Ten minutes later, he slumped into the last seat on the monorail heading back toward Club Nova and dropped his head into his hands. The heavy envelope of cash bulged uncomfortably in his pocket. Locked into a stall in the station bathroom, he’d counted it. Every yen Ono-san owed was there, the last he’d ever see from her.
Years of hard work, down the drain. Cherry, Coco, and now Mrs. Ono. It had to be some kind of record. Cherry and Coco’s accidents had been bad luck, pure and simple, but Ono-san…
Where had the Club Nova manager gotten his “inside information”? Who’d convinced him to act before confirming the tax raid tip? It must have been someone who arrived at the club after opening, otherwise Masato would have ordered Hoshi to call off Mrs. Ono’s birthday party before it began. Hoshi closed his eyes and pictured the room. To his right, five tables of kyabajō from the Sugar Club, the Angel Kiss, and the Fleur de Lis. Across the room, Shō and the customer they called Miss Frog. Next to Shō, Wataru with a regular from Love Train, then an empty table, then Masato taking Shinya’s place, flicking his lighter for Miho Yamaguchi, illuminating her tight little smile.
Miho Yamaguchi. It had to be her. That’s how she’d decided to punish him. One less patron requesting him as her shimeisha meant more time for her. Anger pushed aside his self-pity. Who did she think she was, meddling in his life like that? With Cherry dead, Mrs. Ono dropping him like a hot potato, and Coco mad at him, who was going to invest in his future now?
Then he recalled how Miho had offered to bankroll his club. He suddenly felt queasy. She was like a pit of quicksand—the more he struggled to free himself, the deeper he sank in her debt.
Chapter 41
Thursday, November 14
2:00 P.M.
Kenji
Back in the squad room, Kenji found Detective Oki at his desk, wrestling with paperwork. Kenji filled him in on their hospital visit and the dead ends they’d run into afterward. The necklace had been paid for in cash and so had the order for Erika’s roses. Both transactions had been handled by the short female messenger who’d delivered them to the hospital.
Suzuki appeared, carrying his laptop. “Sir?” he said. “Have you seen the crime reports from last night?”
“Another extortion?” asked Oki.
“No, a hit-and-run. Or rather, an attempted hit-and-run.” Suzuki swiveled his computer so they could see the list of incident reports from the surrounding koban police boxes. He clicked on the one nearest the Family Mart.
“The victim in this one,” Suzuki said, clicking on an entry, “works at the Queen of Hearts in Kabuki-chō. That makes three hostesses in a week who’ve been the targets of violence, all within a three-block radius.”
Kenji began reading through the report the beat officer had submitted.
“Coco?” he gasped.
“You know her?” Suzuki asked. “Does she have something to do with Cherry’s death?”
“Sort of,” Kenji said. “She’s a customer of Hoshi’s at Club Nova and was there the night Cherry died.” He continued to read.
“Do you think she knows something about who pushed Cherry?” Oki asked. “Maybe our killer is trying to knock off witnesses.”
Kenji frowned. “She told me she didn’t see anybody hanging around outside the club that night.”
“Maybe she doesn’t know what she knows. If Hoshi killed Cherry, maybe he let something slip and wanted to shut her up before she realized what it meant.”
Kenji scanned the report. “It says here there were witnesses. Two teenage boys and a guy who disappeared before the police were called.” He looked up. “I wonder why he did that? It says here, the missing witness was driving a car that looked a lot like the one that screeched around the corner after nearly hitting the victim. I think we should go talk to those kids.”
Chapter 42
Thursday, November 14
3:00 P.M.
Kenji
The sound of bouncing basketballs echoed deafeningly in the high school gym as the two boys stood with Kenji and Suzuki on the sidelines, their skinny legs poking out from baggy, red shorts.
“The guy we saw talking to the girl who nearly got hit by the car was wearing a sort of shiny, light-colored suit,” the taller teenager was saying. “Flashy.”
