by Nick Tanner
With this thoughtful interlude concluded he turned through a series of bends, now all quite familiar to him, refocused his mind back onto the real matter at hand and searched out their final destination and headed this time for the warehouse and garages of Niigata Kyubin to sound out the company chauffeur, of which they soon found out, and were pleased to hear, there was only one.
The snow was still relatively thick on the ground despite the constant coming and going of the company fleet, although it was gradually turning into an encrusted dark grey discoloured by the salt-thawed snow which threw up dirty slush off the roads. Sergeant Mori and Junsa Saito gingerly made their way across the compound wishing, like everyone else, that they’d chosen more appropriate footwear and entered the garage. They found the chauffeur hard at work giving the limo a thorough wax finish and Mori guessed that the car was his pride and joy and that he cared for it more than he did his own. For a second he wondered if all this hard work would be wasted as within seconds of driving, the pristine shine was sure to become dulled by the salt that had been spread liberally on the roads. He refrained from making such an observation. The chauffeur placed the leather cloth down on the bonnet as they approached, wiped his hands on his dark-grey overalls and made to greet them.
Mori explained what they were interested in – the days and times not before taking a look inside the car. It was quite clear that the tinted windows on all sides enabled the occupants of the backseat to do whatever they wished in complete privacy secure in the knowledge that their actions, whatever they might be, would be sight and sound proofed.
‘Thursday, you say?’ The chauffeur stroked his chin.
‘Exactly.’
‘It was a busy day from what I remember.’
He seemed the sort of fellow who would take his time over every statement and every thought.
‘Can you tell us what you did from about five o’clock onwards?’ asked Mori impatiently.
The chauffeur scratched his head and thought for a moment. ‘We were in Kamakura and then it was a nightmare trying to get back up to Shinbashi for just after six. Luckily we made it and I dropped Ozawa san at Shinbashi station.’
‘The station, are you sure – not outside a particular building?’
‘No, it was the station. It’s where he wanted to go. I think he was meeting Yamada san there.’
‘Okay. And after that what did you do then?’
‘I was asked to wait but it’s not exactly easy to park up so I drove around a bit.’
‘A bit?’
‘Well, about an hour actually.’
‘So what time did you meet back up with Ozawa san?’
‘About seven thirty.’
‘You can’t be more precise.’
‘Not really. I got a call from him but I don’t know when… actually wait a second, I can probably tell you.’ He reached into his jacket pocket which had been lying inside the car and produced his mobile phone. He fiddled with it for a few seconds, ‘Yes, it was seven twenty-three precisely.’
‘Good – and when he met up with you, was he alone?’
‘He was.’
‘He wasn’t with Yamada Eri san?’
‘No. I didn’t see her at all that day.’
‘And so she didn’t get into the car a little later, then?’ said Mori sounding a little confused.
‘No.’
‘Okay, so just to confirm - it was only Ozawa san that was with you in the car.'
'Yes.'
'And where exactly did you pick him up?'
'It was on Sotobori Dori.'
Mori wondered whether the man was being evasive. He couldn’t decide. His answers were straight, but not particularly helpful. He looked across to Junsa Saito who grinned helplessly back. 'Can you remember which building, particularly,' he tried again.
'No, not really.'
'Well how did you find him?’ interrupted Junsa Saito. ‘He must have given some landmark for you to find. It’s a long stretch of road, isn’t it, Sotobori Dori? And very busy around seven thirty, no doubt.'
The chauffeur scratched his chin. 'Well, yes. Now you mention it he said he was outside the Ginza Bellevue Hotel.'
Mori thought about this for a second. 'But you don't think he'd been to the hotel.'
'I couldn't say. I only drive the car. Look is all this helping?' He was getting impatient now at the insistent questioning.
'Okay. Okay,’ relented Mori. ‘Then what did you do? Did you bring him back here?’
‘No, no I didn’t. I dropped him back at his house. We got there after eight.’
‘And where is that?’
‘Ofuna.’
‘I see, and he was in the back of the car the whole time?’
‘Of course he was. You don’t think he jumped out without me noticing,’ said the chauffeur with a look of incredulity.
‘No, no, of course not… and after that, you got home, when?’
‘I dropped the car here, locked up, left here… about nine I would say. I had a quick chat with Nakata san - got home just after ten.’ He looked up quizzically. ‘Look, does any of this help?’ he asked again.
‘More than you will know. Thank you,’ said Mori who then returned to his car feeling completely deflated.
