I said, "Then you think he's wrong? The girl wasn't killed by a Japanese?"
"I didn't say that, kohai," Connor replied. "It's very possible Graham is right. But at the moment– "
The doors opened and we saw the party, heard the band playing "Moonlight Serenade." Two party-going couples stepped into the elevator. They looked like real estate people: the men silver-haired and distinguished looking, the women pretty and slightly tacky. One woman said, "She's smaller than I thought."
"Yes, tiny. And that . . . was that her boyfriend?"
"I guess. Wasn't he the one in the video with her?"
"I think that was him."
One of the men said, "You think she had her boobs done?"
"Hasn't everybody?"
The other woman giggled. "Except me, of course."
"Right, Christine."
"But I'm thinking about it. Did you see Emily?"
"Oh, she did hers so big."
"Well, Jane started it, blame her. Now everyone wants them big."
The men turned and looked out the window. "Hell of a building," one said. "Detailing is fantastic. Must have cost a fortune. You doing much with the Japanese now, Ron?"
"About twenty percent," the other man said. "That's way down from last year. It's made me work on my golf game, because they always want to play golf."
"Twenty percent of your business?"
"Yeah. They're buying up Orange County now."
"Of course. They already own Los Angeles," one of the women said, laughing.
"Well, just about. They have the Arco building over there," the man said, pointing out the window. "I guess by now they have seventy, seventy-five percent of downtown Los Angeles."
"And more in Hawaii."
"Hell, they ownHawaii – ninety percent of Honolulu, a hundred percent of the Kona coast. Putting up golf courses like mad."
One woman said, "Will this party be on ETtomorrow? They had enough cameras here."
"Let's remember to watch."
The elevator said, "Mosugu de gozaimasu."
We came to the garage floor, and the people got off. Connor watched them go, and shook his head. "In no other country in the world," he said, "would you hear people calmly discussing the fact that their cities and states were sold to foreigners."
"Discussing?" I said. "They're the ones doing the selling."
"Yes. Americans are eager to sell. It amazes the Japanese. They think we're committing economic suicide. And of course they're right." As he spoke, Connor pressed a button on the elevator panel marked EMERGENCY ONLY.
A soft pinging alarm sounded.
"What'd you do that for?"
Connor looked at a video camera mounted in the corner of the ceiling and waved cheerfully. A voice on the intercom said, "Good evening, officers. Can I help you?"
"Yes," Connor said. "Am I speaking to building security?"
"That's right, sir. Is something wrong with your elevator?"
"Where are you located?"
"We're on the lobby level, southeast corner, behind the elevators."
"Thank you very much," Connor said. He pushed the button for the lobby.
¤
The security office of the Nakamoto Tower was a small room, perhaps five meters by seven. It was dominated by three large, flat video panels, each divided into a dozen smaller monitor views. At the moment, most of these were black rectangles. But one row showed images from the lobby and the garage; another row showed the party in progress. And a third row showed the police teams up on the forty-sixth floor.
Jerome Phillips was the guard on duty. He was a black man in his midforties. His gray Nakamoto Security uniform was soaked around the collar, and dark under the armpits. He asked us to leave the door open as we entered. He appeared noticeably uneasy to have us there. I sensed he was hiding something, but Connor approached him in a friendly way. We showed our badges and shook hands. Connor managed to convey the idea that we were all security professionals, having a little chat together. "Must be a busy night for you, Mr. Phillips."
"Yeah, sure. The party and everything."
"And crowded, in this little room."
He wiped sweat from his forehead. "Boy, you got that right. All of them packed in here. Jesus."
I said, "All of who?"
Connor looked at me and said, "After the Japanese left the forty-sixth floor, they came down here and watched us on the monitors. Isn't that right, Mr. Phillips?"
Phillips nodded. "Not all of 'em, but quite a few. Down here, smoking their damn cigarettes, staring and puffing and passing around faxes."
"Faxes?"
"Oh, yeah, every few minutes, somebody'd bring in another fax. You know, in Japanese writing. They'd all pass it around, make comments. Then one of 'em would leave to send a fax back. And the rest would stay to watch you guys up on the floor."
Connor said, "And listen, too?"
Phillips shook his head. "No. We don't have audio feeds."
"I'm surprised," Connor said. "This equipment seems so up-to-date."
"Up-to-date? Hell, it's the most advanced in the world. These people, I tell you one thing. These people do it right. They have the best fire alarm and fire prevention system. The best earthquake system. And of course the best electronic security system: best cameras, detectors, everything."
"I can see that," Connor said. "That's why I was surprised they don't have audio."
"No. No audio. They do high-resolution video only. Don't ask me why. Something to do with the cameras and how they're hooked up, is all I know."
On the flat panels I saw five different views of the forty-sixth floor, as seen from different cameras. Apparently the Japanese had installed cameras all over the floor. I remembered how Connor had walked around the atrium, staring up at the ceiling. He must have spotted the cameras then.
Now I watched Graham in the conference room, directing the teams. He was smoking a cigarette, which was completely against regulations at a crime scene. I saw Helen stretch and yawn. Meanwhile, Kelly was getting ready to move the girl's body off the table onto a gurney, before zipping it into the bag, and he was—
Then it hit me.
They had cameras up there.
Five different cameras.
Covering every part of the floor.
I said, "Oh my God" and I spun around, very excited. I was about to say something when Connor smiled at me in an easy way, and placed his hand on my shoulder. He squeezed my shoulder – hard.
"Lieutenant," he said.
The pain was incredible. I tried not to wince. "Yes, Captain?"
"I wonder if you'd mind if I asked Mr. Phillips one or two questions."
"No, Captain. Go right ahead."
"Perhaps you'd take notes."
"Good idea, Captain."
He released my shoulder. I got out my notepad.
Connor sat on the edge of the table and said, "Have you been with Nakamoto Security long, Mr. Phillips?"
"Yes, sir. About six years now. I started over in their La Habra plant, and when I hurt my leg – in a car accident – and couldn't walk so good, they moved me to security. In the plant. Because I wouldn't have to walk around, you see. Then when they opened the Torrance plant, they moved me over there. My wife got a job in the Torrance plant, too. They do Toyota subassemblies. Then, when this building opened, they brought me here, to work nights."