"Yes, Eddie. She was strangled."
He inhaled. "Yeah. Figures."
"Did you see her, Eddie?"
"Me? No. What are you talking about? How could I see her, Captain?" He exhaled, blowing smoke into the night.
"Eddie. Look at me."
Eddie turned toward Connor.
"Look in my eyes. Now tell me. Did you see the body?"
"No. Captain, come on." Eddie gave a nervous little laugh, and looked away. He flicked the cigarette so it tumbled in the air, dripping sparks. "What is this? Third degree? No. I didn't see the body."
"Eddie."
"I swear to you, Captain."
"Eddie. How are you involved in this?"
"Me? Shit. Not me, Captain. I know the girl, sure. I see her sometimes. I fuck her, sure. What the hell. She's little weird, but she's fun. A fun girl. Great pussy. That's it, man. That's all of it." He looked around, lit another cigarette, "This's a nice cactus garden, huh? Xeriscape, they call it. It's the latest thing. Los Angeles goes back to desert life. It's hayatterunosa: very fashionable."
"Eddie."
"Come on, Captain. Give me break here. We know each other long time."
"Sure, Eddie. But I have some problems. What about the security tapes?"
Eddie looked blank, innocent. "Security tapes?"
"A man with a scar on his hand and a tie with triangles on it came into the Nakamoto security office and took the security videotapes."
"Fuck. What security office? What're you doing, Captain?"
"Eddie."
"Who said that to you? That's not true, man. Take the security tapes? I never did thing like that. What're you, crazy?" He twisted his tie, looked at the label. "This is Polo tie, Captain. Ralph Lauren. Polo. Lot of these ties, bet you."
"Eddie. What about the Imperial Arms?"
"What about it?"
"You go there tonight?"
"No."
"You clean up Cheryl's room?"
"What?" Eddie appeared shocked. "What? No. Clean up her room? Where you getting all this shit, Captain?"
"The girl across the hall . . . Julia Young," Connor said. "She told us she saw you tonight, with another man. In Cheryl's room at the Imperial Arms."
Eddie threw his arms in the air. "Jesus. Captain. You listen. That girl wouldn't know, she saw me last night or last month, man. That girl is a fucking hophead. You look between her toes you find the marks. You look under her tongue. Look on her pussylips. You find 'em. That's a dream girl, man. She doesn't know when things happen. Man. You come here, give me this. I don't like this." Eddie tossed his cigarette away, and immediately lit another. "I don't like this one bit. You don't see what's going on?"
"No," Connor said. "Tell me, Eddie. What's going on?"
"This shit's not true, man. None of this true." He puffed rapidly. "You know what this is about? It's not about some fucking girl, man. It's about Saturday meetings. The Doyou kai, Connor-san. The secret meetings. That's what it's about."
Connor snapped, "Sonna bakana."
"No bakana, Connor-san. Not bullshit."
"What does a girl from Texas know about Doyou kai?"
"She knows something. Hontō nanda. And she likes to cause trouble, this girl. She likes to make turmoil."
"Eddie, I think maybe you better come in with us."
"Fine. Perfect. You do their job for them. For the kuromaku." He spun to Connor. "Shit, Captain. Come on. You know how it works. This girl killed at Nakamoto. You know my family, my father, is Daimatsu. Now in Osaka they will read that a girl is killed at Nakamoto and I am arrested in connection. His son."
"Detained."
"Detained. Whatever. You know what that will mean. Taihennakoto ni naru zo. My father resign, his company must make apologies to Nakamoto. Perhaps reparations. Give some advantage in business. It is powerful ōsawagi ni naruzo. You will do this, if you take me into your custody." He flicked his cigarette away. "Hey. You think I did this murder, you arrest me. Fine. But you are just covering your ass, you maybe do a lot of damage to me. Captain: you know this."
Connor said nothing for a long time. There was a long silence. They walked around the garden, in circles.
Finally, Eddie said, "Na, Connor-san. Tanomuyo . . ." His voice sounded pleading. It seemed like he was asking for a break.
Connor sighed. "You got your passport, Eddie?"
