They drove as fast as they could through the night and the rain: Harry Sweeney in the back beside Bill Betz, Toda up front with Ichirō at the wheel, north through Ueno and up Avenue Q, then east at Minowa and across the river, the Sumida River.
Harry Sweeney looked at his watch again, its face cracked and hands stopped: What time is it now?
Just gone four, said Toda.
Harry Sweeney turned back to the side window, to the night and the rain, the city and its streets, deserted and silent, buildings ebbing as fields emerged, heading north again now, to the edge of the city, as fast as they could.
It’s here, said Toda, as Ichirō pulled in and parked up behind Ayase station. There were cars on either side of them, standing black and empty under buckets of water.
Fuck, said Betz. Look at the rain.
Toda, Betz, and Harry Sweeney got out of their car into the night and the rain, the end of the night and the sheets of rain. Jesus wept, said Betz. And not an umbrella between us.
They turned up the collars of their jackets, they pulled down the brims of their hats, and again Betz said, Fuck.
That way, said Toda, pointing west.
How far that way, said Betz.
I don’t know, said Toda.
We’ll find out soon enough, said Harry Sweeney. Come on. We’re wasting time.
They walked away from the station. Beside the tracks, following the tracks. They crossed a footbridge over a narrow river. Beside the tracks, following the tracks. The tall, dark walls of Kosuge Prison rising up to their left, the wide, dark void of open fields gaping to their right. Beside the tracks, following the tracks. In the hard rain, amid the heavy sheets. They were drenched in their clothes, they were soaked to their skins. Into their blood, into their bones. The rain falling, the rain wounding. Betz said, How much goddamn further?
There, said Toda. That must be the place.
They saw lanterns up ahead, they saw men up ahead. Before a bridge, below an embankment. In their oilskins and in their raincoats. In their rubber boots, up and down the tracks, in their rubber boots, back and forth across the tracks. In the sheets of rain, by the light of their lanterns. They were picking up pieces of clothing, they were throwing down pieces of flesh. Up and down, back and forth, this way and that, all over the place, clothing and flesh, strewn about and ripped apart –
Jesus, said Betz. Will you look at that –
A severed arm between the outbound tracks.
Jesus, said Betz again. Poor bastard.
In the night and in the rain, Harry Sweeney said nothing. Harry Sweeney stood there, wishing the night would end and the rain would stop, staring up and down the tracks, trying to see as much as he could see, desperate to remember as much as he could remember. In the night and in the rain, Harry Sweeney took out his notebook and his pencil, and in the night and in the rain, Harry Sweeney began walking along the tracks, pacing out the distances, sketching the scene and jotting down details: the tracks passed under a bridge carrying another railroad; three yards from the bridge, there was a large amount of oil on the sleepers and the ballast; six and a half yards from the bridge, a right ankle in a torn sock lay on the ballast; twelve yards from the bridge, between the tracks, was the garter of a sock; approximately fourteen yards from the bridge, in the grass beside the outbound track, was a crushed right shoe; eighteen and a half yards from the bridge, the left shoe lay between the outbound tracks; twenty-six yards from the bridge, between the outbound tracks, Toda identified a strip of material as being a fundoshi, or loincloth, traditional Japanese underwear; thirty yards from the bridge was a white shirt, its back torn; forty-seven yards from the bridge, the left ankle again still in its sock lay on the ballast between the tracks; fifty yards from the bridge, between the tracks, was the jacket of a suit, its back torn in a way similar to the tear in the white shirt; fifty-nine yards from the bridge, on the ballast between the outbound and inbound tracks, was the face of a man, severed from the top of the head down to the chin, one eye still attached, staring up, up into the night and the rain –
Fuck, said Betz.
Toda nodded: Things a train does to a man.
Harry Sweeney said nothing, still walking, still writing: there was brain matter, too, beside the face; intestines scattered between the tracks for the next ten yards or so; seventy-five yards from the bridge, the right arm and part of the shoulder lay on the ballast between the outbound tracks; finally, ninety yards from the bridge, on the ballast between the outbound tracks, there was the torso, stripped and twisted, its back and its knees both contorted against the ballast, almost severed at the waist, the flesh open and the bones crushed –
Fuck, said Betz again. What a way to go. Jesus.
Harry Sweeney said nothing, watching a faint light now spreading from the east, watching it pick out the white pieces of wet skin and the gray chunks of damp flesh all scattered and strewn back down the tracks. In the grayer light and in the quieter rain, Harry Sweeney turned away from the skin and from the flesh, from the tracks and from the ballast. More men arriving, some men leaving, coming and going, up and down, back and forth, across the tracks and over the scene. He watched the Metropolitan Police investigators now taking charge of the scene, the public prosecutors and medical examiners now arriving, and asked Toda to find out their names and ranks, their positions and functions, what they had heard and what they had seen. And then Harry Sweeney stood in the dawn and in the drizzle, soaked through to his own skin and bone, and he looked to the east, and then turned to the south, to the west, and to the north, looking at a crossing and the station up the line, a building and the prison beside the tracks, the bridge and the embankment down the line, and the fields, the low, flat fields which stretched to the north, Harry Sweeney looking and turning, again and again, turning and looking at this silent, empty, and godforsaken landscape of a death –
What are you thinking, Harry, asked Betz.
