by Nick Tanner
He and Mori were sitting somewhat uncomfortably in the comfortable chairs at the quieter end of the well-know franchise store. It had been Mori’s suggestion. ‘I prefer the more traditional places. It’s too, too… universal here,’ continued Saito.
He appraised his surroundings a further time noting only two young women sitting at a table next to them. One was immaculately coiffured and dressed in a white suit, and Saito surmised, would attract attention wherever she went. Her friend, her hair cut unconventionally short - not dissimilar to Junsa Saito, was dressed in a more bohemian style that despite the attempt at ‘grunge’ were items most probably purchased within the last month. She no doubt would attract her own fair amount of attention, too, but Saito was unable to see her face and it was difficult for him to be certain.
What other thoughts he might have had concerning the two women were disturbed by the ringing of his phone in his pocket.
He answered it, listened intently and then replaced it back from where he had taken it. He looked thoughtful. It was a familiar look to those that knew him. Not puzzlement exactly, nor the penny-dropping moment at the amazement of a discovery but one of complete distraction that divorced him from his immediate surroundings.
Mori knew better than to disturb him but even then his impatience got the better of him.
‘What was all that about?’ he asked eventually.
‘It was one of the scene of crime men with some information concerning the Fujiwara suicide. You’ll never believe it.’
‘What?’
‘Fingerprints!’
‘What? You actually asked for fingerprints – on a suicide!’
‘With the Yakuza you should never rule anything out, you know that, but anyway, apparently Yamada Eri’s finger prints were all over the room in which he was found.’
‘You’re joking!’
Saito’s look reminded his sergeant that he wasn’t in the habit.
‘That’s good news though, isn’t it?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well… You don’t think there’s a possibility that there’s been a mistake, do you? With the Yamada case, I mean. Surely all our work couldn’t have been for nothing.’ He looked across to Inspector Saito who appeared to be no longer listening.
‘Weren’t you listening. I said-’
‘Of course I was listening Mori but any further thought on our part seems a little pointless don’t you think.’
‘I don’t know, sir. It just feels a little too convenient that Sakamoto gets his clinching evidence just when we were making really useful headway in an opposite direction?’
‘What are you suggesting Sergeant?’
‘I don’t know.’ Mori looked at his hands and rubbed a couple of his fingers as if he was teasing out the answer from within his own flesh. ‘I know there’s the tie and everything but we seemed to have found out so much more - and now this other evidence. Eri Yamada’s fingerprints in a love hotel.’
‘You don’t think it could be just a coincidence, though?’
‘Coincidence!’
‘-that she went to the same hotel, maybe with her husband, maybe with a lover.’
‘I thought you were the one who eschewed the idea of coincidence, not me!’
‘You’re right Mori! You know exactly what I think about coincidence.’
They returned yet again to another bout of silent thought. Inspector Saito considered again what he knew about the role of the Yakuza in the whole Yamada affair. His mind was thinking fast now, turning over all the new possibilities - attempting also to reject the idea that the case was almost officially closed. He'd never thought for one moment that the miserable scene he’d had the misfortune to witness that morning in the Millennium Amore Hotel would have any link to the Yamada case and yet here he was with a very definite link. Of course he had no idea what it all meant but it was intriguing all the same. But what it did do was add credence to the thoughts that the Yoshihara were somehow wrapped up in the whole mystery somehow.
‘Okay, look!’ said Inspector Saito breaking his silence. ‘Just supposing forensics have got it all wrong, there is circumstantial evidence that the Yoshihara were involved in the gas Explosion at YBP headquarters in addition to which they were out in force at the YBP shareholders meeting. There is undeniably pressure being exerted by them on YBP and now we have an undeniable link between Niigata Kyubin and the Yakuza – a tenuous link, but a link all the same. Remember the scribbled notes in Yamada Eri’s diary. Well at least we now know who the ‘Fu’ was in her diary. It seems she attended a meeting with him on the 15th December. What seems clear to me now is that the movements of Fujiwara are now needed to be closely investigated. It’s also interesting that three people wrapped up in securing the Niigata Kyubin/YBP merger are now all dead through one means or another. I’ll get Junsa Saito to dig up what she can on Fujiwara and in the meantime let’s see if we can get any more information from forensics on the exact nature of their findings surrounding the Yamada tie.’
Mori looked over to his Inspector and smiled. He could never really work him out. Too often he appeared deflated and beaten when in actual fact his mind was still active and forging ahead. It pleased him no end that they were to continue their own ‘furtive’ investigations.
54- In which Junsa Saito investigates.
Wednesday 5th January 3:25pm
In terms of Inspector Saito and what may or may not have occurred earlier that morning, Junsa Saito now regretted her previous thoughts on the subject and now regarded the whole episode as being nothing more than her fanciful imagination playing tricks on her. She was determined to put the whole incident and her thoughts about it very much behind her. Inspector Saito was an upright and honourable man – and that was how it should remain.
