by David Peace
Harry Sweeney glanced at his watch, the face still cracked, the hands still stopped, and shrugged: Susumu?
You guys both billeted here, asked Susumu Toda.
No, said George. Over at the Yashima Hotel.
Say one o’clock then, said Susumu Toda, looking at his watch, then back over at Harry Sweeney –
But Harry Sweeney had turned back to the boards and the columns, their numbers and their letters, not answering Susumu Toda, not watching the two Nisei leave.
Sir, excuse me, sir, said Sonoko, standing next to Harry Sweeney in front of the middle board, the MITSUKOSHI board, looking across the columns on the board, then back down at the piece of paper in her hand.
What is it, sweetheart, asked Harry Sweeney.
Well, sir, whispered Sonoko, I don’t mean to get the other man, Mister Bill, in trouble, sir, but I think he forgot this report, sir. Forgot to write it on the board, sir.
Don’t worry, laughed Harry Sweeney. Wouldn’t be the first time, won’t be the last. Let me see –
And Harry Sweeney took the piece of paper from her outstretched hand, looked down at the piece of paper, read the words on the paper, read them twice over, then went over to his desk, through the papers on his desk, all the newspapers on his desk, all the reports on his desk, scattering them this way, scattering them that: Where the fuck is it…
Where the fuck is what, asked Susumu Toda. What you looking for, Harry? What you lost?
That yellow pad, the one I always keep on the desk.
Why, asked Susumu Toda, coming over to the desk, picking up the papers from the floor. What is it?
Harry Sweeney stared down at his desk, shook his head, then reached for his jacket: Screw it. Call the pool and get a car, will you, Susumu. We’re going out…
Sir, excuse me, sir, said Sonoko, standing frozen in the middle of the office, her head bowed, her hands at her side in two tiny balls. Have I done something wrong, sir?
Harry Sweeney picked up his hat, walked over to the girl, gently raised her chin in his hand, looked down at her face, into her eyes, then smiled and said, No, sweetheart. You’ve done something right. Just don’t tell anyone.
* * *
—
In the shade of the Mitsukoshi department store, alongside the doors to its south entrance, Ichirō pulled in and parked up.
Back again, said Toda, getting out of the car.
Harry Sweeney had his door half open, then stopped: Hey, Ichirō? If I told you I was going to be five minutes, but then didn’t come back, how long would you wait?
What do you mean, sir, asked Ichirō, turning in the driver’s seat to look at Harry Sweeney.
I mean, how long would you sit here and wait for me? Before you called someone?
Call who, sir, asked Ichirō.
My office? Or the motor pool?
But what would I say, sir?
So you’d just sit here all day, waiting, would you?
Sir, if I may say, said Ichirō, the driver was just doing his job. Just like we all would, sir.
Harry Sweeney nodded: I see. Thanks.
You’re welcome, sir, said Ichirō, turning in his seat, back to the wheel, to the view through the windshield.
Harry Sweeney got out of the car, crossed the narrow side road, and caught up with Susumu Toda, already standing in front of the south entrance to the store –
What was that about, asked Toda.
Harry Sweeney shook his head: Ichirō would wait all day for us and then some, if we don’t come back.
They all would, said Toda, pointing at the other cars and their drivers, all parked up in a line down the south side of the store. They’re used to it. Used to waiting.
Harry Sweeney nodded, took out his notebook from his jacket pocket, flicked back a few pages, and said, They got a statement from a driver who was parked behind the Shimoyama car that day, right? You read that, yeah?
Yeah, said Toda, taking out a handkerchief, mopping his face, wiping his neck. The guy’s a chauffeur for Nippon Seiyaku. They got an office inside, up on the fourth floor. So he’s a regular here, parked up most days, I guess.
And he’s corroborated what Ōnishi said, saying he saw Shimoyama getting out of his car, walking into the store.
Yeah, said Toda again. Give or take a couple of minutes, here and there. It all matches, yeah.
