“He was upset, knocking back the Hennessy much faster than usual. At first he asked about her, then he just went silent. I tried to make conversation, but finally figured out he just wanted me to sit with him and keep his brandy glass full.”
“What time did he leave?”
“I don’t know. I usually drink oolong tea, which looks just like brandy, but last night he insisted I drink that awful expensive brandy with him. The last thing I remember, he finished his bottle and wanted to order a new one, then…” She faltered. “I woke up here.”
“Did you leave with him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he get violent with you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was he the one who attacked you?”
“I don’t know!”
“How did you get home later? Did you take a cab?”
“I don’t know! I don’t know!” Frustration. “I can’t remember anything!” Tears began to slide down the side of her face.
The doctor came running with a nurse in tow and scolded them for upsetting his patient, insisting that further questioning wait until the next day or she’d go back into shock. The doctor grabbed the privacy curtain and pulled it in front of the detectives. They bowed reluctantly to the swirl of blue cloth and retreated.
Chapter 33
Wednesday, November 13
9:00 A.M.
Kenji
“Nakamura!” commanded Section Chief Tanaka. “You can get your beauty sleep later. Squad meeting.”
Kenji jerked awake. He’d fallen asleep at his desk, even though he’d only intended to rest his eyes for a moment. Wearily, he pushed his chair over to join the rest in front of the whiteboard, where Erika’s assault had been added to the list of current cases. The chief stood to one side, running through the active investigations, asking for updates.
One by one, officers rose to give reports on the crimes that had occupied them since the last staff meeting. When it was Oki’s turn, he told Tanaka they were re-interviewing all the gray-market vendor victims and he planned to talk to neighboring precincts to find out if they’d had a recent rash of similar shakedowns.
The section chief nodded. “And what about last night’s knife assault?”
The big detective ran through the facts. He mentioned discovering Kenji’s card in her purse, and that they’d identified a possible suspect, someone Detective Nakamura had coincidentally been pursuing on a related case.
“Related case? What related case?” Tanaka asked, frowning.
Kenji admitted that he’d continued to investigate Cherry Endo’s death on his own time, even though it had been ruled an accident.
“And just how is last night’s knife assault tied to that closed accidental death case?” Tanaka demanded.
“Erika-san told us the last client she remembers entertaining before her attack was the same man Cherry Endo was out with the night she died.”
“It doesn’t strike me as particularly unusual that two hostesses from the same club entertained the same customer,” Tanaka objected.
“With all due respect, sir, this is the second hostess from Club Heaven who’s been victimized within the past week,” Kenji argued. “That seems like more than coincidence.”
“What’s the connection between an unfortunate slip on the stairs and a knife attack?”
Kenji moved to the whiteboard and picked up a pen. “May I?”
He wrote the names of their victims on the whiteboard, drawing a box around Erika and Cherry labeled “Club Heaven.” Turning to face the squad, he explained, “Both victims worked at the same hostess club.”
He wrote “The Zombie” and connected it to both Cherry and Erika. “This man was entertained by both victims right before their incidents. We don’t know his name, but we understand he has a history of violence.”
He wrote Hoshi’s name and drew a line to Cherry. “This man was with Cherry Endo right before she died. He gave us two alibis for that night that were fabrications—in fact, he was at Cherry’s apartment and I have reason to believe she was pressuring him to marry her because he was the father of her unborn child.”
“You have evidence of this?” Tanaka asked.
“The doctor who did Cherry’s autopsy says he believes she was pregnant, and the crime lab is checking right now to see if Hoshi’s fingerprints match ones on the teapot Cherry used to serve tea to someone right before she died.”
Tanaka frowned. “I hear a lot of speculation and no hard evidence.”
Detective Oki stepped in. “You’re right, Chief. But our knife attack victim can’t remember squat about her assault, and our canvass didn’t turn up any witnesses. These connections,” he nodded at the board, “are all we’ve got. Investigating them will give you something to report to the superintendent while we wait for our victim’s memory to return.”
A line appeared on the section chief’s brow as he considered the police politics angle. “All right,” he reluctantly agreed. “Oki, you stay on the gray-market vendor extortion. Nakamura, you take the lead on Erika’s assault. I still don’t see enough evidence to reopen the accidental death, but if information you gathered on that case provides leads on this one, use it. Bring the host in for questioning. If you clear him, check out this Zombie character. But—” He raised a warning finger. “—be careful investigating the hostess club’s clients. The men who can afford Club Heaven can also afford to make our lives miserable if we make a mistake.”
“I understand, sir.”
“All right,” Tanaka barked. “Everybody get to work.”
Ten minutes later, three fresh cups of tea steamed on the coffee table in interview room 3 as Kenji, Oki, and Suzuki read through Erika’s assault report. Kenji got to the photo of Erika’s torso and thought for a moment.
“Suzuki, help me out here for a minute.”
Kenji stood. “Pretend you’re the assailant.”
He handed a pencil to the assistant detective. “This is your knife.”
Suzuki faced Kenji, the pencil in his right hand.
“Okay, stab me right where Cherry’s chest wound starts.” Suzuki lunged, and as the pencil made contact with starched white shirt, Kenji brought his right hand up to swat the blade away. A pencil line arced from his chest onto his upper arm.
