Next of Sin: A psychological thriller

by Lisa Gordon

  “Yes,” he answered, ignoring what he detected as a hint of doubt in Sayoko’s voice. “Did she explain that I am trying to trace a Mr Clinton Butler?”

  “Oh yes, she filled me in. She said you have some photos to show me.” Any hint of doubt seemed to have disappeared and Robbie wondered whether it had been a seductive rather than a sly look. He handed her the envelope and watched her expression carefully as she withdrew the photos. As she looked at the first shot of Clinton, he perceived the faintest smile flicker across her face. She said nothing though, and continued to examine the rest of the photographs. Robbie sat back in his chair, hand on chin. She knew that he was watching her closely. Eventually she returned to the first picture, smiled and looked at Robbie with a twinkle in her eye. “Cute guy. I always notice a cute guy.” Robbie felt a surge of adrenalin and wanted to jump out of the chair and fire questions at her, but he was certain there was a cat-and-mouse game on and he wanted to play advantage.

  “So you remember him then?” he said coolly without moving.

  “Sure I do. I remember faces. Couldn’t have guessed his name though,” said Sayoko more seriously.

  “Do you remember when it was that you saw him?”

  “I don’t remember exactly. Kyoko said you thought it was around October 2005 that he stayed with us?” Robbie nodded. Sayoko continued thoughtfully, “I guess that would be about right; he was here shortly before I was promoted to F&B Manager and that was November 2005. Kyoko said she checked the records, but names are automatically deleted after two years if the guest does not return to stay here.”

  “Did you ever see him with any other person?”

  “No, he was always alone as far as I can remember.”

  “Do you recognise the girl in the last picture?”

  “No, I would have remembered if I had seen him with a girl, trust me.”

  “Ever talk to him?”

  She immediately smiled and chuckled. “What do you think?”

  “So?” encouraged Robbie with a raised eyebrow.

  She shook her head and smiled mischievously. “He was a really nice guy, but I didn’t get to know him as well as I would have liked to.”

  “Do you remember anything about his movements?” asked Robbie, trying a new tack.

  “I could not tell you exactly as I was working shifts, but I would try to catch him as often as I could. I believe in never wasting an opportunity.” She paused and giggled before continuing with more focus, “He did nothing out of the ordinary, let’s put it that way. Just a regular guest. Left early, came back late.”

  “Remember how long he was here?”

  “Four days. I checked him in and out.” Sayoko glanced at her watch. “Hey, it’s twelve fifteen, what do you say we get an early lunch? Maybe I can remember something else.”

  Lunch with Sayoko sounded appealing for more than one reason. It was a pleasant walk to the Marunouchi Building, a new mini-city complex where Sayoko had recommended the gourmet food basement. Sayoko seemed to relish the opportunity to chat about her time in the US; she was obviously keen to get back. Robbie was not a fan of sushi or anything uncooked for that matter and Sayoko seemed to favour Western food, so they were unanimous about choosing some Asian-style ‘Southern Fried Chicken’ and fries.

  “You know, there is something else I remember about Clinton Butler, not sure if it will help you though.”

  “Anything could help,” emphasised Robbie, relieved that there was actually more to the lunch than food and flirting.

  “On his last day at the Palace, before he booked out, a man came to reception to hand me some car keys. He said he was delivering a car for Mr Butler.”

  “A hired car?” asked Robbie.

  “No,” Sayoko shook her head. “He’d bought the car.”

  “You sure?”

  “Uh huh.” She nodded emphatically while dipping her French fries in tomato sauce. “I know all the hire companies; this was very different.”

  “What sort of car?” Robbie was hopeful she had more to offer.

  “It was a Honda Civic — nice car. Not brand new, but pretty new. Saw it outside, nice moonstone colour,” she continued to elaborate between mouthfuls. “Reason I remember is because at the time I was saving up for a car myself, which was pretty hard going on my salary, bearing in mind my shoe obsession.” She paused for a chuckle and a sip of Coke. “I had those keys in my hand and I thought how lucky he was to be able to afford that terrific car, and he was only on holiday. Why didn’t he just hire one or catch the train? For one second I thought to myself, What if I just took the keys and rode home in the car, who would know? It was a crazy thought. Anyway, I rung his room and he came down, checked out and took the car. That was the last I saw of him.”