Why here, Bill? Why here?
They were walking back down the tracks, back toward Ayase station, back toward the car, Toda reading from his notes, telling them what he’d learned at the scene, saying, I’ll spare you the names for now, but the driver of the last freight train from Ueno to Matsudo stopped at Ayase station to report that he thought he’d glimpsed some scarlet objects scattered across the tracks where they run parallel to the prison. Apparently, the place is known as Demon’s Crossing or Cursed Crossing –
You don’t fucking say, laughed Betz.
Yeah, said Toda. It’s notorious for accidents and suicides, so the locals keep away. Especially when it rains. That’s when the ghosts of the wronged gather by the bridge or the crossing. They reckon you can hear them all weeping.
When was the last one, asked Harry Sweeney.
The last what?
Suicide.
They didn’t say, and I didn’t ask. Sorry, Harry.
We can find out. Go on.
So the driver stops at Ayase to say he thinks he’s seen a “tuna,” that’s their slang for a corpse on the line. This is at approximately half past midnight. So the assistant stationmaster sends the ticket inspector and another member of staff down the line to the Cursed Crossing to investigate. They only had a hand lantern between them but they could see a body on the tracks, so they go straight to the police box by the prison to telephone the assistant stationmaster and report what they’ve seen. The assistant stationmaster then forwards the report up the chain of command to the chief of the maintenance team for the Kita-Senju area. I need to confirm this, but I think they were at Gotanno, on the Tōbu line, that’s the next station on the line which runs over that bridge. Anyway, the chief and one of his men set off down the Tōbu line, eventually coming down the embankment beside the bridge, arriving at the scene at half past one. It’s already raining by then, but they find the badly mutilated, partially severed body of a well-built man. They search through what they describe as the shredded, oil-stained clothing strewn about the scene, looking for a means of identification, and find name cards and travel passes in the name of Sadanori Shimoyama, President of the National Railroads. They immediately head for the nearest police box – which is Gotanno Minami-machi – and report what they’ve found to an officer named Nakayama. It’s now two fifteen. Nakayama immediately notifies the Nishi-Arai police station and then heads to the scene himself, which is where I found him; Nakayama’s the officer I spoke to who told me all this. When he got there – which was about two forty, he reckons – there were some other men there, men from Ayase station and the maintenance division. The stationmaster also arrived while Nakayama was there, and they all began to search for other means of identification. Found a wristwatch by the torso, a gold tooth, too. At some point, the stationmaster turned over the torso, found a wallet in one of the pockets of the pants. The rain was really coming down by now, but Nakayama said the ballast beneath the torso was dry when they turned it over.
They had reached their car. Ichirō sat waiting at the wheel; four or five more cars parked up, all empty.
I don’t know about you two, said Betz, but I want a hot bath and breakfast, and then my bed. Be lucky if we aren’t off sick for a week, way that fucking rain came down.
Harry Sweeney looked at the empty cars, looked at the station building, and said, You wait in the car, Bill. I’ll be back as quick as I can, okay? You come with me, Susumu.
Better be quick, Harry, I swear. I’m shivering.
Be as quick as we can, said Harry Sweeney again, lighting a cigarette, walking off toward the station buildings, asking Toda, These cars? They belong to the Railroad, yeah?
Toda glanced back and nodded: Yeah. Most of them.
Harry Sweeney smiled: Let’s save some legwork –
Inside the stationmaster’s office at Ayase station, three men from the Head Office of the National Railways were gathered around a small hibachi. Pale and wet, silent and mourning, they were drying their suits, drying their skins. Harry Sweeney took out his PSD badge and said, I believe one of you gentlemen identified President Shimoyama?
Yes, said one of the men. I did.
And your name is …?
Masao Orii.
Harry Sweeney said, Mister Orii, I want you to tell me exactly how you came to be here. Tell me who called you and when. And then everything you saw when you arrived here, and all that has happened since then. Everything, please.
Well, began Mister Orii, I received a phone call at the President’s house at three –
I am sorry to interrupt you, Mister Orii. I should have been more specific. I want you to go back through the whole day for me, tell me everything you can.
Well then, began Mister Orii again, I first heard the President was missing at around eleven o’clock this morning. Sorry, yesterday morning. Mister Aihara called me to say that the President had not yet shown up for work, for the daily morning meeting. But to be honest, at the time I did not pay particular attention to what he was saying, or take it very seriously. I thought it was ridiculous and forgot about it.
