair.
“It has been six years.”
“Could you describe your father-in-law?”
“He was very kind, very generous.” Her eyes looked pained. “I will miss him very much. It was a terrible thing.”
“Do you know anyone who might have wanted to kill him?”
Mariko seemed startled by the question. “No, not at all.”
“What was your sister-in-law, Keiko Sugiyama, like?”
Kay could see an instant change in the dark eyes. Dislike? Fear? There was no way to decide. For the first time, Mariko hesitated with her answer, obviously weighing her words carefully.
Kay caught a word she almost recognized. When Mariko repeated it, with emphasis, Kay did reco
gnize it. It was a word her grandmother had used to refer to her when she had overstayed her curfew hour one evening. It had not been intended as a compliment.
“She was modern. Very modern.”
Marikos hesitation to deal with the topic of her deceased sister-in-law simply prompted Kay to expand on the subject. In her answers, Mariko stayed clear of open condemnation. Unlike Nick, she made no claim Keiko had been spoiled, but the word “impulsive” came up in the midst of her description.
At the question regarding Onos relationship with his daughter, Mariko, though still disturbed, seemed more concerned with finding the right word than anything else. A brief exchange occurred between her and Tokumi.
Tokumi forehead wrinkled as he turned back to Kay. “I think what she is saying is Mr. Ono was infatuated with his daughter. From what Mariko says, it seems Mr. Ono could never refuse his daughter anything.” Tokumis frown smoothed out as he found what he considered the best translation. “He doted on her.”
Mariko was visibly relieved when Kay moved off the topic of her sister-in-law and on to Marikos stay in Hawaii. It was her first trip to the islands, and she thought it was all“truly wonderful.” The description was accompanied by a lilting laugh, and a hand swiftly covered the flashing white teeth. It was a gesture so typical of the same grandmother who had called her modern, Kay almost gasped in recognition. Mariko was indeed something out of Japans past.
Questions about Sigrid Ono revealed no hint of animosity toward her stepmother-inlaw. On the contrary, Mariko was open in her admiration of this hakujin who spoke such impeccable Japanese. “And she is so very nice.”
“Did you know her first husband?”
“Yes. He was very nice too, and they were very much in love. We were all very sad when he died in the plane crash.” Kay noted without comment Keiko Sugiyamas death in the same crash went unnoted. She was quite certain it had not evoked a similar emotion on Marikos part.
“Were you in Tokyo at the time?”
“No. Shigeru and I were at our home in Osaka.”
Kay had difficulty in restraining her amusement at Tokumis comments after Mariko had left. “I was in Japan three years ago,” he said,“and saw nothing like her. She brought back memories of my childhood.”
Kay had little difficulty in persuading Tokumi to stay on for the interview with Marikos husband, Shigeru Ono. “Im sure his English must be quite good,” she told him, “since he went to college and graduate school in America. But Id like to get your impressions, since youve met some of the others.”
***
Shigeru deferred to Tokumi almost as much as his wife had. Hes well suited to his wife, Kay decided. She carefully inspected this slender Japanese man who had a featherweight grasp when he shook her hand. It was a relief to be able to receive direct answers to her questions again, so Kay made the most of it.
As she had assumed, Tokumi had only the role of observer to fill during this interview. Shigerus English, though heavily accented, was still understandable. He had only occasional difficulties in finding the right words to express himself.
Kay plunged directly to the nub of the matter. “Do you know anyone who would have wanted to kill your father?”
“He was a businessman. Successful one. So he had many enemies.”
“Would you write down a list of them for me?
“Of course.” Shigeru looked genuinely puzzled. “But they are all back in Japan. Why do you wish to have their names?” Even as he spoke the words his expression changed, and Kay knew there was no need to answer his question.
“Could you tell me about your sister? What was she like?”
The new topic brought the same questioning look back to Shigerus face, but this time he did not ask for clarification. After a moments hesitation, he said, “She was much younger than I. I was in school already when she was born. She was a very,” he groped for the word and was about to turn to Tokumi for help when instead he said, “…a very alive person.”
“What was her relationship to your father.”
Shigeru smiled. “I was envious, jealous of her when I was young. Perhaps my attitude is an answer to your question. Japanese couples are supposed to want boys more than girls, but it was the opposite in my family. Keiko turned out to be everything my parents, especially my father, wanted. I got over my jealousy, though. There was plenty of affection to go around. I became much closer to my father after my mothers death and even more after Keiko died.”
“So Keikos death was a shock to him?”
Shigeru again groped for the right word. “It was completely devastating. I thought certainly he would not survive, especially since his only grandchild died too.”
