The Death Ceremony

by James Melville

  Otani nodded benignly enough, understanding part at least of what she was saying, but by no means everything. At least Rosie had plenty to say for herself, and the odd pronunciation and ungrammatical constructions tumbled about his ears as she rambled on happily and he reflected how different his own daughter Akiko had been at her age. The only times Akiko, as a militant Marxist student at Kobe University in the sixties, had broken her long, sullen periods of silence had been when she harangued Otani on the subject of his profession, his antediluvian attitudes to women and his criminal responsibility for propping up a rotten and corrupt social order. Otani found it odd to think that Akiko was now the occasional employer of the tousle-haired English girl sitting there in Akiko's old place in the living-room at Rokko.

  "Ojama shimasu!" It was Hanae, apologetically interrupting Rosie's monologue. "We can eat any time you like. Would you like to have your bath now?"

  Otani blinked as he dragged himself back out of his reverie. "What? Oh. No. Thank you. Let's eat by all means. I'll have my bath later." He had already noted with satisfaction that Rosie was reasonably helpful about the house, and she now scrambled up and helped Hanae to set the table over the kotatsu pit in the middle of the room with its low-powered electric heater in the bottom. The padded cover was already in position and it was a simple matter to place the flat square of simulated lacquer on top and set out chopsticks on their stands and the condiments; the small bottle of soy sauce and hot red togarashi pepper and the milder green mixed powdered sansho herbs in their bamboo shakers.

  Hanae had cooked a delicious pork and vegetable itame, the ingredients half-fried, half-steamed in their own moisture in her big round Chinese-style pan, and a separate vegetarian version for Rosie, with a fragrant clear soup with bamboo shoots and seaweed. Otani perked up considerably as he attacked his supper with relish, defiantly passing his bowl twice to Hanae for additional helpings of white rice as Rosie shook her head sadly over their backsliding.

  Hanae was wearing a blue Western-style matching blouse and skirt while Otani was in his shirt-sleeves, so Rosie the foreigner was in fact the only one round the table in Japanese clothing. Otani was relieved to notice as Hanae asked endless questions about London, the Shimizu household and their four-year-old grandson Kazuo in particular that, notwithstanding her dietary theories, Rosie was not an abstainer from alcohol. The spare flask of sake kept warming in the pot of hot water at Hanae's side had to be replenished several times during the hour they sat there, and Rosie certainly consumed her fair share.

  Indeed, as Otani grew mellower and more relaxed by the minute, he had to remind himself consciously not to seek out the bare feet he was accustomed to do when dining alone with Hanae, but to keep his own primly tucked out Of harm's way for fear of finding the wrong prey.

  The jangling of the telephone came as an unwelcome disturbance, but Otani hauled himself away from the pleasant warmth philosophically, since the call was almost certain to be for him. He was far from being fuddled, but he still rubbed a hand over his face as he picked up the receiver. He was unusual among Japanese in identifying himself when answering the phone instead of using the meaningless all-purpose '''moshi-moshi'" which merely communicates the information that there is a sentient being at the other end of the line.

  "Oh, good, I was hoping you'd be at home. Not interrupting your favourite programme, I hope?" The voice of the caller was hearty and the language and manner informal to a degree. Otani should have recognised it at once, but was still in the dark until the man spoke again. "Hello? Are you there. Superintendent? Atsugi here. Foreign Office Liaison."

  "Yes, yes. Of course. Good evening, Ambassador. I didn't recognise you at first. This is an unexpected pleasure."

  Atsugi was unruffled by the delicate rebuke. "Look, I'd like a word with you."

  "Go ahead."

  "No, I mean, in person. I'm not very far away from your place at the moment. Could I persuade you to meet me at Rokko Station in, say, fifteen or twenty minutes?"

  Otani was intrigued. He had had a number of confidential conversations with Atsugi, the senior Japanese diplomat assigned to a special liaison office in Osaka to facilitate dealings with the whole Consular Corps of the Osaka-Kobe area, since he had arrived three years earlier. Atsugi was a great improvement on his predecessor, a polite adversary of Otani's who had been dispatched under a cloud to one of the less salubrious republics south of the Sahara.

