Tokyo Zangyo

by Michael Pronko

  “I had to redo all my work today. It took me all night again, and now it’s morning.”

  Akiko shook her head. “And those are just the ones from the week before she jumped from the company roof.” She looked up at Hiroshi. “On her twenty-sixth birthday.”

  Chapter 8

  Sugamo looked at the GPS on the dashboard and squinted at the small blue address signs bolted on the outside walls of the buildings. The streets near the train station spoked out in all directions.

  “I thought you said Mitaka?” Sugamo said.

  “Mitaka Station,” Hiroshi said. “But it’s not Mitaka City. Maybe it’s Musashino City?”

  Sugamo said, “And I thought this was a rich area?”

  “This is the part that’s not rich yet,” Takamatsu said.

  Sugamo pulled over next to the fence running along the sidewalk. “It’s got to be this building, but the numbers run around the other side.”

  “We’ll find it easier on foot,” Hiroshi said. He got out and started checking the addresses against his cellphone map.

  Takamatsu got out and straightened his jacket, leaving his trench coat in the car. “What’s the address?”

  “One, seventeen, thirty-six,” Hiroshi said, looking for a sign on one of the stores. Even numbers ran one way and odd numbers the other around the square chome block of buildings. They walked around the block twice before they found it.

  The building was an old one with a tiled entryway lined by metal mailboxes, one bashed in, most with the bottom rusting, and the rest with small padlocks or stuffed with junk mail flyers. A stack of just-delivered packages tottered below the window of the guard’s office. Hiroshi pressed the button for the elevator and they rode up to the click and grind of elevator gears.

  At the lawyer’s office, Hiroshi tapped on the frosted glass window, pulled open the door and shouted, “Sumimasen, excuse me, anyone here?” They stepped inside. The office comprised six desks inside a perimeter of metal filing cabinets with just enough room to push the chairs back to get out. It had a damp smell, despite the dingy windows being open a crack.

  “Sumimasen,” Hiroshi shouted a bit louder from the doorway.

  A toilet flushed from somewhere down the hallway and a pudgy man with long curly hair stepped out of a door at the end of the hall. He finished wiping his hands on his handkerchief and said, “Ah, you’re here.”

  He waved them inside the office to an area separated by shoulder-high dividers. In the middle was a laminated table chipped on the top and sides. Mismatched chairs cluttered the partitioned space.

  “I’m Sekimoto,” the pudgy man said. “Welcome to my consultation room.”

  Hiroshi and Takamatsu bowed and handed over their meishi name cards.

  Sekimoto reached over to a small plastic tray at the side of the table and tossed two of his meishi on the table as he squeezed into a chair. His button-down shirt, threadbare at the collar, fitted tightly over his plump chest and belly. He pushed back curled strings of longish hair and took in the detectives. Hiroshi couldn’t tell if the random stubble on his chin and cheeks was style or indifference.

  Hiroshi held Sekimoto’s meishi in his hands. “You handled the case for Toshiko Yamase against Senden Central.”

  “Senden Infinity,” Sekimoto added. “Don’t forget that ‘Infinity.’”

  “We need to know what you know about the case,” Hiroshi said.

  Sekimoto pointed in turn at four filing cabinets next to the consultation room. “How much time do you have?”

  “All those?” Hiroshi asked.

  Sekimoto nodded with a sly smirk.

  Takamatsu said, “That’s just it. We don’t have time.”

  “You heard that the bucho Onizuka fell from the same spot as Mayu jumped,” Hiroshi said.

  “I heard he died, but the newsfeed gave no details. I guess he was murdered?” Sekimoto leaned forward.

  “You don’t seem surprised,” Hiroshi said.

  “He was a serial bully, so it was only a matter of time.”

  “All bullies get punished eventually, you mean?” Takamatsu asked, putting his arms on the chipped tabletop. “I wish that were true.”

  Sekimoto chuckled. “Me, too. But his kind can only keep going so long.”

  “What’s ‘his kind’?” Hiroshi asked. “Bully? Harasser?”

  “That and then some.” Sekimoto shook his head. “Hard to know where to start. High school? College? Company? His night life?”