And why was that, Mister Orii?
Well, because I was so busy. It is my responsibility to arrange the extra trains for the repatriates who have been returning. There has been a lot of trouble, a lot of confusion at various stations. At Shinagawa, Tokyo, and Ueno. And I had men from the Ministry of Transport calling me, the police, and so on. Many people to deal with, a lot of calls, a lot of visitors. But around one o’clock, Mister Ōtsuka, the personal secretary to the President, he called me. He said that the President had still not shown up and could I think of anyone or anywhere the President might visit. I just told him what he had already heard from everyone else, what he already knew. But that was when I began to be worried, began to think something might have really happened to President Shimoyama.
Like what, Mister Orii?
Like he might have been kidnapped or something.
By whom?
Well, by people opposed to the cuts, the dismissals. I know there have been a lot of threats. Letters and calls. And then there are the posters.
Any specific individual or group?
No, no names. Nothing like that. I wasn’t thinking like that; I was just thinking, I hope nothing like that has happened to the President.
So after this call at one, then what did you do?
I had to stay in the office. As I say, I still had to deal with all the matters to do with the repatriates and their trains. And so I couldn’t leave. But I was worried, and I was also aware that there had been an announcement on the radio, and the newspapers had printed extra editions.
So what time did you leave the office, Mister Orii?
It was after midnight. I couldn’t tell you exactly when, I’m sorry. But after midnight, when things had calmed down. I went to the President’s house in Kami-ikegami. It was about one when I arrived. There were about twelve cars parked outside the house. All from the newspapers. I went into the house. The reporters were inside the house, in the drawing room. About fifteen or sixteen of them. I went upstairs, into the living room. Missus Shimoyama and all four of their sons were there, and the President’s younger brother. They were just sitting there, very worried, in silence. After a few minutes, Missus Shimoyama said she would like the reporters downstairs to leave. She said they had been there such a long time, and she had not even offered them any tea or anything. And she was sorry. So I went back downstairs and told them to leave. I said if we had any information, we would let them know. They all left, and I went back upstairs. Everyone was just waiting. No one talking, no one speaking. Just waiting. Then about ten past three, the telephone beside me rang. It was the Railroad Telephone. Our special phone. I picked it up immediately. It was Mister Okuda. He said a body had been found on the Jōban line, on the railroad tracks between Kita-Senju and Ayase stations, along with the President’s pass …
In the warm and damp, close and suffocating air of the stationmaster’s office, Masao Orii stopped speaking, rubbing his eyes and his face, struggling –
Did you inform the family, asked Harry Sweeney.
Masao Orii shook his head: I couldn’t, no. I didn’t want to believe it could be true, that it could be the President. I just said something like I needed to return to Headquarters, asked Mister Ōtsuka to step outside. I told him what I’d just heard, asked him not to say anything but just to wait with Missus Shimoyama and the children. But he wanted to come, too, and so we had no choice but to speak with the President’s brother. We told him what had been found, but that nothing could be confirmed until we went to the scene ourselves. He agreed nothing should be said to Missus Shimoyama, not at that stage, and then myself, Mister Ōtsuka, and Mister Doi left.
And you drove here directly?
Yes, said Mister Orii. Well, one of our chauffeurs, Mister Sahota, he drove us.
What time did you get here?
Just after four, said Mister Orii. Soon as we got here, we were taken to the scene. We were shown the President’s passes, his watch, his wallet. And then we were shown his body. What’s left of it. And I confirmed it was the President.
In the close and suffocating air of the stationmaster’s office, Harry Sweeney asked, And you are certain?
Yes.
Have the family been informed?
Yes, said Mister Orii again. Myself and Mister Doi came back here to call Headquarters and then the President’s brother. Mister Ōtsuka is still at the scene, with the body.
May I ask what you think?
What I think?
You went to the scene, you identified the body, said Harry Sweeney. And you knew the man, you knew the President. I’d like to know what you think happened here.
Masao Orii looked up at Harry Sweeney and shook his head: I don’t know what happened here. But I wish it hadn’t happened. A good man, a devoted husband and father, is dead. I know that. And I know this changes everything.
They drove back through the morning, through its gray light and heavy air. Back across the river, back into the city. Bill Betz asleep in the back, Harry Sweeney staring out of the side window. The city drenched and dark, its buildings damp and dripping, Avenue Q turning to Ginza Street again, Ginza Street taking them past the Mitsukoshi department store again.
Harry Sweeney looked at his watch again, its face still cracked and hands still stopped. He took out his notebook, he turned its pages. He stopped turning the pages, he started reading his notes. Then he leaned forward to the front and said, Stop at the Chiyoda Bank, please.