  Atsugi had never previously sought him out in the evening, however; nor made his way to a place conveniently close to Otani's house, as it seemed obvious that he must have done on this occasion. Otani looked at his watch. It was still only eight-fifteen. "Very well," he said. "I can be there in ten minutes."

  "Good."

  The downstairs phone was in the kitchen, and before returning to the living-room Otani mounted the old wooden staircase to retrieve his jacket from the cupboard in the upstairs room where he knew Hanae would have hung it after relieving him of it on his arrival home earlier. The nights were now very chilly, and he stopped long enough to put on a pullover too.

  Then he went downstairs again. "I'm afraid I have to go out for a while," he announced as Hanae looked at him, startled by his changed appearance. "Something has cropped up. Connected with what happened yesterday," he added for Hanae's benefit. He would have said more, but by common consent they had kept Rosie in the dark about what had happened, on the grounds that it would have been too complicated to explain, as well as being hardly a suitable thing to discuss with a foreign visitor. Otani could think of no other reason why Ambassador Atsugi should seek an urgent meeting with him in what amounted to clandestine circumstances.

  "I don't suppose I'll be long," he predicted confidently as Hanae came to the front entrance hall to see him off and he was bending to put on his shoes. "An hour or so, probably. I shall look forward to that bath when I get back."

  Chapter 5

  ATSUGI WAS VERY FAR FROM BEING THE CONVENTIONAL diplomat, even though he was senior enough to have the personal rank of ambassador. His overseas career had been almost wholly in the United States, culminating in several years as Japanese Consul-General in San Francisco, and had left its mark on him. The big man was waiting near the bank of ticket machines at Rokko Station and beamed when he caught sight of Otani entering the approach to the small suburban station. "Want a beer, or shall we take a little stroll?" he boomed while Otani was still some yards away.

  Otani opted for the stroll, and Atsugi set a cracking pace up the hill again, in the direction of the campus of Kobe University. After his initial greetings Otani remained silent, waiting for Atsugi to get down to business. It was in any case quite an effort to keep up with him and he had little breath to spare. The diplomat himself made several false starts, apologising again for dragging Otani out of his house, commenting on the contrast between the pleasant warmth of the January sun by day and the crispness of the evenings, and complaining that the very low humidity gave him a tickle in his throat.

  Then they had arrived on the hillside campus with its spectacular views over Kobe Port and the whole of Osaka Bay with the Inland Sea beyond, and stopped to take it in. "Look, over there to the left you can see the lights of Wakayama Prefecture," Otani said, panting slightly after the climb. "Well, what's on your mind, Ambassador?"

  "I need hardly spell it out, do I? You were there. The Foreign Ministry takes a poor view of attempts on the lives of ambassadors accredited to this country. Even if they don't succeed."

  "Yes, I suppose they do. But it's hardly your responsibility, is it? I'm sure the Kyoto police will make a thorough investigation, and no doubt the National Police Agency in Tokyo will be involved. I'm expecting to have to make some kind of statement as a witness—maybe my wife too, but I don't think we can be of any more help than anyone else who was in the room."

  Atsugi's rich baritone laugh was infectious, and Otani smiled without quite knowing why. "Come on, now, Superintendent, don't be naive. This case is going to call for quite
exceptional handling. In the first place, it's most unlikely that the guy who fired that shot is still in Kyoto Prefecture. The day after tomorrow a whole bunch of European ambassadors, including your British buddy, are due to open some trade fair or other, and having missed his chance yesterday in spite of some fancy shooting our friend may take another pop right in your own backyard."

  "Yes. As a matter of fact I've been in touch with both the Kyoto police and the Agency in Tokyo today. There'll be maximum security at the Trade Centre and everywhere the VIPs go, I can assure you." Atsugi laughed again and clapped Otani on the shoulder. With anyone else Otani would have been shocked and outraged by the physical contact. "My, you don't give out too much unless you have to, do you? It's like pulling teeth talking to you. Sure I know you've been talking to the Agency. So have we."

