The manager grimaced. “We know that. And we’ve been missing petty cash for a while now. But we’ve got no proof, and I don’t like dismissing a man who’s obviously in trouble.”
No wonder the company was going down. Soft, that was their problem. They should have got rid of Sakaki years ago.
“I’ll be sending a detective over here with some photographs,” he said. “He’ll ask your staff if they recognize the technician from Zecom.”
“Right.” The manager half raised his hand and turned away, preoccupied again.
Ishihara read the first three lines of characters on the screen and reached for his phone. Beside him, McGuire swiveled her chair and exchanged glances with her boss, who stood inside the doorway of the lab.
“Hello, this is Ishihara of Osaka West. Put me through to Inspector Mikuni.”
The constable on the other end of the line didn’t argue.
“Mikuni. What’s up?”
“Your Zecom murder. We’ve got a suspect.”
Mikuni’s fuzzy image lunged for a pen, knocked a wad of paper to the floor, and cursed. “Okay, go ahead.”
“I’ll send you the evidence by courier. Basically, Nakamura was blackmailing his boss, Yui, about something called a …” He squinted at McGuire’s computer screen.
“Integrated interface system,” supplied McGuire.
“Integrated interface system. It looks like Yui got the basic research for this system from someone else, then used it or was planning to use it in Zecom products. Nakamura found out and blackmailed him.”
“That would explain the post office account,” said Mikuni with satisfaction. “Nakamura had a savings account. But he didn’t carry a card or account book, so we only found out when the NDN search pulled all his data together.”
Beside Ishihara, McGuire swung her chair restlessly, then began to scroll down the document on the screen.
“This account has regular pay-ins,” continued Mikuni. “We won’t be able to trace the payer, if it was done in cash.”
“Worth seeing if staff at post offices around Zecom recognize a photo of Yui.”
“Yup. Can you get that evidence sealed and sent over?”
“Will do. You’ll never believe it. He sent it to himself by post, care of his old company.” Ishihara glanced at McGuire, but she kept her eyes on the screen.
“He turned up here bold as a monkey every couple of months to collect his snail mail.”
Mikuni whistled. “No kidding. How long has this been going on?”
“Nearly two years, according to the mail room.” Ishihara had already interviewed the mail room clerks and one of the administrative staff, Takako Kimura.
“We’ll get started on Yui’s alibi and background,” said Mikuni. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” Ishihara ended the call.
McGuire tapped the keypad, ignoring him. Her shoulders were hunched in a tight arc of tension.
“Why did your mail room accept packages for Nakamura?” said Ishihara. “He quit years ago.”
“We’re looking into that,” said Izumi. The head of the Mechatronics Division reminded Ishihara of his own superintendent, but with more class. He’d be in middle management till he retired—didn’t look nasty enough to rise any higher.
“If an ex-employee’s mail is sent here, we forward it on,” he continued. “And ask them to notify the post office. In Nakamura’s case, there was probably some misunderstanding.”
Or some particular understanding between Nakamura and the mail clerks, Ishihara thought, but he let Izumi save face.
“There are four discs,” said McGuire, with an air of wanting to get the interview over. “Two are updates of the others, and are dated as such. One pair contains technical files. The other contains copies of mail and dated notes.”
“Does he tell us how he got the information, or where Yui stole the research?” said Ishihara.
McGuire frowned at the screen. “No. In the notes, dated July 21, he says, ‘the second part of the core studies is in the folder named Puppet in the Zecom backup drive. Access to this folder is unavailable even to sysadmin, which is why I assume Yui put the files in there.’”
“Does he say how he found out about it?” said Ishihara.
“Not here. This is probably one part of several documents, and he was confident nobody would find it. I think it was a kind of insurance.”
“Against what?” said Ishihara.
“If Yui found all his other backups, or threatened him, he could say, “‘Uh-uh, I’ve got evidence you don’t know about.’”
“Maybe he was going to confess to you,” suggested Izumi, polishing his glasses with the end of his tie. “You used to be his supervisor.”
McGuire frowned. “I don’t know. This is the last entry in the notes, dated August 8. Here’s where Kawanishi comes into it.” She opened another file and read from the screen.
“‘I have set August 15 for the first trial run. I’ve decided on Kawanishi Metalworks as the place, because the maintenance check for our robot there is on August 12, which means Y will be out of the country.’”
“He was scared Yui would catch him,” said Ishihara.
McGuire nodded, and continued reading. “‘Also, the Tomita T56 at Kawanishi is still more advanced than the old TiX6 in Suita, which means it will be easier to set the translator.’ That’s the device I told you we found on our robot,” she added.
Izumi shook his head sadly.
McGuire continued reading. “‘Once I understand how to work the interface, I shall call Tomita. I’m looking forward to seeing the expressions of that arrogant fat Matsuki and the smart-aleck gaijin.’” Her voice didn’t change on the last words.
“No mention of Mito,” said Ishihara.
McGuire looked up at Ishihara over her shoulder. “I don’t think Nakamura meant to kill Mito. He wanted to test this long-distance interface, then bring it to us as his own work.”
“Why call you to Zecom then?”
