"So there'd be some record of cash receipts," Otani said after a lengthy period of rumination.
"Not a bit of it, Chief. No record, no tax, is the way I see it. Although she doesn't trust me enough to say so, I would guess that the Nakazato girl and Terada get useful cash bonuses from time to time as a reward for their reliability." In referring to Mie in this dismissive way, Kimura tripped over his tongue, and coughed to cover his confusion.
Otani merely nodded as he paced on, scarcely noticing the parked sightseeing buses outside, the enormous vermilion uprights of the outer torii gateway with its great crossbeam, or even the hazy green of the hills to their left. "Who benefits, Kimura? That's the first and most important question in a murder investigation. The new Grand Master, obviously. He gets status, and complete control of the family income from now on. You talked to him, Kimura. What did you really make of him?"
"Well, he certainly didn't seem to be in the depths of depression. Very smooth, very much in control . . . but quite helpful. Of course, he was very actively involved previously in running things, and now it seems he handled all the trickier side of the finances anyway."
"Could he be the type to be under his mother's thumb, do you think? Sooner or later I shall have to ask to see the lady. The funeral's tomorrow, isn't it? I can't make up my mind whether to go myself or ask you to."
Kimura wasn't sure which question to answer first. "Yes. I mean, no. He doesn't strike me as much of a mother's boy. The funeral is tomorrow, eleven o'clock. It'll be a huge affair. This is the public one, of course. The family ceremony and cremation happened yesterday. They're holding it in the Kyoto Kaikan, just over there." Kimura pointed at the grey concrete bulk of the municipal assembly hall on the other side of Okazaki Park. "Not a lot of point in going, I would have thought, unless you just want to get a look at the family."
"Fujiwara will go, I presume, but then he'd be expected to anyway in the case of the funeral of such a prominent citizen," Otani said. "I wish I could work out how he benefits from Minamikuni's death." "Well, it's a long shot, but his name cropped up last night, too," Kimura said. His further account of his meeting with Mie Nakazato, suitably edited, occupied the rest of the walk to the terminus of the Hankyu Electric Railway from which they took the fast train to Kobe.
Chapter 21
OTANI SAT AT HIS DESK. HE HAD SPENT SO MUCH TIME away from it during the week that routine paperwork had piled up to a daunting extent, so he had given strict orders that he was not to be disturbed for the remainder of the afternoon, and was doggedly going through the heap. Two folders at his side held a special fascination for him, though, and from time to time he turned to them and glanced once more at the papers in them. One was the personnel file of Inspector Masao Sakamoto; the other contained the duty rosters for the past few weeks. It was still surmise, though. Only if Noguchi came back with the information he was still waiting for would Otani feel confident enough to set in train the action he had planned.
In the meantime there were pressing enough problems to occupy him, not least among which was the necessity to find a successor to Sakamoto as head of the Criminal Investigation Section. Otani was far from anxious to bring in a complete stranger to handle the job, which had to be filled by a substantive Inspector. Better, he thought, to consider carefully some of the younger men in charge of divisions up and down the vast, sprawling area of his territory. The Hyogo force was, after all, the third largest in the country, and if the Agency wanted to foist people from Nagasaki on to him, Otani felt that they should be assigned to the periphery and show their paces there before being admitted to his inner council. He sighed. Noguchi would have some useful ideas, he always did.
Try as he would, it was difficult for Otani to give his full attention to many of the reports in the pile before him, and in one case he had moistened his ivory seal with the two Chinese characters for "Otani" on the tiny red pad incorporated in its little leather case and pressed it in approval of a request without having the least idea of what it was. It was therefore with only a show of irritation that he picked up the receiver when the telephone rang. "I thought I had given instructions—" he began, but the operator cut in before he was fairly started.
"Sir, I'm extremely sorry, sir. But there is a lady at the main entrance who insists on seeing you. She has been told that you are occupied on most urgent business, but won't be moved, sir."
