“One,” he told the waitress.
“I have something to show you, but first can I ask a question?” Yumi began. “That case you’re investigating—what time did that hostess Cherry fall down the stairs?”
He sighed. “The crime lab said sometime between one and three A.M., but her next-door neighbor told us two people were having a loud argument about astrology outside her apartment around two thirty.”
“Astrology?”
“Yeah. The witness said she heard a woman shout ‘hoshi uranai’ at two twenty-nine A.M. We think Cherry died sometime after that—between two thirty and three.”
“Good. That confirms it.” Yumi rummaged in her bag and pulled out some folded papers. “Hoshi didn’t kill her. He was long gone by two thirty.”
“Wait a minute,” Kenji said. “I thought you wanted to help me nail him so Coco didn’t get sucked into that whole sordid world!”
“I did, but…”
“We know for sure he was in Cherry’s apartment that night—what makes you think he didn’t do it?”
“He was in her apartment. He made her a pot of tea. But he didn’t push her down the stairs. Hoshi told me she was really upset because some guy she called Matsu beat her up earlier that night—he’s the one you should really be looking for.”
“Matsu’s the name of the customer she was out with that night?”
“It was Cherry’s nickname for him. ‘Matsu’ is short for his family name.”
He pulled out his pen to note that The Zombie’s real name was Matsu-something.
“He did something terrible to her,” Yumi continued, “so she ditched him and ended up at Club Nova. Hoshi took her home and made her tea, but then he got an emergency call from his wife—”
“Whoa, wait a minute.” Kenji stared at her. “Hoshi is married?”
Yumi nodded. “And his wife is expecting. But you can’t tell anybody—he’ll lose his job. They need the money, so please don’t—”
Goddamit, the guy was married and he still made a living by leeching money off women pitiful enough to fall in love with him? He hated those lying hosts almost as much as he hated Ichiro Mitsuyama. It pissed him off that Yumi had let herself be taken in by that scam artist. What was she thinking?
“Sorry to burst your bubble, Yu-chan, but I’m afraid the word of a guy who lies for a living doesn’t exactly trump the evidence. We’re pretty sure Cherry was pregnant, and on the day she died she went to her astrologer to pick up a marriage compatibility chart for someone whose particulars match Hoshi’s. What you’ve just told me about him being married gives him even more reason to get rid of her when she told him she was pregnant and started pressuring him to tie the knot. And Cherry might not be the only woman he’s harmed. Did you know he tried to run over your friend Coco with Miho Yamaguchi’s car on Thursday night?”
“No he didn’t! He was there and he saw it happen, but once he checked to see that Coco was going to be okay, he had to leave because he got another emergency call from his wife.”
“Then how come the car he gave her a ride home in matches the description of the one that tried to hit her? If he’s so innocent, how come he’s on the run?”
“Because he thinks you’re trying to pin two crimes on him he didn’t commit!”
Now Kenji was mad. “That’s what you think of me? That I’d frame him just to get a conviction?”
“I’m here to give you a chance to prove that wrong,” she said. “He really didn’t do it.”
She unfolded one of the papers and pushed it across the table. “This proves he wasn’t anywhere near Komagome at two thirty that morning.”
Kenji picked it up. It said Nakano General Hospital at the top.
“That’s a copy of his wife’s emergency room intake form,” Yumi explained. “She was afraid she was having a miscarriage. Look at the time stamp. And the signature. Hiro Amano is Hoshi’s real name. He was in Koenji from two twenty-three A.M. until eleven the next morning. You can check with the hospital—he stayed with her the whole time.” She pushed the second piece of paper across the table. “And the same thing happened the night he saw Coco nearly get hit by a car.”
“Where did you get these?”
“He gave them to me.”
“You saw him? Where is he?”
He watched her weigh her loyalties. Finally she said, “I can’t tell you until he’s officially off the suspect list.”
Goddammit. “Yumi, this is an official police investigation. Withholding evidence is a crime and—”
“I’m not withholding evidence, I’m giving you everything you need to quit running after the wrong guy and start looking for the right one.” Yumi pulled out her phone and scrolled through the saved photos. “Here’s a shot of Hoshi’s received calls from the night Cherry died.” She turned it so he could see the screen. “This one at two oh four is from his wife. He checked her into the emergency room nineteen minutes later.”