“And his hair was practically white,” volunteered his friend in the wire-rim glasses. “Superbleached.”
“How old was he?” Kenji asked.
The tall one answered, “I dunno, old. Like, in his twenties?”
The taller one admitted, “He asked us what we saw, but I was scared to tell him we’d seen the car that almost hit her. I mean, he came running from that street where the car went—maybe he was the driver and he pulled over to come back and see what he hit. If he thought we’d seen the car, he might have come back later with some buddies to beat the crap out of us so we wouldn’t talk.”
His friend cuffed him on the head. “That only happens in video games, you moron.”
“Can you describe the car you saw?”
The one with glasses said, “Small. White.”
“Do you know what kind it was?”
“BMW.”
“It looked angry,” said the other boy.
“Angry?”
“Its eyes. Its taillights looked like angry eyes.”
His friend added, “Everything happened so fast. It zoomed past us, then we heard the noise when it hit that wooden thing with the dead flowers in it, but by the time we turned, all we saw were the taillights as it went around the corner.”
“Do you really think the guy who left might have been the one who tried to hit her?”
They looked at each other, then the tall one said, “It seemed like he knew the girl. She called him Hoshi-tan, and was kind of pissed off when he left.”
Hoshi? The same Hoshi who might have been responsible for Cherry’s death? What was he doing there?
“Yeah, I thought she might be his girlfriend,” the one with glasses said. He turned to the tall boy and said, “Which, like I said before, proves he didn’t do it. Who would try to run over their own girlfriend, you dope?”
All kinds of people, thought Kenji. Especially the kind of people who worked as hosts. “Why did he leave before anyone called the police?”
“After he saw the girl was pretty much okay, he walked away and talked to someone on his phone, then said he had to go. Said it was an emergency.”
What kind of emergency would a host have to attend to in the middle of the night, Kenji wondered. Some woman who desperately needed to throw away the rest of her money before she went to sleep? Maybe Hoshi had faked the call, giving himself an excuse to run. The last thing he’d want was more police attention, especially if there was damage to his car from trying to hit Coco.
Kenji’s phone rang. Stepping away, he took the call. “Nakamura.”
“Jackpot,” said Tommy Loud. “The prints on your friend Yumi’s phone match the prints from the scene of your accidental death. Looks like your man Hoshi made tea in that nice new teapot for Cherry Endo on the night she died.”
“Thanks, Rowdy-san. I owe you one.”
“Two, but who’s counting?”
“Wait, while I’ve got you…” Kenji described Coco’s near-accident. Loud offered to run over with his book of taillights to ask the boys if they could narrow down the make and model of the car.
Kenji returned and asked the boys, “Would you mind talking to our crime scene specialist? He’ll be here in about five minutes.”
Pulling Suzuki aside, he related what Tommy Loud had said about the fingerprint match.
“So Hoshi and Miho both lied about going straight to her apartment after dropping off Shinya that night,” Suzuki said.
Kenji nodded. “The question is, where do the lies end and the truth begin? Did she make it all up, or did Hoshi actually go to her apartment after pushing Cherry down the stairs? Is she an accomplice, or just a liar? How far will she go to protect him?”
“
If he actually went to her apartment building after pushing Cherry, maybe there are witnesses.”
“At that time of night?” Kenji was skeptical. “But maybe we’ll get lucky. Or maybe her building is swanky enough to have security cameras.”
Chapter 43
Thursday, November 14
4:00 P.M.
Kenji
Kenji juggled his cell phone to his other ear as he and Suzuki waited in the Roppongi Hills Residence lobby for Miho Yamaguchi. Tommy Loud was calling to report from the scene of Coco’s near-miss.
“The koban officer who made the report is here with me,” the crime tech began. “We think the perp’s car came down the street toward the Family Mart, aiming for the victim. Last night Coco told the officer she’d been looking for her keys and had just fished them out of her purse as she stepped past the planter on the way to her front door. It was dark, and everything growing in the planter had died, so the driver apparently didn’t see it. The car hit it, caromed off, then fishtailed around the next corner. The impact shoved the planter into the victim, knocking her to the ground but leaving her unharmed except for scrapes and bruises.”
