by Gavin Black
“Covered up, you mean?”
“So.”
I couldn’t see his face at all. He had said nothing then to make me aware of any change in him, but I sensed it, a kind of reserve. He was now doing something to which he was committed, but in fear, and that didn’t help my own uncertainty one little bit.
But the boy had got me clothes. He produced them from under the tarpaulin, a shirt, trousers which must have been his, and my jacket from the men’s outfitter. He didn’t explain how he had managed to get the jacket and I didn’t ask any questions, I just got dressed.
The trousers were a tight fit and only reached to my ankles, but I felt clothed.
“You hungry?” he asked, holding out something.
It was a cold rice ball with a sour plum centrepiece, the kind of thing the Japanese take on cherry-blossom-viewing picnics and warm up with plenty of rice spirit. I ate it, feeling the lumps going down into a stomach that had long since ceased to be choosy. Ohashi had thought of everything, even footwear.
I stared at what he held out now, a pair of those split-toed horrors that I had never worn even as a child in this country. I didn’t want to put them on, though the feeling was silly.
“They’re too small,” I said with a kind of peevishness.
“Don’t fasten back. Put on.”
There is a kind of hook and eye arrangement at the heel which holds those things on the foot, but without fastening these I could just manage to get those tabe on, feeling my big toe separated from its neighbours and resenting that separation. It is a footwear for monkeys not humans. Man shouldn’t need a prehensile big toe.
All this time Ohashi didn’t come really near me, and I was certain this was deliberate. I put it down to his fear, something that might have hit him this afternoon when he heard about the police search, and possibly its thoroughness.
“They haven’t searched your house?” I asked. “You’re not suspected in any way?”
“No.”
“Look, Ohashi, I’ve got clothes now. Just let me go off on my own.”
I didn’t say anything about money, which hadn’t been offered. And his reaction was sharp.
“No! You must come with me.”
“Where?” I asked softly.
“To my house. There you can hide. Here no good. I will look after you in my house. We make plan.”
“So if I’m caught there you’ll be in a mess, too?”
“You say not big trouble. Do you lie to me?”
“No.”
I wouldn’t have liked to see his eyes then. But the dark hid them. I was uneasy now about going with the boy, but the alternatives weren’t attractive. It was best to take any help that was offered and not query it. There was comfort, too, in what I knew about the Japanese terror of the police. I was quite certain he didn’t mean to take me to them, whatever else might be in his mind.
I got on to that cart and let Ohashi cover me with the tarpaulin. It had an oily smell and as soon as we started to move the jarring racked my bones. I could see paving through the slats beneath me, and knew when we had crossed the wooden drain covers by the temple gate. For about ten minutes I felt engulfed by street noises which echoed up against me from the asphalt and then it grew quieter, almost still beyond that rumble of iron-edged wheels. The cart stopped.
Ohashi lowered the shafts which tilted me forward and I heard a sound like a door sliding back. Then a fumbling at the tarpaulin and the hiss of his voice.
“Inside quickly. Through gate.”
I scarcely looked at that gate, I just went through it, with Ohashi right behind me, sliding it shut.
What I saw then could have been a stage set for Madame Butterfly. It was like that, a little unreal after my pigeon temple with the rats, as though a curtain had gone up suddenly on a surprise scenic effect.
This was Japan in miniature, a tiny garden and a small house, but the two combined into one by strong light from a room with paper doors slid back. That light glared on white matting and the garden was covered by it, too, a minute formal pattern of rocks, and pool, and stepping stones. There was even a small pine tree and a stone lantern. In the room I could see cushions on the matting, a tiny table, and place for formal ornament with two iris in a vase. It was all still and waiting, calm and empty of life.
Then a shadow moved. It seemed to come almost from the darkness of the wings, someone moving on stage, a woman in a kimono, a woman not young, with a streak of white in her hair, and a face that life had used. I knew her at once. She was the Clynders’ maid.
My mind jumped from that to something else, something I knew without being told. This was Ohashi’s mother.
She turned and looked at me and I could sense hostility, anger even, but under control. She didn’t say a word. She left words to someone else, someone who had come to stand just behind her. It was a man, a big one, with a gun in his hand, and this pointing at me. It was Clynder.
His voice was that usual bellow turned low and a little unnatural because of this, with a hint of hoarseness.
“Well, Harris, I think we can say that we’ve got you this time.”
CHAPTER VIII
I DIDN’T say anything, I just turned my head to Ohashi. The boy was leaning back against the gate he had just shut, and the light from the house was on his face. His eyes were narrowed, I couldn’t see into them, but I did see him shiver. I felt sorry for Ohashi then, the little samurai, but there was sick anger in my heart, too, and the anger was stronger.
“So your father died at Iwo Jima?” I said.
I might have struck him. His face twitched as though I had.
“What’s all this?” from Clynder. “Here, come on into the light.”
Clynder was casual with his gun, and that was serious. I went into the light.
“Trying to use the kid,” he said, in a growl. “The boy’s the son of our maid.”
“Handy for you.”
“What the hell do you mean by that?”
“I mean he’s practically on the staff. And he’s been sticking very close to me.”
