Tokyo Enigma

by Sam Waite

  Nozaka listened to the tape a few times before he said anything. "Maybe, I mean I think so. Her voice was more high and, um, soft, when she talked to me. I suppose eighty percent."

  "He's eighty percent sure, and I'm one hundred percent convinced. That's good enough for me. We need to call Sayoko now."

  Nozaka took a mobile phone out of his coat pocket.

  "Let Yuri do it. She might trust a woman more."

  Nozaka looked offended, but he gave up the phone.

  I exhaled one long breath until Sayoko answered. "Ask her where she is."

  Yuri made a face that said, Shut up, Mick. They talked for a long time, which I took to be a good sign.

  "She's with a friend. She said she's gotten calls from Foxx Starr, but she hasn't returned them because she's mad at Ito and scared."

  "Smart girl, when do we see her?"

  "We don't. Your instinct was right. I think she trusts me. Anyway, I promised I'd meet her alone."

  That was a bad plan. "You can meet her alone, but you're not going alone. I'll stay out of sight. We don't know if she's being watched."

  Yuri hesitated.

  "It's a good idea, Taen-san." Morimoto was too hidebound to use Yuri's given name even though she preferred it. "Remember." He pointed to the side of his head.

  Even Nozaka agreed.

  Yuri was outnumbered and conceded my point.

  "What time do you see her?"

  "At four this afternoon. I'll leave at three. If you're here, come with me. If not..." She blew air out of pursed lips.

  I called Will Simons to see if he had any more information on the secretary and to volunteer what little I'd found out since I last saw him. He asked me to meet him for lunch.

  A hard cold rain had started, and wind gusting around buildings blew it in unexpected directions. Morimoto had lent me his umbrella, but I was still getting wet from the chest down. My feet were drenched by the time I reached a subway entrance. I made a mental note to ask Yuri and Nozaka where they buy their gumshoes.

  Will had said he'd meet me at a TexMex restaurant called El Zapato. I was afraid his sense of humor had taken a turn for the worse, but it turned out the food wasn't bad. Not great, but better than a lot of what you'd find in the States north of the Red River or east of the Sabine. They even had Tecate.

  I told him about the bugs in Lance Allworth's office and asked if there was much likelihood they belonged to a law enforcement agency. He didn't think so. It didn't strike him as a yakuza tactic either. "It sounds more like the work of a snoop like you, Sanchez."

  Good insight, bad joke.

  "I haven't gotten much on Ueno, the FCC guy's secretary. No prior convictions though." He grinned.

  "Not an ex-con then, at least not yet," I said, and hoped that we were done with our aren't-we-clever banter.

  "He graduated from the same university as his boss, but one year later. They probably knew each other from school, so that ensures personal loyalty. Even though they are only one year apart and in their sixties today, there would still be some sense of a sempai-kohai, senior-junior relationship on a personal level, not just professional."

  I could get cultural tidbits from a Japan travel guide, but since I wasn't paying Will for his advice, I didn't interrupt.

  "Japanese use the English term 'secretary,' but a closer equivalent would be top aide or chief of staff. Those guys do more than look after schedules. Do you remember the Black Peanut scandal that brought down Prime Minister Tanaka, back in the seventies? Lockheed bribe money paid to Tanaka was called peanuts and the press attached the adjective 'black.'"

  "Yeah, I read history."

  "That seems to have been the kickoff to a round robin of political corruption scandals from construction kickbacks to multimillion-yen evenings with geisha. You'd think folks would learn."

  "Which means?"

  "It's background. Be patient." Will sipped beer and carefully patted his lips dry. "As far as I know, Ohashi is clean, but there was a little incident a few years ago. Something like eight million yen went missing from his office and was never traced. Ueno took the blame, even though he never said where the money went. It was just lost. He cited his own incompetence in order to protect Ohashi. And Ohashi was powerful enough to protect Ueno from prosecution. Cozy."

  "Any tie in?"

  Will shook his head. "It was years ago. The thing is, whatever Ueno's faults are, 'incompetence' isn't among them. These secretaries wear a lot of hats—political adviser, financial manager, fixer, fall guy and sometimes..."

