Theresa said, "This man was taking pictures?"
"I doubt that he was actually taking pictures," Connor said. "Perhaps he was, because he was using one of those little Canons– "
"The ones that shoot video stills, instead of film?"
"Right. Would there be any use for those, in retouching?"
"There might be," she said. "The images might be used for texture mapping. They'd go in fast, because they were already digitized."
Connor nodded. "Then perhaps he was taking pictures, after all. But it was clear to me that his picture-taking was just an excuse to allow him to walk on the other side of the yellow line."
"Ah," Theresa said, nodding.
I said, "How do you know that?"
"Think back," Connor said.
I had been standing facing Ishiguro when Graham yelled: Aw, Christ, what is this? And I looked back over my shoulder and saw a short Japanese man about ten meters beyond the yellow tape. The man's back was turned to me. He was taking pictures of the crime scene. The camera was very small. It fitted into the palm of his hand.
"Do you remember how he moved?" Connor said. "He moved in a distinctive way."
I tried to recall it. I couldn't.
Graham had gone forward to the tape, saying: For Christ's sake, you can't be in there. This is a goddamned crime scene. You can't take pictures! And there was a general uproar. Graham was yelling at Tanaka, but he continued to be entirely focused on his work, shooting the camera and backing toward us. Despite all the yelling, Tanaka didn't do what a normal person would do – turn around and walk toward the tape. Instead, he backed up to the yellow stripe and, still turned away, ducked his head and went under it.
I said, "He never turned around. He backed up all the way."
"Correct. That is the first mystery. Why would he back up? Now, I think, we know."
"We do?"
Theresa said, "He was repeating the walk of the girl and the killer in reverse, so it would be laid down on videotape and he would have a good record of where the shadows in the room were."
"That's right," Connor said.
I remembered that when I protested, Ishiguro had said to me: This is our employee. He works for Nakamoto Security.
And I had said: This is outrageous. He can't take pictures.
And Ishiguro had explained: But this is for our corporate use.
And meanwhile the man had disappeared in the crowd, slipping through the knot of men at the elevator.
But this is for our corporate use.
"Damn it!" I said. "So Tanaka left us, went downstairs, and removed a single tape, because that tape had a record of his own walk across the room, and the shadows he cast?"
"Correct."
"And he needed that tape to make changes in the original tapes?"
"Correct."
I was finally beginning to understand. "But now, even if we can figure out how the tapes were altered, they won't stand up in a court of law, is that right?"
"That's right," Theresa said. "Any good lawyer will make sure they're inadmissible."
"So the only way to go forward is to get a witness who can testify to what was done. Sakamura might know, but he's dead. So we're stuck unless we can somehow get our hands on Mr. Tanaka. I think we better get him in custody right away."
"I doubt that will ever happen," Connor said.
"Why not? You think they'll keep him from us?"
"No, I don't think they have to. It is very likely that Mr. Tanaka is already dead."
Connor immediately turned to Theresa. "Are you good at your job?"
"Yes," she said.
"Very good?"
"I think so."
"We have little time left. Work with Peter. See what you can extract from the tape. Gambatte: try very hard. Trust me that your efforts will be rewarded. In the meantime, I have some calls to make."
I said, "You're leaving?"
"Yes. I'll need the car."
I gave him the keys. "Where are you going?"
"I'm not your wife."
"I'm just asking," I said.
"Don't worry about it. I need to see some people." He turned to go.
"But why do you say Tanaka is dead?"
"Well, perhaps he's not. We'll discuss it when there is more time. Right now, we have a lot to finish before four o'clock. That is our true deadline. I think you have surprises in store for you, kohai. Just call it my chokkan, my intuition. Okay? You have trouble, or something unexpected, call me on the car phone. Good luck. Now work with this lovely lady. Urayamashii ne!"
And he left. We heard the rear door close.
I said to Theresa, "What did he say?"
"He said he envies you." She smiled in the darkness. "Let's begin."
She pressed buttons on the equipment in rapid succession. The tape rolled back to the beginning of the sequence.
I said, "How are we going to do this?"
"There are three basic approaches to learn how video has been doctored. The first is blur and color edges. The second is shadow lines. We can try to work with those elements, but I've been doing that for the last two hours, and I haven't gotten very far."
"And the third method?"
"Reflected elements. I haven't looked at them yet."
I shook my head.
"Basically, reflected elements – REs – are portions of the scene that are reflected within the image itself. Like when Sakamura walks out of the room, and his face is reflected in the mirror. There are almost certainly other reflections in that room. A desk lamp may be chrome, and it may show the people, distorted, as they pass. The walls of the conference room are glass. We may be able to pull a reflection off the glass. A silver paperweight on a desk, with a reflection in it. A glass vase of flowers. A plastic container. Anything shiny enough to make a reflection."
I watched her reset the tapes, and prepare to run forward. Her one good hand moved quickly from one machine to the next as she talked. It was odd to stand next to a woman so beautiful, who was so unselfconscious of her beauty.
"In most images, there is something reflective," Theresa said. "Outside, there are car bumpers, wet streets, glass windowpanes. And inside a room there are picture frames, mirrors, silver candlesticks, chrome table-legs . . . . There's always something."
"But won't they fix the reflections, too?"
"If they have time, yes. Because now there are computer programs to map an image onto any shape. You can map a picture onto a complicated, twisted surface. But it takes time. So. Let's hope they had no time."
She started the tapes forward. The first portion was dark, as Cheryl Austin first appeared by the elevators. I looked at Theresa. I said, "How do you feel about this?"
"What do you mean?"
"Helping us. The police."
"You mean, because I am Japanese?" She glanced at me, and smiled. It was an odd, crooked smile. "I have no illusions about Japanese. Do you know where Sako is?"
"No."
"It is a city – a town, really – in the north. In Hokkaido. A provincial place. There is an American airfield there. I was born in Sako. My father was a kokujinmechanic. You know that word, kokujin? Niguro. A black man. My mother worked in a noodle shop where the air force personnel went. They married, but my father died in an accident when I was two years old. There was a small pension for the widow. So we had some money. But my grandfather took most of it, because he insisted he had been disgraced by my birth. I was ainokoand niguro. They are not nice words, what he called me. But my mother wanted to stay there, to stay in Japan. So I grew up in Sako. In this . . . place. . ."