by David Peace
Have you heard anything from the university yet, asked Yukio Katayama. Heard the results of the autopsy yet?
Not yet, sir. No.
I see, said Yukio Katayama. Again he glanced over the shoulder of Harry Sweeney, again he looked at the other desk, at the empty chair. And then he said, slowly said, It’s all my fault, Mister Sweeney. All my responsibility.
Why do you say that, sir?
Because I recommended Shimoyama-kun for the position of Vice Minister for Transport, Mister Sweeney. This was when Shimoyama-kun was the Director of the Tokyo Railways Bureau. And because he accepted the position as Vice Minister, Shimoyama-kun then became the President when we were reorganized as a public corporation, when everybody else withdrew. Today I cannot help but feel that was the first step on the journey to his death. If I had not suggested his name to the Minister for Transport, then none of this would have happened, Mister Sweeney. Shimoyama-kun would still be here.
And what do you think happened, sir?
Yukio Katayama staring at the empty chair again, Yukio Katayama talking to the empty chair now, Yukio Katayama said, slowly said, Ever since you were a child, you loved the railways. You were obsessed by the railways. You were mad about all machines, but you loved locomotives. You adored locomotives more than anything else. You had traveled the world, traveled on all the trains of the world. You had studied them all, and you loved them all…
Yukio Katayama looked away from the empty chair, Yukio Katayama turned back to Harry Sweeney, and Yukio Katayama said, quicker now he said, No matter how much pressure he was under, no matter how fraught his nerves might have been, there is no way a man who loved trains, a man who worked for the railways, no way he would ever use a train as the tool with which to end his life. Never, Mister Sweeney. Never.
So you believe the President was murdered, sir?
Yes, said Yukio Katayama. As soon as I heard Shimoyama-shi’s body had been found, where and how it had been found, I knew he had been murdered. I knew.
Harry Sweeney nodded, then said, Both you and the President had received death threats?
Yes, said Yukio Katayama again. But not only the President and myself; many of our senior directors have. The Colonel too, I believe, Lieutenant Colonel Channon.
And these death threats, they came in the form of letters? Is that correct, sir?
Letters, yes. But also telephone calls. And then, of course, there are the posters that have been put up across the city. I’m sure you’ve seen them, Mister Sweeney?
Harry Sweeney nodded again: I have, sir, yes. Do you have any of these letters to hand, sir?
No, said Yukio Katayama. Not now, not here. We always hand such letters to our own security staff. They then forward them to the police.
Is it correct, sir, that the Metropolitan Police have provided you with extra security? Both here and at your home, and also in your car?
Again Yukio Katayama looked over the shoulder of Harry Sweeney, again he was staring at the empty chair as he said, Well, it was suggested and then discussed, yes. However, I don’t believe Shimoyama-kun accepted the offer.
Did you accept the offer, sir?
Yes, Mister Sweeney. I did accept, yes.
And so why did President Shimoyama decline?
I am not sure.
You didn’t discuss it with him then, at the time?
No, Mister Sweeney. But I believe he did discuss the matter personally with Chief Kita of the Metropolitan Police.
But there were many of these threats, sir?
Yes, Mister Sweeney. Many.
I am sorry, sir, but I have yet to see any of these letters, these threats. So could you give me an example of what kind of things they said, please?
Yukio Katayama nodded, sighed, and then said, That we would be assassinated, that we would meet Heaven’s Justice. If we carried out the proposal to cut personnel numbers.
And these were all anonymous?
Usually anonymous or signed with names such as the Repatriates’ League of Blood. Or something similar.
I see, said Harry Sweeney. Thank you. And in each case, you said you first handed them over to your own security staff. So were your own security staff able to find out anything at all about who might have been sending them?
Yukio Katayama smiled. Yukio Katayama shook his head. And then Yukio Katayama said, Not any names or addresses, no. But I think it’s quite obvious where they were coming from, don’t you, Mister Sweeney?
You mean from within the Railroad Union?
Yes, Mister Sweeney. From within the Railroad Union. Our own union, the union we helped set up and fund, yes.