*
As soon as the detectives had left, the chauffeur picked up his leather cloth and began cleaning again. As he made smooth strokes across the limousine’s bonnet he thought about what he'd been asked. It was obvious that the Sergeant had wanted to know where Ozawa san had gone that day – where he’d gone and who he’d met. Sergeant Mori hadn’t actually asked him that question directly. Not that he knew for sure, but he could take a pretty good guess. He shrugged his shoulders, deciding that it was the best policy to mind his own business and anyway he'd been warned to be 'helpful in an unhelpful sort of way'. He considered his contribution to be a job well done and then continued with his polishing.
39 - In which Sakamoto makes tentative contact with a central pacific island
Tuesday 4th January 10:30am
Sakamoto exited police head quarters on the pretext of calling on Takahashi the pathologist supposedly to check up on a few details that he said might shed new light upon the case. Instead of taking a police car, or the bus, to the pathology labs – part of a series of buildings belonging to Yokohama University hospital, Sakamoto took the train into central Yokohama and then changed onto the Tokaido taking him up to Tokyo. As usual the trains were full – all 26 carriages of them, despite the time being well after the rush hour. It seemed, as ever, that the army of salary men were constantly on the move.
He alighted at Shinagawa station and then took a taxi for the final part of his journey. As he sat back in his seat he did not have the look of a man who was confident and relaxed which fell contrary to his usual bearing. Too many thoughts revolved around his mind, not least the anxiety that his current endeavour was full of risk.
He blamed Inspector Saito of course. He was such a meddlesome irritant. Saito had been a constant thorn over the years. Not that Saito had been unable to prevent the 'cream' from floating to the top, but he had been a thorn none-the-less – and now this! Sakamoto rued the fact that he hadn’t pressed the Chief Super more closely or pushed him more rigorously to remove Saito from his unwarranted investigations into his case. For sure, the Chief had given his rationale, but Sakamoto remained sceptical – Saito was not the idiot that the Chief Super took him for.
He was sure that none of Saito’s discoveries would have any relevant bearing on the Yamada case but this didn’t discount the fact that he was stumbling into matters that were strictly none of his business.
The taxi ride took less than ten minutes, he paid the man more yen than he deserved and stepped out into the street. After the taxi had gone he looked nervously around him, pulled on his black leather gloves, tugged at the collar of his overcoat so that it was wrapped more securely around his neck and then walked off in the opposite direction than he’d first intended. H
e was pleased that the street was deserted and he carried on for a few blocks still taking great care to check who was around him and then entered a fairly innocuous looking café on his left. He entered without bothering to wipe his feet and took a table to the back.
Not soon after he was joined by a man – a middle-aged man wearing, what some might say, inappropriate clothing for the time of year. There was a time and a place for Hawaiian shirts and the middle of winter was not it.
‘What’s all this about?’ said the Hawaiian shirt.
‘The organisation’s name has cropped up in an investigation that we are running. I came to warn you.’
‘You, warn us? Who do you think you are?’
‘Well, not warn, but just to tell you to be careful, that’s all.’
‘Why so jumpy?’
‘I’m not jumpy.’
‘It doesn’t look like that from where I’m sitting. You have express instructions to contact us only in extreme circumstances, so I’m assuming it must be serious. It had better be.’
‘It’s about the gas explosion at Daiichi Keihin, Koyasu. Tentative reports are laying the blame at your door. I thought you ought to know.’
‘I know nothing of what you are talking about.’
‘That may be, but it doesn’t alter the fact that the organisation is under suspicion and the use of incendiary devises raises the profile.’
‘Well, if that’s the case, what are we paying you for?’
‘Yes, well…’
‘We expect you to do your job. You take the money, you take the reward, now is the time for pay back. If there is any suspicion falling on us or any of our activities then it is up to you to steer it away. Do you understand?’
‘I understand.’
‘Now is there anything else?’
‘I-’
‘I’ll be on my way, then.’ The Hawaiian shirt got up to leave and then turned to whisper in Sakamoto’s ear, ‘Make sure you don’t let us down!’
‘I won’t,’ mumbled Sakamoto into the table. He’d never felt so humiliated in his life – humiliated and trapped.
40 - Ozawa is pressed as to the nature of his sexual inclinations
Tuesday 4th January 11:00am
‘The question is quite simple!’ stated Sergeant Mori bluntly. ‘You lied to us about Yamada Eri, in fact you and your organisation have been spinning us around your little fingers every since we first stumbled onto your premises. Now, I’m asking you again, for a final time, about your precise movements last Thursday evening!’
Ozawa Kenji had allowed Sergeant Mori and Junsa Saito back into his office and allowed Mori full reign to explode with his accusations. He was however, of no mind to allow this to go much further. ‘And I’ve told you before that it’s sensitive,’ he stated as equally as firmly as Mori’s own accusations.