  Takamatsu laughed. “He’s the real deal, then?”

  Sekimoto smiled. “He was. Let me start with high school. Here’s the short list. Suspensions for bullying junior students, fights, shoplifting and a gambling circle. Other records were sealed, since he was a minor. You could look them up.”

  “Where did he go to high school?”

  “Over in Edogawa-ku. Single mother. A gang. The usual.”

  “You got into the details.”

  “I had a good investigator.”

  “Could we talk to him?”

  “He died last year. Car accident.” Sekimoto frowned. “He was a great help. And clever as hell. He was an older single guy. His sister sent everything to be burned, as his will requested. I’ve got everything he gave me in one of those cabinets, though.”

  “What about college?” Hiroshi asked.

  “Onizuka got into Waseda with a wrestling scholarship.”

  “Freestyle or Greco-Roman?”

  “Greco-Roman. His high school made him choose—wrestling or reform school. Funny choice. He won championships all through college but stopped in his fourth year to focus on job-hunting.”

  “Did he work anyplace else other than Senden?”

  Sekimoto shook his head. “He was old school. In the worst way. At Senden, he was the one who added the ‘Infinity’ by the way.”

  Hiroshi said, “He moved up quickly?”

  “He was held back by a stream of complaints,” Sekimoto said.

  “You saw his personnel files?”

  “No, I tracked the women down one by one, or rather, my investigator did. Some talked. Most said they had moved on already, that it was just a job.”

  “What about Mayu’s case?”

  Sekimoto nodded. “We had enough former employees willing to give evidence, but since the company was never compelled to turn over the records from Human Resources, it was just the women’s voices against the largest media company in Japan.”

  Hiroshi held up his hand. “They kept the files secret in a trial like this?”

  “I teamed up with another bigger law firm, but even so, we didn’t have the connections with any of the ministries. They argued that if one company opened their records for this kind of trial, then every company would have to follow suit. The judges agreed.” Sekimoto shrugged.

  “But—”

  “It doesn’t make sense, I know. And was legally questionable. But the Ministry of Labor, who should have been filing the case in the first place, was unwilling to help.” Sekimoto shrugged again. He was good at shrugging.

  “Still, you won,” Hiroshi said.

  “It was my first big win, yes,” Sekimoto said. “Mayu’s mother, Toshiko, said she didn’t want the money, she wanted a public apology. I had to explain to her that they weren’t going to offer anything but a superficial apology, public or private. She finally took the money. I helped her set up the flower shop business, accounts, taxes, paperwork.”

  “Can you give us the names of the former employees who testified against Onizuka?”

  Sekimoto took a big breath, thinking about that. “I can save you some time with that, sure, but I wish my investigator was around. He’s the one who knew every little detail of Onizuka’s life.”

  “Like his cashflow?” Hiroshi prompted.

  Sekimoto smiled. “You’re on the right track now.”

  Takamatsu said, “Let me guess, he was spending a lot more than he made.”

  “He ran tabs at some of the top hostess clubs in Ginza
, Akasaka, and smaller clubs near where he grew up, Koiwa, Funabori, and Kinshicho. It took a long time to find all of them.” Sekimoto leaned back in his chair. “You’ve been to his house, too, right?”

  Hiroshi nodded.

  “And his wife was a big shopper.”

  “How big?”

  “The monthly interest payments on her credit cards alone were impressive.”

  “Anything about her drinking?”

  “She was good at that too.” Sekimoto nodded, his oily curls bouncing. “She was half his age, but the drinking made her look older.” Then he added, “One of the tweets Mayu sent out before she committed suicide hinted at receipts for golf clubs, top-shelf liquor, luxury watches, that kind of thing. Presents maybe, bribes more likely.”

  “Did you find evidence of that?”

  “Senden was less than cooperative, so no. At one point, they claimed there’d been a break-in at their record file storage facility.”

  Takamatsu laughed. “You’d think a company like that would at least be creative in their excuses.”

  “So you won the case even without that info?” Hiroshi asked.

  “Onizuka’s harassment was undeniable and Mayu’s mother clearly deserved compensation for her daughter’s death. Twenty women had quit the company because of Onizuka.”