In terms of what Inspector Saito had asked her to do, Junsa Saito hadn’t really known where to begin. She’d been tasked with two things. Firstly to delve into whatever business Fujiwara was involved in and look to see if she could determine a link up with Niigata Kyubin and secondly she’d been told to find out what she could about his movements over the past week. Saito had asked for this but had also hinted that without an extensive and time-consuming examination this initial task might prove fairly fruitless. And time was something that, yet again, they had precious little of. Any business links would no doubt be hidden very deeply.
For at least an hour she found that in respect of both tasks she had failed to make much headway what-so-ever. She’d tapped into the police database and discovered that Fujiwara, not surprisingly, was in there with a track record of crime over the past twenty years in varying degrees of seriousness, in varying degrees of violence some of which he’d served time in prison for. His membership of the Yoshihara was quite clearly outlined but as for his most recent endeavours there was very little to see. She’d read through dozens of reports attempting to discover where his real base of operations lay but had found nothing of a concrete nature. It had taken a walk to Dotour and a strong coffee to get her thinking sharply again. She’d then had the inspiration that the Millennium Amore Hotel was just one of their outlets and had entered the word ‘Millennium’ in the computer only to find that there were hundreds of businesses sporting that name. Then she had restricted her search to the small area around Hinodecho, which reduced the numbers considerably, but it still left her with an extensive list. However, not to be put off she took a deep breath and started working down the list attempting to find ownership of the various establishments. Forty-five minutes in and she finally found what she was looking for – The Millennium Massage Salon, with Fujiwara Kenta listed as the manager. She then looked back to her initial findings on Fujiwara and scolded herself when she noted that his last known address was exactly the same as the Millennium Massage Salon. It appeared he lived on the premises. She sat there looking at the screen wondering what to do next, unsure whether she should venture out alone. Finally she decided that she had nothing to lose, informed the desk sergeant as t
o her destination, grabbed her coat and set off on her way.
She had no great plan in mind. She certainly wasn’t about to go into the lion’s den as it were, but she simply intended to carry out some basic surveillance, to get the lie of the land and to come back with a few more facts as to what Fujiwara did, and where. And so it was that she stepped out into the freezing cold air and bustling street outside Hinodecho station some twenty minutes later, glancing up and down to the right and left, comfortably familiar with what she saw. She turned to the left walking briskly in an attempt to get warm, under the railway bridge and entered the central plaza crossing the road on one of the many pedestrian crossings taking the first of the intersections which took her down another busy street. A couple of hundred yards further on she then crossed over the canal and was not surprised to see herself walking past the Millennium Amore Hotel where she had been that morning and from there, an additional three minutes later, found herself outside the office building that contained the Millennium Massage Salon. She glanced up and down the street. It looked like any other street in urban Hinodecho, Yokohama, Kanagawa – Japan, flanked on both sides with a mix of office buildings and tenements embroidered by a string of ugly, grey telephone poles and wire. As she suspected there would be nothing to be gained purely from an examination of the outside of the building. It was as typical as any other in the street. She climbed the outside steps but paused in front of the tinted electric doors suddenly overcome by a childlike fear which unexpectedly spiked without warning when the doors slid open and through which a man silently emerged. She stepped back into the street experiencing a searing sense of shame that she couldn’t fathom the origin of and turned her face away from the man. He passed by her without looking - a man short in stature and ruddy faced - as anonymous a man as you were ever likely to meet, looking like a million other Japanese men exiting an office building with a similar gait with similar levels of intent. But this man, as we might remember, was special.
Junsa Saito didn't see the man - not in an identification sense, anyway. He went his way and she went hers.
After he had disappeared into the distance and this time, having garnered her inner pluck and resolve she slipped between the closing doors and strolled, with masqueraded confidence, through the lavish foyer and pressed the elevator button for the top floor. With no-one to obviously guide or prevent her she entered the Millennium Massage Salon one minute later.
‘Excuse me,’ she said to the man behind the bar after cautiously entering the establishment.
Ishimura looked up from his seemingly eternal task of polishing glasses.
‘How did you get in here,’ he said brusquely.
‘The door was unlocked so-’
‘Where’s Takeshi san?’
‘I-’
‘You’ll have to leave – members only.’ He shooed her away with his arms.
‘I understand Fujiwara san lives here?’ ventured Junsa Saito, holding her ground.
‘What of it?’ he replied, looking back down to his hands and picking up another glass.
‘I’m looking for any family that he might have.’
‘Family!’ smirked Ishimura. ‘You’ll be lucky.’
‘No family, then. I see.’
‘Look! Who wants to know?’ he scowled. ‘You shouldn’t be here. Members only!’
‘It’s just that he’s dead. I need to inform his family,’ she answered, ignoring his question. Ishimura stopped polishing for a second and placed both the glass and his cloth on the bar.