Harry Sweeney looked down at his notebook again: What about this other car he saw? This Prism 36 which pulled in behind, shortly after? Claims he saw four or five men getting out, following Shimoyama into the store.
It’s only the Nippon Seiyaku chauffeur saw them. And twenty minutes later, he saw them come out again.
They traced the Prism yet?
Not that I’ve heard, said Toda. No.
Harry Sweeney nodded: Okay then, let’s go –
And Harry Sweeney and Susumu Toda walked into the Mitsukoshi department store, through the doors, glass and gold, this time clear and open. Through the same doors Sadanori Shimoyama had walked through. They passed through the Cosmetics section. Through the same Cosmetics section where a nineteen-year-old shop assistant thought she had seen a man fitting the description of Sadanori Shimoyama walking back and forth for a while, before heading toward the north side of the store. They walked through the Miscellaneous Goods section. Through the same Miscellaneous Goods section where a twenty-year-old shop assistant also thought he had seen a man fitting the description of Sadanori Shimoyama walking in the direction of the elevators on the north side of the store. They passed through the Shoe section. Through the same Shoe section where a twenty-one-year-old shop assistant thought she had seen a man fitting the description of Sadanori Shimoyama briefly stop to look at some traditional Japanese sandals in a display case. Then they took Staircase H on the north side of the store, down to the basement and the customer service desk by the doors to the underground passage and the subway. The same customer service desk where a thirty-five-year-old employee – whose job it was to count the number of customers who entered the store from the subway – thought she had seen a man fitting the description of Sadanori Shimoyama leaving the store sometime between ten and ten fifteen, followed out of the store by three other men. She could not be sure if these three men were with the man fitting the description of Sadanori Shimoyama, but she thought these three men were all in their late thirties, and one of them she remembered quite clearly, with his suntanned face, his old black suit and dirty felt hat. Harry Sweeney and Susumu Toda took the short flight of stairs down to the doors, came out of the store into the underground passage, and stopped, standing on an iron plate where the store met the passage. The same iron plate where a number of ladies of differing ages thought they had seen a man fitting the description of Sadanori Shimoyama talking with three other men in low voices at various, conflicting times. One of the ladies described one of these three other men as being around fifty years old and very short, at around four foot nine, with a swarthy, triangular face and gold-framed glasses, wearing a dark striped suit with a white shirt, open at the neck. His shoes were pointed at their tips, she said, and he carried a bag –
Thought the guy looked like a school principal, said Toda, mopping his face, wiping his neck again.
Harry Sweeney laughed: School for pimps maybe.
Like a goddamn sauna down here, said Toda, looking up and down the passageway, watching uniforms and detectives milling about among journalists and photographers, the customers for the store and the commuters for the subway, the busybodies and the rubberneckers.
Harry Sweeney was looking at Toda: You okay, Susumu? You don’t look so good.
I feel like shit, said Toda, wiping his face again. Think I must have got the summer flu or something…
Harry Sweeney nodded: You been up too long, I’m sorry. Take the car back, go catch some zeds.
You sur
e, Harry?
Yeah, said Harry Sweeney. Go on –
And Harry Sweeney turned and walked off through the uniforms and the detectives, the journalists and the photographers, through the customers and the commuters, the busybodies and the rubberneckers, heading north down the passageway, past the ticket gates for the subway, until he saw the hair salon and the tea shop up ahead, saw the sign up ahead: COFFEE SHOP HONG KONG.
Harry Sweeney took out the piece of paper Sonoko had given him, glanced down, read it over once again, then took out his PSD badge and pushed through the crowds – two deep at the window, queuing up by the door – and into the coffee shop; every seat in the shop taken, the air thick with cigarette smoke, a waiter and waitress rushing back and forth with their trays from the kitchen to the tables –
Excuse me, said a man in his late fifties, standing behind the cash register by the door. But we’re full.
Harry Sweeney held up his PSD badge: Good for you and good for business, yeah, the Shimoyama Case? You the manager?