Harry, pleaded Toda. The Chief’s waiting …
It’ll take five minutes, said Harry Sweeney. We’re almost there, right, Ichirō?
Ichirō nodded and turned onto Avenue Y. They passed under some tracks and came to the corner with 4th Street. Ichirō pulled up and parked outside the Chiyoda Bank.
Harry Sweeney did not wake Bill Betz. He got out of the car with Susumu Toda. They closed the car doors quietly and walked into the bank. The bank just opening, their day just beginning. Harry Sweeney and Susumu Toda showed their PSD badges to a member of staff. Harry Sweeney and Susumu Toda asked to see the manager. The member of staff took them to see the manager. She spoke to his secretary, she knocked on his door. She introduced them to the manager –
The manager was already getting up from behind his desk, the manager already looking concerned, nervously asking, What is it I can do for you, gentlemen?
We’re here about President Shimoyama of the National Railroads, sir, said Harry Sweeney.
The manager looked at Harry Sweeney, his clothes stained with rain, his shoes covered with mud, and the manager said, I heard on the radio that his body was found on the Jōban line?
Unfortunately, that is true, said Harry Sweeney. We understand from his driver that President Shimoyama called here yesterday morning. Is this information correct, sir?
The manager nodded: Yes. After the announcement on the news yesterday, the announcement that President Shimoyama was missing, Mister Kashiwa, who is in charge of our safety-deposit section, came to see me. He told me that the President had stopped by yesterday, just after we had opened.
And so yesterday morning, did Mister Kashiwa deal with the President personally?
The manager nodded again: I believe so, yes.
Is Mister Kashiwa at work today?
Yes, he is.
Please can you take us to him then, sir, said Harry Sweeney. Thank you.
Of course, said the manager. And he led them out of his office, and he took them down a corridor. He opened a door, he showed them in. Another man already getting up from behind his desk, another man already looking concerned, the manager telling him, Mister Kashiwa, these gentlemen are from GHQ, investigators from the Public Safety Division. These gentlemen are here about President Shimoyama. These gentlemen wish to speak with you about the President.
Is it true the President is dead, asked Mister Kashiwa. I heard it on the radio. They found his body on the Jōban line.
Unfortunately, it’s true, said Harry Sweeney again. We are trying to account for the President’s movements yesterday. We understand that he visited your bank early in the morning and that you dealt with him personally?
Yes, said Mister Kashiwa.
Did you notify the Metropolitan Police?
Er, no, said Mister Kashiwa, looking at the manager, his superior. After I heard that the President was missing, I spoke with the manager. I told him that President Shimoyama had visited the branch yesterday morning, and we discussed what we should do –
Yes, interrupted the manager. That’s correct. We discussed what to do, yes.
And so what did you do, asked Harry Sweeney.
Well, er, stammered the manager. We decided we should inform the Railroad Headquarters. So I telephoned them and I told them that President Shimoyama had visited our branch that morning. Just after we had opened.
And with whom did you speak?
The President’s secretary, I believe.
And what did he say?
He thanked me and said he would notify the police.
Harry Sweeney nodded: I see. And so did the police contact you? Did they visit you?
The Japanese police, asked the manager. No. Not yet. But I presumed that’s why you are here. Because we called.
Harry Sweeney nodded again. He turned to Mister Kashiwa again. He asked, What time exactly did President Shimoyama visit here yesterday?
Er, about five or ten past nine, I think. Yes.
And what was the reason for his visit?
The President asked for the key to his safety-deposit box. I gave him his key. He went down to the basement, to the safety-deposit boxes. And then he returned the key and left.
And what time was that?
Mister Kashiwa walked over to a cabinet. He opened a drawer. He took out a file. He looked down at the file and said, Nine twenty-five. We keep a record, a log.
So President Shimoyama was in the basement for approximately fifteen to twenty minutes then, asked Harry Sweeney. With his safety-deposit box?
Yes, sir, said Mister Kashiwa.
Was any member of your staff present?
No, sir.
Any other customers there at that time?
No, sir. Only one person can go down at a time.
So he was alone in the basement?
Yes, sir.
And that’s the policy of the bank?
Yes, said both Mister Kashiwa and the manager.
Harry Sweeney nodded, then asked, And so how long has President Shimoyama had a safety-deposit box with you?
Actually, not very long, said Mister Kashiwa, looking down at the file in his hands again. Yes. He’s only had it since the first of June this year. So just over a month.
And how often did he visit here?
Quite frequently, said Mister Kashiwa. At least once a week. According to this record, President Shimoyama was here the day before yesterday, for example.
At what time was that?
Er, two forty on the afternoon of the fourth.
And the last visit before then?
The thirtieth of last month.
Thank you, said Harry Sweeney. Now we’re going to need to see the safety-deposit box. The contents of the box.