‘You’re not telling me that Rumi got to him, are you?’
‘Rumi?’
‘Rumi Park – one of our Korean girls. She upped and left a couple of days ago. We knew that Fujiwara san would go after her but he’s been in no sort of shape… and she was a feisty woman I’ll say that for her…’
‘No! It was nothing like that. He killed himself.’
‘Oh. I see.’ Suddenly Ishimura seemed to lose his spark. It appeared that to be murdered, albeit by a scorned prostitute, was one thing. To kill yourself was entirely another proposition.
Junsa Saito for her part had become emboldened by these initial exchanges. She’d gone much further than she had intended and the barman, although not explosive with his information appeared quite compliant. None-the-less she was unsure of quite how far he would continue to go. ‘Had he been himself recently? Do you think he had a reason to kill himself?’
‘Look who are you?’ Ishimura asked, more suspiciously this time.’
‘Family liaison.’ she lied.
‘Well… Like I told you he had no family so your job is done.’
‘I was just curious, that’s all.’
‘Yes, well. I think you ought to be on your way. Curiosity has no business here.’
‘You’re right. Sorry to have troubled you.’ She gave a slight bow.
Just as she was about to leave a heavily made up woman entered the room and made her way behind the bar taking a glass from underneath it. ‘You don’t mind, do you Ishimura san? Just a nip.’
‘Only for you,’ deferred Ishimura. ‘Anyone else would get a slap and you know it.’ He passed her a whiskey bottle. ‘Just a nip, mind!’
Both Junsa Saito and Ishimura watched as she poured out a small measure and then downed it in one.
‘Thanks,’ she said and then as if she’d only just noticed Junsa Saito turned to address her. ‘Who are you? The new girl? Rumi’s replacement?’
‘Yes – something like that,’ smirked Ishimura. ‘I’m just about to show her to her room. And then I’ll show her something else-’
‘No – I…’ protested Junsa Saito. ‘I was just leaving.’ She bowed deeply once more, turned on her heel and was outside the main doors before the two had time to reply. Ishimura laughed soullessly from within. She stood impatiently waiting for the elevator wishing now that she’d either been more decisive and persistent or failing that, had not come into the horrible building in the first place. She also felt slightly ashamed at her failed attempt at investigation.
In the middle of these negative thoughts she didn’t hear the footsteps behind her and almost jumped out of her skin when a hand tapped her on the shoulder.
‘You shouldn’t mind Ishimura. I’ll show you the ropes if you want?’ The woman smiled at her sympathetically.
‘No… I… You don’t understand,’ said Junsa Saito flustered. ‘I’m not here for work-’
‘You’ll do well here I’m sure. You don’t look too bad.’ The woman stepped back and appraised her like she’d never been appraised before. ‘You’re quite stocky, aren’t you, but never mind, some men like that. There are even bugs that like knotweed. There’s nothing to be ashamed about. So long as you have strong wrists and thumbs and a decent sexual appetite-’
‘I’m not here for work,’ insisted Junsa Saito for a second time. ‘I’m from Family Liaison,’ she lied again, ‘about Fujiwara san.’
‘Oh right! Gomenasai. I just assumed from the look of you that…’ She gave a little bow and then as if the real significance of what Junsa Saito had just told her finally hit home a look of unease suddenly spread across her face. ‘Fujiwara san? Why? What about him?’
‘Well, he was found dead this morning!’
‘Dead! Not Rumi – surely!’
For a second time in not so many minutes Junsa Saito found it strange that the immediate assumption had been that Fujiwara had been killed by Rumi Park, an assumption that was additionally curious given that she believed Fujiwara to possess superiority in terms of both physical strength and violent inclination.
‘No, no! He committed suicide,’ she explained, ‘and I just needed to get in touch with his family. The barman said he had none so I’m-’
‘Oh, I see,’ said the woman laughing. ‘No wonder you scuttled away like a frightened racoon. Still, no harm done, eh.’
‘No harm…’
‘I’ll…’
‘Can I ask you one thing, though?’ Junsa Saito asked
before the woman had time to turn away and retreat back into the interior of the massage salon. ‘If you don’t mind - it just helps with the paperwork.’
The woman hesitated for a second and she glanced nervously back inside through the main door. It appeared she was free to recruit, free to support but not free to indulge in idle chatter with people with whom she had no real business. Whatever the woman’s doubts Junsa Saito pressed on. ‘Was there anything that might have caused him to kill himself? Did you know him well?’
The woman thought for a second. ‘He’d been drinking a lot recently. That much I know - particularly this week, particularly since Thursday and particularly since Rumi left.’
‘Since Thursday? Why? What happened then?’
‘I couldn't tell you. But something must have shaken him up. He came back quite late – after midnight. He was completely drunk and barged into my room. He was looking for Rumi, of course. He never comes into my room. Not that I want him to. He disgusts me - like he disgusts us all.’
