The prosecutor snorted. Thirty million yen — roughly three million dollars — was chicken feed for Hodama. As for the shopping bags, Japan was a gift-giving country and Mitsukoshi department stores were favorite places to buy gifts. Their elegant wrapping and ornate shopping bags were part of the symbolism. Shopping bags were also the containers of choice for carrying the large bundles of yen notes that were the preferred currency of Japanese politicians. He had heard that American politicians preferred briefcases.
"Do you have any leads so far?" he said.
Adachi took his time answering. He felt extremely tired, but the thought of a nice long soak in a hot tub was not as appealing as usual.
"The scene-of-crime people are still rushing round with vacuum cleaners and the like," he said, "but it does not look encouraging. We found a couple of empty shell casings and a neighbor reported seeing two black limousines arrive around seven in the morning. And that is mostly it."
"Mostly?" said the prosecutor.
Adachi removed an evidence bag and placed it on the table. The prosecutor picked it up and examined it carefully. The he took a file out of his desk and opened it. He removed a photograph from the file and compared it to the object. There was no doubt. The symbol was the same. The object was a shasho — a lapel pin — of the kind worn by tens of millions of Japanese to identify their particular corporate or social affiliation.
The symbol on that particular pin was that of the Namaka Corporation.
"Namaka?" he said, puzzled. "Where did you find it?"
"In the copper bath, jammed down by the wooden seat under Hodama's body," said Adachi. "Very convenient."
The prosecutor nodded and sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. His arms were folded in front of him. He said nothing for several minutes. Adachi was used to this, and quite relaxed about waiting.
The telephone rang. The prosecutor took the call facing half away from Adachi, so the policeman could not hear much of what was being said. It did not seem to be a deliberate gesture, and after he put the phone down the prosecutor went back to his eyes-closed position. Eventually he opened them and spoke.
"This investigation will be difficult, Adachi-san," he said. "Difficult, complex, and quite probably dangerous. There is scarcely a politician or an organized-crime leader who had not had something to do with Hodama over the years. Whatever we find, powerful interests and forces will be displeased."
He smiled with some affection, and then his expression turned serious. "You will always have my support. But you must be careful who you trust. You must take the fullest security precautions. At all times, you — and your team — will be armed."
Adachi's eyes widened. Although the uniforms were armed, he rarely carried a gun. It just was not necessary except in certain specific circumstances, and it was difficult to get his suit jacket to hang right with a lump of metal strapped to his belt. He said the Japanese equivalent of "Holy shit!"
"One extra thing," said the prosecutor. He pressed a button on his desk twice, and a buzzer rang in his assistant's office. "Koancho will be involved."
Adachi heard the door open, and he could smell her perfume before he saw her. Koancho's brief was internal security and counterterrorism. It was a mysterious and sometimes feared organization and officially reported directly to the Prime Minister's office, though there were links with Justice. It did what was necessary to preserve the constitution. Whatever that meant. It was not an organization that pissed around. It was small. It was effective.
"Involved how?" said Adachi.
"A watching brief," said Chifune.
"Quite so," said the prosecutor.
ChifuneTanabu bowed formally at Adachi, who had risen from his chair. He returned her bow.
"I think you two know each other," said the prosecutor, "and, I hope, trust each other. I asked specially for Tanabu-san."
I know your lips and your tongue and your loins and every inch of your exquisite body, thought Adachi, but trust? Here we are in uncharted waters. "I am honored, sensei," he said to the prosecutor, but including Chifune in the remark. He bowed again toward her. "It will be a pleasure," he added, somewhat stiffly. He felt decidedly disconcerted.
Chifune said nothing. She did not really have to. She just looked at him in that peculiar way of hers and smiled faintly.
* * * * *
Adachi's apartment was not a ninety-minute commute away in some godforsaken suburb. It was a comfortable two-bedroom, one-living-room affair of reasonable size on the top floor of a building in the Jinbocho district conveniently close to police headquarters. The area specialized in bookshops and, for some obscure reason, cutlery shops selling an intimidating array of very sharp instruments.
Just up the road was Akihabara, where anything and everything electronic could be purchased. Turn in the other direction and there were the moat and grounds of the ImperialPalace and, nearby, the Yasukuni Shrine, the memorial to the war dead.
The area had character and amenities, and it was on a subway route. It was a nice place to live. Occasionally, Adachi jogged up the road and rented a rowing boat and paddled around the moat of the ImperialPalace. Other times, he took his ladder and went up through the roof-light onto the flat roof with a bottle of sake and sunbathed. There was a low parapet around the edge of the roof, so he had a modicum of privacy.
He also used to make love on the roof from time to time, but the advent of the police airship rather took the fun out of that. It tended to hand around central Tokyo quite a lot, and he had been up in it and knew what you could see from a thousand feet with good surveillance equipment.
Like most Japanese homes, Adachi's was decorated in a mixture of Japanese and Western styles but all blended in a distinctively Japanese way. Western furniture, where used, was modified for the shorter and slighter average Japanese physique. In Adachi's case, since he was tall, it was a modification he could have done without.
Adachi had been reared to sit upright on the floor when required like any civilized human being, and could maintain that position for hours without any discomfort. But his present posture was less traditional. He was sprawled out on the tatami mat floor of his living room with his head on a pillow. The room was in semidarkness, lit only by two candles.
Facing him, slightly to one side, was Chifune, also on the floor but sitting in a manner considered more appropriate for her sex. Her legs were tucked under her and she was resting back on them, her hands in her lap. She looked submissive and demure, every Japanese man's dream, which only goes to show, thought Adachi, that what you see is rarely what you get.
She was wearing a short Western skirt of some soft beige material, and in that position it was well above her knees. She had removed the matching jacket. Her blouse was cream-colored and sleeveless.
She was truly delectable. The Beretta automatic pistol she carried in a holster tucked inside the waistband of her skirt in the small of her back had been removed and place in her purse. She also carried a silencer, Adachi knew, and two spare magazines of hollow-points. The weapon was more than a precaution. It was meant to be used. Still, she did not look in a shooting mood at the moment.