  Robbie listened to the story with a smile; he could relate to Sayoko in a weird way and he found her banter refreshing. “Did this man come from a Honda dealership do you think?”

  “No, I didn’t get that impression.” She was once again filled with certainty. “He was older, not your typical car-sales guy. You know what they are like: kinda slick and charming, wear Ben Sherman shirts. I know the type. This guy was older, like I said, and yet he look smartly dressed, not just like a driver or anything.”

  “Remember anything else about him?”

  She thought for a while as she ate another deep-fried piece of chicken. “Yeah, he looked a bit like Yo Yo Ma, you know, the famous Chinese cellist.”

  Robbie didn’t have a clue, but he knew he could easily find out.

  Sayoko was due back at the hotel, but she took Robbie’s phone number and the name of his guest house, should she remember or uncover anything else. Robbie visited a music superstore in Marunouchi and made his way to the classical section in order to acquaint himself with Yo Yo Ma. He then decided to head back to his guest house. On the way, he purchased some noodles and a pint of milk from a vending machine. The Japanese appeared to be having a love affair with the vending machine. There seemed to be one wherever you looked and the variety of products on offer was stupendous: everything from disposable underwear to antacid tablets.

  Back at the minshuku, Robbie sent Meagan a text to say that he was making progress. He received a text from Sayoko thanking him for lunch, but no reply from Meagan. It was Saturday morning in the UK. Robbie poured himself a glass of the milk which was now lukewarm, and added boiling water to the instant noodles. Feeling as if he was at base camp with the hardest part of Everest yet to tackle, he opened the telephone directory and began to search for used-car dealers in Tokyo. Most of the dealerships were on the outskirts of the city, yet there were still dozens within the centre of Tokyo. The task ahead was intimidating: somewhere in Tokyo was a smartly dressed used-car salesman who looked like YoYo Ma and who could be a vital piece of the puzzle. Robbie lay on the bed with his map marking the locations of used-car dealers. There was no point rushing; the search would have to begin on Monday.

  He was woken by a knocking on the door. He sat bolt upright, realising that he must have fallen into a deep sleep. He ran his fingers through his hair and headed for the door expecting to find the proprietor of the guest house with some fresh towels. He was pleasantly surprised, however.

  Sayoko slipped on Robbie’s lilac-checked shirt and walked over to the desk where he had laid out the photographs and the map. Robbie watched her from the bed where he lay lazily, sprawled out and propped up with pillows. She looked again at the photographs, especially the one of Shelleigh.

  “When was Clinton last seen alive?” she asked. “October 2005?”

  “Yeah,” answered Robbie, remembering the fabricated story he had told Kyoko.

  “What took his dad so long to start looking for him? That’s almost two and a half years ago now? Why didn’t anyone else report him missing? He could have been dead for ages.”

  “It’s a complicated story,” replied Robbie evasively as he rose stiffly from the bed and began to make coffee.

  “Another thing,” said Sayok
o, lifting up the photo of Shelleigh. “I recognised her when you showed me this yesterday. She went missing some time back. I did some Googling and found out that her name is Shelleigh and she disappeared October 2005, in Japan. What’s the connection?”

  “Introducing Detective Sayoko!” exclaimed Robbie with a flourish, but with no intention of actually answering her question.

  Sayoko stood up and forced Robbie to make eye contact with her to underline her seriousness. “I don’t believe you are with MI5. I want to help you, but I want you to level with me first. Deal?”

  Robbie immediately decided it was time to switch strategies. Sayoko was clearly bright and she could prove a valuable ally. He began to explain the circumstances: how he had come to Japan two years before to investigate Shelleigh’s disappearance and how the appearance of the two sisters had brought a whole new dimension to the case. Sayoko was attentive throughout the conversation and responded with many of her own questions.

