She excused herself to find the ladies’ room. Locking herself into a stall, she took a few deep breaths to fight the sudden panic, the feeling of being trapped. There could be no going back now—her father’s career was now tied to her marriage in a way that couldn’t be undone.
Her phone vibrated. Text from Kenji.
Her vision blurred with tears. Suddenly she didn’t want to be the daughter who salvaged her father’s career and her mother’s dreams, the woman who was Japanese enough for Ichiro’s parents but international enough to fit in with his friends.
But it was too late now. What she’d thought was a dazzling new country waiting to be explored now felt like a gilded cage with a door that had just slammed shut.
Her purse vibrated. The phone display showed three unread texts, one e-mail.
2:39 PM Kenji: Call me. Please.
Delete.
4:30 PM Kenji: If you don’t answer, I’m coming to find you.
Delete.
8:17 PM Kenji: You looked beautiful tonight. Can we meet tomorrow? Talk about things?
Yumi hung her head. Not tomorrow. Not ever. It was no longer merely her own happiness this temptation could destroy. Delete.
She navigated to the new e-mail, forwarded from [email protected].
Date: Sat, 13 Apr, 7:27 PM
Frm:
Sub: Darkboy
I read the message you posted on Whitelight about your friend
Who was this
To:
Sub: Darkboy
Who are you? How do you know
She pushed Send. Much to her surprise, the reply came almost immediately.
Frm:
Sub: Re: Darkboy
I’ve known him all my life. He’s suffering too. He can’t help you.
So this
To:
Sub: Re: Darkboy
I read what
Maybe that would push
Chapter 51
Sunday, April 14
2:00 P.M.
Yumi
The next afternoon at Rika’s wake, Yumi knelt in front of the ceremonial urn and sprinkled a pinch of incense onto the smoldering embers, then folded her hands to pray for the repose of her friend’s soul. Tears blurred her view of the tendrils of smoke as she rose. Ichiro stepped up to the urn, briefly paying his respects as Yumi’s fiancé even though he’d never met Rika.
Furniture had been cleared from the largest room in the Ozawas’ house, and Rika’s coffin sat before an elaborately carved wooden altar brought by the mortuary staff. Yumi tried not to think of Rika lying inside the plain cedar box, her body chilled by dry ice, her clothing wrapped right over left. She wondered what Rika’s parents had chosen for their daughter to wear. Was she being sent into the afterlife as she had lived—a Lolita—or dressed in a kimono for the last time in her short life? Had the money to pay for passage across the River of Three Hells been put in the worn Hello Kitty coin purse she’d carried since first grade? Was she accompanied by her beloved Monchhichi monkeys and posters of her favorite band?
The priest had finished chanting his sutras, but people were still arriving at the front door, leaving condolence envelopes, then getting in line to exchange the proper formal phrases with Rika’s family, offer incense, and kneel respectfully in the room for a while, facing the altar. The ones who wanted to stay and catch up with friends and relations moved on to the kitchen, where food and drink were being served. The rest escaped with a sigh of relief, obligation fulfilled.
People approached and knelt, approached and knelt. Yumi almost didn’t recognize Mei and Kei when it was their turn—it was the only time she’d ever seen them both wearing black at the same time. Midori followed, in a funeral suit that was a little too big; she’d probably borrowed it from her mother.
Nobody Yumi’s age had proper funeral clothing of their own, unless they’d already lost a close relative. They’d all borrowed clothes from their parents and didn’t look like themselves at all. Her eyes filled with tears as she watched the parade of friends kneel and pray. They were barely old enough to be gathering for weddings, let alone this.
Coco dropped a pinch of incense onto the ashes. Then a guy with a streak of pink in his hair. He rose, followed by . . . Kenji?
Kenji hadn’t even known Rika—what was he doing here? Wasn’t he supposed to be tailing
Yumi scanned the room. There were guys she didn’t know waiting to pay their respects, but nobody who fit
Yumi sighed and rose to her feet. Her knees hurt. She and Ichiro joined the crush in the kitchen helping themselves to tea and funeral fare, fielding a few whispered congratulations on their engagement as she introduced him.
She spoke for a while with Rika’s sister and mother, gradually becoming aware that she’d had too much tea. Excusing herself to the bathroom, she spotted Kenji flipping through the guest book at the entrance. She hurried past before he spotted her. When she returned, he was gone.
