by Lisa Gordon
Akime
Sachiro’s brother-in-law dropped Robbie off at what would be his base for the next two nights. Described by Sachiro as a guest house, it was actually more like a three-room motel on the road into Akime. The room itself stank of fish, and Robbie guessed that visitors from the interior had stayed there on a weekend fishing trip to the coast. Lack of any refrigeration meant that they had probably stored their catches in the bathroom overnight and the resulting stench had yet to abate. Eager to vacate the room, he opened the window, left the ceiling fan on and departed. Robbie walked to the nearby petrol station and was able to hitch a lift into the centre of Akime.
Akime was a fishing village with a small harbour, rugged coastline and some picturesque little coves fringed with golden sand. Robbie located the first guest house with little ado and was immediately certain that it would not be commensurate with Clinton Butler’s lifestyle. With nothing to lose, however, he questioned the proprietor with the aid of a reluctant guest as interpreter. He gleaned that Caucasians rarely, if ever, stayed there and he made his way swiftly to the next guest house. The exterior of the second looked no more promising and this time, communication with the owner was dammed near impossible even with the help of Sayoko via phone, who could not make head or tail of his dialect.
Persevering in the oppressive heat and humidity, Robbie headed for the police station, where he hoped that someone would be conversant in English or at least in conventional Japanese. With some persistence, he was able to learn that besides the two guest houses he had visited, there was another guest house further south down the coast and also what sounded, in British terms, like a cluster of rental cottages run by a Mr Tomochi to the north of Akime. His image of guest houses in the area had been rather tarnished and so he opted to try the cottages next. A short taxi drive took him to the cottages: a group of ten or so one- and two-bedroom white boxy cottages with elaborate roofs and generous eaves, which nestled in the rocky hill overlooking a small cove. He followed a sign in Japanese with an arrow, hoping it would point him in the direction of Mr Tomochi’s office. Robbie walked down a steep pathway and found himself at a door which displayed much information in Japanese, but reassuringly contained the word ‘Enquiries’ too. He knocked and entered, finding himself in the office-like annex to a larger cottage. A teenage boy greeted him with a welcoming smile. “Hello, Sir.”
Robbie was disappointed to learn from Mr Tomochi’s son that he was away and would only be back the following afternoon. He enquired if there were any cottages to let on the off-chance that he could avoid the trip back to his Eau de Poisson motel room, but was again disappointed. He noticed some leaflets with maps of the surrounding area piled on the desk and helped himself to a copy. With the map as a rough guide, he ambled down the slope along a path which wove in between the cottages: wooden logs embedded in the earth making for an all-weather staircase. Removing his shoes, he stepped on to the sandy beach of the cove; the tide had recently gone out and the damp crystalline sand was crunchy under his bare feet. With a boy-like verve he headed for the softly lapping waves and waded into the sea, welcoming the fresh sea breeze and the cooling sensation of water on his legs. Walking through the water, he made his way to the northern side of the sickle-shaped cove, where he found he could proceed no further owing to a perpendicular wall of rock rising from the sand to a height of ten feet, where it turned into moss-covered lumps of weather-tormented stone and rock. The south side of the cove was more interesting: although tall hulks of mean-looking boulders rose from the sand, making progress south appear impossible, he found that between two of the boulders was a narrow divide. Feeling like a Boy Scout, he wedged his way through the divide and climbed on to a smaller set of rocks. This allowed Robbie access to the less rocky part of the steep incline where some shrubs and trees grew. Using the branches, he hoisted himself onwards and upwards. Feet muddy, arms scratched and hands green with chlorophyll, he reached the summit of the rocky bluff that was the south side of the cove. He stared out over the sea for a few moments catching his breath and debating what on earth he was trying to achieve. Propelled by the momentum of a curiosity he could not explain, he walked south to see what was at the other side of the bluff. As he made progress, the vegetation became sparser and the route more treacherous. All the while cautious of his footing, he reached the southern edge of the bluff: it fell away dramatically in a sheer drop to the jagged, wave-lashed rocks so typical of Japan’s rugged shoreline. It was a desolate piece of coast line — a certain graveyard for boats and fishing vessels which made the error of coming too close to shore. Way down below, the ruthless rocks glinted among the foaming sea and behind them, craggy, slimy rocks rose sharply, making certain that entry to dry land would be impossible. What a contrast to the gently lapping waters and warm sand of the adjacent cove.