Kenji stared at the phone. It couldn’t be true. He’d be back to square one.
“How do I know when he signed this?” he demanded, waving the form. “Maybe she took a cab and he showed up to stamp his hanko on the paperwork after he killed Cherry.”
“Talk to the people at the emergency room. They’ll tell you.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll check it out. I’ll check it out thoroughly.” He carefully folded the copies she’d given him. “When I find out he’s lying, these will make an excellent exhibits in court.”
“What’s the matter with you?” she cried, pushing back her chair and leaping to her feet. “Why are you so stuck on believing he’s guilty? Why can’t you believe him?”
“It’s my job.”
“Why can’t you believe me?”
Now Kenji was on his feet too. As he felt his case tumbling down around his ears, he blurted, “Because you’re marrying someone you don’t love, for reasons I don’t understand!”
The entire coffee shop fell silent, riveted by their conversation. She grabbed her purse and ran.
Chapter 50
Friday, November 15
5:00 P.M.
Yumi
Hoshi picked up on the first ring and Yumi asked, “Where are you?”
“Koenji.”
“Good,” she said. “Don’t go to the club and don’t go near your place in Mejiro.”
“Why not? Aren’t you going to talk to Detective Nakamura today?”
“I already did.” Her anger came flooding back.
“He didn’t believe you?” Hoshi said, incredulous. “Even with the hospital forms and the call record?”
She couldn’t tell Hoshi that Kenji wanted to hang Cherry’s death on him so badly she feared he might ignore the evidence, maybe even fabricate some.
“What am I going to do? I have to work or I’ll lose my customers!”
“I know.” She was the one who’d handed Hoshi to Kenji on a platter. “If we discover what really happened to Cherry that night, you’ll be off the hook.”
“How are we going to do that?” he moaned.
“What about that guy Matsu? Any idea how we can find out who he is?”
“I could ask my other customers who work at Heaven, see if anybody besides Cherry entertained the guy.” He frowned. “But I don’t think they’re allowed to tell me his name.”
“I bet you’ll have better luck than the police.”
Chapter 51
Saturday, November 16
1:00 P.M.
Kenji
Kenji’s knees ached as he knelt on the tatami floor in a shadowy back corner of the room where Cherry Endo’s body lay atop a narrow futon, swathed in a white satin coverlet. Her hands were clasped on her chest, the pink quartz beads of a Buddhist rosary encircling them. Her face was made up to look dewy and natural, lips tinted a pale pink, and hair combed out on the pillow like a princess.
Tendrils of incense smoke perfumed the air as uneven rows of neighbors, friends, and family knelt between Kenji and an ornate wooden altar broug
ht by the funeral company. Some gazed up at the dead hostess’s high school graduation portrait, her black hair not yet bleached to kyabajō blonde, her eyes narrow and tilted with laughter instead of mascaraed and glued to appear fashionably round. A few mourners sniffed, clutching handkerchiefs as the priest chanted the last stanzas of the funeral sutra.
Kenji had been keeping an eye on the assembling guests. He didn’t expect to see Hoshi, but he hoped that either The Zombie or the boyfriend she’d been in the habit of meeting on Friday nights might show up and save him a lot of legwork. Unfortunately, among the assembled guests only one was tall enough to be her customer from Club Heaven, and Kenji hadn’t spotted anybody who looked like he had a romantic birthday and a dangerous job.
Cherry’s parents, sitting rigidly in the front row, looked shell-shocked and drained. Her mother’s head was bowed over her plain black kimono. Cherry’s father, his mouth pinched with grief, stared glassy-eyed at the portrait of his daughter as he wished to remember her. In the gloomy room, his face was gray despite its sunburn, and Kenji was reminded that Cherry had mortgaged her future so he wouldn’t lose his fishing boat. Who would make those loan payments now that she was dead?