  Will picked up a jalapeno by the stem and bit off the whole pepper. A trace of tear filmed his eyes.

  "Mmm, good." He pushed a side dish of peppers toward me. "Dessert?"

  "Sometimes what, Will?"

  He picked up another jalapeno and smiled. "Sometimes bagman, Mick."

  It was still raining, and lunch hadn't lasted long enough for my shoes to dry. By the time I got back to Protect Agency, I was squishing water with each step. Yuri wrinkled her nose when she saw me.

  "That'll ruin leather. You ought to get a pair of these." She lifted her pants leg to show me a sneaker.

  I grunted and went to the restroom to wring out my socks.

  We took a company car to the meeting with Sayoko. It was at a tearoom in a central Tokyo ward, a relatively quiet area compared with the play-and-sin West side or the financial and shopping districts around Marunouchi and Ginza. We got there early and sat at separate tables. I had started to worry whether Sayoko would show up, but she arrived just in time to be fashionably—as opposed to frustratingly—late.

  She was obviously a beauty, despite a floppy hat that she'd pulled down to her eyes and baggy clothes that would have been suitable for either a mountain hike or a hip-hop club. Her hair was tinted chestnut brown.

  I had nothing to read while Sayoko and Yuri talked, so I doodled in my address book. Tried to keep an eye on the area without appearing to have an interest in anything but my drawings. One looked like a pointillist Picasso that took cubism into a fourth dimension. Maybe I'd take an art course and get famous. Go by one name, like Cher and Suharto. Mick.

  Better yet just a letter. M.

  Easier to sign autographs.

  I'd filled a few pages before Yuri stood up and walked over to my table. That must have looked interesting. I started to take out my wallet to complete the imagery, but without a charm discount, Sayoko cost fifty thousand yen. Didn't have that much on me.

  "I told her who you are. She's glad you roughed up the, ah, 'creep' at Foxx Starr."

  "I'm not."

  "She wants us to take her to her apartment. What do you think?"

  "I doubt the place is staked out, but if we make her feel safer, let's go."

  She lived in another part of town. I drove so Yuri could continue her interview.

  The apartment building had a brick façade and a potted plant at the entrance. Otherwise, it was a featureless, eight-story chunk of concrete that could have passed for a prison block. Long rows of doors, spaced about fifteen feet apart, faced onto narrow walkways. Iron railings were the only barriers to prevent clumsy residents from toppling off.

  Sayoko fumbled in her purse for the key as we climbed the stairs, but it wasn't necessary. Whoever had been here last hadn't bothered to lock the door when they left.

  The room had been dismantled. Doors and shelves had been removed from kitchen cabinets, the closet and the bathroom. The back of the refrigerator had been ripped off. The cushions on her sofa bed had been shredded. A chest of drawers had been reduced to a pile of boards. Any article of clothing that had a lining or a pocket had been ripped apart. If the object of this search was bigger than a mouse ear, then it had been found.

  Sayoko blanched. She braced against a counter. Her body clutched in spasms as though she fought not to vomit.

  Yuri and I looked through the rubble for some evidence of who had done this. We didn't find anything.

  I held Sayoko's shoulders on the way back to
the car. She wasn't still shaking, but she didn't have normal control. Her weight suddenly shifted right or left every few steps. From the time we entered her apartment until we got her into the back seat of the car, she hadn't spoken a word.

  "I think she should stay with me tonight." Yuri said after we closed the door and Sayoko couldn't hear.

  "So do I. Do you want me there. You take the bed, she can have the sofa and I'll sleep on the floor."

  "If you stay with me, you'll sleep in my bed, but I think it's better tonight if it's just she and I. We'll be all right. I'll try to get her to talk more. It could be a long night."

  Yuri let me off at the hotel. After she drove away, a cold hollow awoke a feeling that had long been numb. If I hadn't known better, I'd have thought it was a touch of the blues. Probably just the autumn rain, but in the back of my mind was a steel guitar, harmonica and Lightnin' Hopkins baring his heart. He said he was tired 'o walkin' that big road by himself.