London
Gaby was worried: she had forgotten something. She stirred restlessly, drifting within the no-man’s-land between sleep and waking. Her mind was imploring her to wake up; there was something very important she had to do, but she was so tired, so sleepy. The urgency, however, would not leave her. She tried to open her eyes. She tried to remember that very important thing in vain. Exhausted, she succumbed as the heavy fog in her mind descended.
Akime
Back at the motel, Robbie tossed and turned. Although he had grown accustomed to the smell of fish, the sultriness of the night and the occasional mosquito made it impossible for him to get comfortable. He tossed the sheet aside in frustration and reached for a cigarette. His one bouquet to the motel was the non-existent enforcement of the ‘No smoking’ regulations. He wondered if Meagan had texted yet; however, the intermittent signal in Akime made checking the phone impossible. It would have to wait until the next day.
Morning came eventually and Robbie used an effective combination of bus and hitching to reach Mr Tomochi’s cottages. There was still nothing from Meagan; however, he had promised to text soon with more news, so perhaps she was waiting for the follow-up text. He made a decision to text Gaby’s mobile, but realised that her number was back at the motel and he berated himself for his lack of organisation.
Mr Tomochi was expecting Robbie. “Ah, hello. Son tell me you come see me about holiday cottage today. Please, sit down.” He sat down behind his desk and waved for his son to pull up a chair for Robbie.
“Oh, yes. I believe they are all booked for the time being.”
“Yes, very busy indeed this time of year. So how you find us? Not often we have British guest.”
Sensing an opening, Robbie began, “Someone I know stayed here a while back, in October 2005 actually.”
Mr Tomochi became thoughtful. “Not very busy time of year. Weather very bad — typhoon from Philippines bring plenty rain.”
This time Robbie produced a photo of Shelleigh and passed it over the desk. “Do you remember her?”
Mr Tomochi immediately shook his head. “No, not remember her. Would have remembered if I see her.” He sounded sincere.
“Her name is Shelleigh and she has been missing for almost three years. She was last seen in Japan.” Mr Tomochi did not say anything, but he did not convey the closed, blank expression so many before him had. Robbie persisted, this time showing the photograph of Clinton. “She may have been with this man. Does his face ring any bells?”
This time Mr Tomochi’s face broke into a smile. “Yes, indeed. He stay here sometime.”
“You sure?” asked Robbie politely.
“What his name? I keep detailed records of all guests, can check for you.”
“Clinton Butler, and he stayed here October 20th, 2005. He may have given a different name though.”
“No, I always take photocopy of passport for foreign guest.” Mr Tomochi sprang with agility from his chair and went over not to the computer, but to a tall, grey filing cabinet. He opened the third drawer and removed a thick, worn diary and lever-arch file. As he paged through the diary, he talked on. “I remember him. Was very quiet whe
n he come, weather was very wet. Wondered why he come in October. Was not alone though, see woman in car with him.”
“Really!” blurted Robbie with excitement. “What did she look like?”
Mr Tomoshi shook his head and sighed. “Not see her too clear. Was raining, she stay in car. She wear baseball cap.” He turned his attention to the file, calmly flipping through the sections, until he exclaimed, “Aha! Clinton Butler, have here photocopy of his passport.” Robbie leapt out of his chair and raced over to verify.
“Mr Tomochi, thank you. You have been incredibly helpful.” Robbie reached out and shook the proprietor’s hand. Mr Tomoshi looked shocked, but his shock was soon replaced by a warm smile and spirited reciprocal handshake. “There is one more thing though: is there anyone else working here who I can talk to, who may have seen Shelleigh? Your son perhaps?”