“Why you …! I don’t know what you’re getting at.”
“Don’t you, Clynder? The boy has been turning up at the oddest times ever since I got to Kamakura.”
“What’s that to me? His mother came to us and told us her boy was shielding you. And I call it a dirty trick.”
“What are you being holy about?” I asked.
Clynder was a choleric type, not the kind of man you could goad very far. The gun jerked up.
“Shut your damn’ trap! I’m protecting Mrs. Ohashi.”
I smiled, I could just.
“Why not let the police do that, Clynder?”
“Because I don’t want these people mixed up with the police, that’s why! It could ruin the boy.”
“I’m wondering why in our considerable contact Ohashi didn’t tell me who his mother was?”
“Because they’re a samurai family, that’s why. Do you think he goes about shouting that his mother’s a servant? The boy’s sweating to get a decent job and help her.”
“It all sounds most reasonable. Pity he tagged me.”
“Tagged you?”
“I told you. He’s been on my heels. Much more like a hired snooper than a youth wanting to practise his English. And I was sucker enough to believe him when he said he was my friend.”
Ohashi came past us then, from the gate, not looking at any of us, going towards the light glaring from the house, up on a stone step, and slipping out of his split-toed shoes there. He went along the veranda in his bare feet and disappeared. I had the feeling, watching him, that I had done damage by saying too much, damage that wouldn’t be easily repaired. It was a silly kind of sentiment at that moment, but it was there. And resisting it I brought in my anger against Clynder.
“What now?” I said. “Police station? That’s what you want, isn’t it? Me arrested.”
Clynder shifted his feet. I was conscious of Mrs. Ohashi just watching
us, a quiet Japanese woman standing back in the shadow now, an observer, but not neutral. I couldn’t feel that I would have got much mercy from her.
“Are you trying to drag me into this?” Clynder asked. “All I’m after is to get the Ohashis out of a mess.”
“Splendid. Where are we going?”
“To my house.”
“Why?”
Clynder looked a bit like a puzzled bull then.
“Susie wants to see you,” he said, in a surly tone.
“How nice. Drinks hour, too. I could do with a double whisky. Though I don’t know why you let Reggie sell you that muck. You could almost get a better brand made in Osaka.”
Clynder looked positively worried then, as though he had been expecting me to accept defeat more gracefully. He became the man of action, even prodding me with his gun.
“Come on, out to the car.”
“You just left it parked outside?”
“Why the hell not? I often drive Ohashi-san home. They’re used to seeing me over this way.”
“It’s going to be a bit awkward, driving and keeping me covered, isn’t it?”
“Not the way I’ll do it. You’ll be on the floor in the front, turned away from me. If you try anything I’ll shoot you in the backside.”
When it came to action he knew what he was about. We left that pretty little garden without any formalities under the roof over the gate. Clynder’s car was parked a few yards down from the cart which still had the tarpaulin lying on it. If I’d looked down the street as I got off that thing I’d have seen it, but Ohashi had been hustling me. We got into the car in precisely the manner indicated by Clynder and I didn’t argue about my position on the floor, though it wasn’t particularly comfortable. I was pretty sure that Clynder was holding the gun even as he drove. When we were moving I said:
“Are you calling the police from your house?”
“Yes.”
“And supposing I haven’t the decency to alibi your staff in this?”
“Susie thinks she can persuade you to. I don’t know why the hell she wants to bother. The police aren’t likely to believe a murderer.”
“So that’s out, is it?”
“Out, what do you mean? It’s in all the papers. English, Japanese, everything. A hotel maid in the Myoko saw you near Mikos’s suite. There’s a description of you that’s pretty good, Harris, pretty good.”
“And didn’t you just love reading it?”
He didn’t answer that and I didn’t turn to look at him. I crouched on the floor not in the traditional attitude of the thinker but still doing that. When I had first seen Clynder with that gun it was as though everything clicked, and I knew he was Mikos’s killer. Now I wasn’t so sure. The business about protecting the Ohashis was neat, and I wondered why he bothered, unless there was a kind of pride of efficiency in continuing to alibi yourself in front of your victim.
“Why did Mrs. Ohashi come to you?” I asked. “Did the boy just go home and tell her?”
“No. She was reading the papers, about you, your description. She says she gave the paper to him and he went green. After that it didn’t take her long to get the truth out of him. She came to us, scared stiff. Poor woman. If the boy was nabbed by the police in something like this he’d be finished. He’d never get a decent job in this country, even if he didn’t go to jail, and he probably would. Lucky she came to us.”
“Makes you feel like the old feudal lord protecting his serfs, doesn’t it?”
I expected that to make Al Clynder angry. But after a moment, having thought about it, he said:
“That’s just about it.”
My uncertainty increased. It was just possible that this man could be the great booming boob he seemed. And I saw Reggie Spratt’s smiling face again, Reggie who had been out of the picture for a little time, right back in it.
From the bumping I knew we were in the road which led to the Clynders’ desirable residence. There was a smooth bit while we ran up the ramp to the garage, a rumble of doors opening as though from an automatic eye, but the eye turned out to be Susie, who had been waiting. She shut the doors as Clynder switched off the engine, and then turned down the handle by me, so that I nearly fell out. I looked up at her.
