“This is Charlie,” said Neku.
“Hi,” said Sophie, offering her hand; which meant the first thing Neku had to do on reaching the flat was find kitchen paper so Charlie could clean bike chain grease from his fingers.
“She’s an artist,” said Neku.
Charlie nodded sourly, as if he’d suspected as much.
There was cola and milk in the fridge, fresh bread in a wooden box next to the sink, and a bowl full of pears and bananas on the tiny work surface. Rice and spaghetti had been stacked by the box. Kit had even found instant noodles that came with sachets of miso soup. The only flaw was the fridge being warm, because the electricity still needed to be turned back on, and gas resolutely refusing to hiss from the range.
“You’ve been cut off?”
“No,” said Neku. “We’re waiting for it to be turned back on.”
Neku should have been able to read his expression. She’d have been able to read him if he was one of her brothers. All the same, it was only when Charlie mouthed we that his scowl made sense.
“I share with a friend,” she said. “It’s his flat.”
“Right,” said Charlie. “I see.”
No, you don’t… instead of saying this Neku took a Coke from the fridge and a couple of wineglasses from the cupboard and led Charlie out onto the roof, where her mattress aired in the sun, her pillow rested against the side of the little wooden hut, and her sheet swung gently from a washing line in the breeze. Having dumped her shoulder bag in the hut, Neku returned with a notebook, her ink block, and a brush.
So young, she thought, watching Charlie’s eyes flick from mattress to hut to pillow. “You thought Kit and I…”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You did,” Neku said.
Charlie wasn’t good at sulking. In fact he lasted less time than it took a wineglass full of diet cola to lose its bubbles, which was barely any time at all. “Okay,” he said. “Maybe I did.”
Neku smiled.
“Can I ask you something?”
She nodded, wondering which of the dozen questions it would be.
“Are you really planning to buy that gallery?”
“No,” Neku said, dripping flat Coke onto a saucer and grinding her ink block into the liquid until it was thick enough to use. She drew a circle, because she always began everything with a circle, then began to note down everything she could remember from her conversation with Sylvia No-last-name. “I was lying…”
Charlie looked sweetly shocked.
“Unsettle people,” said Neku. “It’s one of the first rules of control. Unsettle them and they’ll answer your questions or do what you want because they’re too busy being unsettled to close down or object…My brothers taught me that.”
“You have brothers?” Charlie asked. Which was the point Neku burst into tears. And that was how Kit found them. Neku on her knees, an abandoned brush on the tiles in front of her, and a boy, all curly blond hair and bat-wing cheek bones, frozen with embarrassment as he tried and failed to comfort her.
“Meet Charlie,” said Neku through bitter sobs.
Charlie tried to shake hands.
“What did you do?”
Charlie let his hand drop. “I asked Neku about her brothers.”
“Brothers?” Kit said.
CHAPTER 34 — Monday, 25 June
Kit was the one to see Charlie out, offering his hand at the last minute, if only to tell the boy that he didn’t hold what had happened against him.
“See you some time,” said Kit.
Charlie nodded doubtfully.
When Kit got upstairs the shower was running and there Neku stayed, washing away whatever it was she needed to wash away with an hour’s worth of cold water. She came out of the room shivering and wrapped in a towel, trailing wet footprints onto the roof garden, where she spent the rest of the afternoon, plugged into her MP3 player, with a pile of Japanese police files, a notebook, and a cup of coffee Kit had got from a local café cooling on the tiles in front of her.
The first two times Kit went to see her, she looked up politely and waited, going back to her papers when she realised he was just fussing.
“You knew this woman…Mrs. Kate?” she asked, when he came out a third time, still fussing, with a bowl of takeout noodles and a fork, because he’d been unable to find wooden chopsticks. She took the noodles without comment, placing them next to the coffee.
“Kate’s mentioned in there?”
Neku nodded. “Who gave you these files?”
“Major Yamota,” said Kit. “They’re to do with the fire at Pirate Mary’s. I wasn’t allowed the ones to do with Yoshi.”
“I wondered about that,” Neku said, crossing something off her list. “Most of these are statements from the fire officer, the first policeman on the scene, the paramedic who gave you a sedative. There’s a forensic report from the Police Scientific Bureau, but there are other papers not to do with the fire.”
“They must have got in by mistake,” said Kit.
Neku’s mouth twisted. “Japanese police,” she said, “don’t make that kind of mistake. Not unless they intend to.”
“What are the papers?”
She hesitated. “A report on a murder. A list of collectors known to buy stolen ceramics. A credit check on Pirate Mary’s. One of the reports links you to a career criminal known to be making trips to Tokyo. Kathryn Robbe-Duras, nee O’Mally.”
“She never took Pat’s name,” said Kit. “And she’s retired.”
“This is the woman No Neck mentioned? The one who called you this morning?”
“Yes,” said Kit.
“She’s an old friend?”
Kit shook his head. “An enemy,” he said. “An old enemy.”
Neku nodded. It seemed she could understand that.
The buzzer sounded at midnight. Since the row of buttons beside the front door was illuminated and Sophie had already warned Kit that drunks used the courtyard to piss or worse, he ignored it. At which point the noise got louder as whoever it was began to kick the door instead.
Scrambling for his jeans, Kit reached the landing in time to hear Sophie open the door herself. “Prove it,” he heard her say, and a second later the front door shut and Sophie began stamping her way upstairs. She was swearing.
“It’s the police,” she said. “Well, one of them. A big fucker. Apparently he wants to talk to you.”
“Where is he?”
“Outside. I told him to get a warrant if he wants to come in. Unless, of course, he thinks we’re terrorists, in which case I suggested he organise back-up and a few guns…”
“And what did he say?” Kit could imagine what a Japanese policeman would have said. Actually, Kit couldn’t, because he doubted anyone in Japan would leave a police officer on the doorstep, far less be that rude to them.
“Some bollocks about Section 44. So I told him I used to be a lawyer.”
“Were you?”
Sophie shrugged. “A paralegal…It’s close enough. Do you want a witness? Because I can stay around if you need.”
“It’ll be fine,” promised Kit.
There were a dozen reasons why this was unlikely to be true. Desertion from the British Army had no statute of limitations. So the original arrest warrant was technically valid. And you didn’t go AWOL only to return to the place that issued the arrest warrant unless you were stupid, or had people like Mr. Oniji suggesting you go back to your own country for a while.
And that was before Kit even factored in Kate O’Mally, his own guilt at Yoshi’s death, or his memories of Mary.
“You certain?” Sophie asked.
“Sure,” said Kit, nodding his thanks.
“Whatever,” she said. “Call me if you need me…”
“Mr. Noover?”
“Nouveau,” said Kit, looking out into the half darkness. An officer in uniform was back-lit by lights from beyond the arch. Flicking on the hall lights, Kit saw the huge man blink.