"Yeah, sure. Always."
"Let's have it."
"Yeah, sure. Okay, Captain. Here goes."
Connor glanced at it, handed it to me. I slipped it in my pocket.
"Okay, Eddie. But this better not be murina koto. Or you'll be declared persona non grata, Eddie. And I will personally put you on the next plane for Osaka. Wakattaka?"
"Captain, you protect the honor of my family. On ni kiru yo." And he bowed formally, both hands at his sides.
Connor bowed back.
I just stared. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Connor was going to let him go. I thought he was crazy to allow it. I handed Eddie my business card and gave my usual speech about how he could call me later if he thought of anything. Eddie shrugged and slipped the card into his shirt pocket, as he lit another cigarette. I didn't count: he was dealing with Connor.
Eddie started back toward the house, paused. "I have this redhead here, very interesting," he said. "When I leave the party, I go to my house in the hills. You need me, I will be there. Good night, Captain. Good night, Lieutenant."
"Good night, Eddie."
We went back down the steps.
"I hope you know what you are doing," I said.
"So do I," Connor said.
"'Cause he seems guilty as hell to me."
"Maybe."
"If you ask me, it'd be better to take him in. Safer."
"Maybe."
"Want to go back and get him?"
"No." He shook his head. "My dai rokkan says no."
I knew that word: it meant sixth sense. The Japanese were big on intuition. I said, "Yeah, well, I hope you're right."
We continued down the steps in the darkness.
"Anyway," Connor said. "I owe him."
"For what?"
"There was a time, a few years ago, when I needed some information. You remember the fugu poisoning business? No? Well anyway, no one in the community would tell me. They stonewalled me. And I needed to know. It was . . . it was important. Eddie told me. He was scared to do it, because he didn't want anyone to know. But he did it. I probably owe my life to him."
We came to the bottom of the stairs.
"And did he remind you of that?"
"He would never remind me. It is my job to remember."
I said, "That's fine, Captain. All that obligation stuff is fine and noble. And I'm all for interracial harmony. But meanwhile, it's possible that he killed her, stole the tapes, and cleaned up the apartment. Eddie Sakamura looks like a blown-out speedball to me. He acts like a suspect. And we're just walking away. Letting him go."
"Right."
We kept walking. I thought it over and got more worried. I said, "You know, officially this is my investigation."
"Officially, it's Graham's investigation."
"Yeah, okay. But we're going to look stupid if it turns out he did it."
Connor sighed, as if he was losing patience. "Okay. Let's go over it the way you think it might have happened. Eddie kills the girl, right?"
"Right."
"He can see her any time but he decides to fuck her on the boardroom table, and he kills her. Then he goes down to the lobby, and pretends to be a Nakamoto executive — even though the last thing Eddie Sakamura looks like is an executive. But let's say he passes himself off. He manages to dismiss the guard. He takes the tapes. He walks out just as Phillips comes in. Then he goes to Cheryl's apartment to clean that up, but somehow he adds a picture of himself, stuck in Cheryl's mirror. Next he stops by the Bora Bora and tells everybody he's going to a party in Hollywood. Where we find him, in a room without furniture, calmly chat
ting up a redhead. Is that how the evening lays out to you?"
I said nothing. It didn't make much sense, when he put it that way. On the other hand . . .
"I just hope he didn't do it."
"So do I."
We came down to the street level. The valet ran to get our car.
"You know," I said, "the blunt way he talks about things, like putting the bag over her head, it's creepy."
"Oh, that doesn't mean anything," Connor said. "Remember, Japan has never accepted Freud or Christianity. They've never been guilty or embarrassed about sex. No problem with homosexuality, no problem with kinky sex. Just matter-of-fact. Some people like it a certain way, so some people do it that way, what the hell. The Japanese can't understand why we get so worked up about a straightforward bodily function. They think we're a little screwed up on the subject of sex. And they have a point." Connor glanced at his watch.
A security car pulled up. The uniformed guard leaned out. "Hey, is there a problem at the party up there?"
"Like what?"
"Couple of guys get in a fight? Some kind of fight? We had a report phoned in."