"I see. Who is it?"
"That's the problem, sir. She won't say. She seems to be, ah, a very important sort of lady." It was very rare indeed for Otani to have any but official visitors, and he was intrigued. The lady must be, if not important, a person with considerable force of character to have induced the officer at the reception desk to pass her request on.
"She's not crazy, is she?"
The voice at the other end sounded shocked. "Oh no, sir. We'd never trouble you with one of those." There was a well-established drill for dealing with the odd-balls who turned up at frequent intervals to report plots to kill the Emperor or the sighting of a flying saucer.
"All right, I'll see her. Have her escorted up." Otani stood up after putting the phone down, stretched and took off his glasses. He needed them for reading, but preferred to do without when in conversation. He crossed to the door and opened it, leaving it wide, and then waited in the centre of the room.
It was quite true. The woman who swept in was quite obviously a person of consequence, and the young officer escorting her looked relieved when Otani dismissed him courteously before bowing to his visitor, who closed the door firmly on her retreating escort before approaching Otani and responding to his bow. The lady was in a black mourning kimono which to Otani's admittedly inexpert eye looked extremely expensive from the appearance of the matt heavy silk. Her hair was immaculate in formal Japanese style and although Otani's visitor was obviously in her middle years her use of make-up was of the type and expertise usually associated with much younger women.
Along with many another Japanese male, Otani was relatively unmoved by beauty in young women, being much more susceptible to onnazakari, that remarkable blooming which comes upon many Japanese women around the age of forty, when they put on a little weight, their skin is firm and rosy, and they not infrequently acquire a certain look in the eye. This woman had just such a look, even though there was evidence of anxiety in her face, along with a determination to conceal it from him.
Physically the woman looked a little like his own wife, Hanae, who was herself still very much in this kind of bloom, with Otani deeply thankful for the fact.
"You are welcome," he said gravely. "My name is Otani. I shall be pleased if I can be of assistance to you." He began to fumble for one of his official name-cards, but then thought better of it, being unsure whether middle-aged ladies customarily carried them. Hanae certainly didn't.
"I am sorry to disturb you," his visitor said, not looking at all as if she meant it. "I am Minamikuni." It was a possibility which had flashed through Otani's mind while he was waiting for her to come up, so he was not greatly surprised and in any case never had any trouble in maintaining the poker face for which he was locally famous.
"I am honoured that you should make a troublesome journey to come to see me at such a distressing time. I take it that you are ..." He let the words hang delicately in the air between them.
"Yes. I am the widow of the late Iemoto."
"Please accept my sincere condolences on your tragic bereavement." Otani indicated the easy-chairs round the low table. "Please be seated." Mrs Minamikuni took the chair normally occupied by Kimura during conferences with Otani, while he settled into his own accustomed seat and studied the new widow's face. Kimura had reported that the lady's son had not seemed greatly distressed by the death of the former Grand Master: it seemed that his widow also was bearing her loss with considerable fortitude.
"Superintendent Otani. I do not wish to trespass unduly on your time," she began after arranging herself with some style in Kimura's chair. "I understand t
hat you are in charge of the investigations into the unfortunate incident at our home last Sunday." She used the Japanese word customarily employed to refer to events of some political significance, like attempted coups d'etat or mutinies, and Otani was slightly jolted by it.
"That is so, madam," he replied gravely. "Indeed, you may be aware that a member of my staff has already had the benefit of a conversation with your son, as well as interviewing members of the permanent staff of the School."
Mrs Minamikuni opened her gleaming black crocodile handbag to reveal a scarlet satin lining, and produced a packet of Winston cigarettes and a holder. "You don't mind if I smoke?"
"Please go ahead." Otani was taken aback. It was usually only bar hostesses who smoked while dressed in kimono. He had never previously in his life lit a cigarette for a woman, but nevertheless almost without a conscious thought fumbled for matches and did so in this case. It was only afterwards that he felt relieved that Ninja Noguchi had not been there to see him behaving like a hired gigolo in one of the Tokyo "host clubs" patronised by wealthy women or thrill-seeking office ladies on a spree.
