The Fine Art of Invisible Detection

by Robert Goddard

  Morrisette’s righteous indignation was an impressive force. But Wada knew there was a stronger countervailing force. ‘I think I ought to warn you, Dr Morrisette, that Nishizaki takes extreme measures against anyone who challenges him. My employer, for instance, Kazuto Kodaka.’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘He was killed. Hit-and-run.’

  ‘You’re saying Nishizaki was responsible for that?’

  ‘I believe he was, yes.’

  ‘Even if you’re right, that happened in … Tokyo?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, there you are. Tokyo’s a long way from Cambridge, Wada. Nishizaki’s reach doesn’t extend here. Besides, your boss was nosing into all his business affairs, wasn’t he? My beef is much more specific. I just want him to set right the liberties Driscoll’s taken on his behalf with my professional standing in this one case.’

  ‘You really think he will agree?’

  ‘I don’t mean to leave him much choice in the matter. What time is it in Tokyo now?’

  Wada looked up at the large clock on the wall. ‘Approaching seven thirty in the evening.’

  ‘OK. My contract’s with Quartizon, but it was drafted by a lawyer at Nishizaki HQ. I had enough dealings with him putting the paperwork to bed to know he’s pretty much always on call. I’ll get my broadside off to him right now and he can dwell on it overnight before reporting to Nishizaki first thing tomorrow, which will be late tonight here. Sound good?’

  ‘You must do what you think is best, Dr Morrisette.’

  ‘My bet is I’ll hear from Driscoll or Hardekar with a proposal of some kind before we ever get that far.’

  ‘It is possible, I suppose.’

  ‘Where are you going when you leave here?’

  ‘To be honest, I am not sure.’

  ‘Well, give me your phone number.’

  ‘I do not … have a phone … presently.’

  ‘Doesn’t that make doing your job a smidge difficult?’ She waved away the need for an answer. ‘Never mind. Go see the sights for a few hours, then come back. I might have some news for you by then.’

  Wada felt certain Morrisette’s confidence wouldn’t survive first contact with a corporate lawyer at Nishizaki HQ. Maybe that would be the moment when Wada could persuade her to take more drastic action, such as implementing her threat to involve the media. As they’d talked, an idea had formed in Wada’s mind about how to exploit Morrisette’s outrage at what had been done to her. So, yes, she would be happy to come back later.

  Morrisette went back into the dining room, retrieved the memory stick and handed it to her. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I’ve downloaded everything and I’ll back it up on a stick of my own. This evidence isn’t going to disappear. I play for keeps.’

  TWENTY-FOUR

  MOST OF THE students were away for easter, but swarms of tourists ensured Cambridge was far from quiet. Many were Japanese, so Wada blended in well. She had no interest in King’s College Chapel or Trinity Great Court, but couldn’t help envying those of her fellow countrymen and women who had nothing better to think about than smiling for the camera in front of yet another college.

  The envy didn’t cut deep, though. If Wada’s experiences had taught her anything about herself, it was that sightseeing wasn’t her thing. Rest and relaxation weren’t for her. She thrived on purpose. And she had a purpose now.

  She headed for the central shopping area and made a beeline for the nearest mobile phone outlet, where she bought a cheap pay-as-you-go model and put a call through to the numbers shown on the card Barry Holgate had insisted on giving her.

  He didn’t answer, either on his mobile or the landline. She left a message on both. ‘This is Wada, Mr Holgate. I told you when we met that my name was Takenaga, but actually it is Wada. I have something I think you will find very interesting. Please call me back on this number as soon as possible.’

  She sat in a coffee shop waiting for his response. After about half an hour, Holgate called. ‘Mrs Wada, alias Takenaga.’ She’d forgotten the irritating tone of his voice. It was somehow antagonistic and affable at the same time. ‘Cast thy bread upon the waters: for thou shalt find it after many days.’

  ‘Are you quoting Shakespeare, Mr Holgate?’

  ‘No. The King James Bible. Ecclesiastes eleven. But forget my Sunday school education. What have you been up to? It’s all gone quiet here since you left. Any news of Martin Caldwell?’