Her parents and Ichiro were waiting. They walked out of the gloomy house into a glorious April day and stood on the sidewalk for a few moments, enjoying the late-afternoon sun.
“How about dinner later?” Ichiro asked Yumi. “Shall we put all this sad business behind us and start talking about the wedding?”
She nodded and he told her he’d call with details after he made a reservation somewhere, but to plan for 7:00.
“Yumi?’ said her mother, her gaze fixed over her shoulder. “There’s that nice young policeman who stopped by the other day. I think he wants to talk to you.”
Yumi turned and saw Kenji looking at her from across the street. He waved. The light changed and he stepped into the crosswalk.
Oh no. She did not want to make that introduction right now.
“Excuse me a minute,” she said, and ran to meet him, steering him away so they wouldn’t be overheard.
“Now what?” she said, trying to set the tone for a conversation that would be too short for Ichiro to become curious about.
“I didn’t feel we came to an agreement yesterd
ay,” Kenji said. “So I wanted to be sure you understood what I was trying to tell you.”
“I know what you were telling me, but you’re right, we didn’t agree,” Yumi said, irritated all over again. “Why were you at the wake? You didn’t even know Rika. Are you following
“If he did, he didn’t sign the guest book,” Kenji replied. “But that doesn’t mean he isn’t here.” He looked up and down the street. “If he wanted to find out who you are and where you live, he wouldn’t have to be a genius to figure out he could pick you up at Rika’s wake and tail you home.”
“I thought you were keeping an eye on him.”
“He hasn’t been home since I talked to him Friday night.”
“So you thought he might show up here to follow me, then you’d follow him?”
“Yes. But I also wanted to warn you against having anything to do with him. Don’t look for him, don’t try to contact him, don’t talk to him. And be careful about going anywhere alone until I either catch him or clear him.”
“I can take care of myself,” Yumi said stiffly. “At Boston College they offered self-defense classes and I took full advantage.”
“Don’t underestimate him, Yu-chan. He’s a lot bigger than you are. He—”
“Is everything all right, Yumi?”
Ichiro appeared by her side, looking concerned.
“Everything’s fine,” she said, glaring at Kenji.
They stood there awkwardly.
She sighed. “Ichiro Mitsuyama, this is Kenji Nakamura. He’s the detective in charge of investigating Rika’s death.”
“Nice to meet you,” both of them muttered, bowing none too deeply.
Kenji straightened. “Well. Ki o tsukete, Yu-chan. Take care.” He strode away without looking back.
“Yu-chan?” Ichiro said, picking up on the too-familiar nickname the detective had used.
“We’ve known each other since grade school.”
“Ah,” he said. He frowned, watching Kenji disappear around the corner.
Chapter 52
Sunday, April 14
5:00 P.M.
Kenji
Stupid. He shouldn’t have walked away. No matter how mad Yumi made him, he ought not to have let her out of his sight. When he’d circled back a few minutes later, she was gone. And there was no sign of Shimada. If
It had been a long and frustrating day, and he wasn’t even being paid for the aggravation. Time to call it quits. On the way home, he decided to stop at the office, thinking he’d look at the file again before heading home and soaking in a hot bath.
At 5:00 on a Sunday, the squad room was quiet, but Oki had come in to go over the Fujimoto burglary case one last time before he was pressed into service on the Shrine Murders investigation.
“There’s a pot of tea in the staff room,” the big detective said as he turned another page in his file.
“Thanks, Oki-san.” Kenji detoured and came back with two cups; His colleague looked like he could use a shot of caffeine.
“Funeral?” Oki observed, taking in Kenji’s suit and black tie.
He nodded.
“Did any of your suspects show up?”
“No.” Kenji took a slurp of tea and stabbed at the power button on his laptop. While it booted, he took out the Ozawa-Hamada file. “You making any progress on the Fujimoto case?”
The big detective sighed. “Nope. Whoever did it was a professional. Wore gloves. No fingerprints. In and out with a key or help from an employee. What was the chairman thinking, storing Sesshu scrolls in his closet along with his shoe buffer and winter overcoat?”
“Inside job?”
“Had to be. But nobody admits to knowing where the paintings were kept except the boss, and I know he didn’t do it because they weren’t insured for anywhere near their real value. Unless we get lucky, everybody involved is going to get away with it.” He closed the file with a sigh. “What are you doing here on a Sunday?”
