by John J. Lamb
“Yes, sir.”
Ota was obviously disturbed. He turned to his bodyguards and snapped out a question and I didn’t need to understand Japanese to know he was asking: Did you guys kill the museum director? The goons’ vocal intonations and facial expressions clearly said: It wasn’t us. Maybe I’m getting more credulous the longer I’m away from cop work, but I believed them.
Pointing at me, Ota told Tina, “I will talk to him.”
Twelve
Tina thanked and dismissed the Cumberland Township cop and then we rode a freight elevator up to the administrative offices on the fourth floor. It took some fast-talking on my part, but I finally convinced Ota that Tina could be present during the interview, so long as she remained silent. I knew that Tina was simmering over the snub, but she was far too professional to let it show.
Once on the fourth floor, Tina asked the security guard if he’d babysit the bodyguards in the employee lounge while we questioned Ota in the security office. He agreed and we spent a few moments collecting basic information from the pair. Both men produced their passports. Their names were Ryochei Hikida and Itaru Kawashima and the passports indicated that they’d entered the country on Thursday, which seemed to eliminate them as suspects in the burglary of our home two weeks ago.
We also discovered that there was no point in interviewing them. They didn’t speak English and we didn’t have any interpreter other than Ota, who wasn’t exactly an objective witness. And even if there had been an independent translator, it was crystal clear the guards would have each taken a bullet rather than betray their boss. I grudgingly admired their fierce loyalty, even if it was for a bad cause and stymied our investigation. Thankfully, you don’t often see that sort of devotion in American crooks. They’re usually discount Judas Iscariots, who will rat out anyone, including their mothers, for a mere two-week reduction in jail time.
Yet we did obtain some evidence from the silent guards. Before going into the security office, I asked Ota if he and his men smoked. All three produced packages of Marlboro cigarettes, which didn’t surprise me. A lot of crooks on both sides of the Pacific Ocean consider it a “tough guy” brand of coffin nails.
Tina raised her eyebrows and quietly said, “The cigarette butt we found at the museum was a Winston.”
“Which kind of reduces the chances that one of these guys threw it in the flower bed.” I turned to Ash. “Honey, I don’t know how long we’ll be with Mr. Ota and, much as I’d like to have you there, I don’t think he’s going to allow another woman to sit in on his interview.”
Ash glanced uncomfortably at the two glowering gangsters. “I guess I could stay here.”
“Or you could wander around the store. You’ve always wanted to come here.”
“You wouldn’t mind?”
“I think I’d like that a lot better than you sitting with the Doublemint Twins.” I gave her the wireless phone. “We’ll call you when we’re done.”
Once Ash was gone, Tina and I went into the loss prevention unit’s office with Ota. It was like almost every other security workplace I’ve seen over the years. There were a couple desks, a tall metal evidence locker, and a bulletin board packed with pictures of counterfeit money and professional shoplifters. The only thing different was the obviously homemade wooden plaque that hung from the front of one of the desks that read, “Welcome to Boyds Bear County. Thieves will be mauled and eaten.”
Instead of sitting behind the desk, I pulled the office chair around to the front to reinforce the appearance that Ota and I were equals. Meanwhile, Tina took a seat at the other desk and out of the Yakuza’s line of sight.
Ota initiated the conversation. “I have never met a policeman who collected teddy bears. How many do you own?”
“Just over five hundred. How many do you have?”
“More than three thousand. What kinds do you have?”
I understood that Ota was naturally suspicious of my claim to being a bear collector, which I suspected was the only reason he’d agreed to be interviewed. So, before answering any questions about his visit to the museum, he was going to test me on my knowledge of stuffed animals.
I said, “We have Boyds, of course, and some Steiff, and a couple of Hermann. But most of the bears in our collection are made by individual artists like my wife.”
“She makes bears?”
“Wonderful bears. You have some excellent bear artists in Japan. We like Masako Yoshijima’s work in particular.”
Ota nodded impassively, so I couldn’t tell if my flagrant name-dropping had impressed him. He said, “Do you collect antique bears?”
“A few. We had an old Farnell Alpha, but it was stolen last month.”
“You have my regrets.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you start collecting bears?”
“When I was a young child, I received a Kamar bear as a gift. He was a good friend.”
“Those were made in Japan, right? They have kind of floppy folded ears and velveteen paw pads? Do you still have him?”
“No, my mother threw him away when she thought I was too old for such things. She said it was unmanly.”
“You have my regrets.”
Ota gave me a bittersweet smile. “Look at us. Two old warriors talking about teddy bears. Many people would think such an interest in toys is childish.”
“But not your men.” I nodded in the direction of the employee break room.
“I allow my kobun to believe I collect the bears as investments.”
“But that isn’t the main reason, is it?”
“No.”
“I feel the same way. And it was your love of bears that brought you to our local museum. Would you like to tell me what happened?”
“We did not kill that man.” Ota fixed me with a fierce gaze.
“I believe you, but I need to know what you talked about with Mr. Merrit. I think it’s connected with why he was murdered.”