Mister Kashiwa looked at the manager, the manager looking at Mister Kashiwa, Mister Kashiwa saying, But …
We cannot open the box without the permission of the safety-deposit-box holder, said the manager. Or we would need the authorization of a family member …
President Shimoyama is dead, said Harry Sweeney. GHQ are investigating the circumstances of his death. That’s all the authorization we or you need.
Both men nodded. Their faces drained, their faces pale, the manager whispering, I’m sorry. Of course, right away.
Harry Sweeney and Susumu Toda followed the manager and Mister Kashiwa out of the office. Down the corridor, down the stairs. To the basement, to the room. This narrow room of boxes, these high walls of boxes, each box numbered, each box locked. Where Mister Kashiwa turned one key, where Mister Kashiwa removed one box: box number 1261. Then Mister Kashiwa carried box 1261 to the private tables at the end of the room, placed box 1261 down upon one of the tables, put another key in the lock of box 1261, and then Mister Kashiwa stepped away from box 1261.
Harry Sweeney and Susumu Toda stood before the box, the key hanging, waiting in its lock. Harry Sweeney glanced at Susumu Toda, Susumu Toda staring down at the lid. Harry Sweeney turned the key in the lock, then Harry Sweeney lifted the lid of the box. He reached into box 1261 and took out a narrow package wrapped in newspaper. He unfolded the newspaper. Three bundles of one-hundred-yen notes lay on top of the paper in his hand. He counted out the notes. There were thirty one-hundred-yen notes. He placed the newspaper and the notes on the table beside the box. He reached into box 1261 again. He took out some share certificates. He placed them on the table beside the box. He reached into box 1261 again. He took out the registration for a house. He checked the address. The registration was for the family house in Ōta Ward. He placed it on the table beside the box. He reached into box 1261 again. He took out five one-dollar notes. He placed them on the table beside the box. He reached into box 1261 again. He took out a rolled-up scroll. He untied and unrolled the scroll. It was a woodblock print of a man and a woman engaged in a sexual act. He rolled and tied up the scroll again. He placed it on the table beside the box. He stared down at the box on the table. Box 1261 empty now. Harry Sweeney turned to Susumu Toda, Susumu Toda writing in his notebook. He asked, Are we done?
Yes, said Toda. I got everything, Harry.
Harry Sweeney turned back to the table. He picked up the scroll and put it back in the box. He picked up the dollar bills and put them back in the box. He picked up the registration for the house and put it back in the box. He picked up the share certificates and put them back in the box. He picked up the newspaper and the bundles of one-hundred-yen notes. He checked the date on the newspaper: June 1, 1949. He folded the newspaper around the money and put it back in the box. He closed the lid of the box, he turned the key in the lock. He stepped away from the box, he stepped back from the table –
Thank you for your cooperation, gentlemen, said Harry Sweeney, turning to the manager and Mister Kashiwa. Now the Metropolitan Police will also ask to see the contents of this box. But please ensure a member of the Shimoyama family is present when you open the box for the police. And please do not mention our visit to either the family or the police.
Mother of God, Harry, sighed Chief Evans. This is fucked up.
Yes, Chief, said Harry Sweeney. Very.
Chief Evans rubbed his eyes, squeezed the bridge of his nose, shook his head again, then sighed again and said, So go on then, what you got, Harry?
Harry Sweeney opened his notebook and read: Shortly after oh one hundred hours, the mangled and partially dismembered body of Sadanori Shimoyama was discovered near a railway bridge on the Jōban line, close to Ayase station, north of Ueno. Employees of the National Railroad identified the body at about oh three hundred hours by means of a railway pass, a name card, and other papers on the body. The identification was confirmed by senior staff from Railroad Headquarters at approximately oh four hundred hours. The family were informed soon afterwards. Preliminary investigations indicate that the body of Shimoyama had been run over by a train, though whether that was the cause of death has yet to be determined. The body has been moved to Tokyo University for autopsy.
When can we expect the results?
Harry Sweeney closed his notebook, shrugged, and said, Sometime this afternoon, Chief. Hopefully.
Chief Evans rubbed his eyes again, squeezed the bridge of his nose again, and said, So what do you think, Harry?
Harry Sweeney shrugged again: I don’t know, Chief.
Oh, come on, Harry, said Chief Evans, banging down his hand on the top of the desk. Come on, you went out there, you saw the scene, you saw the body. Tell me what you think for Chrissake, man. What the fuck you think happened?
Harry Sweeney shook his head: Chief, sir, with all due respect, you never saw a more fucked-up or compromised crime scene. You got a real toad-strangler of a storm flooding the place, then a hundred goddamn pairs of boots tramping back and forth. Bits and pieces of the man up and down the track, his face hanging off. An arm here, a foot there. Clothes being picked up, moved here, moved there. None of it left in situ. Basic fucking procedures ignored. Last person to arrive at the scene is the goddamn medical examiner …
But you were there, Harry.