Kenji told him that there was a chance
Oki grunted in sympathy. “So he doesn’t have an alibi, and he’s as weird as his landlord said. What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. Starting tomorrow, I’ll be stuck behind the wheel of Inspector Mori’s car, watching him pick apart our investigation.”
They considered this gloomy prospect for a few moments.
Oki regarded him thoughtfully. “You know, I’ve been thinking about that bartender’s brother. Can I see his sheet again?”
Kenji handed him Jiro Yamaboshi’s criminal CV.
Oki studied it. “Take a look at his physical stats.”
Kenji read to himself, “Height: 153 cm; Weight: 47 kilos,” then said, “Yeah, I noticed. Small, like his brother. Why?”
“Well, it occurred to me after Friday’s meeting that the Shrine Murders started around the same time he was released last year.”
Kenji sat back in his chair. “You’re right. But I don’t see an unsuccessful burglar being the kind of guy who could plan and execute the kind of crimes Mori described.”
“Did you read Jiro Yamaboshi’s file?”
“Not all of it.”
“Seventeen burglaries in four years. He nabbed over twenty million yen in artwork, all from rich people’s houses with serious security. The only reason he got caught was that his ex-girlfriend ratted him out after he dumped her.”
“Huh. You should point that out to Mori-san.”
“Why don’t you do it while you’re driving him around tomorrow? I’ll probably be busy fetching tea.” Oki sighed and tossed the Fujimoto file into a desk drawer. Picking up his briefcase, he said, “Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
Chapter 53
Sunday, April 14
9:30 P.M.
Yumi
Ichiro leaned forward and asked his father’s driver to take them to an address in Ikebukuro. He adjusted the back seat vents, loosened his tie, and settled back next to Yumi. He’d called after getting home from Rika’s wake and asked her to meet him at a restaurant famous for its nine-course traditional Japanese cuisine.
Ichiro laid his arm along the seat behind her. “So was I right about the shirako at Hamada-ya being the best you’d ever tasted?”
It was certainly the most expensive. “Definitely,” Yumi agreed, although secretly she didn’t particularly care for fish testicles spiced with radish, no matter how costly it was.
“You know,” Ichiro said, pulling back with a small frown, “I was a little surprised today when I met your . . . childhood friend. You aren’t planning to invite that policeman to our wedding, are you?”
Yumi stiffened. Good thing it was dark in the car and Ichiro couldn’t see her suddenly flaming cheeks. “No. Of course not,” she replied, a little too quickly.
He peered at her, then asked, “Is he an old boyfriend or something?”
“No!” It wasn’t a lie, but it felt like one.
Ichiro looked out the window and fell silent, restlessly fiddling with the phone in his jacket pocket. The car pulled to a stop in front of a building that looked like a giant wedding cake. An elaborate script sign announced it to be the Hotel Aphrodite.
Oh no. Love hotel. Why hadn’t she hadn’t expected this? It seemed like she was always one step behind with Ichiro. She couldn’t very well refuse, though; they were, after all, offi
cially engaged. And why was she even thinking of refusing? She moved closer to her fiancé, trying to leave no room between them for Kenji Nakamura.
“O-tsukare-sama,” Ichiro said to the driver. “Thanks for the ride. Nine o’clock tomorrow?”
“Of course, sir,” he replied, stepping out and opening the back door for them.
“I hope you like this place,” Ichiro said, helping Yumi out of the back seat. “The rooms looked really nice online.”
Yumi followed Ichiro into a lobby draped in enough white chiffon to make togas for an army of muses, although the three larger-than-life-sized marble nudes casually standing around with water jars seemed to have missed the fitting session. They crossed to a grid of room photos. The Aphrodite was busy tonight—only three were still available.
Ichiro smiled and asked her to choose. Yumi peered at the photos. Certainly not the one with the peeing cupid fountain in the bathroom. And not the one with the pair of giant feathered wings hovering over the bed. It would have to be the one with the glowing heart-shaped bathtub.
Ichiro crossed to the discreetly shuttered reception booth and handed the unseen attendant three ¥10,000 notes. Scooping up his change and the room key, he led the way to room 308.
Like most unmarried Japanese, they both still lived with their parents, making privacy elusive. Love hotels were the solution to this common problem, vying with each other to attract customers with themes that put an erotic spin on everything from historical settings to cartoon characters.
Ichiro slid the key into the lock and stood aside so Yumi could enter first.
Nightshade Page 23