Yes, said the man, shifting his weight from foot to foot behind the cash register. I’m the manager, Niide.
Harry Sweeney smiled: I can see you’re busy, so I’ll make this brief, but I need to speak with you and your staff.
I see, said the manager. Here?
Harry Sweeney looked around the low-ceilinged room, pointed to a door toward the back: That the kitchen?
Yes, said the manager. But it’s very small.
Harry Sweeney nodded: One at a time, it’ll be fine.
Who first, asked the manager.
Harry Sweeney smiled again: From the top, so you.
The manager nodded, called over the waiter, and told him to mind the cash register. Then he led Harry Sweeney down the aisle, between the tables, toward the back of the shop, the toilets to the right, the kitchen to the left, a telephone, a directory, and an ashtray on a stand between the two doors –
That the only phone in here, asked Harry Sweeney.
Yes, said the manager. You need to use it?
Harry Sweeney shook his head: No.
Okay then, said the manager, with a shrug. In here –
And Harry Sweeney followed the manager into a narrow, windowless, oil-stained strip of a kitchen, where a thin, middle-aged octopus of a man in a stained apron was busy frying onions and meat on a hot plate, stirring a pot of thick curry, while dishing out bowls of miso soup and rice.
This is Goto, the cook, said the manager, with a sigh. You want him to step outside while we talk?
Harry Sweeney shook his head, then asked the cook, You see President Shimoyama in here, did you? The morning of the fifth, when your colleagues say he was here?
No, sir, said the cook, shaking his head, not looking up from his pots and his pans. Don’t see nothing from here, sir.
But you saw him, right, said Harry Sweeney, turning to the manager, asking, With four other men, yeah?
The manager nodded: Like I told the papers, then the police, I think I did, that’s all, sir.
Go on then. Tell me what you told them.
The manager closed his eyes, stroked his cheek, then opened his eyes and said, It was about ten o’clock, I guess. We open at nine thirty, same as Mitsukoshi, but I didn’t get in till then, till ten. When I came in, there were five of them, sitting there, well dressed, you know. In suits. Drinking Japanese tea, not coffee. Had some cakes, I think. Talking.
Describe them to me.
The manager blew out the air from his mouth and shook his head and said, I didn’t really see so well, sir. Two of them were maybe late thirties, the other one older, the one that was maybe President Shimoyama. Other two, I couldn’t say.
How long did they stay?
The manager shook his head again: Kazu-chan, the waitress, yeah? She served them, she’d know better than me.
But you remember them paying, yeah?
The manager shook his head: No, sir. See, they must have settled up at the table, sir. With Kazu-chan.
You still have their bill, right?
The manager shook his head again: No, sir. I had to give it to the police, sir, the Japanese police, sir.
Okay then, you remember anyone else, asked Harry Sweeney. Any of the other customers that morning?
No, sir. Not that day, sir, no.
What about regular customers? You must have some?
The manager nodded: Yeah, we do. But not at that time. Lunchtime is when we get the regulars in, sir.
I see, said Harry Sweeney. Okay.
The manager smiled: You want to speak to Kazu-chan?
Yes, said Harry Sweeney. But the waiter first.
The manager shrugged: I’ll go get him then, if you’re finished with me? I’ll be out front, if that’s okay, sir?
Harry Sweeney nodded, taking out his handkerchief, mopping his face, wiping his neck, watching the cook slicing and dicing, frying and boiling: Pretty hot in here, yeah?
Keeps me slim, laughed the cook.
How about your boss, asked Harry Sweeney. He keep you slim and all, does he? Or is he all right?
Long as we’re busy, laughed the cook again.
Excuse me, said a tall, gaunt man in his mid- to late twenties, in a white shirt with a black bow tie. I’m Kojima, the waiter. You wanted to speak with me, sir?
Harry Sweeney nodded: Yes, and you know why?
About President Shimoyama, sir?