  Me too, Lightnin'.

  Chapter 11

  I got an early morning call from Abe. Someone from the embassy was scheduled to check on Dorian and I was on the visitation list. If I wanted to be there, I might learn something.

  In his transition from military to civilian life, Abe had learned how to make a lawful order sound like a suggestion. I skipped breakfast and asked the concierge to call a taxi.

  The representative from the State Department was a serious person, with a serious job that entailed more important things than ensuring the welfare of accused murderers. She returned my "Good morning" with a world-weary smile and a glance at her watch.

  Dorian looked as well as the last time I'd seen him. He said that pressure to confess had eased. The embassy rep advised him to let her know if there was any violation of his rights. She would personally see to any problems he had.

  I was sure she would. She reported to the ambassador, who reported to the President, whose political party reported a million or so in contributions from Kyle Solutions. For my part, I told Dorian we were making progress in proving he was innocent. He looked grateful. The rep looked bemused.

  After our interview, she was in a hurry to leave, but I stopped her. "He's not guilty. I know it looks bad for him, but he didn't do it."

  "Then I'm sure he'll be acquitted." She turned on her heel and walked away.

  "Me too. I'm working on it." I don't think she heard, but someone else did.

  "Mr. Sanchez?"

  A man about five-ten, with a short neck and thick body, had caught up with me. "I am Kuroda."

  In halting English, he introduced himself as a mid-level officer in the Metropolitan Police Force. The verbal description was redundant. Considering where we were, his wrinkled suit, gray temples, thick-soled shoes and stony face had already said police.

  He stepped between me and the doorway. "Do you have time? I want to talk."

  I gave him my best world-weary smile and glanced at my watch. "Sure."

  I thought I might get a look at their interrogation rooms, but instead he led me outside to a coffee shop. The carpet was faded and the waitresses wore stained uniforms. Kuroda fit in nicely.

  "We know you are working for Dorian's company. Is that why you say he's not guilty?"

  "No."

  "Why, then?"

  I explained my reasons and that I had given a report to Dorian's lawyers. Kuroda was unimpressed.

  "He is guilty. It is obvious. If he signs a confession, he can..." Kuroda pressed his palms together then separated them about an inch. "...shorter time."

  "No confession. He's not guilty."

  "If you believe it, you have to prove it."

  Prove that Dorian is not guilty. Not the other way around. I hoped that was a language problem but was afraid it wasn't.

  "We can help each other," he said. "You tell me what you find. If it shows Dorian is innocent, I will try to help free him."

  I figured he must be sincere. No one insincere would lay out such an unappealing argument. "I'm working with Dorian's lawyers. It's better if you get information from them."

  He sat silent for a minute or so, then took out an electronic translation dictionary and punched in a word.

  "I want justice," he said.

  "Good word. I do too."

  "Lawyers are no good, just you and me. It's better if it doesn't go to saiban, to court."

  I don't think he quite meant what he said about lawyers, but I got the point. This was an interesting proposition. Getting Dorian off the hook without going to trial would be easier on him, but it might look like a back-room deal to the public. Vindication through the courts might ultimately look better for Kyle Solutions, but it would leave Dorian on ice for months. I told Kuroda I'd have to talk it over with my associates. Tie up my loose roots, nemawashi, as they say in Japan.

  He understood that and said he'd be in touch. Then he asked a waitress for separate checks. Thanks for the coffee, Kuroda-san.

  I called Yuri.

  "How are things with Sayako?"

  "We're still at my place, but we'll be going to Protect Agency soon."

  "I'll beat you there. I want to have a chat with Morimoto."

  My encounter with Morimoto proved pointless. I asked him what he made of my encounter with Kuroda and of Will Simon's opinions that the bugs in Lance Allworth's office were not the work of yakuza or law enforcement.

  He said, "unh" a few times.

  "Muzukashii desu ne." It's difficult isn't it? I gave my Japanese skills a try.

  "Unh."