"I don't know," Connor said. "Maybe you better go up and check."
The guard climbed out of his car, hefted a big gut, and started up the stairs. Connor looked back at the high walls. "You know we have more private security than police, now? Everyone's building walls and hiring guards. But in Japan, you can walk into a park at midnight and sit on a bench and nothing will happen to you. You're completely safe, day or night. You can go anywhere. You won't be robbed or beaten or killed. You're not always looking behind you, not always worrying. You don't need walls or bodyguards. Your safety is the safety of the whole society. You're free. It's a wonderful feeling. Here, everybody has to lock themselves up. Lock the door. Lock the car. People who spend their whole lives locked up are in prison. It's crazy. It kills the spirit. But it's been so long now that Americans have forgotten what it's like to really feel safe. Anyway. Here's our car. Let's get down to the division."
We had started driving down the street when the DHD operator called. "Lieutenant Smith," she said, "we have a request for Special Services."
"I'm pretty busy," I said. "Can the backup take it?"
"Lieutenant Smith, we have patrol officers requesting Special Services for a vee dig in area nineteen."
She was telling me there was a problem with a visiting dignitary. "I understand," I said, "but I've already rolled out on a case. Give it to the backup."
"But this is on Sunset Plaza Drive," she said. "Aren't you located— "
"Yes," I said. Now I understood why she was insistent. The call was only a few blocks away. "Okay," I said. "What's the problem?"
"It's a vee dig DUI. Reported in as G-level plus one. Last name is Rowe."
"Okay," I said. "We're going." I hung up the phone, and turned the car around.
"Interesting," Connor said. "G-level plus one is American government?"
"Yes," I said.
"It's Senator Rowe?"
"Sounds like it," I said. "Driving under the influence."
☼
The black Lincoln sedan had come to a stop on the lawn of a house along the steep part of Sunset Plaza Drive. Two black and whites were pulled up at the curb, red lights flashing. Up on the lawn, a half-dozen people were standing beside the Lincoln. A man in his bathrobe, arms folded across his chest. A couple of girls in short glittery sequin dresses, a very handsome blond man about forty in a tuxedo, and a younger man in a blue suit, whom I recognized as the young man who had gotten on the elevator with Senator Rowe earlier.
The patrolmen had the video camera out, shining the bright light on Senator Rowe. He was propping himself up against the front fender of the Lincoln, holding his arm up to cover his face against the light. He was swearing loudly as Connor and I walked up.
The man in the bathrobe came toward us and said, "I want to know who's going to pay for this."
"Just a minute, sir." I kept walking.
"He can't just ruin my lawn like this. It has to be paid for."
"Just give me a minute, sir."
"Scared the hell out of my wife, too, and she has cancer."
I said, "Sir, please give me a minute, and then I'll talk to you.
"Cancer of the ear," he said emphatically. "The ear."
"Yes, sir. All right, sir." I continued toward the Lincoln, and the bright light.
As I passed the aide, he fell into step beside me and said, "I can explain everything, Detective." He was about thirty, with the bland good looks of a congressional staffer. "I'm sure I can resolve everything."
"Just a minute," I said. "Let me talk to the senator."
"The senator's not feeling well," the aide said. "He's very tired." He stepped in front of me. I just walked around him. He hurried to catch up. "It's jet lag, that's the problem. The senator has jet lag."
"I have to talk to him," I said, stepping into the bright light. Rowe was still holding up his arm. I said, "Senator Rowe?"
"Turn that fucking thing off, for fuck's sake," Rowe said. He was heavily intoxicated; his speech so slurred it was difficult to understand him.
"Senator Rowe," I said, "I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to— "
"Fuck you and the horse you rode in on."
"Senator Rowe," I said.
"Turn that fucking camera off."
I looked back to the patrolman and signaled to him. He reluctantly turned the camera off. The light went out.
"Jesus Christ," Rowe said, finally dropping his arm. He looked at me with bleary eyes. "What the fuck is going on here."
I introduced myself.
"Then why don't you do something about this fucking zoo," Rowe said. "I'm just driving to my fucking hotel."