  “And did you talk to anyone in the ministries who helped at all?” Hiroshi asked. “I thought they had a workplace harassment initiative.”

  “That initiative came as a result of this case. After it got media attention. Some Diet members got a workplace harassment bill through later, but the only punishment is name and shame. That might get a few apologies and resignations, but not much else. Companies like Senden feel complaints are a sign of a hard-driving, aggressive corporate style.” Sekimoto leaned back and stretched. “That was basically Senden’s defense. We work harder than any other company and some employees can’t hack it. They were proud of their resignation rate, the highest in Japan.”

  “So, you must have done well with the settlement?” Hiroshi asked.

  Sekimoto laughed. “We did well. But that’s when the fun started for me. My long-term clients started switching to other law firms. A classmate at the Ministry of Labor stopped taking my calls. Even my bread-and-butter rent disputes, insurance claims, and inheritance cases started drying up. The law firm I teamed up with for the case deleted our shared files and won’t answer my emails.”

  “So, you think Senden did all that?” Takamatsu asked.

  “The ‘Infinity’ isn’t for nothing.” Sekimoto shrugged. “Thriving law business before and scraping by after. This is my second office downsizing. I can still afford two paralegals, but that’s about it.”

  Hiroshi frowned. “How could Senden influence your client list?”

  Sekimoto stretched his arms wide. “That’s what big companies do—wield power.”

  “But didn’t you get more harassment lawsuits? That win must have helped—”

  “It wised up companies and scared off clients. Companies are settling with clients and accusers before their names get dragged through the papers. The women quit sooner and demand compensation on their own. Frankly, I wish I’d never taken the case.” Sekimoto gestured around the run-down office. “When I read Onizuka died, I wondered if he had somehow gotten crosswise with the company. He was a real pain.”

  Takamatsu hummed.

  “You’ve been most helpful to us.” Hiroshi stood up and Takamatsu followed. “Can you send what you have? Anything that might help us.”

  Sekimoto stood up. One button over his belly had popped open. “I’ll have my paralegals put that together. We take breaks in shifts so someone’s here to watch the place. We had a break-in not too long ago, middle of the day. Luckily, those second-hand file cabinets have good old locks. I can barely get them open with the key.” He smiled.

  Sekimoto walked them to the door. As Hiroshi and Takamatsu turned to bow, he said, “And if you ever need any legal work done, a problematic supervisor or section chief….”

  Takamatsu responded with a wry smile. “The only harassment we get is our chief’s incompetence.”

  Chapter 9

  On the sidewalk, Takamatsu pulled out his cigarettes and lit one.

  “No smoking here,” Hiroshi said.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know.” Takamatsu blew out the first lungful. He held up his cigarette with his fingers splayed. “And this is all mental frustration, bad habit, death wish, repressed sexual urges.”

  “That’s right,” Hiroshi said.

  “Same for this case,” Takamatsu said.

  “Unconscious motivation?” Hiroshi looked for Sugamo and the car.

  “No, conscious. We’re just not getting to it. The company failed, the bureaucrats failed, the legal system failed. The guy did what he wanted.”

  “Until yesterday.” Hiroshi looked in both directions for the car.

  Takamatsu held his cigarette away from people passing by.

  Sugamo pulled around the corner, driving slowly through the street full of pedestrians. Takamatsu flicked his cigarette into the gutter. “No throwing trash, either, I know.” He got in the car.

  Hiroshi leaned in the window. “I’ll check with Mayu’s mother again. You said she’d change her story.”

  “Or at least cough up the telling detail.”

  “See you at Senden later.”

  Takamatsu nodded and Sugamo pulled away.

  Hiroshi walked back to the big street that led to the station and hailed a taxi. It was only a short drive east to the flower shop through orderly rows of houses with neat front doors. The sidewalks were lined by painted railings and dotted with small plots for trees and shrubs. The residents set out tidy bags of trash and recyclables under crow-proof nets.

  He got out near the flower shop, thinking about what the lawyer Sekimoto had told them and feeling as far as he could be from the surety of his usual flow charts and spreadsheets. There, at least, he could find the underside right away, and the motivation was always clear—greed. On most financial scams, everything added up neatly from one angle, even while the other angles started to crumble.