  "So?"

  "So what?"

  "What have you brought me up here to ask me or to tell me?"

  Although there was very little lighting on the quiet university campus, it was very far from being completely dark, and Otani could see Atsugi's face quite clearly. As he waited for him to reply, he once more felt grateful for the straight way the other man had of dealing with him, so different from the Machiavellian deviousness and flowery circumlocutions of his predecessor.

  Atsugi turned right round and propped his back against the metal rail on which they had both been leaning to gaze at the spangled lights far below. "Ask, or tell?" he mused. "Both those things. I have to ask you on behalf of the Foreign Ministry to take the lead in co-ordinating the investigation of the shooting in Kyoto yesterday. And I have to tell you that you'll be receiving instructions to that effect from the National Police Agency first thing tomorrow."

  Otani's response was as automatic as it was tinged with regret. "Out of the question, Ambassador. I have no jurisdiction or authority in Kyoto Prefecture."

  "Not at the moment, I agree. But you'll be given it. Listen to me for a moment, Otani-san. There are political considerations in this case which are perfectly obvious, and it must be handled with great delicacy. We don't want the Kyoto police muddying the waters by haring off into a lot of pointless questioning of the Grand Master's family and people in the tea ceremony organisation when what we're looking for is a terrorist hit-man. Our preliminary investigations suggest that the most likely organisation to be out for the ambassador is an outfit called the Irish Republican Army. It seems they've knocked off at least two British ambassadors in other countries in recent years. I don't need to bother you with the background, but you may know that the British still run a piece of Ireland and there's been trouble there for years. The IRA as they call themselves get a lot of help from the United States—I do believe there are probably more people of Irish background in New York than there are in Dublin."

  Otani had, needless to say, heard of New York but was not too sure about Dublin. In any case he was at that moment much more concerned about the problems looming much nearer home, and shook his head worriedly. "It won't do. Ambassador. Whatever the background may be, the fact of the matter is that the Iemoto was killed. Call it murder, call it accidental death, call it whatever you like, but it happened in Kyoto and the Kyoto police are responsible for investigating it."

  He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a packet of Mild Seven cigarettes. He was still half-heartedly trying to give them up, and managing for the most part to smoke only in the open air. He offered the pack to Atsugi, who shook his head and waited in silence until Otani had lit his own and taken a thoughtful puff. "My wife and I were witnesses, and as such will of course co-operate in that investigation. We have to keep it quite separate from measures that need to be taken for the protection of the British Ambassador and the others while they're in Kobe. That is my responsibility. But assuming that the opening ceremony passes without incident, then my responsibility ends once they leave Hyogo Prefecture."

  "Come, let's walk a little way more," Atsugi said. "It's chilly standing around." They strolled on, past the teaching blocks and towards the main entrance. "I see your point, of course. But look at it from our point of view. The ambassador spends most of his time in Tokyo, right? And of course, the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Special Branch have the job of protecting all the Embassies and their staff routinely. Whenever he leaves Tokyo—and this particular man is a great traveller, I may say—it's up to the police authorities in any prefecture he visits to make sure he comes to no harm. You've already referred to your own responsibility right here . . . but we're not just talking about precautionary measures in general. We've had an actual attempt on his life. Okay, it was unsuccessful, and some other poor guy took the bullet. But you must see that the investigation of what happened in Kyoto yesterday cannot be dissociated from the ambassador's security here and anywhere else he goes. And we don't dictate his movements."

  Otani threw his cigarette down and ground it under his foot. "Ambassador, let me ask you a question. How do you think I would react if the National Police Agency were to instruct the commander of, say, Okayama Prefectural Police Force to take the lead in the investigation of a killing which took place in the middle of downtown Kobe?''

  Atsugi emitted a curious barking sound which Otani concluded must be laughter. "Maybe I'll get them to try it on you some time, just for the hell of it," he said eventually as they made their way down the hill again, this time on the well-lit main road. "Listen, Otani-san. There was only one real alternative to what they and we decided; and that would be to bring someone down from the National Police Agency to take charge. He would have no local knowledge and would bug everybody around, including yourself and your opposite number in Kyoto. You know how all we Kansai people feel about those slickers from Tokyo."