‘Not as sensitive as me arresting you and dragging you right here and now back to a detention cell! Now I want the truth!’
Ozawa sat back in his chair and appeared to relent. ‘Okay, okay…’ He laid his hands on the table. He looked first to Junsa Saito and then back to Mori. ‘I went with Yamada Eri san to the Ginza Bellevue Hotel. There was no sensitive meeting. It was just me and her.’
‘And…’
‘We went to the hotel, we made love and we had planned to stay the night but at the last minute we changed our mind.’
‘Oh really and why was that?’
‘Guilt!’
‘Guilt?’
‘Yes, quite simply. After we made love she felt guilty about her husband. She apologised and left.’
‘But you instructed your chauffeur to wait for you. That doesn’t sound like you planned to stay the night,’ corrected Junsa Saito.
Mori wasn’t certain but he thought he saw a flash of anger slice across Ozawa’s eyes.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ he said. ‘That was part of the plan… to make it appear that we were in fact at a meeting. We didn’t want to make it too obvious. It was my intention to phone Yamamoto san later on and instruct him to make his own way back without me, but obviously I changed my mind and rode back home in the limo.’
‘And why didn’t you take Yamada Eri with you?’
‘She didn’t want to. Like I said she felt guilty and really wanted to be alone. More’s the pity. If she’d come home with me she’d still be alive.’
‘I’m touched by your consideration,’ muttered Mori sarcastically. ‘So when was the last time you saw her then? The truth!’
‘Like I said yesterday – about twenty past seven. After she left I phoned for the car.’
‘Hmm…’ Mori thought for a moment about what he was hearing and whether he was right to believe it. So far enough of the story appeared to tally - much to his regret. ‘And your love-making… How would you describe it?’
‘What kind of question is that?’
‘A very important one if I’m any judge. We’re all grown-ups here. I want the details.’
'You want a thrust by thrust account do you? An account of juices created and exchanged?'
'If needs be.'
‘Well, I don’ know. It was just the usual!’
‘The usual? And what does that entail?’
‘You know… foreplay and so on.’
‘Go on.’
‘There was nothing too unusual - no anal or anything like that!’
‘Did it get rough?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I don’t know. Some people like to be dominated. Was Yamada Eri like that?’
Ozawa paused for a second and the slight hint of a smile played at the corner of his mouth. ‘Yes, it did actually. She did like it rough. She did ask me to dominate her, to slap her about a bit - to grip her a bit, about her throat. It was partly the roughness of the sex that I suspect made her feel so guilty afterwards.’
‘I see.’
Mori looked at his hands and then across to Junsa Saito. She appeared to be quite pink behind her neck.
‘Do you need to know anything more?’ asked Ozawa leaning back in his chair once more and feeling a lot more comfortable for the first time since the sergeant’s arrival.
‘Just remind me of the name you used when you checked into the hotel? I’m assuming it wasn’t your own.’
Ozawa paused for a moment – a moment that in Mori’s opinion was a moment too long.
‘Tanaka,’ Ozawa replied slowly.
‘Thank you,’ said Sergeant Mori internally feeling as deflated as he had after talking to the chauffeur.
41 - In which notes are compared and the trio prepare to go again
Tuesday 4th January 12:15am
The small team of investigative detectives met up in central Yokohama in one of Inspector Saito’s favourite Shabu-shabu restaurants. Saito ordered for the three of them, selecting a variety of choice slices of tender rib eye steak.
‘Would you like some tofu with it?’ he asked the others.
‘Sounds good,’ said Mori.
‘And some Chinese cabbage, chrysanthemum leaves, onions, carrots and shitake mushrooms.’ He passed the menu back to the waitress. ‘It’s a long time since I’ve eaten out with friends.’
Mori sat with a mix of feelings. On the other hand he felt strangely flattered to be described as a friend but equally as concerned for his colleague that having not seen him for three months he still fell into that category. Junsa Saito said nothing but wondered what the protocol was surrounding the payment of the bill. She’d never been in such an expensive place before. She expected that Saito would pay but he was so unconventional that she didn’t know really what to expect.
The waitress came back not soon after and placed a heater on the table upon which she then placed a pot of boiling broth made with kelp. In front of each of them she put down a dish of sesame seed sauce into which the thin slices of meat or vegetable would be dipped, and eaten, typically, with steamed white rice. Once the meat and vegetables were eaten, the leftover broth from the pot was customarily
combined with the remaining rice, and the resulting soup eaten last. It was one of Inspector Saito’s favourite winter meals.
