Boyle glanced at his watch a second time. So, he had somewhere he'd rather be. Him and me both. “I'm sorry for asking you to be here today, Professor. I know you're anxious to get away and I won't keep you a moment longer than necessary.”
“That's okay,” he said. “I still had things to attend to on board. Dr. Tanaka and I collected a number of previously unrecorded specimens. I'm anxious to get them properly secured for the flight home.”
“Well, thank you anyway, sir,” I said, walking on tippy-toes as ordered.
The professor picked at a cigarette burn on the tabletop. “We'd been diving on the Trench for a week in the submersible.”
“Who's we?” I asked.
“The doctor and I, and a technician.”
“Is the technician still on board?”
“Yep,” said Abrutto. “We'll catch up with him when you're done here.”
“Okay,” I said. “Sorry to interrupt, Professor. You were saying?”
“We had perfect weather, tides, and currents, and because of all that had managed to complete the dive phase ahead of schedule, which was fortunate because we had weather coming down on us.”
The master agreed with a nod.
“We were having a bit of a celebration,” continued Boyle. “Hideo was drinking, and I'd never seen him do that before — drink.”
“What was he drinking?” I asked.
“Scotch. We only had that and sake on board.”
“Do you know how much he drank?”
“Enough, obviously, though I didn't realize it at the time. I topped his glass up maybe twice, I think. As you may or may not know, Agent Cooper, many Asian people don't have the gene that allows them to metabolize alcohol effectively.”
I nodded. Yeah, I was aware of the supposed Asian intolerance of booze. I wasn't aware it had become established fact. “So you had never seen Dr. Tanaka drunk before?”
“No, never.”
“Did you see him leave the party?”
“No. I wish I had. Then perhaps he'd still be alive.”
“Of course,” I said. I then asked Abrutto whether he'd seen Tanaka leave. No, he hadn't. “Do either of you have any theories as to what might have happened that night?”
“As I wasn't there at the time, I can only guess,” said Abrutto.
“Tanaka might have decided to get some air,” Boyle said, “or he could have gone out to be sick over the side of the boat. He might even have gone down the stern to check on the Shinkai—the submersible — and fallen in. Once in the water, without someone to pull him out, the cold would have killed him in minutes. He was drunk, so maybe less.”
I'd guessed the cold could have killed him, and I'd heard of cold having a bite to it, but nothing like what had latched hold of the doctor a couple of inches below his chin. “What can either of you tell me about the shark?”
The professor said, “Carcharodon carcharías—a great white shark. Top predator in this part of the world. They like the deep water and the cold — brings the seals, their favorite snacks. One decided to tail us as we cruised north to our dive zone. It was a magnificent animal. Very big, very powerful.”
And quite partial to Japanese, I thought.
“We see them every now and then. More often these days, since they've become a protected species,” said Abrutto.
“Did its presence concern you?” I asked.
“Only to the extent that it might damage some of the sensors on the sub, so no one did anything to encourage it to stay,” replied the professor.
I glanced at Durban. If nothing else, at least we'd cleared up the question of whether the shark was just a guy in a costume. Someone like Boyle was sure to have spotted the difference.
“Dr. Tanaka wasn't discovered missing for some time — twelve hours, according to statements,” I said. “Isn't that a long time to not notice somebody missing?”
Boyle shook his head again. “It might seem that way, but no, not really. The expedition was over. And everyone saw how drunk Tanaka was when he left. I guess everyone assumed, as I did, that he was in his room, sleeping it off. And, because we had no work to do, I was happy not to disturb him.”
I doodled on the notebook like I was making an entry, because in fact I'd just found a problem in the professor's statement. He'd contradicted himself about not seeing Tanaka leave the party. “How about you, Professor Boyle? Were you drunk too?”
“Yes. It was a celebration, and I was celebrating.”
“How about you, Mr. Abrutto?” I asked.
“As I said, I wasn't there. I was on the bridge, on duty, on my third mug of coffee, I think — nothing stronger.”
“And you heard and saw nothing unusual?”
“Afraid not. A storm was coming through and the weather updates were looking pretty ugly. As we weren't under way, I was concentrating on those.”
“Do you mind if I have a look at the doctor's stateroom?” I asked.
“Sure, no problem,” said Abrutto.
“Do you need me to come along too?” inquired the professor.
“No, I don't think so,” I said. “Not unless you want to.”
He didn't.
“I'm sorry I can't be of more assistance, Agent Cooper,” said Boyle, squeezing himself out from behind the table. “If you don't mind, I've still got a lot to do before I leave for the States this afternoon. If you need to ask me any more questions, here's my card.” He pulled out a slim silver holder, slipped out a card, and put it on the table.
“Thanks for your help, Professor,” I said. A logo for Moreton Genetics dominated the card, the M and the G twisted around each other in a double-helix pattern. I slipped the card into a back pocket and gave him one of mine. “In case anything comes to mind,” I added. He nodded, and fed my card to his wallet.
Boyle grabbed his jacket and left. I moved out from behind the bench and picked up my coat.
“You won't need that yet, Agent Cooper. It's even warmer where we're going. You can get it on the way back.” Abrutto stood and opened a hatch at the back of the mess, revealing a narrow hallway, and stepped through. Durban and I followed. The smell of diesel was stronger here. It was hard to breathe. A short walk down the hallway brought us to a door with police tape across it. Fingerprint dust powdered the door and a plastic bag was taped over the door handle. Tokyo P.D. had treated the room like a crime scene, not because a crime had necessarily been committed, but to preserve its integrity until someone like me absolved them of further responsibility.
I knew from the police report that only two sets of prints were found on the door handle: Tanaka's and those belonging to the man who checked his room, Master Abrutto. A deckhand had reported no sound from within when he had knocked, so he'd fetched his boss. I also noted in the report that nothing appeared to have been disturbed within the room. I peeled off the tape, opened the door, and took a look inside. The room was roughly the size of a large suitcase, but thoroughly unremarkable otherwise: steel walls, a porthole, a desk, and a few dirty clothes in a small pile on the neatly made bed. It was unslept in. On the desk sat Tanaka's computer, an Apple PowerBook, open, the screen-saver parading snapshots of deep space. I knew that one — I used it myself.
The computer had been untouched by anyone other than Tanaka, according to forensics. His were the only fingerprints found on the keyboard, and a report from the hard drive showed the last use had been before the doctor disappeared. In short, there was nothing in the least out of order here.