Kenji heard a crackle of pages turning, then Loud continued, “The car you’re looking for is a recent model, light-colored BMW 120i, and I’d be surprised if it didn’t have some damage to the right front bumper. The only skid marks I found were the ones the car made as it took the next corner too fast after hitting the planter. The driver didn’t brake before attempting to hit the victim or after realizing he’d hit something else.” He paused. “That suggests to me it was no accident.”
“Thanks, Rowdy-san,” Kenji said. “We’re trying to locate Hoshi now to ask him why he didn’t stick around.”
“Hoshi? You think the guy who tried to hit her is the same one whose fingerprints you found at Cherry’s apartment and on her teapot?”
“It’s possible. I called Coco and she confirmed he gave her a ride home last night. He could easily have circled around and come back to hit her. Unfortunately, he seems to have disappeared—he didn’t go home to his place in Mejiro; the morning newspaper’s still propped against the front door. There’s a chance he’s hiding out with one of his customers, so we’re waiting to check her apartment now. Afterward we’ll go down and take a look in the garage to see if there’s a damaged white BMW parked in one of the visitor spaces.”
“Let me know what you find.”
They stood as Miho Yamaguchi’s heels clicked toward them across the white travertine floor. Since they had no warrant, the building manager had refused to allow them beyond the lobby. Pressured by Kenji, he’d reluctantly called Miho, and she agreed to walk over from her office in the Mori Building.
Today’s expensive black trouser suit concealed her thick ankles, but emphasized her square build. Kenji introduced Suzuki, and she gestured them toward an arrangement of square leather furniture near the vast plate-glass windows. Two crows squabbled in a treetop outside, then flew off over the manicured lawn.
“What’s this about?” she asked. “I hope you aren’t still hounding Hoshi about that hostess’s accident.”
“No, this time we’re interested in what he knows about a hit-and-run.”
Her face took on a pained expression. “Do you people think every accident in your jurisdiction is his fault? I’m beginning to think you’ve got something personal against him. Why aren’t you talking to all the other people who were out driving their cars around last night?”
“Because they weren’t at the scene of the accident.”
“Hoshi was there?” Miho’s eyes narrowed. “What happened?”
“Someone tried to run over a girl who works as a hostess. Unfortunately your friend Hoshi disappeared before anyone had a chance to question him. Have you talked to him since last night?”
“No.”
“Do you have any idea where we can find him?”
“He’s not at home?”
“Hasn’t been back to his apartment since yesterday. Is he here?”
“No, why would he be here?”
“May we go up and check?”
Miho opened her mouth to refuse but Kenji continued apologetically, “Not that we doubt you, but our boss’ll rake us over the coals if we tell him we just took your word for it. If he really wants to make an example of us, he’ll get a warrant and make us come back, even if it’s midnight.”
She weighed the imposition against the threatened inconvenience. “Fine. But you’re wasting your time.” Turning on her heel, she strode toward the elevator.
Upstairs, she ushered them through a sleek hallway lined with polished walnut to a designerly living room, everything down to the ashtray chosen by a stranger with good taste. A thick looped rug defined a beige rectangle on the glossy, dark floor. One wall was orange, but the rest of the decor was a subdued combination of glass, dark wood, white leather, and steel. An imposing painting by an artist Kenji felt he ought to recognize hung over the sofa. There was nowhere in this room to hide, so he asked, “Mind if we look around?”
Miho led them into the bedroom, showing them the minimalist platform bed that had nothing beneath but storage drawers. Dated snapshots of her posing with her parents on Coming-Of-Age Day and receiving various awards were the only personal items in the room. No pictures of friends or boyfriends, no evidence of Hoshi. She opened the closet and stood aside, inviting them to see that it contained only her extensive wardrobe and shoes to match.
