The Death Ceremony

by James Melville

  Otani nodded. "That is so. From time to time I have occasion to make contact with my opposite numbers in neighbouring prefectures."

  "Inspectors Noguchi and Kimura accompanied you to Kyoto."

  "Your information is quite correct, Inspector Sakamoto." The Adam's apple lurched up and down before Sakamoto spoke again. "May I ask why I was excluded, Commander?''

  "By all means. Your presence was not required, Inspector. '' Otani let the silence draw itself out, half expecting Sakamoto to turn on his heel and leave the room. He even reached for some of the papers which had been placed on his desk during his absence, but put them down again when he heard a kind of strangulated cough.

  "Commander, I should like to inform you that Superintendent Fujiwara is a very old personal friend of mine."

  "Yes. So I believe. In fact, the Superintendent mentioned it to me this morning. You served together during the war, I understand."

  With an inward sigh Otani prepared himself for a longer and more trying conversation than might normally have been expected. Kimura had occasionally speculated to Otani over a beer about Sakamoto's wartime career. He had a theory that Sakamoto had either been a bloodthirsty sword-wielding bushido type, or more likely an NCO in the catering corps who had been over-compensating ever since. Otani himself had never bothered to call for his confidential personnel file, but now made a mental note to do so, if only for the light it might throw on Fujiwara's background.

  "Superintendent Fujiwara telephoned me on a personal basis after your discussion to express surprise at my absence. In view of the fact that the Hyogo force has been given the responsibility for investigating the death by shooting of the Iemoto of the Southern School—"

  "Not the Hyogo force, Inspector. The assignment is a personal one, to me."

  "However that may be, sir, it seems that you have already called upon the assistance of two senior officers, neither of whom is properly responsible in any way for criminal investigation duties, although I am very well aware that you habitually employ them outside their proper spheres."

  Not for the first time, Otani felt a pang of guilt with regard to Sakamoto. He stood up, and moved round the edge of his desk. "Come, Inspector," he said. "Shall we sit down for a moment?" He led the way to the easy chairs, sat down and watched Sakamoto perch himself stiffly on the edge of the chair opposite. "You are annoyed, and with some justification. I should like to speak very frankly, therefore." Sakamoto stared fixedly over Otani's shoulder, making no reply.

  "As head of this force, I reserve the right to take personal charge of any case within our jurisdiction, and to call upon any officer to assist me in any way I judge expedient. It is a matter of regret to me that you are not on good personal terms with Inspector Noguchi, nor with Inspector Kimura. I depend heavily on the special skills of those two officers."

  "You may depend on mine also, sir. But you do not choose to do so."

  "Hear me out, please, Inspector. I was referring to our normal duties. The present case is unusual. It is also delicate. I have, as I already explained, been assigned on a personal basis to look into it, and I have selected your two colleagues to help me in the preliminary stages. I may well seek your assistance also. It would encourage me to do so if I felt that you could work with the others in a friendly spirit of cooperation, rather than one of jealous possessiveness over areas of responsibility."

  Something seemed to snap in Sakamoto, and his straight back slumped slightly. "Perhaps that is how it seems to you. But you do me injustice, Superintendent." Otani sat back, uneasily aware that Sakamoto had never to his knowledge trespassed into the preserves of either Kimura or Noguchi, but doggedly gone about his proper business, unimaginatively perhaps but not without efficiency. Sakamoto went on. "It is common knowledge in this headquarters that you dislike me and exclude me from your confidence. I for my part have tried to serve you loyally and to the best of my ability. However, you prefer to work with a conceited tailor's dummy like Kimura and a disgusting, unwashed animal like Noguchi."

  Otani raised an eyebrow but let Sakamoto have his head. It was the first time he had ever known him to lose control of his tongue, and the thaw in his habitual wintry formality was almost appealing.

  Sakamoto licked his thin lips with a dry, leathery lizard tongue then took out a paper handkerchief and dabbed at his forehead. "I have no alternative but to request a transfer, sir. I'm putting in a formal application today. Superintendent Fujiwara has said that he would welcome me to the Kyoto force. Then you won't have me around to irritate you any longer."