He returned to Erika’s photo. “Bingo,” he said. “That slice on her chest and arm was defensive.”
Oki frowned and said, “The thing I don’t get is how she could have been so quick.”
“What do you mean?”
“If the blade was as sharp as the doc said, why was the wound only one centimeter deep?” Oki asked. “You were pretty fast, but if I were attacking you with a really sharp knife, it would have gone deeper than a centimeter in the time it took you to react and swat it away. And according to Erika’s chart, she had a blood alcohol level of 0.2, which would have made her even slower.”
“So that means…what? Robbery? Attempted rape? You think her attacker was holding the knife to her chest, demanding something, and she fought back?”
Suzuki folded Cherry’s file open to page three and paused, shuffled through the photos of Erika’s injuries. He selected one and laid it on the table, then hunched over, examining it.
“What are you looking at?” Kenji asked.
“See these faint scratches around her stab wound?” He pointed to the close-up photo of her chest. “They don’t look like wounds you’d get from the attack you just acted out.”
Oki moved around to look over his shoulder.
“These were carefully made. And they’re in exactly the same place as the scars on Cherry Endo.”
“You’re right,” Oki said. “So maybe they’re not connected to her attack. You think they were made before? Like maybe Erika was cutting herself, just like Cherry?”
“Two hostesses from the same club? Is it contagious or something?” Kenji said.
Suzuki studied the pictures. “They kind of look like kanji characters.”
He stood and drew Erika’s cuts on the whiteboard.
Then he copied the autopsy doctor’s sketch of Cherry’s scar.
“But neither of those are words,” Oki objected. “They don’t mean anything.”
“Maybe they weren’t finished yet.” Kenji jumped up and took the pen from Suzuki. He stepped up to the diagram of Cherry’s wound and added a stroke.
“Urana-, used to write ‘uranai’—the word for astrology,” he announced triumphantly.
“But why would someone cut the word for ‘astrology’ on themselves?” Oki protested.
“Why would someone argue about it outside Cherry’s apartment at two thirty in the morning?” Kenji countered. “It’s got to mean something—it’s come up too many times to be coincidence.”
Suzuki was scrutinizing the photo of Erika’s cuts. “Look here, it’s faint, but there’s an ink line completing the square around her wounds. Maybe she sketched some guidelines before she started cutting.”
Kenji and Oki leaned in to look.
Suzuki added the ink marks to the sketch on the whiteboard.
“Da? The word for ‘rice field’?” Kenji asked. “Why would a hostess cut ‘rice field’ on herself?”
“Why don’t we ask her?” Oki suggested.
“That would be too easy.” Kenji laughed, feeling stupid he hadn’t thought of it. “Maybe this morning she’ll remember more.”
Chapter 34
Wednesday, November 13
1:30 P.M.
Kenji
Kenji and Suzuki knocked politely on the door of Erika’s room at Komagome Hospital.
“O-jamaa shimasu,” Kenji called out. Sorry to trouble you.
As they entered, they were met with an overpowering fragrance of roses. An extravagant, deep red bouquet dominated the room from a tray table in the corner. Erika was sitting up, wearing a fluffy pink robe over her hospital gown, her left arm in a sling and a smaller, neater, white gauze square on her forehead. Her hair had been brushed out and hung in a long braid over her shoulder. Kenji introduced Assistant Detective Suzuki, who bowed and silently pulled out his notebook.
“How are you feeling this morning?” Kenji asked.
“I’ll live,” Erika replied. “But what am I going to do about the scar on my chest and arm? Am I going to be able to go back to work?”
Kenji glanced at the roses. “I guess if I had an admirer like that, I’d be eager to get back to work too.”
Erika’s face clouded. “I was going to call you about those.” She scooped up a small envelope from the bedside table with her unbandaged hand. “Look at this.”
Kenji pulled on a pair of white evidence-handling gloves and drew a small card from the envelope. “Honto ni gomenasai,” he read. I am so sorry. “No signature. Any idea who sent it?”
Erika shook her head. “That’s not all. Look in the bottom drawer of the nightstand.”
He skirted the bed and pulled it open. Inside was a glossy Cartier shopping bag. Setting it on the bed, he removed a creased sheet of gold wrapping paper, a slightly wrinkled ribbon, and a blue leather jewelry box.
He opened the lid and the sun flashed off a glittering diamond necklace. “Wow.”
“It came with the roses,” Erika said in a flat voice.
“Did you see who delivered it?”
“Just a regular hospital volunteer. In a pink smock. Said she’d been sent by the reception desk.”
“Who’s it from?”
“I wish I knew.”
“Do you think The Zombie sent it? Wasn’t he your last customer?”
“He’s the last one I remember, but…is that what Manager-san said?”
“She won’t tell us. Honestly, I was shocked she was protecting him after he did this to you.”
“We don’t know if it was him or not.” Erika protested. “The owner will give Manager-san hell if she hands over one of our best customers to the police and it turns out he didn’t do it.”
“Yes, but what if he did?”
Erika looked away, troubled.