On their way back to the living room, Kenji poked his head into the pale marble bathroom. One water glass with toothpaste on the rim, one toothbrush. Suzuki checked out the shiny, bare kitchen. One tea mug and one rice bowl drying on the rack by the sink.
“Satisfied?” she asked, checking her watch. “If there’s nothing else, Detectives, I’m afraid I need to get back to work.”
“When you talk to Hoshi, could you ask him to call me?” Kenji handed her a card. “He’s a witness, not a suspect. The sooner we find out what he saw, the sooner we’ll be able to catch who did this and leave him alone.”
“I understand,” she said.
“Thank you for your help.”
They bowed and returned to the elevator. As soon as the doors closed, Kenji punched “P” for the parking garage.
They emerged into a well-lit cavern that looked cleaner than most living rooms, every surface coated with glossy gray enamel, the lines between cars freshly painted in crisp white. Everything gleamed as if mopped daily. Shiny late-model autos filled about half the spaces. Kenji and Suzuki methodically walked the rows, looking for Hoshi’s car.
Five minutes later, they met at the elevators.
“Find anything?” Kenji asked.
“No, sir.”
He thought for a moment. “Just because his car isn’t here now doesn’t mean he wasn’t here after Coco’s accident.” Kenji glanced toward the security booth. “Let’s find out if they’ve got a camera on the gate.”
Kenji showed the rent-a-guard his police ID and asked to see the most recent twenty-four hours of CCTV footage, explaining that there was no need to call the management office for permission because they were merely asking to see images from the garage entrance, not video of the building’s wealthy and publicity-shy tenants.
The guard queued it up and they watched on fast-forward as the occasional vehicle blipped through the otherwise unchanging view of the security gate.
“Stop. Back up.”
The guard clicked the cursor back a fraction of a centimeter, then proceeded frame by frame. The headlights of a small white sedan flashed the lens as it stopped at the gate. It was impossible to see who was driving with the overhead lights glaring off the windshield, but there were dark scrapes on the right front bumper.
02:02:57. Kenji flipped back through his notes about Coco’s accident. It had happened around 1:00 A.M. At that time of night, a fleeing Hoshi would have been entering Miho’s garage in Roppongi just about sixty minutes after Coco was hit.
&nb
sp; “Can you make us a print of that frame?” Kenji asked the guard.
“Of course, Detective.”
Kenji thought a moment, then asked, “How long do you keep security camera records?”
The guard plucked the photo from the printer and handed it to him. “A month, sir.”
He asked to see the recording from the night Cherry Endo died. The guard sat down to search the files, and once again the screen was filled with a view of the entrance. The time stamp in the corner started running at midnight, the gate flicking up and down as three cars entered and one left.
“There!”
At 03:34:14, a small white sedan with the same license plate pulled up to the gate and disappeared past the camera into the garage.
Chapter 44
Thursday, November 14
11:00 P.M.
Yumi
Yumi stared up at the ceiling at the Satellite of Love Hotel, suggestively papered with glow-in-the-dark images of flame-spurting rockets and comets. She’d won the battle tonight, but Ichiro was ticked off. He was showering in the spaceship-themed bathroom now, complaining that using a condom left him feeling sticky and uncomfortable.
The shower shut off, and Yumi stretched down to pull her mobile from her handbag to check the time. 11:03. She was reminded she’d forgotten to acknowledge the text from Kenji, telling her that the prints from the phone Hoshi had touched at Club Nova matched the ones from Cherry’s apartment. As she keyed in Thanks for telling me, let me know when I can talk to Coco, her fiancé emerged from the bathroom, rubbing his hair dry with a towel, his good humor partially restored. Yumi hastily slid her phone beneath the covers.
“You sending me a secret message?” Ichiro said playfully, grabbing the phone from her. His smile faded.
“Why is Detective Nakamura texting you? What’s this about ‘fingerprints’? You’re not involved in another police investigation, are you?”
“No,” she said, snatching her phone back. “Not really.”
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