  Sakamoto sat well back in his chair for the first time, took a deep breath and subsided. He looked tired, and more human than Otani could remember having seen him before.

  "I see," Otani said, then paused before continuing. "Thank you for your frankness with me. I owe you an apology, Inspector, a sincere apology. I have underrated you, and I have been guilty of insensitivity towards you. I shall not stand in the way of your desire to be transferred to the Kyoto Prefectural Police, particularly as you tell me Superintendent Fujiwara has indicated that he will support your application. I'm sure you realise, though, that it will probably take several months for the necessary approval to be obtained from the National Police Agency." Otani looked hard at Sakamoto, unable to tell whether he was relieved or dejected now that matters had reached a crisis and that the crisis seemed to have been surmounted.

  Then Sakamoto sat up straight again. "Thank you for agreeing to my request. I think it would be better if the move could take place as soon as possible, sir. Would you see any objection to my being seconded to the Kyoto force on a temporary basis pending formal approval of my transfer? You have the authority to arrange such a secondment by agreement with the other prefectural commander concerned."

  Otani had a fundamental objection to being rushed or pressurised, and sucked in his breath dubiously. "I don't see any great urgency about the matter," he said at length. "After all, you'll need to look into the question of accommodation, and other personal ..."

  "I think it would be better to make a clean break, sir. I could clear my desk today and report to Kyoto tomorrow morning without any difficulty."

  "Is that so? You really are in a hurry, aren't you? And who is to take over your duties here, may I ask?" Sakamoto did not even attempt to answer the question, and after a moment Otani made a little gesture of acceptance. "Very well, Inspector. If you are so keen to be gone, it would be better for me not to obstruct you." He stood up and extended a hand to Sakamoto. "It's your decision, Inspector. I wish you well in your new work . . . and I thank you for the service you have rendered to the Hyogo force. I presume you have already cleared this secondment business with Superintendent Fujiwara?" Sakamoto nodded as they briefly shook hands. Otani could not for the life of him imagine why he had made such an alien gesture, and relinquished Sakamoto's dry, bony palm hurriedly. Then the two men bowed, and Sakamoto began to move to the door.

  "As senior headquarters duty officer yesterday and today I can confirm that all the necessary security arrangements for the arrival of the British Ambassador and for his stay in Kobe have been made, sir."

  "Thank you. I am sure they have. Goodbye, Inspector, and good luck." Otani held the door open, nodded once more at the departing Sakamoto, then closed it after him and returned to his desk. Knowing Sakamoto's work methods, he was quite sure that all the necessary paperwork associated with his transfer and immediate prior secondment to the Kyoto force would be prepared impeccably before the end of the afternoon. He was, however, still slightly shaken by Sakamoto's explosive and, for him, highly uncharacteristic outburst, and sat pondering for a while before being disturbed by the sound of the door opening again. It was Noguchi, who never knocked before entering, and now shuffled in and made for his usual chair.

  "Ah, Ninja, you're back. Good. Pity you weren't here a little earlier—you'd have heard some home truths about yourself.'' Otani went to join him and smiled as Noguchi opened one eye in what for him was an extra
vagant display of surprise. "Sakamoto. He doesn't like you. He thinks you're a—oh, never mind."

  "What's he on about now?"

  "He's leaving us, Ninja." Noguchi opened the other eye. "He was more or less lying in wait for me when I got back here. Began by complaining about being kept out of this morning's meeting in Kyoto, and then went on to a generalised complaint about the way I treat him." Otani sighed, and reached for a cigarette. In spite of his resolution about not smoking indoors, he felt he needed one. "Not wholly unjustified, Ninja." He patted his pockets, trying to find his lighter, and Noguchi reached a hand into his own jacket pocket and produced a box of matches which he passed to Otani. The box bore the name and telephone number of a very expensive bar, and Otani registered the fact with some surprise.

  "Anyway," he continued, "he then went on to make a formal request for transfer, and while it's going through, asked me to agree to his immediate secondment. Effective tomorrow." Otani would not have been so open in discussing Sakamoto's abrupt departure with any of his colleagues other than Noguchi.

  "Where's he want to go?"

  "Kyoto. You heard Fujiwara say he's a friend of his."