"I understand that, Senator."
"Don't know . . ." He waved his hand, a sloppy gesture. "What the fucking problem is around here."
"Senator, you were driving this car?"
"Fuck. Driving." He turned away. "Jerry? Explain it to them. Christ's sake."
The aide came up immediately. "I'm sorry about all this," he said smoothly. "The senator isn't feeling at all well. We just came back from Tokyo yesterday evening. Jet lag. He's not himself. He's tired."
"Who was driving the car?" I said.
"I was," the aide said. "Absolutely."
One of the girls giggled.
"No, he wasn't," the man in the bathrobe shouted, from the other side of the car. "He was driving it. And he couldn't get out of the car without falling down."
"Christ, fucking zoo," Senator Rowe said, rubbing his head.
"Detective," the aide said, "I was driving the car and these two women here will testify that I was." He gestured to the girls in party dresses. Giving them a look.
"That's a goddamn lie," the man in the bathrobe said.
"No, that's correct," the handsome man in the tuxedo said, speaking for the first time. He had a suntan and a relaxed manner, like he was used to having his orders obeyed. Probably a Wall Street guy. He didn't introduce himself.
"I was driving the car," the aide said.
"All gone to shit," Rowe muttered. "Want to go to my hotel."
"Was anyone hurt here?" I said.
"Nobody was hurt," the aide said. "Everybody is fine."
I asked the patrolmen behind me, "You got a one-ten to file?" That was the report of property damage for vehicular accident.
"We don't need to," a patrolman said to me. "Single car, and the amount doesn't qualify." You only had to fill it out if the damage was more than two hundred dollars. "All we got is a five-oh-one. If you want to run with that."
I didn't. One of the things you learned about in Special Services was SAR, situational appropriate response. SAR meant that in the case of elected officials and celebrities, you let it go unless somebody was going to press charges. In practice, that meant that you didn't make an arrest short of a felony.
I said to the aide, "You get the property owner's name
and address, so you can deal with the damage to the lawn."
"He already got my name and address," the man in the bathrobe said. "But I want to know what's going to be done."
"I told him we'd repair any damage," the aide said. "I assured him we would. He seems to be— "
"Damn it, look: her planting is ruined. And she has cancer of the ear."
"Just a minute, sir." I said to the aide, "Who's going to drive the car now?"
"I am," the aide said.
"He is," Senator Rowe said, nodding. "Jerry. Drive the car."
I said to the aide, "All right. I want you to take a breatholyzer— "
"Sure, yes— "
"And I want to see your driver's license."
"Of course."
The aide blew into the breatholyzer and handed me his driver's license. It was a Texas license. Gerrold D. Hardin, thirty-four years old. Address in Austin, Texas. I wrote down the details, and gave it back.
"All right, Mr. Hardin. I'm going to release the senator into your custody tonight."
"Thank you, Lieutenant. I appreciate it."
The man in the bathrobe said, "You're going to let him go?"
"Just a minute, sir." I said to Hardin, "I want you to give this man your business card, and stay in contact with him. I expect the damage to his yard to be resolved to his satisfaction."
"Absolutely. Of course. Yes." Hardin reached into his pocket for a card. He brought out something white in his hand, like a handkerchief. He stuffed it hastily back in his pocket, and then walked over to give his card to the man in the bathrobe.
"You're going to have to replace all her begonias."
"Fine, sir," Hardin said.
"All of 'em."
"Yes. That's fine, sir."
Senator Rowe pushed off the front fender, standing unsteadily in the night. "Fucking begonias," he said. "Christ, what a fucking night this is. You got a wife?"
"No," I said.
"I do," Rowe said. "Fucking begonias. Fuck."
"This way, Senator," Hardin said. He helped Rowe into the passenger seat. The girls climbed into the back seat, on either side of the handsome Wall Street guy. Hardin got behind the wheel and asked Rowe for the keys. I looked away to watch the black and whites as they pulled away from the curb. When I turned back, Hardin rolled down the window and looked at me. "Thank you for this."
Michael Crichton - Rising Sun Page 11