  When I first met him, I thought he might be reticent. I'd since changed that evaluation to either vacuous or lazy. Outside his narrow range of expertise, he didn't have any ideas that didn't originate with someone else. That might explain why he was mustered out of bank management. The question was how he had gotten there in the first place. Our non-conversation was interrupted by Yuri and Sayoko.

  "Pizza or sandwiches? We haven't eaten all day."

  Yuri had ideas, bless her. I hadn't eaten either. We ordered from a deli and settled into a conference room.

  Sayoko said she and Hosoi had joined Foxx Starr agency about the same time and had worked on several assignments together. She also admitted to occasional prostitution. Ito, however, had been first to propose it. She was paid well, thirty thousand to fifty thousand yen depending on the client.

  I remembered what Nozaka said.

  "Do you set your own price? Is there a charm discount?" I didn't think how that might sound until I'd asked.

  She looked wary. "I set my own price and kept all the money. Ito didn't take any. She just thought it was good for business."

  "Why the range?"

  "Those prices were just for regular sex. It depends on the person. I never went with anyone I didn't like."

  "Did you ever do anything that wasn't regular?"

  "A few times I had to travel or do role-play. Ito-san set those up and I think she got a percentage of the payment."

  Yuri was doing the translating.

  "Tell her if she has any names, we'll keep them confidential unless they're tied to Maho's murder."

  She said she didn't have any names. As for repeat customers, she'd seen only a few men two or three times. No one more than that. She gave a physical description of six clients.

  "Anything ever happen that might have made someone angry at Maho, or afraid, or jealous? How did she get along with Ito?"

  I shouldn't have added that last question. Yuri scowled slightly. She didn't translate, but just the mention of Ito's name set Sayoko on edge. It was clear who she suspected of wrecking her apartment.

  "Tell her the more we know, the better we can protect her." I wasn't sure I believed that myself, but I hoped it was true.

  So far, Sayoko had described her experience in the "water trade," mizu shobai, without apparent embarrassment, but now she looked down at her hands and spoke softly. Yuri translated.

  "I don't know. There was one time. We went to a villa in Izu. We were going to
be paid a hundred thousand yen each. Ito-san said it was role-play. She didn't say what kind. It was a lot of money, so we didn't ask enough questions. The main room was big. It was dark except for spotlights on a futon on the floor. There were four or five men. They wanted to watch Maho-san and me.

  "I didn't like it, but I thought, it's acting. We were lying together. One of the men came close. He told me to stop pretending. He said he would pay me more if I could make Maho-san have an orgasm. She didn't seem to care. I couldn't do that. I said I was sick and left. I was afraid they would be angry. I was afraid Ito-san would be angry. She wasn't, but she paid me only a little. I never talked to Maho-san about it. She never mentioned it. I don't know if she ever saw those customers again, but..." Sayoko took a handkerchief out of her purse and pressed it against her nose.

  "She changed. She was cool. It wasn't as though she didn't like me anymore. She was just aloof. The way a celebrity might treat a fan or a boss might treat a worker. She started spending a lot of money. She moved to a bigger apartment bought expensive things. I envied her."

  "Did the police ever interview you about the murder?"

  She shook her head.

  Why bother? It looked like the Metropolitan Police Department's only strategy was to grab the guy at the scene and wring a confession out of him.

  "Do you have any idea who was in your apartment or what they were looking for?" I already knew part of the answer.

  "Maybe Ito-san sent someone, but I don't know what they were looking for."

  "Is she the girl on the audio tape?" I asked Yuri directly.

  "Yes, I told her about the bug and the conversation. She remembered it."

  "You said Ito was asking her who she talked to about 'that thing.' Was Ito referring to the night she just described?"

  "Sayoko isn't sure herself what Ito meant. That was part of the problem and why she got slapped. She thinks it might be, but she isn't sure. That's the only time she'd had any difficulty with a client."

  "Would she recognize any of the men if she saw them again?"

  Sayoko didn't answer immediately. She was still looking at her hands and extended one finger at a time until her right hand was fully opened.