  Noguchi slowly hauled himself into an upright position in his chair. "And you agreed?"

  "Of course I did. I can't keep the man here against his will. At least I could for a while, I suppose, but what would be the point? He never has fitted in, you don't like him, nor does Kimura . . . and nor do I, quite frankly."

  Noguchi's hand rasped over his stubbly chin. "I don't like it."

  "Why not?" Otani thought he knew the answer to his own question as he asked it, but wanted time to think.

  "Obvious, isn't it? Fujiwara wanted Sakamoto in on this case once he knew the Agency was putting you on to it. Why? Not just because they're old pals. What are friends for? Why does Sakamoto suddenly take it into his head to get a transfer? Could have done it years ago if he felt that way." Noguchi glared at Otani. "Want my advice? Stall him. Hold up the papers. Unless you want Sakamoto getting underfoot while you're sorting out the Kyoto end of the Minamikuni killing. Keep him down here till you've finished. Then get rid of him fast as you like."

  Otani had been drawing deeply on his cigarette as Noguchi spoke, and now leaned forward and stubbed it out, half-finished. "No, Ninja. I see your point, of course. And perhaps I was wrong to agree to the secondment. But I've done it now, and I'm not going back on my word." He flung himself back in his chair, his mind racing. The implications of Noguchi's words were disturbing, and Otani recalled his old associate's warning as they had parted after the curious meeting in Fujiwara's office.

  "If he does get in our way in Kyoto we shall at least be forewarned, thanks to you, Ninja. But what on earth could Fujiwara be up to? I can understand his being upset, but why he should want Sakamoto there with him I can't imagine. I wonder what job he'll give him?"

  "Soon find out, won't you? By the way, I found the shell-case."

  "What?" Otani's thoughts were far away.

  "The shell-case. From the bullet that killed Minamiku-ni. Forensic have got it. I found it among the bamboos, not far from the wall. Couldn't have been there more than a couple of days. Can't be many knocking around those grounds. Must be the one."

  "Really? You found it? Splendid! Anything else of interest?"

  Noguchi grunted. "Quite enough for one day, I should have thought. Kimura got off with some bird in the office there. Bright kid. Knew what we were really up to, but Kimura handled her all right." Noguchi eased himself forward, in preparation for the protracted business of getting up out of his chair. "Well. I'll be getting along. Putting the word out among some of my grasses. If there's a visiting professional gun in town I'll let you know."

  Otani nodded, and watched as Noguchi made for the door. "Good. Thank you, Ninja. Oh, Ninja!" Noguchi turned slowly. "Have you got any contacts in Kyoto?"

  A sardonic smile flickered briefly over the battered features. "What do you think? Lot of Koreans in Kyoto. Plenty oiburakumin." Noguchi's intimate Korean connections had once been unknown and were still confidential to Otani and only a very few others. On the other hand, most of the headquarters staff knew how effectively Noguchi exploited his contacts among the hereditary outcast groups, historically the leather-workers, butchers, scavengers and buriers of the dead, and, in spite of post-war legal reforms, still effectively condemned to exclusion from general society and from access to any but lowly occupations.

  "You might try to find out if any of the Kyoto gangsters know anything about a contract, as well. This was a refined set-up though. Almost certainly a stranger, and very probably a foreigner, of course. Oh, and while you're about it, I'd be interested to know what your Kyoto contacts think of Fujiwara."

  Chapter 10

  AND WHERE DID YOU STUDY ENGLISH, MR KIMURA?" Lady Hurtling enquired politely as the Rolls-Royce sped along the Nagoya-Kobe expressway, the Union Jack on its stubby chromium staff on the offside front wing fluttering tautly in the wind.

  "Here and there, ma'am," Kimura said, sitting sideways in his blue leather seat next to the driver so that he could survey the VIP couple in the back.