“Why don’t you call her and ask what happened last night, for your own peace of mind?”
Erika was silent for a long moment. “My phone is in my purse,” she said.
Kenji handed her the bag and Erika rummaged around with her good hand until she found a silvery pink phone with a thick tassel of rhinestone-embellished ornaments hanging from the corner.
She made the call, but ended up listening more than she talked. Bowing to her unseen manager she ended the call, apologizing profusely.
She put her phone away and sat there slumped for a moment, then looked at Kenji.
“Manager-san says Mr…. she says that guy I was telling you about was my last client.”
“And you still don’t remember leaving with him?”
“No.” She turned away to hide her embarrassment.
“What’s the matter?”
“I, uh, apparently I had a lot more to drink than I remember. Manager-san said I was so drunk I could barely stand, that I ought to call him right away to thank him because not only did he offer to have his driver take me home, he paid an extra hundred thousand yen to buy me out. If he hadn’t, the club would have fined me for quitting early.” She winced. “I guess that’s why I had such a terrible headache this morning.”
“I bet he’s not feeling so great, either. On the other hand, some of those old geezers can really put away the booze and barely show it.”
Erika nodded. “Yeah. He’s like that, even though he’s not that old yet.”
“Really?” Kenji’s eyebrows shot up. “With a nickname like The Zombie I was picturing him to be a craggy, old, bald guy.”
“Well, he is in his late thirties or early forties, but he has this wavy, wild hair, always needs a trim.”
“Huh. Doesn’t sound that zombie-like to me.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen him. He’s got this creepy-looking hand…” She colored. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, after all he did for me.”
“Erika, he might have been the one who did this to you,” Kenji reminded her.
“I know, but…” She shut her mouth, refusing to say more.
“Can I ask you about something else, then? Those cuts you have on your chest. Do you remember how you got them?”
Confusion suffused her face. “Didn’t they happen during the attack?
“Some certainly did. But I’m wondering if it’s possible that some of them were there…before?”
“What? No! What do you mean?”
Kenji pulled the photo of her chest wound from the file he’d brought, and handed it to her.
“This is a picture of me?” Her face went white with shock. “That’s what’s under the gauze? Why would someone cut me like that? It’s like…it’s like they did it on purpose!”
“If you’d just tell me the name of Mr. Zombie, we’ll ask him.”
“What are you doing to upset my patient?” exclaimed a nurse pulling a blood pressure monitor as she bustled into the room, a clipboard under her arm. Her graying hair was cut short and businesslike. “I’m afraid you’ll have to leave. It’s time to change my patient’s dressings and monitor her vitals.”
Laying out tubes of ointment, gauze, and scissors, the nurse dismissed Kenji’s police ID. “No exceptions. She needs her rest. You can come back tonight after seven, if you must.”
With no choice but to retreat, they walked back toward the lobby.
Suzuki groaned. “Bad luck, huh, sir.”
“Maybe we should consult that astrologer for guidance on when to talk to witnesses.” Kenji sighed. “Let’s follow up on the roses and the necklace. Maybe the manager at Cartier is less tight-lipped than the manager at Club Heaven.”
On their way out, they detoured to the volunteer desk, where the pink-smocked attendant confirmed that she’d been asked to deliver a huge bouquet of roses and an expensive-looking shopping bag to room 105 that morning. The receptionist’s log showed tha
t a delivery service had dropped off the items at 10:36 A.M., but her description of the messenger shot down the possibility that The Zombie had done the job himself—it was unlikely that a tall, pockmarked man could disguise himself as a hundred-fifty-centimeter-tall woman.
Chapter 35
Wednesday, November 13
2:00 P.M.
Hoshi
“Hair check,” barked the photographer, offering a hand mirror.
Sure enough, one platinum spike had strayed over the inside corner of Hoshi’s right eye. He nudged it back, then inspected the rest of his mane, rearranging a few sections that had wilted under the lights. The photographer handed him a can of superhard hairspray.
“Thanks,” Hoshi said, resuming his position on the white seamless backdrop. He rolled his shoulders a few times to loosen up and adjusted the glittering lapel pin on his new silver silk suit. Tugging firmly on the black T-shirt with “Jury Black” scrolling across the front, he tucked the bottom edge neatly behind his silver-studded belt. Hoshi knew from experience that details mattered. In the studio it was easy to overlook wrinkles that could mar a whole series of pictures and require expensive digital fixing later.
The photographer gazed at the display on his camera rig, cycling through the thirty-two pictures he’d already taken. He nodded with satisfaction. “I think we’ve got good exposures on all the standards; let’s try a few attitude shots,” he suggested. Checking his sync cord, he fired a few times to make sure the flash was still working properly, then aimed his camera.
“Lips.”
Hoshi licked them to make them shine, and the photographer quickly squeezed off two frames. He moved in and angled slightly to the right.
“Okay, gimme some love,” the cameraman directed. “Hey babe.”
Hoshi gave him a slight smile and a wink.
Flash.
“It’s our secret.”
Finger to the lips. Shhh.
Flash.
The photographer zoomed in. “Good. Let’s try playful.”
Silly grin, peace sign.
Flash.
“Who knows…?”
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