And so then you believe President Shimoyama was abducted and murdered by members of the National Railroad Workers’ Union, sir? Is that what you’re saying, sir?
Yukio Katayama stared at the empty chair at the other desk, then he looked down at his hands, his hands together on his own desk. He shook his head, then looked back up. He stared at Harry Sweeney, stared at Harry Sweeney for a long time, before he said, Who else could it have been, Mister Sweeney? You have any other suspects, any other ideas?
* * *
—
Under the tracks, among the stalls. Under a canopy, on a bench. No more rooms, no more walls. Interviews or voices. Pushing him, pulling him. This way and that way. Just a bottle, just a glass. In the damp, in the heat. Everything stuck, everything wet. Clinging to him, clawing at him. Harry Sweeney picked up the bottle of beer. Harry Sweeney held the bottle in his hand. The bottle damp, the bottle wet. Clinging, clawing. The noise of the trains, the sound of their wheels. The stall shaking, the bench trembling. Harry Sweeney shaking, Harry Sweeney trembling. He gripped the bottle, he steadied his hand. He held it against his head, he pressed it into his skin. Damp and wet, damp and wet. The bottle and his head, his skin and his eyes. Damp and wet, damp and wet. He closed his eyes, he opened his eyes. Holding the bottle against his head, pressing the bottle into his skin. The noise of the trains, the sound of their wheels. Harry Sweeney shaking, Harry Sweeney trembling. He put down the bottle, the bottle still full. He pushed away the glass, the glass still empty. He looked down at his watch, the face still cracked and the hands still stopped. The noise of the trains, the sound of their wheels. Shaking and trembling, shaking and trembling. Harry Sweeney stood back up. He wiped his face, he wiped his neck. He picked up his hat, he picked up his jacket. He reached into his pocket, he paid the man in cents. The man smiled, the man bowed. Harry Sweeney smiled, Harry Sweeney bowed. Damp and wet, shaking and trembling. Harry Sweeney took out his cigarettes and Harry Sweeney lit a cigarette. He went back down the alley, he turned back round the corner. He turned left, onto Avenue Z. Under the heavy skies, in the gray light. Harry Sweeney walked down the avenue, Harry Sweeney passed the telegraph poles. The posters still on the poles, the words still on the posters. In Japanese, in English: KILL SHIMOYAMA. KILL SHIMOYAMA. KILL. KILL. KILL SHIMOYAMA. On every pole, on every poster. The words, the threats –
KILL, KILL, KILL SHIMOYAMA –
Words and threats, now made good.
Harry Sweeney sweating, Harry Sweeney shivering. In the damp, in the heat. He came to the Hibiya Crossing, he waited at the Hibiya Crossing. In the damp, in the heat. His eyes closing, his eyes opening. The black park and its trees, its shadows and insects. The still moat and its stench, its reflections and specters. The cars braking, the streetcars stopping. Shrill whistles and white gloves. Boots marching, feet moving. Harry Sweeney crossed over Avenue A, Harry Sweeney walked up 1st Street. In the damp, in the heat. His eyes closing, his eyes opening. The palace to his right, the park to his left. Still sweating, still shivering. In the damp, in the heat. Shaking and trembling, shaking and trembling. In the damp and in the heat. Harry Sweeney reached Sakuradamon, Harry Sweeney crossed 1st Street. Closing his eyes, opening his eyes. He walked up toward the Metropoli
tan Police Department HQ, could see Susumu Toda waiting by the car. Susumu Toda stubbing out a cigarette, Susumu Toda walking toward him: You get my message, Harry? Heard what they’re saying?
Still sweating, still shivering, but not shaking and not trembling, Harry Sweeney lit another cigarette, Harry Sweeney looked at Toda, and Harry Sweeney said, I’ve heard a lot of things today, Susumu. Let’s go…
* * *
—
In the Dai-ichi building, on the fifth floor, half walking, half running, Harry Sweeney and Susumu Toda saw Chief Evans up the corridor, heard his voice down the corridor –
You’re goddamn late again!
I’m sorry, sir, said Harry Sweeney, struggling to breathe, to catch his breath. The MPD briefing just finished.