  There was none Wada had any intention of imparting. Ignoring the question, she said, ‘You told me you still worked freelance as a journalist. Is that true?’

  ‘Of course. A true hack never retires.’

  ‘I need to be able to offer someone coverage in a national newspaper.’

  ‘Who’s the someone?’

  ‘The source of the story.’

  ‘And what is the story?’

  ‘The truth about Peter Ellery. Forty years ago and now. It is a big truth, Mr Holgate. It should be told.’

  ‘This connects Nancekuke, Aum Shinrikyo and the people who are looking for Caldwell?’

  ‘Yes. It is the whole thing.’

  ‘And who’s the source?’

  ‘I cannot tell you that yet. I must be able to assure her the story will receive maximum publicity when the time is right.’

  ‘When will the time be right?’

  ‘Very soon, I think.’

  There was a brief silence at the other end of the line. Holgate was thinking. ‘All right,’ he said at last. ‘There’s a bloke I know who writes feature stuff on this kind of thing for the Guardian. I gave him a leg up when he was just a cub reporter. If what you’re on to really is a big deal—’

  ‘It is bigger than you can imagine, Mr Holgate.’

  That seemed to impress him. Perhaps he already knew she wasn’t prone to exaggeration. ‘In that case, I’m sure I can get you the kind of coverage you have in mind.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘But I need an inside track on this, Mrs Wada. Maybe we should meet. Where are you?’

  ‘I could be in London tomorrow. Could you be there?’

  ‘Yes. London’s not much more than a couple of hours away on the train.’

  ‘Very well. I will call you again soon. Thank you, Mr Holgate. Oh, and it is not Mrs Wada. Just Wada.’

  ‘You told me you were married once. Sorry if I … misunderstood.’

  ‘You did not misunderstand. But now I am just Wada. Goodbye, Mr Holgate.’

  Wada anticipated Dr Morrisette would have got a cool response from the company lawyer and would therefore be open to the suggestion she planned to make. She returned to 44 Alford Street reckoning she’d soon be able to set something up with Holgate and his Guardian contact.

  But Dr Morrisette wasn’t in. She’d left a Post-it note stuck to her door referring Wada to a neighbour. The neighbour used her spare key to let Wada into the house. ‘Michaela said to tell you to wait for her. She’ll be back later.’

  ‘Do you know how much later?’ Wada asked.

  ‘No idea. Michaela’s not easy to pin down. Maybe you’ve noticed.’

  Maybe she had.

  Wada made herself some tea and sat in the lounge. Time passed. She felt grateful simply to be sitting somewhere with nothing to do. It had already been a long day.

  She must have fallen asleep, because it was growing dark when she was roused by a key rattling in the front door. Dr Morrisette swept in with an armful of files and her laptop, plus a takeaway coffee and a supermarket shopping bag.

  ‘Great news, Wada,’ she announced. ‘Lawyer Shimozuki reckons Nishizaki will be horrified when he hears what Driscoll’s been up to. Quartizon shouldn’t have gone it alone on this. The scam never had approval from Tokyo.’

  ‘You believe him?’

  ‘There’s no reason for him to lie.’

  ‘Is there not?’

  ‘He’s going to recommend cancelling the sales for the areas I didn’t approve. All of them. Say there’s bee
n some error. He’s confident Nishizaki will agree in order to avoid reputational damage to the company. Maybe he sails a bit close to the wind, but what businessman doesn’t? Or maybe he started out a crook, like you say, and has gone respectable since. It’s not unknown in that world, is it? Either way, he’s as much an injured party as I am and he won’t like it any more than I do.’

  Wada hardly knew what to say. The lawyer had told Dr Morrisette what she wanted to be told. That everything would be made good. That her academic standing wouldn’t suffer. But had he told her that because it was true? Or simply because he needed to shut her up?

  ‘This explains why Hardekar was desperate to deter me from going to Nishizaki,’ she continued. ‘And why I’ve heard nothing from Driscoll. He hasn’t got an answer. And pretty soon he won’t have a leg to stand on either.’

  ‘I am sorry, but I do not share your confidence,’ said Wada cautiously.

  ‘I’m promised definitive written assurances by tomorrow morning. So, we won’t have to wait long to find out whether Nishizaki is going to deliver, will we? Where are you staying tonight?’