Mr Tomoshi looked thoughtful. “No, son at school in Fukuoka. Cleaning lady from that time now pass away. Not sure who else may have seen.” Robbie stayed quiet, keeping up a silent pressure for an answer. “See in diary that Mr and Mrs Hakusui regular guests from Nagasaki were only other people here then.”
“Really?” Robbie left his comment hanging hopefully in the air.
“Perhaps I ring Mrs Hakusui, she is widow now. Find out if she willing to talk to you. Cannot promise anything, however.”
Robbie was astonished at Mr Tomoshi’s forthright approach. For all he had heard about the insular nature of the south of Japan, he had been bowled over by the immediate helpfulness he had received from all quarters. “Mr Tomoshi, I can’t express how grateful I am,” he reiterated.
“Mr Hakusui was lecturer at Yale many year ago, Mrs Hakusui speak very good English. I ring her now.”
Chapter Fourteen
Nagasaki, the vibrant and innovative city often called Japan’s San Francisco owing to its lively Chinatown, tramway and steep hills. Robbie was fascinated to find almost no reminders of the devastation wreaked on Nagasaki that day in 1945. Robbie had made the trip to Nagasaki rather than merely make a phone call in deference to a reserved, insular Japanese culture where Caucasians were mistrusted. In addition, Mrs Hakusui had resisted coming forward of her own accord and so he would have to tread very carefully and respectfully. Patience, finesse and timing were as much a part of his job as investigation, perhaps more. No matter what the time constraints, investigations could not be rushed; he had his ways of teasing information out.
Mrs Hakusui lived in a modern apartment building in a plush area of the town. She was expecting him and he was buzzed in immediately. The air conditioning in the large apartment was a very welcome relief.
Mrs Hakusui presented Robbie with a Noritake china cup of powdered green tea and he politely sipped the liquid, wishing for the option of sugar.
“I remember October 2005 very well. It was the last holiday in Akime I spent with my late husband.” She spoke softly as she reminisced sadly. “The weather was inclement and it was very quiet. We would spend time watching the fishing boats going past and playing cards.” She paused for a sip of tea and Robbie allowed her to continue at her own speed, uninterrupted. “I remember the couple in the photographs. They stayed in one of the cottages further down the slope. We would watch them as nosy old people do.” She laughed for a second and the rims of her eyes glistened with tears. Robbie smiled at her tenderly. “They would walk on the beach or go for a ride in their car. We never actually spoke to them; I doubt they knew we were even there. The last time we saw them was a cloudy, blustery afternoon, a Friday. They were walking on the beach. They headed hand in hand towards the south side of the cove and disappeared from sight. We never saw either of them again and that night when we went to our car, we noticed theirs was gone.” As she talked, Robbie sipped the hot, bitter tea and thought of his own foray the day before around the cove. He pictured the desolate southern side of the peninsula and the angry waves crashing on to the sharp, sparkling rocks. He shuddered.
“Mrs Hakusui, did you ever see the missing-person alerts for Shelleigh?” he asked softly.
She shook her head slowly. “My husband became ill shortly after we returned from Akime. He died two months later. During that time I hardly had the appetite for news or the papers.”
On his return to his Nagasaki hotel, Robbie rang both Meagan’s and Gaby’s mobile phones. Meagan’s was switched off and Gaby’s merely rang. Like Gaby’s mobile, her landline in London rang and rang, echoing frustratingly back to Robbie in Japan. It was over a week since he had heard from Meagan, apart, of course, from what Robbie regarded as the rather anonymous “Tell me more” text received on the Tuesday. Instinct told Robbie not to text — should either girl have access to her phone, she would receive a message on the screen to say she had missed his calls. He located an Internet café and sent an e-mail to both Gaby and Meagan, announcing that he had made major progress and was trying to reach them urgently. On Sunday, he made his way back to Tokyo, making the point of ringing each phone number every few hours. The result, however, was the same. In desperation, Robbie rang his cousin Jason who lived in Hammersmith in London and asked him to pop by Gaby’s flat and ring the bell. The news from Jason was unsurprising: no reply. Robbie realised that he could not rely on Jason to do anything further; his cousin’s efforts so far had been at best reluctant and at worst resentful — they were not close. Robbie was beginning to feel a sense of desperation, exacerbated by the thought that when he had last heard from Meagan, they were due to have dinner with Clinton.