  It was Otani's turn to laugh, at the quintessentially metropolitan Atsugi's identification of himself with the proudly independent people of the Kyoto-Osaka-Kobe area.

  "Anyway," Atsugi went on, "I've already warned you. You'll be getting your formal orders first thing in the morning, and I don't think the Agency will be greatly moved by the idea that the Kyoto man might be put out. We want this man caught, Superintendent. We want him caught before he can get the ambassador. And when you do catch him, we have him on a ready-made charge of murder, don't we?

  Otani stopped short and Atsugi had to walk back two paces to rejoin him. "I won't accept it just as a personal assignment. Let me make that quite clear to the Agency. If I'm to do this I must have full authority to deploy my own staff as I see fit." He glared fiercely up at the much bigger man. "And let me say something else to you personally, Atsugi-san." It was the first time he had broken with convention to address the diplomat by name rather than by rank. "If you already have, or plan to have, any undercover men from the Public Security Investigation Agency operating in my territory, I want to be informed, on a basis of personal confidentiality, if you like. I've suffered altogether too much in the past from interference by the security authorities about which I've been kept in the dark."

  They both started walking again, and had covered quite a long distance before Atsugi spoke again. "Fair enough, Superintendent. I'll keep you in the picture so far as I myself know it." He clapped Otani on the shoulder again. "Right! Now what about that beer?"

  Chapter 6 "

  I WAS NOT AWARE THAT I WAS TO HAVE THE pleasure of welcoming a delegation," Superintendent Fujiwara almost whispered as the three men entered his office. He had never done anything to discourage the rumour that he was a direct descendant of the great Fujiwaras who had been Ministers, eminences grises and de facto rulers of Japan for hundreds of years before the emergence of the Shoguns. In the great days of the Heian Period a thousand years and more ago, Fujiwaras had generally contrived to marry their daughters into the Imperial line, and were from time to time not only fathers-in-law but simultaneously grandfathers and uncles of Emperors both incumbent and retired.

  Superintendent Ryo Fujiwara was certainly every inch the aristocrat. His skin was the colour of ivory, his features finedrawn.
If dressed in the Court robes of former centuries, he would have been a perfect model for the notables depicted in the old scroll paintings to be found in every museum. Only his bloodless lips moved as he sat motionless behind a massive desk with a gleaming surface of green leather.

  "We are intruding unpardonably, Otani murmured by way of reply, bowing low and suppressing his anger at the discourtesy of their reception. Slightly behind him and to his right, Kimura also bowed, while even Noguchi, spruced up almost unrecognisably in a complete suit, fairly clean shirt and only slightly greasy tie, inclined his head at least three-quarters of an inch.

  Fujiwara kept them waiting about ten seconds too long before rising languidly from his chair and bowing perfunctorily. Then he indicated the sofa and armchairs placed for the use of guests and drifted over to them as Otani and his colleagues followed, Noguchi and Kimura reaching into their pockets for name-cards as they did so. After the exchange of cards they all sat down, and Otani presented his best poker face to Fujiwara, who was looking past him with an expression of acute distaste at Noguchi. Noguchi had merely growled incomprehensibly when handing over his card—Kimura even raised an eyebrow in surprise to see that he possessed such things—and now settled into a chair and closed his eyes, effectively removing himself from further contact.

  "I am sure," Fujiwara said at last after coughing delicately, "that it has involved you and your, ah, colleagues in considerable inconvenience to make the journey from Kobe for this conference. I am gratified to know that Kyoto has such attractions for you in particular, Superintendent, since you were good enough to come on Sunday also. I trust that Inspector Mihara conveyed my message of welcome to you." His last words were a statement rather than a question, and Otani merely inclined his head by way of reply. In any case, Fujiwara's manner of speech was idiosyncratic to a degree. He paused frequently and some words were spoken so quietly that he seemed in danger of dripping off into elegant slumber in mid-sentence, too weary to continue.