A question about his stepmother produced unfeigned admiration, especially for her extraordinary command of the Japanese language.
Kay did not know whether to be disappointed or pleased at the results of the several interviews. In a way she had been hoping for differing evaluations of the personalities surrounding Masa Ono. The emphases had been somewhat different, but the overall assessments by everyone who knew him were all the same. Masa had been a loving father and husband, a generous employer and a businessman who, while feared by his competitors, had unquestionably commanded their respect. She consoled herself with the thought of how perhaps the absence of differences in these views was significantif she could only figure out how!
***
The food at the courthouse cafeteria was an even greater disaster than usual, but Werner had insisted on going there when his stomach told him it was time for an early lunch. Clyde and he had spent the morning working up their respective shares of the reports on the two deaths. Both of them had been hoping the afternoon would bring in the final lab results from the Ono murder.
Clyde pushed aside the stew, which in the past he had found to be about the only edible item on the restaurants menu. Today, someone in the kitchen had drastically over- salted it, perhaps with the aim of making the dishs flavor match its unappetizing appearance.
So Clyde settled for the tepid, watered-down coffee. Werner, on the other hand, was consuming some form of gray, breaded cutlet with the same enthusiasm with which he had approached the Malalanis filet mignon. All the while, he carried on a loud monologue with the loaded fork in his left hand. The knife in his right he used to push food up onto the fork while also using it to draw questions marks, exclamation points and other punctuation in the air.
Clyde had still not shaken off the awe he had felt at his companion. At the moment, he was congratulating himself on becoming more and more used to the strange grammatical constructions and heavy accent. He admitted the possibility, however, that Werners English was improving with his unaccustomed practice of the language.
Following the disappearance of a sizable chunk of meat, Werner paused only momentarily to say, “Murderers are dummkopf.”
Clyde took advantage of the next mouthful of cutlet to demur. “Theres good evidence to indicate many murders go completely undetected.”
A quick swallow preceded the answer. Watching the unchewed consumption of food, Clyde suddenly hoped he would not have to call on his almost forgotten memories of how to perform a Heimlich Maneuver. A knife came uncomfortably close to his left eye. “That is because police even more stupid dummkopf than murderers are. We pathologists must their work for them do.”
Clyde decided not to interrupt, fearing the physical consequences to both Werner and himself of another rebuttal to anything he might say.
Spearing a limp piece of greasy cabbage, Werner stopped with it in mid-air.“Last year in Hamburg has a report of police a clear homicide a suicide called. A man in his cellar hanging have they found.”
The fork swished through the air depicting a figure at the end of a rope. “Quite clearly my autopsyshowed suicide impossible was, but I had not the Is and Ts for the dummkopf crossed and dotted.”
A saltshaker was brought in to buttress the argument without Werner relinquishing his silverware. “See! They say vi
ctim on the stool stood has, he the rope over the pipe thrown and tied has, then the stool out from under kicked.” The shaker toppled. The knife again flashed within inches of Clydes face. “Im-possible!”
Clyde felt he had to ask why, risking physical damage for the sake of satisfying his curiosity.
“Because the victim leg braces had.” Werner turned in his chair, raising a knee, table high to illustrate. “Not only could he not the stool out kick, but he could not on the first place the stool up climb.” The last of the cutlet disappeared before Werner added, “Finally has the brother-in-law confessed. Dummkopf murderer, more dummkopf police.”
Clydes beeper announced its presence shortly after this graphic depiction of family mayhem in Hamburg. Excusing himself, he headed for the kitchen phone to check on the reason for the call. Coming back, he announced, “Theres a bad accident on the highway south. At least one death. Care to come along?”
Rising, Werner wiped the last remnants of his meal from his mouth and shirt front. “Certainly,” he said. “Perhaps is that todays homicide.”
***
Even though the truck had been pulled away by the police and a dozen motorists who had stopped by to help, the accident scene was still a disaster. A crumpled automobile was flattened against the blue-rock cut at the side of the road. A light pole from which electrical wires dangled precariously had splintered, and the top half had crashed through the roof of the smashed vehicle.
Even the high-wheel, heavy pickup now pulled up on the shoulder had suffered extensive damage to its front end. Without waiting on ceremony, the moment they arrived Werner crawled up on what was left of the automobile to get a better view of the interior.
Leaning face down, Werner peered through the small space which had once been a windshield. He then stuck his head into the interior to get a better view of the bloody corpse. Terribly crushed by the slamming of the passenger side of the car against the drivers door, the shattered form seemed never to have been human.
The Yoshinobu Mysteries: Volume 2 Page 44