“Maybe he thought it was his last chance to show me this interface. Once Yui came back, he might not get a chance to come to us.”
Nakamura probably thought Yui had gone home and was resting after his overseas trip. Of course, Yui said he did go home.
“Very sad.” Izumi sighed. “If only he had concentrated on doing his own research …”
There was a loud knock on the door, and a young man wearing heavy-rimmed spectacles poked his head in.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but Chief Matsuki would like to see Division Head Izumi immediately.” He inclined his head formally to Ishihara and nodded cheerfully at McGuire.
Izumi settled his glasses. “Very well.” He bowed to Ishihara. “My apologies for the interruption, Assistant Inspector. I think the matter is in your hands now. We would appreciate a short explanation of the involvement of our robot, however, once the case is solved.”
Ishihara bowed back. “Your cooperation is appreciated. We’ll keep you informed as much as possible.”
“McGuire-san will see you out,” said Izumi. “Please ask her if you require anything further.” He bowed again and left with the bespectacled young man.
McGuire avoided Ishihara’s eyes and swung her chair back to face the screen. “Mito must have seen that the robot wasn’t working properly and gone to investigate. But I don’t understand why it took him so long. The logs stop at four-thirty.”
Ishihara reached for his cigarette packet, remembered where he was, and shoved it back in his pocket. “Sakaki says Mito didn’t notice anything wrong with the welder at first because they were talking.”
She looked up at him properly at that. “Was Sakaki there?”
“He didn’t see the robot actually hit Mito, but he says there was nobody else there. He says he looked to see if Mito was alive. When he saw not, he ran away.”
She ran her hand over her hair, her face tightening in distress. “Why didn’t he call an ambulance?”
“He didn’t want anyone to k
now he’d been there after hours.”
She stared at the screen again. “Do you believe him?”
“If you’re right, and Nakamura did it with some long-distance control method, his story adds up. Anyway, you said Sakaki didn’t have the expertise to tamper with the robot.”
“No.”
“What’s the matter?” he surprised himself by asking. “I thought you’d be pleased the case is cleared up.”
“It’s not cleared up,” she retorted. “That’s the trouble.”
Her vehemence shocked him with its foreignness. She looked away, took a breath, and continued more calmly. “I… we still don’t know the details of this ‘interface’ and where Yui got the research it’s based on.”
“When they catch Yui they’ll find out.”
“But if Nakamura had proper control of the robot, it shouldn’t have hit Mito. If the interface had worked properly, Nakamura would have contacted us before Yui got back.”
“Nakamura saw Mito’s death in the news, realized what had happened, and got scared,” said Ishihara. “But then he got worried about Yui, too, which is probably why he called you to Zecom.”
“The device is made of biometal and looks like a liveline converter. But the factory only has one connection to live-line, and that’s through the main switch, so you wouldn’t need a converter on the robot. I can work out from Nakamura’s notes”—she waved at the screen—”that he attached the device because he thought it would allow him temporarily to override the robot’s ID, replace it with the ID of a Zecom robot, and thereby allow Nakamura to control it like virtual reality.”
“You mean the robot in the factory would move the same as a robot in his lab?”
“Uh-huh. Our robot at the Kawanishi factory went to halt after hitting Mito because it was moving on a different sequence, the one that Nakamura was using on his Zecom robot. The converter decodes signals sent via liveline through the switch. But he doesn’t give me enough detail in these notes!” She closed the screen with an angry slap on the keyboard.
Ishihara shifted impatiently. “What does it matter to you?” he said. “It’s clear that even though your robot was involved, there was no negligence by Tomita. Nakamura tried out some new technology and killed Mito by mistake. Yui killed Nakamura because he was being blackmailed.”
“I need to know how it was done and where Yui got the research.”
All she worried about was the research. It didn’t seem … decent, somehow, for a woman.
“I’d like to say we’ll pass on the information if we find it, but …” He didn’t finish. She must know the police wouldn’t release evidence. And they’d already arranged to take Nakamura’s device.
“Here are the discs.” She passed him a case.
He turned it over. Mito’s death was an accident after all. But how he was going to explain it in his report …
“I can’t believe I missed where Nakamura was sending his backups.” McGuire sounded both amused and annoyed. “It’s about the only place Yui wouldn’t think to look.”
“And so low-tech, too.” Ishihara couldn’t help teasing.
She glared at him, but without real heat.
He turned to go, but there was such misery in her hunched shoulders that he paused. “How’s your brother-in-law taking it?”
“He’s devastated. We all are.”
“If we find out anything about the group, all the families concerned will be informed.” That sounded pompous and official. Just the sort of thing he hadn’t wanted to hear when Junta went missing. “Good-bye.”
McGuire just nodded.
By the time Ishihara left it was five o’clock, time for Eleanor to go and meet Akita for dinner. Possibly the first time I’ve left the office this early, she thought, a little grimly. Masao waited most nights at home for her. Instead, he’d be waiting for a call from Kazu or the police.
She was grateful to Ishihara for not giving them false reassurances. Nothing worse than being told, “everything will be all right.” His blunt professionalism was almost a comfort in itself. She hoped he was handling the case. She could just about bear to receive bad news from him if … she shook off the thought.