  “So,” sighed Sayoko, “we have to find the guy who sold Clinton that car. I know Tokyo and I know what I’m looking for. I’ll narrow the search down.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Monday, twelve o’ clock, and Sayoko had given Robbie a list of five second-hand car dealerships. Robbie had a positive feeling, a feeling he often had when he was about to make a breakthrough. But there was something else too, another more indistinct and vague feeling, portentousness perhaps?

  He perused the list and was immediately drawn to the third name on the list: Mr Suzuka’s Motors. There was no logical reason this name had jumped out at him; it may simply have been the fact that there was an F1 circuit in Japan called Suzuka, but whatever it was, Robbie made up his mind that Mr Suzuka would be his first stop. Robbie had no idea how Sayoko had narrowed down the list of fifty used-car dealerships in the telephone directory to a concise list of five. He did not ask, he trusted her; she was sharp and she knew Tokyo like the bottom of her shoe cupboard.

  Robbie made his way east to the Minato area of Tokyo. He walked along the Shin Ohashi Dori in the opposite direction to Tsukiji Fish Market, as directed by Sayoko. She had wanted to join him, but had feared forging too close an association with an investigation which had the potential to become extremely high profile. It was a humid and cloudy day, yet it felt cooler away from the throngs of shoppers, tourists and locals in the Shinjuku and central districts. The mile-and-a-half walk took fewer than ten minutes and Robbie found himself outside Mr Suzuka’s Motors. A neat row of shiny cars, each boasting its price on a digital board, were densely packed in the forecourt. The cars were so tightly packed door to door that they would need to be pushed rather than driven off the forecourt. Space was a valuable commodity in one of the most densely populated cities in the world. Robbie pushed open the glass doors and walked across the showroom floor. He was immediately approached by an anxious-looking young man in a pastel-coloured shirt. Taking the initiative, Robbie addressed him in basic Japanese, “Konnichiwa. Suzuka-san wa doku desu ka?” Looking rather disturbed, the young man smiled tensely and politely requested via his hand gestures that Robbie remain where he was. He then turned and scurried away through a service exit. Robbie lingered beside a display of Goodyear tyres, feeling rather uneasy under the watchful gaze of the other staff members who, despite remaining occupied with their respective tasks, were surreptitiously scrutinising him. An awkward ten minutes passed before the tense young man reappeared. He waved Robbie over to the service door saying, “Mr Wakoto, he will see you.”

  Robbie walked confidently towards the service door, which led to a narrow passage awash with the egg-yolk yellow of the fluorescent lighting. He was directed to a door to the right. “Mr Wakoto,” said the young man. Robbie withdrew his hands from his pockets quickly, remembering that he should convey more respect. He entered slowly with his gaze lowered. Sitting at a cheap wooden desk piled with neat stacks of gem-clipped paperwork, a titanium in-tray and a Classic Car calendar was a sprucely dressed, rotund man whom Robbie immediately recognised as the Yo Yo Ma lookalike Sayoko had described. His adrenalin levels surged.

  “Wakoto-san. Robbie Baggio to moshimasu. Igirisu-gin desu. Eego ga dekimasu ka?” Robbie confidently introduced himself, exhausting his tour-manual Japanese in one fluent-sounding burst.

  An amused smile played wryly on his lips for just a second. “Yes, I speak English,” he answered as he set down his pen and turned in his chair to face Robbie.

  “Arigatoo. I would be very grateful if I could have ten minutes of your time, onegai shimasu?” asked Robbie courteously.

  “You want buy car?” enquired Mr Wakoto sceptically. Unlike the smiling photograph of YoYo Ma on the album cover, Mr Wakoto was far more severe in demeanour.

  “No.” Robbie made his way around the desk to the other chair. “May I sit down?” Having initially conveyed respect, Robbie was now keen to appear more forceful and to make sure that Mr Wakoto was taking him seriously. With little choice, Mr Wakoto nodded and Robbie sat down, placing the brown envelope on the table in front of Mr Wakoto. “I would like you to take a look at the photographs in the envelope.” Mr Wakoto remained solemn, but Robbie suddenly detected a vibe of apprehension.

  He slowly withdrew the photographs and displayed a premeditated lack of interest as he regarded each in turn. “I not know this man,” he said with finality as he returned the photographs to the envelope without looking at Robbie.