Harry Sweeney nodded again: Yeah. So you were working the morning of the fifth, is that right?
Yes, sir, said the waiter.
And you also saw a man fitting the description of President Shimoyama in here that morning?
No, sir, I didn’t. Not personally.
You didn’t? But you were working here, yeah?
Yes, sir, said the waiter. But at that time, I’m usually in here, in the kitchen. Mister Gotō here, he doesn’t usually start until later, toward lunchtime. So I’m usually in here, sir.
Harry Sweeney nodded: You never come out?
Sometimes, sir, said the waiter. But not that morning, or not that I remember, sir. I was in here, sir.
Harry Sweeney stared at the man – this nervous man, gaunt and tall, touching his bow tie, his collar damp – and Harry Sweeney said, I want you to think very carefully, Mister Kojima. Has anyone – maybe a journalist, maybe a police officer, maybe even Mister Niide, your manager – anyone told you to say or not say anything about the morning of the fifth?
No, sir, said the waiter, shaking his head.
You’re absolutely sure about that?
Yes, sir, said the waiter.
Harry Sweeney nodded, then pointed toward the doorway and said, Okay then, one last question. That telephone out there, did you see anyone using it that morning?
No, sir, said the waiter. Not that I remember, sir.
Harry Sweeney nodded again: Okay then, thank you. Would you ask the waitress to step in here, please?
The waiter nodded, turned to leave the kitchen, then stopped, turned back, and asked, Is Kawada-san in trouble, sir?
Harry Sweeney shook his head: Why would she be?
I don’t know, sir, said the waiter. But she’s a good girl and she works hard, I know that, sir.
Harry Sweeney smiled: You don’t need to worry, son. Just ask her to step in here, please.
The waiter nodded, turned, and went out of the kitchen.
Kojima-kun, he’s sweet on her, said the cook, dishing out another portion of rice and curry onto a plate.
Harry Sweeney mopped his face and wiped his neck again and said, How about the manager? He sweet on her, too?
I guess so, laughed the cook. Customers seem to like her, so she’s good for business. Pretty face and –
Excuse me, sir, you wanted to see me?
Harry Swee
ney turned to the doorway, to a twenty-year-old girl in a black dress and white apron, her hands clasped together in front of her apron. Harry Sweeney smiled, nodded, and said, Yes, thank you.
This is about President Shimoyama, I suppose?
Harry Sweeney, still smiling, still nodding, said, But there’s nothing to be afraid of or nervous about. I just want you to tell me in your own words what you told the police, then maybe answer any questions I might have. Okay?
Okay, the waitress nodded. I see. Well then, it was quite soon after we opened, not long after half past nine, when the two gentlemen came in. The man who looked like President Shimoyama, he was wearing a mouse-colored suit with a white shirt. I remember he wasn’t wearing a hat and he had on those glasses, those Harold Lloyd-style frames, they call them. I also remember he had quite distinctive eyebrows. They were thick and sloping downwards; that’s why, when I saw his photograph in the paper, I thought it must’ve been him.
Harry Sweeney nodded: How about the other man?
I don’t remember him so well, I’m sorry, said the waitress. You see, they were sitting at a table near the door, and the man who looked like President Shimoyama, he had his back to the door, so he was facing me as I was coming and going. But the other man, he was facing the door with his back to me, so I didn’t really see him very clearly at all. But I had the impression he was a bit younger, maybe late forties?
But there were just the two of them?
Well, that’s what I thought, she said. But Mister Niide, our manager, when he came in he thought there were more of them. Another three men, I think he said.
Harry Sweeney asked, But you don’t think so?
I can’t be sure, she said. I mean, there were three other men at the next table, just across the aisle. That’s true.
But you’re not sure they were together?
No, she said, shaking her head. I didn’t think they were. I mean, I never saw them speak to each other or anything.
But this other party, these three other men, they came in and left separately then, did they?
I think so, yes, she said. I mean, I’m not sure, but I think they came in after the other two, then left after them, yes.