Yes, I was there.
So come on, what do you think? Was the man dead or alive when that train hit him?
Harry Sweeney shook his head again, shrugged again, and said again, I just don’t know, Chief. But if it’s not a suicide, then it’s been made to look like one. And if it was staged, they’ve made a pretty good job of it.
Jesus, said Chief Evans, getting up from behind his desk, walking over to the window. He looked up at the gray sky over the city and sighed, It’s a goddamn fuck-up, either way.
Harry Sweeney nodded: Yes, sir. Very much so, sir.
You see the papers this morning, Harry?
No, sir. Not yet.
Well, some six hundred union men occupied a railroad office in Fukushima. Dragged the officials out. Took two hundred police to sort it out. Same story in Toyama, Osaka, and Shikoku. Reports of some of these damn returnees joining them, all singing the Red Flag. So you can imagine what General Willoughby is going to say about all this.
Yes, sir.
What a fuck-up, said Chief Evans again, turning back from the window, walking back over to his desk. He sat back down, looked across his desk, and said, The General’s called a meeting for this evening at GHQ. Colonel Pullman will be there, I’ll be there, and I want you there with me, Harry. The General’s office, seven o’clock sharp. I want you to bring all we have.
So you want me to stay on this, Chief?
You’re even asking me?
I’m sorry, sir.
This is all there is now, Harry. Turns out the man jumped in front of that damn train, then we’re done. You can go back to chasing gangsters. But if Shimoyama was murdered, and we’d all better hope he was, then this is all there is.
I understand, sir.
I damn well hope you do, Harry. Because I want your full attention on this. I want every single goddamn scrap of information you can get. I don’t want to be walking into that meeting tonight with only bullshit excuses and a file full of nothing. We better fucking have something, yeah?
Yes, sir. I understand, Chief.
Then get to work …
Back in Room 432, back at his desk, Harry Sweeney went back to work. He had Susumu Toda on the telephone to Metropolitan HQ begging for scraps, anything at all. He had his own notebook open, turning the pages, back and forth, typing up bits, typing up pieces, just bits and pieces, all of it scraps, scraps of nothing, nothing at all, glancing at the telephone, waiting for it to ring, to ring with some news, with a break, with anything at all –
Listening to heels and soles up stairs and down corridors, toilets flushing and faucets running, doors opening and doors closing, cabinets and drawers, windows wide and fans turning, fountain pens scratching and typewriter keys banging, glancing at the telephone, waiting for it to ring –
Fuck this, said Harry Sweeney, putting on his jacket, picking up his hat. Susumu, you got anything?
Nothing, Harry. Body’s up at Tōdai, but the autopsy won’t start till this afternoon. They got every man they have either at Mitsukoshi or Ayase, canvassing.
Okay then, said Harry Sweeney. Get a car and bring the papers, too. No sense us just staying around here, waiting to play goddamn catch-up. Come on, let’s go –
They drove away from the NYK building. They drove down Avenue B. No Bill Betz and no Ichirō. The new kid Shin at the wheel, Susumu Toda in the back with Harry Sweeney. The two side windows in the front of the car were open, blowing warm, damp air through the car, Harry Sweeney staring out at the road, the cars and the trucks, the motorcycles and the bicycles, the buildings passing by, the buildings passing away, the telegraph poles, the telegraph wires, a tree here and a tree there, the people coming, the people going, in browns and grays, in greens and yellows, Harry Sweeney listening to Susumu Toda translate the news, in black and white –
Early editions of all the papers still have Shimoyama missing, leading with what Ōnishi the driver said and statements from Railroad HQ and his wife. Nothing we don’t already know, though the Yomiuri has the driver saying they were not tailed and that Shimoyama left his briefcase and lunchbox in the car. The Asahi and Mainichi both have extras out already, both carrying the news of the body being found, some details of the crime scene – the location, the identification, pretty graphic descriptions of the body – the Asahi even claiming “it was said” there’s a bullet hole in the corpse.
Yeah, asked Harry Sweeney. Said by whom?
Doesn’t say, said Susumu Toda.
You got the Stars and Stripes there?
Wasn’t in yet, not when we left.
