The richest bank you ever saw.
And it made you stop and look. I stood by the yellow crime-scene tape, which blocked access to the floor itself, and got my bearings. Directly ahead was the large atrium, a kind of open bullpen for secretaries and lower-level people. There were desks in clusters, and trees to break up the space. In the center of the atrium stood a large model of the Nakamoto Tower, and the complex of surrounding buildings still under construction. A spotlight shone on the model, but the rest of the atrium was relatively dark, with night lights.
Private offices for the executives were arranged around the perimeter of the atrium. The offices had glass walls facing the atrium, and glass walls on the outside walls as well, so that from where I was standing you could look straight out to the surrounding skyscrapers of Los Angeles. It made you think the floor was floating in midair.
There were two glass-walled conference rooms, on the left and right. The room on the right was smaller, and there I saw the body of the girl, lying on a long black table. She was wearing a black dress. One leg dangled down toward the floor. I didn't see any blood. But I was pretty far away from her, maybe sixty meters. It was hard to see much detail.
I heard the crackle of police radios, and I heard Graham saying, "Here's your liaison, gentlemen. Now maybe we can get started on our investigation. Peter?"
I turned to the Japanese men by the elevator. I didn't know which I should talk to; there was an awkward moment until one of them stepped forward. He was about thirty-five and wore an expensive suit. The man gave a very slight bow, from the neck, just a hint. I bowed back. Then he spoke.
"Konbanwa. Hajimemashite, Sumisu-san. Ishiguro desu. Dozo yoroshiku." A formal greeting, although perfunctory. No wasted time. His name was Ishiguro. He already knew my name.
I said, "Hajimemashite. Watashi wa Sumisu desu. Dozo yoroshiku." How do you do. Glad to meet you. The usual.
"Watashi no meishi desu. Dozo." He gave me his business card. He was quick in his movements, brusque.
"Domo arigato gozaimasu. " I accepted his card with both hands, which wasn't really necessary, but taking Connor's advice, I wanted to do the most formal thing. Next I gave him my card. The ritual required us both to look at each other's cards, and to make some minor comment, or to ask a question like "Is this your office telephone number?"
Ishiguro took my card with one hand and said, "Is this your home phone, Detective?" I was surprised. He spoke the kind of unaccented English you can only learn by living here for a long time, starting when you're young. He must have gone to school here. One of the thousands of Japanese who studied in America in the seventies. When they were sending 150,000 students a year to America, to learn about our country. And we were sending 200 American students a year to Japan.
"That's my number at the bottom, yes," I said.
Ishiguro slipped my card into his shirt pocket. I started to make a polite comment about his card, but he interrupted me. "Look, Detective. I think we can dispense with the formalities. The only reason there's a problem here tonight is that your colleague is unreasonable."
"My colleague?"
Ishiguro gave a head jerk. "The fat one there. Graham. His demands are unreasonable, and we strongly object to his intention to carry out an investigation tonight."
I said, "Why is that, Mr. Ishiguro?"
"You have no probable cause to conduct one."
"Why do you say that?"
Ishiguro snorted. "I would think it's obvious, even to you."
I stayed cool. Five years as a detective, and then a year in the press section had taught me to stay cool.
I said, "No, sir, I'm afraid it's not obvious."
He looked at me disdainfully. "The fact is, Lieutenant, you have no reason to connect this girl's death to the party we're holding downstairs."
"It looks like she's wearing a party dress– '
He interrupted me rudely. "My guess is you'll probably discover that she has died of an accidental drug overdose. And therefore her death has nothing to do with our party. Wouldn't you agree?"
I took a deep breath. "No, sir, I wouldn't agree. Not without an investigation." I took another breath. "Mr. Ishiguro, I appreciate your concerns, but– "
"I wonder if you do," Ishiguro said, interrupting me again. "I insist that you appreciate the position of the Nakamoto company tonight. This is a very significant evening for us, a very publicevening. We are naturally distressed by the prospect that our function might be marred by unfounded allegations of a woman's death, especially this, a woman of no importance . . ."
"A woman of no importance?"
Ishiguro made a dismissing wave. He seemed to be tired of talking to me. "It's obvious, just look at her. She's no better than a common prostitute. I can't imagine how she came to be in this building at all. And for this reason, I strongly protest the intention of Detective Graham to interrogate the guests at the reception downstairs. That's entirely unreasonable. We have many senators, congressmen, and officials of Los Angeles among our guests. Surely you agree that such prominent people will find it awkward—"
I said, "Just a minute. Detective Graham told you he was going to interrogate everybody at the reception?"
"That is what he said to me. Yes."
Now, at last, I began to understand why I'd been called. Graham didn't like the Japanese and he had threatened to spoil their evening. Of course it was never going to happen. There was no way Graham was going to interrogate United States senators, let alone the district attorney or the mayor. Not if he expected to come to work tomorrow. But the Japanese annoyed him, and Graham had decided to annoy them back.
I said to Ishiguro, "We can set up a registration desk downstairs, and your guests can sign out as they leave."
"I am afraid that will be difficult," Ishiguro began, "because surely you will admit– "
"Mr. Ishiguro, that's what we're going to do."
"But what you ask is extremely difficult– "
"Mr. Ishiguro."
"You see, for us this is going to cause– "
"Mr. Ishiguro, I'm sorry. I've just told you what police procedure is going to be."
He stiffened. There was a pause. He wiped some sweat from his upper lip and said, "I am disappointed, Lieutenant, not to have greater cooperation from you."
"Cooperation?" That was when I started to get pissed off. "Mr. Ishiguro, you've got a dead woman in there, and it is our job to investigate what happened to– "
"But you must acknowledge our special circumstances– "
Then I heard Graham say, "Aw, Christ, what is this?"
Looking over my shoulder, I saw a short, bookish Japanese man twenty meters beyond the yellow tape. He was taking pictures of the crime scene. The camera he held was so small it was nearly concealed in the palm of his hand. But he wasn't concealing the fact that he had crossed the tape barrier to take his pictures. As I watched, he moved slowly back toward us, raising his hands for a moment to snap a picture, then blinking behind his wire-frame spectacles as he selected his next shot. He was deliberate in his movements.
Graham went up to the tape and said, "For Christ's sake, get out of there. This is a crime scene. You can't take pictures in there." The man didn't respond. He kept moving backward. Graham turned away. "Who is this guy?"
Ishiguro said, "This is our employee, Mr. Tanaka. He works for Nakamoto Security."
I couldn't believe what I was seeing. The Japanese had their own employee wandering around inside the yellow tapes, contaminating the crime scene. It was outrageous. "Get him out of there," I said.