  ‘I have nothing arranged.’

  ‘No phone. No accommodation.’ They were standing in the kitchen. Morrisette stepped closer and utterly astounded Wada by dapping her forefinger on the tip of Wada’s nose. In the grey evening light Wada caught some look in Morrisette’s eyes she hadn’t expected to see. ‘You’re a bit of a waif, aren’t you?’

  ‘I meant to book something earlier. But …’

  ‘Fat chance in Cambridge on a bank holiday. I can imagine. Never mind. Stay here. There’s a spare bedroom. Then you can eat your words tomorrow morning when I get the email from Nishizaki. How does that sound?’

  It sounded more than slightly worrying on several levels. But Wada didn’t see that she had much choice. ‘Thank you,’ she managed to say.

  ‘No.’ Morrisette grinned at her. ‘Thank you, Wada. It’s possible you may have saved my life.’ Her grin broadened. ‘Professionally speaking, that is.’

  Nick was still distracted by what had happened in Iceland. But the new term started on Wednesday. He was hoping the realities of daily teaching would set him back on an even keel.

  He would have found it easier to cope if he hadn’t received an unexpected phone call in the middle of Easter Monday afternoon from Barry Holgate. He didn’t take the call and Holgate didn’t leave a message, but, when he phoned again later, while Nick was alone, there seemed nothing for it but to answer.

  ‘I was just calling to ask if you had any news,’ Holgate explained. ‘The Stapletons tell me there’s still been no word from Martin Caldwell.’

  Nick had no intention of revealing what he knew of Caldwell’s fate. He assumed the Icelandic police were still trying to identify the bodies they’d found at Stóri-Asgarbær. For all he knew, they might never succeed. ‘I’ve no news for you, I’m afraid.’

  ‘What about your father – Peter Ellery?’

  ‘I’ve given up trying to track him down.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘He evidently doesn’t want anything to do with me. So, I’m returning the compliment.’

  ‘When we met, I had the feeling you were going to be more … persistent.’

  ‘’Fraid not.’

  ‘What about the Takenaga woman? Heard anything from her?’

  ‘Not a thing.’

  ‘I see. Well, as it happens, I might be on to something halfway relevant. Do you want me to keep you posted?’

  Nick thought about how to answer that question for so long Holgate had to prompt him.

  ‘Are you still there?’

  ‘Yes. I’m here.’

  ‘So, do you want me to let you know what comes of it? If anything does.’

  ‘Not sure.’

  ‘Not sure?’

  ‘That’s right. I’m not sure at all.’

  Wada navigated her evening with Dr Morrisette as if crossing a minefield. She thought it quite possible she was misinterpreting natural Australian friendliness. Michaela – as Dr Morrisette insisted she call her – was clearly a tactile and outgoing character. And the quantity of wine she drank with a rustled-up fish supper only made her more so.

  Wada also considered the possibility that so long had passed since any hint of intimacy in her life she was simply out of practice at judging and handling such situations. She disliked talking about herself, which Morrisette urged her to do, but she hoped occasional mentions of her marriage to Hiko would at least persuade her hostess that nothing was likely to happen between them.

  As early as she reasonably could, she complained of exhaustion after a taxing day – which was true enough – and said she really had to go to bed.

  There were a few brushes of hand and hip in the dormer-windowed attic guest room while Morrisette gave her some towels. Wada decided to attribute these to the wine, although Morrisette’s rueful smile as she left suggested there was more to it than that.

  Left alone, which in many ways was her favourite state, Wada sank gratefully into bed. It seemed an age since she’d slept on her futon at home in Tokyo. She wondered when she might sleep on it again. She also thought about the likelihood – the certainty in her view – that Morrisette wouldn’t receive the assurances from Nishizaki she was expecting. She rehearsed the arguments she’d use in favour of involving Holgate’s Guardian contact. She speculated to herself about how best to handle the situation from that point on.

  But before her speculations had progressed very far, she was asleep.

  Tuesday morning came. For Kate that meant a return to work. But Nick had one more day of leisure ahead of him. After seeing her off and clearing up after breakfast, he walked up through Greenwich Park to Blackheath, where he stopped for coffee and considered pressing on to Catford to see April. In the end, he thought better of it and wandered home.

