Police headquarters was all about action and work and, even more important, the appearance of work. He was not too sure how good it was for perspective. And right now he needed perspective. He needed a sense of detachment. His nose had been to the grindstone so long that it was being ground down. That was not quite the idea. He was after a bunch of murderers. The object was not to die of overwork, even though that was a common enough occurrence in Japan. The object was to unravel this mess and put the villains behind bars. He was doing all the right things, operating by the book, and he seemed to be getting nowhere.
He was sitting comfortably on his knees on the tatami mat floor with his breakfast, his gun, and various files spread out in some disarray in front of him. Rain beat down on the skylight.
He popped a pickle in his mouth and finished cleaning his gun as he munched. He was getting used to carrying the damn thing and he was getting quite good at shooting it. Recently, he had taken to practicing with it at least twice a week.
He was feeling a little paranoid, and had the sense that he was under surveillance from time to time. He was sure his apartment had been searched. His instincts told him that he was part of a wider agenda. He had a nasty feeling that there was a leak somewhere in police headquarters or maybe even in the prosecutor's office. He really had not a clue as to where, but things were just a little too pat.
The Namakas were an unsavory pair, but they were the last people who should have wanted to see Hodama dead; yet every time the investigation against the Namakas slowed, another morsel of proof against them turned up.
But nothing was conclusive. It was as if there really was no hard evidence, but someone was manufacturing tidbits to put the pressure on the Namakas. And they were succeeding. The Namakas were the only suspects. They were now under around-the-clock police surveillance and had been brought in for questioning by the prosecutor on half a dozen occasions. The noose around the Namakas was steadily tightening, based on purely circumstantial evidence — and the absence of any alternative — but Adachi was uncomfortable. He was a policeman. He was a judge of people. He trusted his instincts. The Namakas were guilty of most things, including murder in his opinion, but not necessarily of the killing of Hodama. Adachi's gut feeling told him that the Namakas were being framed. Of course, it really could not be happening to nicer people.
A few weeks back, he had started making a few inquiries of his own, independent of his team, and without telling anyone. He had used a couple of old classmates from the police academy who were now posted away from headquarters in prefecture stations — and had sworn them to secrecy. Information had begun to trickle in; and at the same time, he had begun to feel he was under surveillance.
There was one consistent element in the replies. Practically all the people who were contributing to the growing case against the Namakas had been found, upon detailed investigation, to have a Korean connection.
Adachi sipped his iced tea. Maybe it was just a coincidence. He cleaned up the room's clutter, showered, and got dressed. He slid his holstered revolver onto his belt and took the subway to Kabutcho, the district where the stock market was located, to meet the Eel.
* * * * *
The Eel was in a quiet corner of his favorite restaurant, a dish of his favorite food — which had given rise to his name — in front of him. Conveniently, he also owned the restaurant.
He was a round, merry-faced man in his early fifties. He had been a financial journalist for many years, but had been expelled from his press club for refusing to report a story according to the docile official line. This was a serious development, because news in Japan was disseminated only through press clubs. Members were expected to report favorably in exchange for being given information. Gaijin were not allowed to join. Press clubs were a less-than-subtle way of managing information.
The Eel had lot his job when he had been evicted from the financial press club. This could have been a disastrous situation, but he was shrewd and street smart and financially adroit. The stock market was booming. He set up a financial newspaper. He was extremely well-informed, and the venture thrived.
The rumor was that he made most of his money, not from what he published, but from businesses paying to keep stories out. Adachi did not doubt it. The Eel operated under the benevolent patronage of one of the major yakuza gangs. He owed Adachi from the time a rival organization had decided that the Eel might please them better as a publisher if he lost some weight. They had in mind the removal of his two arms and maybe a few other appendages. Adachi had stumbled on the transaction when he had dropped into the Eel's restaurant for a snack, and he had dissuaded the attackers. He had borrowed one of the assailants' swords and used it to good effect. It did not occur to him to draw his revolver.
The Eel stood up as Adachi approached, and tried to bow while greeting the policeman effusively. This was difficult given the Eel's bulk, the space between the bench he was sitting on and the table, and the fact that the lighting fixture over the table hung rather low. He was also eating. It was nearly total mayhem.
Adachi sat down and got comfortable with a beer with some relief. He liked the Eel. The man was intelligent and good company, and frankly Adachi preferred villains with something to say. Dumb thugs were all too common and made for a long working day.
"Adachi-san," said the Eel. His read name was Origa. It was not good protocol to call him ‘the Eel’ to his face, though he was quite proud of the name. Eels were associated with force and power and energy, and there were aphrodisiac and indeed financial implications. When business was brisk in the stock market, dealers rushed out to fortify themselves with eels. "Adachi-san, is it fair to say that you are not a financial sophisticate?"
Adachi smiled. "Probably," he said. "Origa-san, you've tried to interest me in your financial scams for years. I have not yet bitten. That should tell you something. I have little interest in the market."
The Eel sucked his teeth. "The Namakas, Superintendent-san?" he said. "I had better give you some background." His tone was rhetorical.
Adachi nodded encouragingly.
"Adachi-san," said the Eel, "the Tokyo stock market is not as others. On the face of it there are nearly twenty-three million shareholders, shareholder democracy personified. Closer examination reveals that corporations are over seventy-three percent of the shares and that a mere six large keiretsu — corporate holding groups — own a quarter of the market. Individuals hold about twenty-two percent."
"I'm not sure I understand the significance of this," said Adachi.
"The Tokyo stock market is purported to be a free and open market," said the Eel. "It is not. Most shares — over three-quarters — are never traded. They are held by corporations and banks on a mutually supporting basis. The equity that is traded is widely manipulated. The trade is dominated by only a handful of dealers. Prices are fixed. The insider gets the nod, then come the corporates. Finally comes the individual, the shareholder who will pay the eventual price. Privileged insiders cannot lose. They are guaranteed against loss by the dealer. Certain politicians, in exchange for favors, are privileged insiders. Hodama-san was certainly such a man."