Excuse me, sir, said the driver. We’re here, but …
Shit, said Susumu Toda. Look, Harry –
The quiet, shaded street was no longer quiet, the street lined with cars, filled with people. Cars parked two abreast, cars blocking the road, people pushing to get a better view, people straining to see over the walls. Through the hedges, through the branches. Journalists and cameramen, neighbors and spectators. Uniformed officers pushing the crowds away, struggling to keep the crowds at bay –
Park down the hill, said Susumu Toda, Shin the driver nodding, going down the hill, all the way down the hill, to pull up and then park. Harry Sweeney and Susumu Toda got out of the car. They took out their handkerchiefs, they wiped their necks. They put away their handkerchiefs, they put on their hats. And then they walked back up the hill, all the way back up the hill, to the house of grief, this house of mourning, its hedges dark, its trees bowed. They pushed their way through the crowds, they struggled to get to the stone gate. They showed their PSD badges to the uniformed officers, the uniformed officers ushering them through the stone gate, Harry Sweeney and Susumu Toda walking through the stone gates, going up the short drive. Hats off their heads, hats in their hands, approaching the door, the door to grief –
Two late-middle-aged Japanese men were leaving the house, the two men walking toward Harry Sweeney and Susumu Toda. One man tall and thin, one man short and fat. Both men in black, both men in mourning. They stared at Harry Sweeney and Susumu Toda but did not speak to Harry Sweeney or Susumu Toda. Just staring, walking past. Harry Sweeney turned to watch them go, the tall man turning to look back. Back at Harry Sweeney, staring at Harry Sweeney. Harry Sweeney turned to the officer on the door to the house. The house of grief, this house of mourning. His hat in one hand, his badge in the other, Harry Sweeney asked, Who were those two men?
The officer sucked in air through his teeth, shook his head, and said, I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know.
You need to know, officer. From now on, you record the names of any visitor to this house. Understood?
Yes, sir. I understand, sir.
Harry Sweeney nodded, then Harry Sweeney and Susumu Toda stepped into the house. The house of grief, this house of mourning. The air heavy, the air thin. People in the hallway, people on the stairs. In every doorway, in every room. In black, in mourning. They turned to look at Harry Sweeney and Susumu Toda, they turned to stare at Harry Sweeney and Susumu Toda. Eyes filled with tears, eyes filled with accusations. That blame all Americans, that blame their Occupation. Susumu Toda was shaking his head, Susumu Toda whispering, Why the fuck are we here, Harry?
To pay our respects, said Harry Sweeney. And to look and to listen. So look and listen, Susumu. Look and listen.
Thank you for coming, said a man coming down the stairs. I am Tsuneo, the younger brother of Sadanori.
Harry Sweeney and Susumu Toda both bowed. They both expressed their condolences, they both apologized for the intrusion, and then Harry Sweeney said, May we speak with you for a moment in private, sir?
Yes, of course, said Tsuneo Shimoyama. He gestured to one of the rooms off the hall, and Harry Sweeney and Susumu Toda followed Tsuneo Shimoyama into the room. The four sons of Sadanori Shimoyama were sitting alone in this room. Their heads bowed in silence, their hands in their laps. Tsuneo Shimoyama asked the boys to step outside. They nodded, they stood up, and they left as Tsuneo Shimoyama asked Harry Sweeney and Susumu Toda to sit down, asked them if they would like any tea. They declined the tea, and then Harry Sweeney said, We are very sorry to intrude at this difficult time, but we do need to ask you some questions, sir.
Of course, said Tsuneo Shimoyama. I understand.
Thank you for understanding, said Harry Sweeney. We’ll try to be as quick as we can. But could you tell us when you were first aware that your brother was missing, sir?
From the radio, on the news. The five o’clock news. I came here immediately, directly. I arrived about half an hour later. In fact, I was told I had just missed you, Mister Sweeney. And I’ve been here ever since.
How often did you see your brother, sir?
I saw him regularly, almost every week. Depending on his work and mine, of course. But I saw him often, yes.
And so when did you last see him?
About a week ago.
And how was he? How did he seem?
Tsuneo Shimoyama turned his head slightly to his right. He sighed, then said, Well, he was under a lot of stress. I knew that. We all did. Everybody did. But my brother always made a great effort to be cheerful. A tremendous effort, Mister Sweeney. But I knew he wasn’t sleeping very well, that he also had an upset stomach. But then he often did at this time of year. But still he was always so cheerful. He always was.
Aside from the stress of his position, were there any other worries, financial or personal, that your brother had?
No, Mister Sweeney. Not that I’m aware of, no.
And you think you would have been aware if he’d had any other worries? You were close, right?
Yes, said Tsuneo Shimoyama. We were very close, and so, no, I don’t believe he had any other concerns, any other worries. Just his work, particularly the dismissals.
I’m sorry to be blunt, sir, said Harry Sweeney, but did you ever hear your brother talk of suicide?
No. Never.
So just so we are very clear, you do not believe your brother would have killed himself, sir?
No, said Tsuneo Shimoyama again. But I know it is what people are thinking, what people are saying. But no, my brother would never take his own life. Furthermore, his wife and sons have said he was in particularly good spirits yesterday morning before he left here. My brother was looking forward to the visit of his eldest son, Sadahiko. He was returning from Nagoya last night. If my brother had had any intention of committing suicide, it would surely have been after seeing his eldest son, would it not?