  A chalkboard sign hung on the shop door, with “Lunchtime, Back at 1:30” circled by pastel flowers chalked with cheery energy. Hiroshi peeked in the window. Toshiko, Mayu’s mother, and Suzuna, Mayu’s best friend, were sitting at the counter in the back of the shop eating lunch.

  Seeing Hiroshi looking in, Suzuna got up to open the door.

  Hiroshi stepped inside. “O-jama shimasu. Sorry to bother you during your lunch hour, but is this a good time?”

  Toshiko waved him in. “As soon as lunch is over, we’ll get too busy to talk. We missed so many lunches, we finally started putting up a sign. Would you like to join us?”

  Hiroshi looked confused. “Um, I didn’t—”

  “Cup ramen OK? And this?” Toshiko took an onigiri rice ball from a small plastic container and slid it across the counter. It was handmade, the black nori sticking to the rice in lumps and sprinkled with furikake topping.

  Hiroshi bowed in acquiescence. He loved handmade onigiri.

  Suzuna walked to the stairs. “What flavor do you like?”

  Hiroshi shrugged his shoulders. “I like everything. Whatever you have.”

  Her braids bounced down her back as she clomped upstairs. As Toshiko had said, Suzuna really was like a second daughter.

  Hiroshi breathed in the shop’s potent fragrance of cut stems, flower petals, and moist dirt.

  Toshiko set her chopsticks down. “You want to ask me who I think killed Onizuka, right?”

  “Um, yes, actually.”

  “Is curry OK?” Suzuna shouted from upstairs.

  “That’s my favorite!” Hiroshi shouted back. Behind the counter on a shelf were framed photos of Mayu, in school uniforms, at graduations, in a freshers work outfit, with Suzuna in Disneyland and New York City. In every photo, Mayu stood smiling with a pleasant face and bright eyes. Only her hair style changed.
Beside the photos, a bell rested on a cushion beside a small, squat Buddha statue.

  Suzuna scrambled down the stairs, pulled the top off the ramen cup and poured in hot water. “It’s miso and curry combined. Hope that’s OK.”

  “We try a new addition each week. Last week, it was natto, kimchi, and cheese,” Toshiko said.

  Hiroshi made a face. “Cheese? On ramen?”

  “Goes with a light soy sauce.” Suzuna handed Hiroshi a pair of chopsticks and a steaming cup of ramen.

  Hiroshi breathed in the salty, sour aroma. “What’s this week’s, um, addition?”

  Suzuna held up a bottle of red sauce covered in Vietnamese script. “Sriracha sauce.”

  “That sounds better than cheese,” Hiroshi said. He took the bottle and dropped a couple of splashes in his large, disposable cup.

  Toshiko said, “We got tired of umeboshi, wasabi, pickles.”

  “Instant coffee was good,” Suzuna said.

  Hiroshi made a face. “You put instant coffee into your cup ramen?”

  Toshiko and Suzuna giggled.

  Toshiko spoke in a mock-serious voice. “Well, we were always making a cup of coffee in the middle of the day and getting called away, so it would get cold.”

  “You don’t like coffee?” Suzuna asked.

  Hiroshi cracked open his chopsticks. “I don’t like anything in my ramen other than what should go in ramen.” Hiroshi put his hands together with the chopsticks. “Itadakimasu.”

  The three of them slurped quietly.

  Toshiko took a deep breath and forced a smile, her eyes blinking. “I don’t know anyone who would kill Onizuka, if that’s why you’re here today.”

  “It must have crossed your mind. You must have wondered who did it.”

  “Actually, I was up all night thinking about that.”

  Suzuna focused on her noodles, slurping and chewing without looking up.

  Toshiko continued. “I imagined doing it a thousand times, in a thousand different ways. I was so angry. But after the trial, I started to feel differently. No less angry, just less vengeful. I realized my part in Mayu’s life, what I did wrong. I guess I’m a slow learner. The flowers help. Suzuna helps.” She smiled at Suzuna. “And maybe Onizuka’s death will help too.”