He waited for his visitor to continue, but she sat back in her chair, her eyes slightly narrowed, and just looked at him. It was a technique he habitually employed himself, but this time he was the first to give up.
"The reason is quite fortuitous. My wife and I happened to be among the guests at the tea ceremony during which your husband was, er—"
"My husband was accidentally killed," she supplied, still looking quite composed. "Yes, I know you were."
"Under the circumstances, my superiors in Tokyo felt that, since in arty case I should have been involved in the enquiry as a witness to what occurred, it might simplify matters if I were to conduct such enquiries as might be necessary."
"I can quite see that, Superintendent," Mrs Minamikuni said. "You are of course a very distinguished and well-known figure in the Kansai area, and we invited you and your wife for that reason. It was fortunate that you were on the spot and could take steps for the protection of His Excellency the British Ambassador. It would have brought unbearable shame on our entire house had the assassin's plan succeeded." She laid her cigarette holder down, took out a tiny lace handkerchief and dabbed delicately at the corners of her eyes, but without actually touching them. "Even though I have been tragically bereaved, I believe that my late husband would have wished to offer himself as a shield. Destiny moves in strange ways."
It was a fine sentiment, like something out of a kabuki play, and Otani was for a moment tempted to express his respect in the face of such proud altruism. In the event he merely nodded. "I am inexpressibly shocked by the news that the person responsible was none other than Casey-san. Like everyone else in our family, I was deceived by his apparently earnest desire to study the Way of Tea. Yet we now know that he was simply seeking a convenient means of living in Japan so as to make an opportunity to murder His Excellency. Even while he was staying with us at my late husband's invitation, he made several trips to Tokyo and seemed unwilling to tell us what business he might have there. How we played into his hands by inviting His Excellency to the ceremonies in Kyoto!"
Otani frowned and raised a hand, bringing about a momentary break in the flow. "Forgive me, but I must interrupt you. It is by no means satisfactorily established that Casey-san is even implicated in this affair; and it is certainly not thought that he was responsible. May I ask how you have arrived at your opinion?"
Mrs Minamikuni leaned forward, and Otani noticed a pulsing at her throat above the V of her delicate silk under-kimono. "I will be very frank with you, Superintendent. Your colleague, Superintendent Fujiwara in Kyoto, is a very old family friend. Quite apart from that, my sister is the wife of the Governor. She and her husband were also guests at that . . . that dreadful occasion. It can hardly surprise you that we have gone over the whole affair between us at very great length. Indeed it was I who was the first to realise that we now had an explanation of the young man's strange behaviour . . . and of some of the things he said to us from time to time. I also remember my late husband saying to me that, although Casey-san showed great promise as a future teacher of the tea ceremony, he felt anxious about his political opinions."
Otani's mind was racing as he was trying to assimilate the implications of everything the woman was saying, and it was imperative not to betray his true feelings. "I see,"
he said lamely. "Your testimony is of course highly relevant. Difficulties do remain, however. One purely practical consideration. Surely Casey-san could have had no idea that the ambassador would happen to be visiting the Kansai region at a time convenient for him to be invited to the ceremony? In other words, he could surely have had no guarantee of ever gaining access to His Excellency through, how shall I put it, insinuating himself into the confidence of the Grand Master?''
Mrs Minamikuni assumed a modestly triumphant expression, like that of one about to score a telling point in an argument. "On the contrary," she said. "It is well-known that we always invite all the foreign ambassadors to our New Year ceremonies. Perhaps you don't know that we have a branch house in Tokyo. We hold identical ceremonies there the week after they take place in Kyoto, and the British Ambassador as a great expert on Japan always tries to be present. Mr Casey would almost certainly have been invited to assist there this year."