  As he headed along Greenwich Park Street, he saw there was a van parked outside their house, with a hose trailing out of the half-open rear doors. A man in a boiler-suit and baseball cap holding a brush attachment for the hose was gazing up at the windows.

  He was a window-cleaner. But he wasn’t their window-cleaner, who’d been less than a week before.

  ‘Can I help you?’ Nick asked as he came alongside the van.

  The man turned towards him. ‘Yeah, mate. I just rang your bell. But I’m beginning to think we’ve got the wrong address. Is this Greenwich Park Terrace?’

  ‘No. Greenwich Park Street. I’m not sure there is a—’

  A shadow darted across the pavement as the side door of the van slid open and a second man jumped out, colliding with Nick and grasping him by the shoulder.

  ‘What the—’

  Something was pressed against the side of his neck. He felt a sharp stabbing sensation.

  And almost immediately he felt nothing at all.

  When Wada woke, she was surprised by how late it was. Evidently she really had been exhausted. The house was silent. She packed her few belongings into her shoulder bag and went down to the kitchen, passing the open door of Morrisette’s bedroom on the way. The room was empty.

  Down in the kitchen there was a Post-it note waiting for Wada on a cupboard door. Gone for a run. M.

  Wada decided to make some tea. As she waited for the kettle to come to the boil, she heard the front door open and close. Morrisette had returned.

  ‘Lovely morning out there,’ said Morrisette by way of greeting, as she entered the kitchen.

  ‘Heard anything from Tokyo?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  This came as no surprise to Wada. She looked at the clock. ‘It is past the end of the working day there.’

  ‘I doubt Nishizaki works set hours. And I know lawyer Shimozuki doesn’t. Have a little faith.’

  ‘I have no faith in Nishizaki, Michaela.’

  ‘I don’t have a whole lot myself. I’m not being naïve about this. I’ve taken some appropriate precautions. But I—’ She was cut short by a ring at the doorb
ell. She moved past Wada into the hall just as the kettle shut itself off with a discreet ping. Wada watched as she dodged into the lounge, then came back out just as the doorbell rang again. ‘Window-cleaners touting for trade, would you credit it? Like I can’t clean my own fucking windows.’

  Something that would become apprehension within a few seconds stirred in Wada’s mind as Morrisette headed on to the front door and flung it open. A tall man in a boiler-suit and a baseball cap was standing outside. ‘Morning, luv,’ he said with a smile.

  ‘I’m not—’ Morrisette began. But the man had already reached out and jabbed her in the neck with some object hidden in his fist. And Morrisette went down like an emptied sack. The man caught her and supported her in his arms. Then he noticed Wada.

  ‘Company,’ he called over his shoulder.

  A second man, identically dressed, slipped past him and charged along the hall. Wada turned and started towards the back door, which led from the kitchen into a small rear courtyard, enclosed by high whitewashed walls. There was no obvious way out, but it was the only way she could go.

  Then she swerved to her right, remembering that her phone and the memory stick holding the Emergence files were in her shoulder bag, looped over the back of a chair on the other side of the table. She grabbed the bag and lunged towards the door, but the man had cut her off, so she dodged round the other end of the table. He followed, then reversed course when he saw what she was trying to do and moved to block her path to the door.

  There was a moment when they stood staring at each other. Then he advanced towards her. She saw the kettle to her left, grabbed it off its stand and hurled it at him. A faceful of kettle lid and nearly boiling water sent him recoiling against the table with a bellowed ‘Fuck’.

  Wada dodged past him, yanked the door open and plunged out into the yard.

  The walls running round all three sides were higher than she had any hope of scaling. But there was a small lean-to shed in the far corner, with a water-butt and a raised vegetable bed next to it. She scrambled up on to the butt and from there on to the corrugated iron roof of the shed. Beyond lay the rear courtyard of the house in the next street over. A little boy sitting on a blue and yellow toy pedal-bike stared up at her in wide-eyed wonderment. The door into the kitchen was open behind him, offering Wada the possibility of an escape route.