As anxious as he was to return to the UK in order find both Meagan and Gaby, he had one crucial assignment left to complete in Japan. Although he would have preferred to obtain sanction for his next move from Gaby and Meagan, he felt no option but to take matters into his own hands. He flicked open his scruffy, coffee-splashed notebook, ran through some names, pen in hand, lifted his mobile and dialled.
“Hello, may I speak to Detective Murase please?”
Ten minutes later, he replaced the telephone, both relieved and exhilarated that Detective Murase remembered him and was willing to reopen the investigation into Shelleigh’s disappearance on the grounds of new information.
With a grave respect, he slowly unzipped his case and removed a black pouch from a secure compartment. He sat on the bed as he opened the pouch — the same black pouch he had brought to Japan on his first trip. In the pouch were sterile containers, housing samples of Shelleigh’s hair and other samples of her DNA provided by her mother and the British police. He had both dreaded and looked forward to this moment: dreaded it, as it would mean that he had reached the tragic conclusion that Shelleigh had perished; looked forward to it, as it would mean resolution and closure for the family and a professional achievement for himself.
It was another scorching hot day in southern Japan. The sun was at its zenith and the sea the colour of apatite. The tide in Akime was out and Robbie watched over the south side of the peninsula with Detective Murase alongside him as five forensic officers and two policemen combed the rocks and rivulets of sand.
It was not thanks to luck, but rather to the patience and meticulous attention to detail so typical of the Japanese that the pivotal piece of evidence was discovered. Late on the second day, Robbie noticed one of the forensic officers calling to his colleagues; they gathered together in a huddle, all straining to see what lay in the small, innocuous crevice between the rocks. Having no option but to wait patiently, Robbie shared a cigarette with Detective Murase. An hour later, with the tide coming in fast, the forensic team made their way up the rope ladder they had used to access the rocky peninsula. The first man had a plastic container carefully strapped to his waist. Detective Murase raced over to help, and excited conversation broke out in Japanese.
“Look over here, Mr Baggio,” called an animated Detective Murase. “We find what look like human metatarsal bone.” He indicated the fragile-looking contents of the plastic container. “I send it immediately to Fukuoka for analysis. Tomorrow the search continue.�
�� Robbie congratulated the team heartily before turning to look out towards the setting sun. The water sparkled like aurora borealis crystals as the orangey sun melted further and further into the horizon. In England it was morning: in Leamington Spa, Shelleigh’s folks would be carrying out their daily chores, oblivious to the dramatic events regarding their daughter which were unfolding in Japan; somewhere in London, Meagan and Gaby, also oblivious to the developments which they had precipitated, had met an unknown fate; somewhere in England was Clinton Butler, blissfully ignorant that his game was almost up. Robbie’s thoughts merged and tangled with one another and he thought about the bizarre chain of events that had brought him to this remote and contrasting, yet idyllic, part of the world. He thought about his progress and that the hardest part was perhaps yet to come.
Thursday brought the news that the metatarsal bone was an exact match to Shelleigh’s DNA. In addition, the team at Akime had recovered a gold ankle bracelet, which Robbie could identify as Shelleigh’s.
It was now time for Robbie to return to England.
Chapter Fifteen
London
Robbie rang Gaby’s landline for the umpteenth time. After three rings it was answered.
“Hello?” Robbie was astounded to hear a woman’s voice on the other end.
“Is that Gaby?” he asked.
“No, this is Kim.”
“Oh,” said Robbie, surprised. “I am looking for Gabriella and Meagan Harvey. I have this number for them.”
“Do you mean Gaby and Meagan Butler?” said Kim.
Robbie was too stunned to say anything more than “Yes.”