Otani maintained an expression of polite bafflement, and after a moment Mrs Minamikuni continued. "In the case of ambassadors, of course, we always telephone their social secretaries to see if an invitation would be acceptable. His Excellency unfortunately had other commitments during the Tokyo dates, but we were pleased to learn that he planned to be in Kyoto at exactly the right time to honour us by being present at one of the ceremonies there."
"You have given me a great deal to think about, madam," Otani said entirely truthfully. "I am greatly obliged to you for coming forward at this time."
Mrs Minamikuni replaced her cigarette holder in her bag and directed a brave little smile at him. "I just wanted you to know that we would not wish our private grief to stand in the way of our duties as good citizens. As you will appreciate, I shall be totally occupied with the funeral ceremonies tomorrow, so I came today. I thought there were a number of things you ought to know rather urgently." She stood up, and Otani rose too. Mrs Minamikuni was standing very close to him and he tried to back away but was trapped by the arrangement of the chairs.
"After the funeral is over, I should be pleased to help you in any way I can, Superintendent," she breathed. Her perfume was as insistent as her manner was blatant. "It has been a great comfort to meet you. It would be a pleasure to see you again."
Otani side-stepped out of the enclosure of chairs and regained his freedom. "I thank you again for coming at such a difficult time for you. I will escort you to the entrance." He bowed, then made for the door and held it open for her. As Mrs Minamikuni passed through, a wave of righteous indignation surged in Otani. "Mr Casey is in a very unhappy situation," he said grimly. "In the face of accusations against him which in the nature of things it is virtually impossible for him to rebut."
"Of course he cannot rebut them," Mrs Minamikuni said equably as they headed towards the staircase, past the framed photographs of Otani's predecessors on the wall. "If he belonged to our Japanese tradition he would no doubt commit suicide as a mark of contrition for his failure to achieve what he set out to achieve."
Otani's final bow as the widow of the late Grand Master left the premises was correct rather than courteous.
Chapter 22
f Although the weather in Japan does not always obediently behave in the ways conforming to the time-honoured expectations of the people of that country, the period of so-called "Great Cold" was setting in more or less according to schedule. It was the first night which could truly have been described as downright cold rather than merely chilly, but Inspector Sakamoto braced his wiry shoulders against it with a sense of satisfaction. The great Daitoku-ji complex of Zen te
mples was not all that far away, and Sakamoto experienced a momentary sense of identity with the monks who would no doubt be at their meditations at such a time; protracted meditations probably since the hardest weather was the time for the greatest austerities. Now that he could live in Kyoto Sakamoto thought that he would try to find a Zen master under whose tutelage he might gain even greater control over his sometimes wayward emotions.
There were other possibilities. The monks of the Tendai sect in their temples high on the snow-covered summit of Mount Hiei to the north-east of the city practised winter disciplines which were no less rigorous than those of the Zen monks in the city below. He might be able to take part in some of them even as a layman. More simply still, there was nothing whatever to prevent him from going down to the spectacular temple of Kiyomizudera any night, changing into a fundoshi loincloth and standing under the sacred waterfall reciting sutras while being drenched by one of the three icy cascades whose flow had not varied, winter or summer, for a thousand years and more. He had never yet done it himself, though he had seen others at their spiritual exercises there, the chilling water striking the nape of the neck and pouring down the naked body. It was best to undergo the austerity on a hundred successive nights through the winter months, he knew; though police duty rosters might make that difficult for him to achieve.
It was good to experience again on a day-to-day basis the ineffable sense of rightness which came from being able to serve once more with simple, uncomplicated and perfect loyalty the man to whom he had pledged that loyalty so many years before. Had they both lived in a better, more ordered age, that man could well have been his feudal lord anyway. It was only before and during the war, when he was still too young to savour the situation to the full, that the virtues of unquestioning obedience to His Majesty and to the officers of the armed forces who served his divine will had flowered truly. Everything since then had constituted a chipping away at the foundations of the national polity.
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