A dignified pair of men wearing impeccable funeral suits arrived. The older man positioned himself at Cherry’s shoulders, the young man stood at her feet. Wordlessly, they bent down and grasped the four corners of her futon, lifting her body, then smoothly lowering it into a waiting cedar coffin. Tucking the satin folds of the coverlet around her, they stepped back to allow family members to approach one last time before the casket was closed and taken to the crematorium.
A sound near the back of the room made Kenji turn. A man was belatedly seating himself by the doorway. He was a mountain of muscle who probably had to buy his clothes in Ryōgoku, where sumo wrestlers shopped. Although he wore a white shirt and black tie as was proper for a funeral, the flashy fabric of his suit screamed yakuza. Bodyguard? Enforcer? His close-cropped, platinum-bleached hair did nothing to hide the top of a tattoo peeking out above his collar. He must have recently shaved off a goatee, because a ghost of it remained, paler than the rest of his face. Kenji squinted at the round, gold pin in his lapel and wondered which gang it represented; he’d ask Oki later.
Cherry’s father stifled a sob as the lid was secured. He climbed to his feet and took his wife’s arm as they shuffled toward the door, stoop-shouldered with grief. People began to rise stiffly and file out behind them.
The huge yakuza had disappeared. Kenji went in search of him, following the tall guest who might be The Zombie toward the kitchen, where funeral food in mismatched dishes, brought by friends and neighbors, was laid out. Through the window, he spotted the man-mountain wreathed in cigarette smoke. He didn’t look like he was going anywhere, so Kenji concentrated on the tall man in the kitchen. A few minutes later, when the potential Zombie turned out to be Cherry’s cousin from Akita, Kenji returned to the kitchen window.
“Goddamit,” he muttered. The platinum-haired yakuza had disappeared. Pushing through the crowd, he reached the door just in time to see Mr. and Mrs. Endo walking past, followed closely by the man from Kabuki-chō. An old-fashioned fusama door at the end of the hall closed decisively behind the threesome. Kenji removed his slippers and crept down the hall. Putting his ear up to the crack, he heard a low murmur of voices, but couldn’t make out what they were saying.
Cherry had borrowed the money to pay off her father’s boat from someone she’d been introduced to in Kabuki-chō. Was the guy with the yakuza pin her loan shark’s enforcer, here to inform the Endos that there was no escaping their unwelcome inheritance? He certainly wasn’t wasting any time collecting on the dead girl’s debt, the asshole. It was indecent!
Kenji whipped the sliding door aside so hard it bounced back with a crack. Cherry’s parents were on their knees, foreheads to the floor before the gangster, who knelt stiffly upright on a faded indigo floor cushion. The mountain of muscle was extending a piece of paper stamped with vermilion seals toward Cherry’s father, presenting it formally with both hands. They all turned to stare, shocked by the intrusion.
Kenji pulled out his police ID and said, “I’m Detective Nakamura from Komagome. What’s going on here?”
Cherry’s father scrambled to his feet and steered Kenji back into the hall. “Please don’t intrude, Detective. I beg you. This is none of your business.” He slammed the door in Kenji’s face.
Kenji hadn’t worked on any investigations involving gangsters, but he knew that intimidation was their stock in trade. Cherry’s parents must be frightened out of their wits. Retreating to the kitchen, he decided not to confront Mr. Muscle Mountain before finding out just how he’d threatened the grieving parents. After the yakuza left, he’d talk to Mr. and Mrs. Endo, then consult with Oki. It shouldn’t be hard to track down a big platinum-haired bodyguard with a tattoo on his neck.
Stuffing a bite of onigiri into his mouth, he heard the front door close. Through the kitchen window, he watched the enforcer make his way to a white sedan. Kenji pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of his back, then got lucky when he turned to look back at Cherry’s house. He snapped another one, then went in search of Mr. and Mrs. Endo.
The door to the tatami room stood open, and they were still seated, staring silently at the document the loan shark had left. Kenji knocked softly on the doorframe. “Excuse me for disturbing you.”
Cherry’s father said, “Please come in.”
Kenji entered and bowed. “I’m sorry for your loss, and I apologize for intruding earlier. I’ve been investigating your daughter’s death, and I know about the boat loan. That’s the contract she signed, isn’t it?”
