“Jaa,” I said finally. Then: “Arigatou.”
I turned and walked out.
15
THE NEXT MORNING, I went out to a pay phone and called Harry. He’d done a lot for me over the years and I felt bad about the way we’d parted. I knew he’d be bothered by it, and that bothered me.
An unfamiliar male voice answered his phone. “Moshi moshi?”
“Moshi moshi,” I said, my brow furrowing. “Haruyoshi-san irasshaimasu ka?” Is Haruyoshi there?
There was a pause. “Are you a friend of Haruyoshi’s?” the voice asked me in Japanese.
“I am. Is everything all right?”
“This is Haruyoshi’s uncle. I regret to inform you that he passed away last night.”
I gripped the phone tightly and closed my eyes. I thought of the last thing he’d said to me: Look, I’m going to see her tonight. I’ll watch more closely. I’ll keep in mind what you’ve said.
He’d gone to see her, all right. But he hadn’t kept anything in mind.
“Forgive me for asking,” I said, my eyes still closed, “but can you tell me how Haruyoshi passed away?”
There was another pause. “It seems that Haruyoshi had drunk a bit too much, and had gone up to the roof of his building for a walk. Apparently he came too close to the edge and lost his balance.”
I gripped the phone harder. I’d never known Harry to drink. Certainly not excessively. Although I knew he might try all sorts of new things if Yukiko were there to urge him on.
“Thank you for informing me,” I said to the voice. “Please accept my deepest condolences on this sad occasion. Please convey these sentiments to Harry’s parents. I will say a prayer for his spirit.”
“Thank you,” the voice said.
I put the phone back in its cradle.
My gut told me that what I’d just heard had been legitimate. Still, I called the police box in his neighborhood to make sure. I told the cop who answered that I was a friend of Haruyoshi Fukasawa, that I’d heard there had been bad news. The cop confirmed that Harry was dead. A fall. Apparently an accident. He told me he was sorry. I thanked him and hung up.
I stood there for a moment, feeling miserable and strangely alone.
They’d gotten what they wanted from him. They were tying up loose ends.
Well, there was nothing I could do for him now. I’d tried to help him when it mattered. Now it was too late.
In some ways it was my fault. I’d known Yukiko was dangerous to him, but all I did was tell him about my suspicions. What I should have done was said nothing to him, and just made her have a little accident. Harry would have grieved, but he’d still be alive.
I realized I was grinding my teeth and made myself stop.
I thought of how happy he’d been when he’d first told me about her, how shy and sappy and obviously in love.
I remembered the way the ice bitch had alternately teased, then soothed, Murakami. How Naomi had said, She’s comfortable doing things I’m not.
I imagined her pumping him with drinks, his body unaccustomed to the alcohol. I imagined him doing it to please her. I imagined her suggesting a walk on the roof, Murakami waiting there.
Or maybe she did it herself. It wouldn’t be hard. She’d spent time in the building, she knew its rhythms, its routines, the layout of its security cameras. And he trusted her. Even with what I’d told him, if he were drunk enough, he wouldn’t have hesitated to walk to the edge. Maybe for a laugh. Maybe on a dare.
Without thinking, I snatched the receiver from its cradle and raised it overhead to smash down onto the phone. I stood there for a long moment, my arm cocked, my body trembling, willing myself not to make a scene, not to draw attention.
Finally, I set the receiver back in its cradle. I closed my eyes and breathed in, then let it all the way out. Once more. And again.
I went to a different phone and called Tatsu. I told him to check our bulletin board because I wanted to see him. Then I went to an Internet café to tell him when and where.
We met at Café Peshaworl, a coffeehouse and bar in the Nihonbashi business district, and another place I had liked during the years I was in Tokyo.
I got there early, as usual, and took the steps down from Sakura-dori to the subdued interior below. Peshaworl is shaped like an I-beam, and I took a seat in the corner of one of the short ends of the I. I was hidden from the entrance, but I could just see the bar, with its red steel scale for measuring precise quantities of beans; its battered pots for steeping coffee, their dents, like those in fine single malt stills, probably credited with producing the unique taste of Peshaworl’s brews; and its curious implements, intimidating in their specificity, no doubt designed exclusively for the concoction of the most exalted blends, their correct use unknown except to craft initiates.
I ordered the house Roa blend and listened to Monica Borrfors singing “August Wishing” while I waited for Tatsu to show. At just after twelve, I heard the door open and close, followed by Tatsu’s familiar shuffling gait. A moment later he poked his head around the corner and saw me. He came over and sat so that we were at ninety degrees to each other and could converse with maximum privacy. He grunted a greeting, then said, “Based on your recent meeting with Kawamura-san, I can only assume that you brought me here either to thank me or to kill me.”
“I’m not here about that,” I replied.
He looked at me for a moment, silent.
The waitress came over and asked him what he would like. He ordered a milk tea, more, I thought, as a concession to his surroundings than out of any real desire.
While we waited for his tea, he said, “I hope you understand why I did what I did.”
“Sure. You’re a manipulative, fanatical bastard who believes the end always justifies the means.”
“Now you sound like my wife.”
I didn’t laugh. “You shouldn’t have dragged Midori back into this.”
“I didn’t. I had hoped that she would want to believe you were dead. If she had wanted to believe, she would have. If she did not want to believe, she would investigate. She is quite tenacious.”
“She told me she threatened you with a scandal.”
“Probably a bluff.”
“She doesn’t bluff, Tatsu.”
“Regardless. I told her where to find you because it was no longer useful to try to deceive her. In fact, she was not deceived. Also, I thought you might benefit from that encounter.”
I shook my head. “Did you really think she could convince me to help you?”
“Of course.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
“Don’t lead me, Tatsu.”
“All right. Consciously or unconsciously, you want to be worthy of her. I respect you for that sentiment because there is much about Kawamura-san to admire. But you may be going about it in the wrong way, and I wanted to give you the opportunity to see that.”
“You’re wrong,” I said.
“Then why are you here?”
I looked at him. “I’m going to help you on this. It has nothing to do with Midori.” I pictured Harry for a second, then said, “No, you’re going to help me.”
The waitress set down his tea and moved on.
“What happened?” he asked.
My reflex was to not tell him, to protect Harry, like I’d always tried to do before. But it didn’t matter anymore.
“Murakami killed a friend of mine,” I said. “A kid named Haruyoshi. Yamaoto was using him, I think to find me. When they thought they’d gotten what they wanted, they got rid of him.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
I shrugged. “It works out well for you. If I didn’t know you as well as I do, I might have been suspicious.”