She was the kind of woman who dresses for all occasions, even meeting a murderer. She was in slacks now, but party slacks, the cute kind you wear for informal entertaining, with a little quilted mandarin jacket that had a prettily beaded collar.
“Here he is,” Clynder said. “Though why the hell we must go through all this …”
“Stop it, Al. Get out, Mr. Harris.”
I got out. Susie’s face was extremely serious for the occasion, until she had a good look at me, from my jacket down to my tight pants and that cleft footwear. Her smile came as though it couldn’t be resisted, and I saw from her eyes that she wasn’t in the least frightened.
“Well, you’ve lasted longer free from the Japanese police than I would have believed possible. It’s probably an all-time record. Come in.”
We went into the house by a door direct from the garage and straight into the kitchen. The curtains there were pulled and the table was set. Something was on an electric cooker, something with a wonderful smell.
“Sit down,” Susie said.
Al was right behind us, still with the gun.
“Do we have to offer all this hospitality? He had a rice ball.”
“Don’t be savage, Al. The man must be hungry. I’m not handing a hungry man over to their police. Are you hungry, Mr. Harris?”
“Very.”
“Get him a whisky, Al.”
“I damn’ well will not! Look Susie, this is …”
“Get him a whisky!”
“He might make a bolt for it while I’m in the living-room.”
“Not with food coming up. We’re quite safe. Mr. Harris isn’t a fool.”
As though to confirm this I sat down at the table, and Susie turned to dish up. It was all very domestic and cosy. She put a stew in front of me, and buttered, sliced bread. Al came back and banged down a well-watered glass.
“He doesn’t even like my whisky,” he said angrily.
“I don’t either,” Susie agreed. “I’ve kept telling you Reggie was cheating you. All your life you’ve never thought an old pal would do that. But the world’s full of old pals just waiting to. Al, for heaven’s sake put down that gun.”
“That man killed Mikos!”
“And he’s now eating stew.”
Susie lit herself a cigarette. She poured out a cup of coffee and set it on top of the refrigerator, reaching out when she wanted a sip. I knew she was watching me. “What good did you think you’d do by running away, Mr. Harris? What was the point?”
“The point was to find who killed Mikos.”
“Well!” said Susie. “And you didn’t kill him?”
“That’s right. I didn’t. I was in his suite, and I found him dead. Very newly dead. In fact he was alive while I waited in the sitting-room next door. Looks black against me, doesn’t it?”
Al was staring. Susie’s cup clinked back in the saucer.
“You have no kind of alibi, Mr. Harris?”
“None whatever if that maid identified me. The only thing wrong is motive. The real killer had a motive. I don’t.”
“What motive?”
“The diesel plans. The killer wanted to sell them without buying them first. It’s good business if you can get away with it. The trouble in this case was that Mikos had decided to close the deal with Shompei and had to be killed to stop him doing that. Murder was necessary, but it’s quite a complication. That is, unless you can find the perfect victim on which to pin the murder. My misfortune is that I was elected.”
Susie’s voice was soft.
“Look, Mr. Harris. The fact that you were in the hotel only became known through the papers. How could your real killer have found that out?”
I looked straight at her.
“He found
out in this house last night. The real murderer was at your party.”
There was a silence then. You could hear the wall clock ticking. The explosion, when it came, was from Al.
“Susie! Do we have to listen to this madman any longer? I’m phoning the police!”
“Don’t rush it,” I said. “I think as things stand the police will be troubled about this business of motive. You see, I have a lot of money. Rich men are murderers less often than poor men. It’s a kind of natural law. The police are bound to consider that. I’ll fly in the best lawyers for my defence, who’ll raise that point. They should get me acquitted all right.”
“Mr. Harris,” Susie’s voice was still soft. “Why did you tell us not to rush it? Do you suspect us?”
“I suspect everyone who was at this party.”
“This is interesting,” she said, and sat down.
Al stood by her chair. The gun was still in his hand.
“My wife shouldn’t be subjected to this sort of thing. She’s not a fit woman!”
“I’m feeling fine. Just interested. Very. You must suspect some of our guests more than others, Mr. Harris. Who?”
“I’ll keep that for the police,” I said, finishing the stew.
Susie got up then, saying we would have coffee in the living-room and Al didn’t, this time, turn on the record about phoning for the police. We all went through to that room they were working on and I noticed that the curtains were all pulled. Susie had gone around the house pulling curtains. It was quite clear that we were alone in it, and they didn’t have any living-in staff. I chose the most comfortable chair I could see and sat in it with a kind of pleasure. I wasn’t feeling nearly so alone in the bad world.
Susie poured my coffee and brought it over, positively attentive, with Al glaring, but still silent.
“I thought you had Marla as a weekend guest?”
“Cream?” Susie asked. “She’s gone to Tokyo. Though we’ve got Joe here. Harry drove Marla up, and he didn’t want to leave the boy alone in that hotel.”
I wasn’t as relaxed then as I tried to look.
“Have the police been here to ask her questions?”
Susie was pouring her own coffee now.