Ota took a deep breath and relaxed in his chair a little. “Back in Nippon, I employ an antique expert who searches for rare and old teddy bears. He is very good. Six weeks ago, he told me that he had found a Bruin Manufacturing bear and an early Michtom bear for sale in the United States. You can imagine my joy.”
“Yes, I can. How much was the seller asking for the pair?”
“Seven-hundred-and-twelve-thousand yen—six thousand dollars, for the pair.”
“That was a bargain.” I glanced over at Tina and was relieved to see that she was taking the information down in her notepad.
“I know.”
“Did your antique dealer tell you who was offering them for sale?”
“Not at first. I’m a very busy man, so I don’t handle minor details. I simply authorized him to pay and to bring me the bears when they arrived.”
“But at some point, you learned that the bears were being purchased from the Massanutten Museum.”
“Yes. My dealer was informed that the museum was closing and that this was why the bears were for sale.”
Suddenly, several pieces of the puzzle fit together and I said, “And when the bears you bought arrived, you were upset, because you realized they were fakes.”
“Yes. The workmanship and artificial aging were excellent, but I soon suspected the stuffing was too new. A laboratory confirmed this for me.”
“So, you’d been cheated. Were you angry?”
“No, I am a bakuto. Do you know what that word means?”
“Gambler.” It was one of the two types of original Yakuza, I recalled from my research.
Ota nodded with approval. “Gamblers take risks. This isn’t the first time I have bought bears that turned out to be counterfeit. It is a risk of the game. So, no, I wasn’t angry at first. But I did want my money back.”
“But that didn’t happen, did it?”
“No. Up until then, all of the negotiations were conducted by email. But now the seller would no longer answer my dealer’s messages.”
“But y
ou persisted.”
“Yes. My dealer telephoned the museum and could not get satisfaction. Then I telephoned the museum directly to express my displeasure and demand the return of my money.”
“When was that?”
“Three weeks ago. I spoke with Mr. Merrit and he told me he did not know what I was talking about. After that, he refused to talk to me.”
“So, you came to America to get your money back.”
“Or the teddy bears I’d paid for.”
The phone on the desk closest to us began to ring and we quit talking until it stopped. Then I said, “And you had to come in person, because your kobun aren’t teddy bear experts. They wouldn’t be able to recognize a fake.”
“Correct.”
“When did you arrive in the United States?”
“Late on Thursday night. We flew to Dulles and stayed at a hotel near the airport.”
“And you came to Remmelkemp Mill on Saturday morning. Was there anybody else at the museum when you got there?”
“No. It was a very lonely place.”
“Was Mr. Merrit surprised to see you?”
“Yes, and I think a little frightened at first.”
Considering your hoods possess all the charm of attack-trained Rottweilers, he had an awfully good reason to be scared, I thought, but merely nodded for Ota to continue.
“I told him that I wanted my money back. He became annoyed and told me that the bears had never been sold and took me to see them.”
“Where were they?”
“On the shelf above the fireplace.”
Suspecting what had happened next, I said, “What happened when you told him that those bears were fake too?”
Ota showed a ghost of a smile. “You realized also.”
“My wife noticed it. And, you’re right. Those bears are first-class fakes.”
“At first, Mr. Merrit did not want to believe. But once I convinced him, he became very distressed and angry that his museum was being used to commit crimes.”
“So, you decided he wasn’t involved in the plan to cheat you?”
“Yes. He impressed me as…what is the expression you use for an innocent man who is given the blame?”
“A patsy? A fall guy? A—”
Ota interrupted me before I could go any farther, “Fall guy!”
“Did he ever say who he suspected might have sold you the bears?”
“No.”
“What happened after that?”
“Mr. Merrit asked for my card. He said he could not guarantee the return of my money, but would try to find out who was responsible.”
“So that you and your kobun could get your money or the real bears.”
Ota smiled placidly. “Yes. He was eager to help.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet. Did anything else happen?”
“No. When we left the museum, Mr. Merrit was alive and standing on the porch.”
“Can we back up just a little bit? I’m assuming you paid for the bears with an international money order. Who was the check made out to?”
“I have the name here.” Ota pulled a palm pilot from his jacket pocket and tapped at the keys. “The seller said he was Adam Mumford, a curator from the Massanutten Museum.”
I looked at Tina and she said, “I don’t know of anybody by that name working for the county. Probably a false name.”
“Which is what Mr. Merrit told me.” Ota kept his gaze focused on me, making it clear that he was not conversing with Tina.
I said, “Do you have the address where the check was mailed?”
Ota consulted his computer again. “Post office box number twenty-seven, Shefford Gap, Virginia. That was also the return address on the package.”
Shefford Gap was so small, that it made Remmelkemp Mill look like a bustling metropolis. It was about thirty miles away, in western Rockingham County, back in the Allegheny Mountains and almost to the West Virginia state line. The only reason I even knew the tiny settlement existed was because Ash and I had gone there the previous autumn so that she could pick apples that she later converted into the most delicious apple butter I’d ever tasted.
“Did you go to Shefford Gap?” I asked.