Well, I hope for your sake it was worth it, said Chief Evans. They’ve been in there a goddamn half-hour already. General Willoughby does not like to be kept waiting.
I know, sir. I’m sorry, Chief.
Save it for the General, said Chief Evans. Just pull yourself together and let’s go –
I’m ready, sir.
Okay then, let’s go, said the Chief, knocking on the door to Room 525, the door to the office of the Assistant Chief of Staff, G-2, FEC & SCAP. Not you, Toda. You wait here.
Yes, sir, said Susumu Toda. Very good, sir.
If we need you, I’ll call you, said Chief Evans, opening the door to Room 525, leading Harry Sweeney inside the office of the Assistant Chief of Staff, announcing to the room, Police Investigator Sweeney, sir. He’s come here directly from the briefing at Metropolitan Police HQ, sir.
One of our very best men, General, said Colonel Pullman, smiling at Harry Sweeney –
Harry Sweeney glancing around the room, trying to take in the room, the men and their faces, the uniforms and their medals, looking now at the man at the head of the table: Major General Charles A. Willoughby, “Sir Charles” himself – born Adolf Karl von Tscheppe und Weidenbach, thus also known as “Baron von Willoughby” – much mocked but never to his face. Mac’s right-hand man, his “loveable fascist,” the Chief of Intelligence had the complete confidence and trust of the Supreme Commander, and thus “carte blanche” to do whatever he wanted, to whomever he chose –
The General looked Harry Sweeney up and down, smiled, and then, his German accent heavy and pronounced despite forty years in the United States Army, he said, I have heard good things about you, Sweeney. Very good things.
Thank you, sir.
But I did not imagine you would look like this, not from the things I had heard. You look like you have been sleeping in the ditch, Sweeney, like you have been digging in the dirt.
Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir. It’s been a long –
Spare us your excuses, Sweeney. Just tell us what you have found. In your ditch, in your dirt.
Yes, sir. The preliminary autopsy ended at seventeen hundred hours, sir, and the initial conclusion is that Sadanori Shimoyama was murdered, sir.
Well, that is good news, said the General. Very good news. Excellent, in fact.
Sir –
The General raised a hand, a finger, stared at Sweeney and then around the table: The murder of this man is a tragedy, of course. But it is an outrage, and we must turn this outrage into an opportunity. Only two days ago, in his speech on the Fourth of July, did not our Supreme Commander warn that Communism was a movement of national and international outlawry? Did he not warn that the Communist will always use assassination and violence to create chaos and unrest? And the very next day is he not proved correct yet again? The brutal assassination of this innocent man demonstrates to the whole of Japan and to the watching world that the nihilism and terrorism of the Communist knows no mercy, that he will stop at nothing in order to bring about his violent revolution! So we must show him no mercy, we must stop at nothing to crush him! We must meet force with force; we must outlaw their party, close down their newspaper, arrest their leaders, and bring the murderers of this poor man to justice, swift, merciless justice! Sweeney –
Yes, sir!
Tell us what steps are being taken, what progress is being made to hunt down the Communist assassins.
Sir, the preliminary autopsy results indicate that Shimoyama had been dead for some time before his body was run over by the train. However, the autopsy will resume tomorrow, when it is hoped that the precise cause of death can then be determined. In the meantime, the police consider this the most important case in recent years and are working all out to solve it. Because they believe that a number of people must have been involved in the murder, both the First and Second Investigative Divisions have been assigned to the case. They are presently canvassing both the areas around the Mitsukoshi department store, where Shimoyama was last seen, and around the crime scene itself. Important clues are expected shortly, sir.
Shortly, said the General. What is shortly, Sweeney? What about now? What about suspects? Arrests?
Sir, according to PSD sources within the MPD, the police are investigating a number of threatening letters which were sent to Shimoyama and also to Premier Yoshida and his cabinet, and to Police Chief Kita and Mister Katayama, the Vice President of the National Railways. The letters were all received on the Fourth of July and were all signed “Repatriates’ Blood League” or “League of Blood.”
Colonel Batty, Colonel Duffy, said the General, turning to look down the table. Have you heard of this, er, Repatriates’ League of Blood?
