The request puzzled me but I didn't have a reason not to comply. I tugged my wallet from my pocket and fished out my Colorado license.
She juggled the can and her computer and examined my ID for half a minute before she handed it back to me.
"I'm sorry that was necessary. But thank you."
This time she didn't shy away as I moved closer to her. Satoshi was tall and thin, like her father. Her face was narrower than Mariko's had been, though her cheeks were full, the bones below taking on definition only when she smiled.
Her manner displayed more confidence than I imagined Mariko had ever managed to accumulate in her limited years on the planet.
She asked about my flight and my drive from the airport and if I'd had any trouble finding her office. When I admitted I'd gotten lost inside the building she laughed along with me.
Outside we settled on a stone bench beneath a tree that she told me was a laurel.
"This is my bench. I come here every day. Almost." She placed her laptop and a shoulder bag on the grass at the base of the bench and faced me.
"Thanks for this," she said.
"For coming all the way here. And even more for caring about what happened to Mariko." The moment was poignant but she met it head-on.
Her gaze stayed locked on mine. I watched as the corners of her mouth turned down infinitesimally, hinting at some lingering sadness about her loss. Her dark eyes glowed from within like black pearls.
I said, "I'm grateful that you're meeting with me. It's not easy, or pleasant, to dig up painful memories."
She placed her hands behind her on the stone and leaned away. She was wearing a loose top that was cropped near the waistband of khaki cargo pants. The top rode back onto her abdomen, exposing a band of caramel flesh at her navel. I tried not to look. I failed. She appeared not to notice. She said, "That sounds suspiciously like a platitude. My father didn't prepare me for that about you.
He said to expect you to be forthright."
I don't know what it was that I had expected from Satoshi. But it wasn't confrontation. I fought surprise as I said, "Despite the circumstances, I enjoyed meeting your father. And I hope you won't be disappointed and end up disagreeing with his assessment of me. I can only assure you that my comment wasn't intended as a platitude. I believe what I said before. The territory we need to cover is painful. I have trouble with it, and I never knew your sister or Tami Franklin."
Her eyes closed briefly and she said, "I think that you are trying to be kind.
It's not necessary. You don't know-you can't know-the agony, Doctor. No matter how hard you've looked, how many people you've talked to about what happened, I promise you that you don't know the half of it."
When her eyes opened again she was looking away from me, her lips dry and parted. I noticed her breathing had changed; she was exhaling through her open mouth. I followed her gaze to the distance. The sky on the western horizon was hazy. The rolling hills of the coastal range appeared as ghosts. It was as though I were peering at the edge of the world through gauze.
"Before I begin with my story," she said, "there is something to which you must agree."
I waited. I couldn't begin to guess what she wanted now. The driver's license request had seemed odd enough.
She leaned forward from her waist and folded her hands on her lap in a way that left her palms open and cupped to the sky.
"You must agree not to divulge the information that I am about to provide to anyone beyond the membership of your committee. Your group-I believe it's called Locard. Is that correct? And your committee must agree never to divulge the information to anyone else. Simply, this story I will tell you must not become public. Specifically, my parents cannot ever-ever-learn this information. If it does become public-or if my parents learn the details-I will not only deny that I told you this story but I will also deny that it is true. I guarantee you that you will find no independent source for the information I plan to give you today. If it turns out that what I say is useful, I hope your organization will be able to exploit it to guide your inquiry into my sister's murder. But you must develop your own proof. Do you understand?"
I tried to keep my voice level. I failed.
"No. I don't understand. You have information that you feel is so potentially helpful that you invited me all the way to California to hear it-and yet, you forbid me to use it? I don't pretend to understand. I don't."
She reacted physically to my words. Her neck tightened; her kneecaps came together. She composed herself-allowing her shoulders to sag back down half an inch-before she replied.
"Neither of us-neither you nor I-knows the value of what I'm about to tell you. If I knew with any certainty that this information would help you find the person who killed Mariko, I would have told this story to someone long ago. I'm willing to divulge it now only because my father is convinced that the organization you work for is sincere in attempting to find my sisters killer."
(t-t-v-r)1 We are.
"Good. Unfortunately, my story is not an answer for you in that quest.
It is not proof of anything. I don't know who killed Mariko and Tami. With my story, I am able to do nothing more than to point my finger at a trail the killer might have walked. No more than that, I'm afraid."
She was examining me as closely as I was examining her. I knew she could feel my reticence to accept her proposal.
She said, "If you don't agree I will try to understand your rationale for refusing my request. Then I will thank you for your journey and for your efforts and I will show you back to your car."
I weighed my alternatives and concluded I had little to lose. Any direction she could provide would be welcome. I contemplated how to respond to her for a moment before I said, "I could give you my word, Satoshi. But I would be misleading you by pretending to have authority that I don't really have. I don't have control of the information once I report it to Locard. To provide you with the guarantees you are requesting I need to run your request by someone much higher up in the organization than myself."
She tilted her head slightly, tucking her chin closer to her shoulder.
"Thank you for your honesty. You can do that by phone? Get that permission? You could do that now?"
"Yes"
"This way," she said. Before standing, she looked behind her, scanning the courtyard for something or someone whom she didn't appear to find. Finally she led me back to her office and sat me at her desk. I used my phone card to call A. J. Simes in Washington.
A. J. insisted on speaking with Satoshi before she reluctantly assented to Satoshi's demand for discretion. During the negotiation Satoshi was diplomatic but determined in pressing her case. After she was convinced she had the promise she needed from Simes she left her things in the office and removed the beret. I followed her from the classroom building to something like a student union. She bought a container of vanilla yogurt and carried it to a quiet table in a deserted corner of the cafeteria. She chose a seat that placed her back against a wall and began eating by lifting a tiny amount of yogurt on the tip of the spoon and placing it between her lips.
She repeated the act mechanically, taking baby bites over and over for a minute or two. I waited.
The table between us was laminated. The chairs we sat on were molded plastic.
My stomach growled and I considered getting up and buying myself something to eat, but I didn't want to fracture her mood.
Before she finally spoke Satoshi stood her spoon in the half-eaten yogurt and brushed a flurry of crumbs to the floor from the edge of the table. She arranged the salt and pepper shakers behind a grimy bottle of French's mustard.
A thick golden yoke had hardened around the squeeze top of the mustard bottle.
The three containers, once aligned, stood like soldiers at attention behind the chrome napkin holder.