  “Is it possible that you sold this man a car about two years ago and delivered it to the Palace Hotel?” challenged Robbie, revealing that he had more information up his sleeve.

  “Why you look for this man?” demanded Mr Wakoto with narrowed eyes. Although he did not move or raise his voice, his tone was designed to be intimidating. Robbie could see more than one shadow moving in the small passageway outside.

  Remaining relaxed, Robbie linked his fingers and looked Mr Wakoto straight in the eye. “He disappeared over two years ago. His family was unhappy with the initial investigations and recently hired me to rekindle the search for him. I have reason to believe he bought a car from you.”

  “You are police?” he asked in an accusatory tone.

  “No, private detective. The police gave up the search years ago.”

  “Why this man was in Japan?” Mr Wakoto continued to question Robbie suspiciously.

  “He was a stockbroker, came here often on business,” answered Robbie before adopting a pleading tone. “His family is desperate for answers; any help you can give would be appreciated.”

  Mr Wakoto sat quietly for a long while before looking towards the door and shouting something in Japanese. One of the shadows disappeared. “May I offer you tea?” he asked with a tense smile. Robbie grinned and nodded. Although Mr Wakoto was clearly a wily and seasoned contender in life and not just in sales, something about Robbie was slowly winning his confidence.

  While they waited for the teas, Mr Wakoto laid the photographs out on the table in order to peruse them once again, although Robbie was sure that the intention was theatrical only: it was certain Mr Wakoto remembered Clinton. “When you say he buy car here?”

  “October 2005,” said Robbie directly.

  “What his name?”

  “Clinton Butler.”

  “Maybe he give different name when he buy car?” wondered Mr Wakoto as he began tapping away at his computer.

  “Perhaps he did.” Robbie paused with the intention of continuing with another question or something which would prompt Mr Wakoto, who appeared to be stalling, but he could think of nothing to say.

  He was rather surprised when Mr Wakoto continued, “I am keeping detailed records of every car I sell. His name will be in records; however, my mind very sharp, remember every name and face, need look at records for date only. I remember this man, also remember what car he buy and that I deliver car to Palace. Not, however, remember name Butler.”

  “So you do remember selling him the car!” exclaimed Robbie with renewed energy.

  “Yes, nice car.
Very nice used car. Only three thousand miles on clock. One year old. Had sat nav and very good sound system too.”

  “Was he alone when he purchased the car?”

  “Yes, alone by himself both times,” emphasised Mr Wakoto.

  “What do you mean by ‘both times’?“ asked Robbie intently.

  “He come in twice. First time to buy car, then four days later to sell car back to me.“

  “Isn’t that unusual? Surely he could have rather hired a car.”

  “Not really.” Mr Wakoto turned his attention away from the PC and back to Robbie. “To hire car, companies want VISA or Mastercard, also passport and driver’s licence. Lots of paperwork, very formal. Easier to buy car, even better to buy car for cash. Yakuza do it all the time.”

  “He paid cash then?”

  “Yes, and I see in records he give other name, not Butler.”

  “You said the car had done three thousand miles when he bought it. What had it done when he sold it back to you?”

  “It say here it do four thousand three hundred, when I buy it back.”

  “I bet you sold it again quickly,” sighed Robbie, feeling that he had reached a dead end.

  Mr Wakoto smiled, this time with more warmth. “Yes, I sell car quickly, to nephew actually. Nephew poor student, need car for night job.”

  “Mmmm …” Robbie frowned thoughtfully. “Does your nephew use the car a lot?”

  Mr Wakoto immediately shook his head and gave a brief chuckle. “Now too poor for petrol.”

  Robbie’s eyes were suddenly alight and he pressed on. “You said the car had satellite navigation, right? Does your nephew use the sat nav often do you think?”

  “Don’t think so. He use train when he travel far. Usually stay in Tokyo with girlfriend.”

  “I was just thinking, maybe you can tell me if I’m right, Mr Wakoto.” Robbie looked at the used car salesman with respect. “The sat nav system would have the previous destinations saved to some degree, obviously depending on the system?”