Mr. Endo nodded.
“We’ll try to protect you from that thug, now that we know who he is. It’s unforgivable what he did to you today.”
“What? No, it’s not what you think.” Her father extended the document. “He wasn’t here to collect on the loan. He was here to tell us it had been paid in full.”
Chapter 52
Sunday, November 17
9:00 A.M.
Kenji
“Nakamura-san!” The officer at the Komagome Police Station information desk waved a message slip at him as he came through the front door. Kenji took it and stepped into the elevator. Madame Lily had stopped by to say the data from her hard drive had been retrieved, and she’d been slightly mistaken about Cherry’s prospective husband’s birthday. She’d remembered he’d been born on a romantic holiday, but it wasn’t Valentine’s Day, it was White Day—a holiday hastily invented to correct the unfairness that only men received candy on February 14.
Damn. White Day was March 14; it didn’t match Hoshi’s birthday.
He stopped to pick up his case file and grab a cup of tea on his way to the interview room, where Oki was already waiting.
“What kind of chinpira wears a round gold badge with a ring of six dots?” Kenji asked, dropping into a chair.
“Low-level Kurosawa-kai. Why?”
“I need to talk to a loan shark’s bodyguard who looks like Mount Fuji with snow on top.” He explained about the gangster he’d seen at Cherry’s funeral and pulled out his phone to show Oki the picture he’d snapped.
The big detective studied it. “You want an introduction?”
“You know him?”
“Nah, but almost everyone I grew up with was either Yamamoto-gumi or Kurosawa-kai. E-mail me the picture. I know a guy who can probably tell us who he is and where to find him.”
That explained how Oki knew everybody on both sides of the fence—he’d grown up in Kabuki-chō. “Your family wasn’t…?”
“No. But my dad bled protection money to the Yamamoto-gumi until the day he died.” Oki cracked his neck back and forth. “That’s why I became black-belt judo-gumi instead.”
“Why was your dad paying shōbadai?”
“You don’t own a bar in Kabuki-chō without giving the devil his due,” Oki said. He took a sip of
tea, forgetting about the faulty hot pot, and burned his tongue. “Ow.”
Suzuki rushed in at exactly 9:00, apologizing for being late. Kenji filled them both in on what he’d learned at the funeral, and passed out copies of the hospital intake form, explaining that if it checked out, Hoshi would be off their list of suspects in the wake of Cherry’s death. He’d gone straight to Nakano Hospital after Yumi stormed out of the café, but had been told that if he wanted to talk to the emergency room team that had been on duty when Hoshi and his wife came in last Friday night, he’d have to wait until midnight.
“So Hoshi’s not completely off the hook yet, but I think we’d better start looking harder at our other suspects.”
“What about this Zombie character?” Suzuki asked, riffling through the case notes.
“His real name is Matsu-something.” Kenji told them what Yumi had found out from Hoshi.
“Matsumoto?” Oki speculated. “Matsuda? Matsubara?”
“Matsushita? Matsudaira? Matsuyama?” Suzuki added.
“Doesn’t really narrow it down much, does it?” Kenji said apologetically.
“I wonder who paid off Cherry’s loan,” Oki mused.
“Well, money flows from customers to hosts, not the other way around, so it probably wasn’t Hoshi. And The Zombie apparently paid her in diamonds.”
“You think it was the mystery boyfriend she met every Friday?”
“That’s what I’d like to ask Mr. Man-Mountain, if we can find him.”
Oki stepped out to call, and returned a few minutes later. “His real name is Daisuke Goto,” the big detective said, “but everyone calls him Zoro because of the One Piece comic book character he’s got tattooed on his neck. He holds court at the Kaliko Café in Shinjuku every morning—sixth floor, next to the Arabian Rock on Yasukuni-dori. We can catch him there after eleven.”
Chapter 53
Sunday, November 17
11:00 A.M.
Kenji
Kenji sneezed. Twice. The Calico Cafe was his worst nightmare: a cat café, where people without pets could pay ¥900 per hour to be ignored by cats as if they were their very own. Kenji’s eyes were already itching.
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