Colonel Batty shook his head, but Colonel Duffy nodded and said, General, sir, CIC are aware of these letters, and others of a similar nature, but, as yet, have no information about this particular group. According to our own intelligence, they would seem to have had no history prior to the sending of the letters in question. But we are continuing to investigate, sir.
General, sir, said a tall, thin man dressed in a dark, well-cut civilian suit, seated close to the top of the table, close to the General. If I may interject here…
Please, said the General, turning to smile at the man, to smile and say, by all means, Richard, please do.
Hongō are in possession of some information which might be of relevance here, sir.
Very good, said the General. Please, go on…
Well, sir, said the man, glancing down the table at Harry Sweeney, Harry Sweeney standing at the foot of the table. It’s information of a somewhat confidential nature, sir.
The General nodded, looked down the table at Harry Sweeney, stared at Harry Sweeney at the foot of the table, nodded again, then said, You got anything else, Sweeney?
No, sir. Not at this stage, no, sir.
Then you are dismissed, Sweeney.
Yes, sir. Thank you, sir, said Harry Sweeney, turning toward the door, walking toward the exit –
One last thing, Sweeney, said General Willoughby.
Harry Sweeney turned back from the door: Yes, sir?
The next time you come before me, you make sure you are washed and shaved, your clothes are fresh and pressed, and your shoes polished and shined. You may think you are a civilian, Sweeney, but you work for SCAP and you represent the United States of America. Is that understood, Sweeney?
Yes, sir. I am very sorry, sir.
Oh, and Sweeney?
Yes, sir?
That next time, when you are standing before me, all washed and shaved, fresh and pressed, polished and shined, you better be bringing me the names of the assassins of Sadanori Shimoyama. Is that also understood, Sweeney?
Yes, sir. It is, sir.
Then go on, Sweeney. Go fetch!
* * *
—
He did not stop to speak to Susumu Toda, he did not wait outside for Chief Evans. He walked away from Room 525, he walked down the corridor. He did not wait for the elevator, he took the stairs, the ten flights of stairs, down and out of the Dai-ichi building. Dow
n and out, he walked past the Imperial Hotel, then along the tracks, he walked past the Dai-ichi Hotel and on past the station, Shimbashi station. He walked past the shops and through the market, he walked past the restaurants and through the stalls. He walked and he walked, through a set of double doors and up another flight of stairs, walking and walking, until he was standing before a desk, until he heard Akira Senju say, Look at the state of you, Harry. You look like you’ve been hit by a train – Sorry! How very tactless of me. I’m sorry, Harry. Forgive me, please. Sit down, sit down…
Harry Sweeney sat down, slumped in the chair before that antique rosewood desk in this luxurious modern office at the top of that shiny new building, this Shimbashi Palace.
Twice in twenty-four hours, smiled Akira Senju. This is just like old times, is it not, Harry? Those good old times. So I hope you are bringing me good news, Harry. Just like you used to do, back in the old times, those good old times.
Harry Sweeney said, Good news?
About that little list of names?
Harry Sweeney reached inside his jacket, felt the folded piece of paper, that folded list of names, Formosan names, Korean names, and Harry Sweeney shook his head, shook his head and said, I’m sorry.
You’ve not had the time, said Akira Senju. Of course not, I know. I understand, Harry. No need for apologies, not between friends. Old friends like us, Harry. You take your time, take as long as you need, Harry. But then to what do I owe the pleasure of another visit, Harry? A little drink, perhaps?
Harry Sweeney shook his head again, Harry Sweeney sat forward in his chair and said, Shimoyama…
Of course, of course, said Akira Senju, nodding and smiling at Harry Sweeney. I heard the news. Terrible, terrible business. And I don’t like to say I told you so, Harry, but I told you so; presidents, they do tend to get assassinated.
Harry Sweeney nodded: Yes, so you said. You were quite certain last night. Very certain, in fact.
Well, laughed Akira Senju, I’m no Nostradamus, no Sherlock Holmes. It was inevitable, it was obvious. You only have to walk down any street in the city, read the posters on the walls, on the poles. It’s there in black and white, red and white, in Japanese and English: Kill Shimoyama!