As for the Kawanishi case, she wasn’t surprised that Nakamura was blackmailing Yui. What did surprise her was that Nakamura would be bold enough to plan to double-cross Yui and bring the research to Tomita. And where did Yui get the information in the first place? From one of Zecom’s foreign connections, as he’d just been overseas, and probably went several times a year. But if that were the case, the information should have been available to Zecom anyway.
Which left domestic sources or an overseas source not affiliated with Zecom—a competitor, or a university lab. Eleanor thought Yui had probably been given or bought this information, whatever Nakamura said about stealing. He was in a position to offer many things in exchange: money, Zecom shares, insider trading information, research data, manufacturing data, even actual machinery parts … but if he didn’t steal it, why would he worry about Nakamura threatening to reveal him?
She shook her head as though that could dislodge the key to the problem and ran her chair back from the desk impatiently.
Dinner with Akita. She had put together a short report for him, explaining the stage her own research had reached without giving away too many details. Tomita management might just agree to a new project. Akita’s ability to carry out his brilliant ideas had never been as good as hers. But he did have some great ideas.
She folded the hard copy of the report and put it in her handbag, followed by her phone. Akita hadn’t included a number with his e-mail, she noticed with annoyance. She wouldn’t be able to call him if she was delayed, only text. She called Masao, though, and left a message for him. She even remembered to call home and set the oven to unthaw one meal ready for heating.
Smoothing her hair, she glanced in the little mirror on top of the filing cabinet. I wonder how Mari feels without her hair? That glimpse of Mari’s naked head, more than anything else brought a great sense of loss to Eleanor—her niece was changing in a way that Eleanor could not understand.
She bent down to hook her outside shoes from under the desk and felt someone’s eyes on her back. But when she straightened up again, nobody was there. In the main office only Kimura remained at her desk, patting makeup onto her cheeks using a handheld mirror. A cleaning robot hummed across the floor between the rows of desks.
You really need a break, she said to herself. Soon you’ll be seeing things.
She found the restaurant on time. It was sandwiched between a vidgame arcade thronging with excited children and a pachinko parlor blaring a continuous loop of advertising jingle over the crash and jangle of the machines. Just the place for a quiet chat.
The racket cut off as soon as the restaurant door closed behind her. Half a dozen people sat on stools at a long counter, and there were low tables at the back, on tatami mats. It reminded her of the bar she visited with Ishihara, expanded several sizes.
As usual, she had no trouble catching the barman’s attention—every pair of eyes at the counter turned to her as she stepped in. The barman paused in slicing sashimi.
“Irasshei,” he said uncertainly.
“I have a booking in the name of Akita,” she said.
The barman nodded, relieved. “Up the back.”
She squeezed past the stools, past a large fish tank where much of the menu swam, and slipped off her shoes to step up onto the tatami.
“McGuire-san, over here,” said a deep voice.
A heavyset man in a cheap business suit sat cross-legged at the far table. “You look much the same,” he said, as she knelt at the table.
“You’ve changed a bit.” She saw a man’s face, rather than a youth’s. Heavy jaw and high cheekbones, flesh starting to sag, slightly drooping eyes. He was heavier through the body, too. If not for his hot, restless eyes and stubborn mouth, she might not have recognized him.
“We all grow in different wa
ys.” He raised his voice and called for sake.
The barman’s assistant hurried over with a tray containing small china bottles, tiny cups, hot towels, and some kind of seaweed pickles.
“You will join me in some sake.” He poured her cup, then poured his own without waiting for her to offer. She noticed with a start that he was wearing dark gloves.
“Only a little, please.” She wiped her hands on the towel. “I came to talk about work.”
“Of course.” He saw her gaze on the gloves. “An affectation, I’m afraid. We develop them as we grow older.” He raised his cup. “Kampai. To renewed acquaintances.”
“Kampai.” Eleanor sipped the sake. It was cold and smooth. “Where exactly are you working now?”
“I’m on leave at the moment. Summer holidays. I’m staying with a friend in Okayama.”
She’d been in Okayama on Monday, at Zecom. It was close enough for Akita to get to Osaka easily tonight. She’d had the impression his teaching job was farther away.
“Akita-kun.” She used the peer-group suffix without conscious thought. He didn’t seem to mind. “I was surprised when you contacted me after all these years. You haven’t published anything in that time; I thought you’d gone to a different field.”
“You, on the other hand, have been as active as always, McGuire-san, according to the Institute of Engineers database. How is everyone at Tomita? Did you get funding renewed for your integrated response project?” He shifted uncomfortably in the gray suit, which looked too tight across the waist and shoulders.
“How did you … No, it doesn’t look like they’ll renew funding.” She felt curiously reluctant to admit that her project might meet the same fate as his had, so many years ago. “They decided it had too few practical applications in the near future.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, but his eyes lit up.
“But Chief Izumi—you remember him? He suggested I propose a m … more development-based project using my previous research. I, um, was wondering if you’d be interested in a form of collaboration.” She hadn’t intended blurting out the object of their meeting so quickly, but there, it was done.
Less Than Human Page 18