“Yes, but by the time we arrived, the post office was closed. I had planned to go back on Monday…”
“That’s not a good idea. I’m afraid that if you start nosing around up there, someone will begin talking. If the suspect finds out, he’ll be in the wind.”
“In the wind?”
“Sorry. He’ll disappear. Where did you go after that?”
“We drove to Leesburg to visit a teddy bear shop there.”
“You went to My Friends and Me?” I knew the shop. Ash and I were addicted customers and, since the store carried bears from local artists, they had several of Ash’s bears for sale. “Did you buy anything?”
“A soldier bear by Gary Nett. Do you know his work?”
“Yeah, his costuming is superb.” I made a mental note to call the teddy bear shop to confirm the Yakuza had indeed been there. Then I pondered for a second on how best to approach this next portion of the interview. At last, I said, “Mr. Ota, I thank you for telling me what happened and I believe your story. But when we arrest the real killer, his or her lawyer will claim that because you are a Yakuza, you can’t be trusted. It would be your word against the murderer’s and around here, a jury might not believe you.”
Ota’s jaw tightened. “Mr. Merrit was alive when we left and I can prove that.”
“Really? How?”
“Go out to the parking lot and talk to the undercover policemen. They have been following us since we arrived in your country.”
“What?”
“Yes. They are out in the parking lot. The main surveillance vehicle is a white Dodge van with a big window on the side.”
I shot a quick glance at Tina, who gaped back at me in astonishment. I said, “And they saw Merrit on the porch?”
Ota replied, “They were in the museum parking lot, so I think perhaps they have videotape of him…and us.”
Pushing myself to my feet, I extended my hand. “Mr. Ota, I want to thank you for your cooperation. You and your kobun are free to go.”
Ota shook my hand. “May I ask you a question?”
“If it’s about the murder, I can’t really share any information.”
“No, it is about your wife’s bears. Do you have a website?”
I grimaced. “Not yet. We’re working on it.”
Ota pulled a business card from a gold cardholder and bent over the desk to write his email address on the back. “Would you be so kind as to email me when your site is on the Internet? I am always interested in finding new teddy bear artists.”
Thirteen
Once Ota left the office, I said, “I believe him, but even if he wasn’t telling the complete truth, talk about an ironclad alibi, especially if there’s video. We need to chat with those Keystone Kops out there.”
Tina put her notebook in her breast pocket. “Which agency do you think it is?”
“Considering they were burned within minutes by their target, my money is on a FIST.”
“A what?”
“A Federal Inept Surveillance Team.” I reached for the phone. “I’ll call Ash and have her meet us downstairs.”
By the time I telephoned and we rode the elevator down to the ground floor, Ash was waiting for us in the lobby. She held a large brown Boyds shopping bag and there was a nutmeg-colored plush bear with a pink gingham bow behind one ear peeking out the top of the sack.
Ash said, “It wasn’t them, was it?”
“No, but we learned a lot. Merrit was alive when they left and the counterfeit bears you spotted are definitely involved,” I said.
Tina added, “An unknown suspect pretending to represent the museum was selling them over the Internet. Mr. Ota bought an identical set of fakes and came to get his money back.”
“So, how many fake bears are there?” Ash asked.
; “Four that we know of right now, but this counterfeiting operation could be a lot bigger than we thought.”
“Which probably means they’re selling fake antique quilts too. But, it’s kind of hard to believe that anyone in town could be involved,” said Ash.
“It’s possible they aren’t. The bears were mailed from Shefford Gap,” said Tina.
“But there has to be a connection with the museum, so we’re going to have to take a much closer look at Neil Gage and Marie Merrit.” I looked at the bear in Ash’s shopping bag. “I see that you were successful too.”
“I just had to have her. She was too cute,” said Ash. “Are we going home now?”
“Right after we finish talking to the rolling surveillance team that’s been following the Yakuza since they arrived here.”
“You mean there were police at the museum yesterday?”
I held the door open for Ash. “Yeah, and apparently they can confirm that Merrit was alive when the Yakuza left.”
We went out to the parking lot, where we found the white Dodge that Ota had described. It was parked about twenty yards from the Hummer. I could tell the engine was running and the air conditioner was on because there was a large puddle of condensed water on the pavement beneath the van. Scanning the parking lot, I noticed several other suspicious parked vehicles, occupied by clean-cut pairs of occupants, all pretending with varying degrees of success to not be paying close attention to the store. There was a young man slouched in the van’s driver seat holding up a newspaper as if reading it. I hoped the guy didn’t think he was fooling anybody, because a coma victim would have made him as a cop from two hundred yards away.
Tina tapped on the window. “Excuse me, sir. Can we talk to you?”
The driver lowered the window and pulled a small black badge case from his shirt pocket. Lazily waving his FBI identification card in front of Tina’s nose, he made no effort to conceal his annoyance. “Hey, County Mountie, we’re on the job here. Take off before you burn our operation.”
Already irked over Ota’s rudeness, Tina was in no mood for this kid’s calculated insolence. She snapped, “And I’m on the job too, you little snot. Oh, and don’t worry about being burned. That happened on Thursday night when you left the airport.”