  Sir Rodney Hurtling was staring crossly out of the window at the Suntory whisky distillery nestling in the wooded hills to their right, put out by the fact that after listening to a few sentences of his voluble but turbulent Japanese, Kimura had replied in relaxed and idiomatic English which had gratified Lady Hurtling. Kimura for his part was enjoying himself hugely. He had never actually ridden in a Rolls-Royce before, and, though disappointed by the surprisingly restricted size of its interior, was delighted with the luxury of its appointments and by the smooth acceleration of the massive car, rendered even heavier as it was by what Kimura guessed to be complete bullet-proofing. The lunch with Mie Nakazato, in a Western-style steak house not far from the Heian Shrine, had also gone well. The place had been practically deserted, since although the area was dense with school sightseeing groups, the well-heeled foreign tourists who normally patronised such eating-places were absent at that time of the year. Miss Nakazato had seemed suitably impressed by Kimura's show of easy authority as he ordered for them both and persuaded her to drink the glass of red Mercian Brand wine which came with the set lunch.

  Now he was busily engaged in charming Lady Hurtling. "We have a great many Westerners living in the Kobe area, and my work brings me into a lot of contact with them. It's really essential in my job to have pretty good English. I studied in Europe—oh dear, more years ago than I care to think about," he added with a boyish laugh to make it plain that he didn't consider himself to be all that old. "May I ask if you happen to have any Welsh blood, Lady Hurtling? I spent some time in Wales, and you have that beautiful colouring I noticed in many Welsh girls."

  Lady. Hurtling gave him an arch little tap on the elbow. "Goodness, what a thing to say, Mr Kimura! Well, as a matter of fact, my family does have some Welsh connections." She turned to her husband, who had now turned his head to glower at Kimura. "Isn't that clever of Mr Kimura, Roddy? Fancy his being able to guess! I feel quite flattered." This was transparently obvious to both Kimura and her husband, and the British Ambassador cleared his throat and changed the subject.

  "Yes. Well, be that as it may, dear, I must discuss a few points with the Inspector." He paused, torn between languages, since if he were to insist on using Japanese in order to exclude his wife, the driver would understand everything he said; whereas if they used English, Thelma might well intervene. Then again, he had never, in spite of some discreet enquiries which had been instituted on his behalf by those responsible for the Embassy's internal security, been able to discover whether or not his personal driver understood more than a few words of English. Indecisive, he began in Japanese, then switched to English in some desperation when he saw Kimura's expression of polite long-suffering.

  "Inspector. I invited you to ride with us in my car—oh hang it, I think I'll use English. Look, I'd like you to satisfy me that there'll be nothing too o
btrusive about the security arrangements in Kobe. Mind you, I appreciate that it's a difficult decision for the police, especially after what happened on Sunday. I must say I never thought that if and when it did come it would be in circumstances like that, did you, Thelma?"

  Thus appealed to, Lady Hurtling twittered helplessly for a moment, and had just begun to speak coherently when her husband interrupted, ignoring her so that she soon subsided again.

  "One rather tended to discount the letters, you see, Inspector. Of course, I reported them, or that is to say one of my staff did so for me, we have regular contact with the Metropolitan Police people needless to say, and the Kojimachi Police Station just round the corner from the Embassy take excellent care of us, I must say . . ."

  Kimura took it in in fascination, wondering whether the ambassador would forget to draw breath; but eventually he paused. "Letters, Your Excellency? What letters?"

  "Oh, I thought you'd have been told about them. No need to call me Excellency by the way. Sir will do. Nothing necessarily excellent about an ambassador, I always say." Sir Rodney Hurtling barked in brief mirthless laughter and men pressed on. "Letters. Yes, well, just illiterate scrawls, really, weren't they, Thelma? Posted in the Marunouchi district. IRA death threats, but I have my doubts, personally. You'd be surprised if you could see some of the letters that come to me, Inspector. Remember that dog business, Thelma? I began to wonder if the entire population of Japan had taken leave of their senses after the local press picked up that Daily Mirror thing about the Japanese ill-treating their dogs. Mind you, they do, if I may say so with all respect. And I told my correspondents so quite frankly, I may say."

  Kimura coughed and the ambassador looked at him sharply.

  "Did you say something, Inspector?"

  "I was just going to ask—sir—how long ago these death threats were received at the Embassy."

  "I've just been telling you. There were three. It was three, wasn't it, dear? Over a period of about a month. When was the last one, Thelma?"