Harry Sweeney nodded. Yes. I guess so.
It would have been natural, too, to have arranged his affairs so they were all in order, to spare his wife and sons and our family such work. But he had not even straightened his desk upstairs before he left the house. So despite what people are thinking, what people are saying, I am absolutely certain my brother did not kill himself, Mister Sweeney.
Thank you, said Harry Sweeney. I appreciate you being so forthright, so adamant, sir. That’s a great help to us.
Tsuneo Shimoyama sighed. He shook his head, then said, Well, I’m sorry, Mister Sweeney. Maybe I am being too forthright, too adamant. But we are all so shocked. Utterly shocked. And for people to suggest my brother …
I know. I am sorry we have to ask –
No, no, Mister Sweeney. Not you, not the police. You are only doing your job. I know that, we know that. But we’ve had people, my brother’s so-called friends even, calling on us, suggesting we should say that my brother had taken his own life. Even urging us to release a statement to that effect.
Really? Who? When?
Only a moment ago. Two gentlemen called, wishing to pay their respects, but then suggested we should write a suicide note and have it printed in the newspapers.
Saying what?
That my brother had not wanted to fire ninety-five thousand employees. That he would apologize with his death for the benefit of everybody concerned. For the good of Japan.
Who were these two men, sir?
A Mister Maki and a Mister Hashimoto. Mister Maki is a member of the Upper House, and Mister Hashimoto is a former director of the railroads. Mister Hashimoto is retired now, but my brother even lodged with him and his wife when they both worked in Hokkaido. I cannot believe they would even suggest such a thing. It’s unbearable. Unbearable.
Why did they say that, sir? What were their reasons?
Tsuneo Shimoyama sighed again, then said, If we printed such a notice in the newspapers, and with a photograph of the note, then the union and the employees would all feel sorry, and then all the disputes with the Corporation would be settled. And then Japan and the world would remember my brother as a martyr and a great man. Or so they said.
And what did you say, sir?
I didn’t say anything. I just kept picturing my brother’s face, and his wife and his sons. I could not speak.
Well, thank you for speaking with us, sir, said Harry Sweeney. I’m afraid, though, I need to impose upon you further, to ask if we may speak briefly with Missus Shimoyama now. We spoke with her yesterday, and we would like to express our condolences, if we may, sir.
Of course, said Tsuneo Shimoyama, getting to his feet. She is upstairs. I will show you up, Mister Sweeney.
Harry Sweeney and Susumu Toda followed Tsuneo Shimoyama out of the room, back into the crowded hallway. Through the tears and through the accusations. Up the stairs and into the room. The same room as yesterday afternoon: the same wooden desk, the same large wardrobe. Now devoid of hope, without a prayer, now soaked with grief, drenched in mourning. In her somber kimono, with her pale face, a framed portrait of her late husband on the low table before her, Missus Shimoyama looked up at Harry Sweeney, stared up at Harry Sweeney. But her eyes did not accuse, her eyes only pleading –
That this was not happening, no …
That none of this was true.
But Harry Sweeney and Susumu Toda knelt down at the low table, and Harry Sweeney and Susumu Toda bowed before the low table, before Missus Shimoyama, before the portrait of her husband, the portrait between them –
Please excuse us for disturbing you, ma’am, said Harry Sweeney. And forgive us for intruding at such a time, but please accept our sincerest condolences at this time, ma’am.
Thank you, said Missus Shimoyama, turning away from Harry Sweeney and Susumu Toda, looking down at the portrait of her husband on the table. Her fingers on the frame, her fingers to the glass, she said, she whispered, You know, when I heard that the car had been found at Mitsukoshi, but that my husband was still missing, when you were here, when you were leaving, I knew then he was dead. I knew then. In my heart.
Harry Sweeney nodded, silent, waiting –
I know my husband sometimes stops off at the bank on his way to the office. I know he sometimes goes shopping at Mitsukoshi. But I knew he would not have gone shopping yesterday morning. Not yesterday morning, not without saying. He would never just go without saying, and not when he was so busy. He was so extremely busy, Mister Sweeney.
I know, said Harry Sweeney.
So I knew, you see? I knew something was wrong. The car at the store, my husband not there. When you were here, when you were leaving, I already knew, I just knew. But then there was that call, that telephone call. And so then there was hope, I had hope again.
Harry Sweeney leaned forward at the low table. Before the portrait, the portrait between them. And Harry Sweeney asked, What call was that, ma’am?
You don’t know? They didn’t tell you?
No, ma’am. I’m afraid they didn’t.
Someone telephoned here yesterday evening. They said they had heard the news about my husband on the radio, but he’d dropped into their place and he was fine, and so there was no need to be worried about him. No need for us to worry.
What time was this, ma’am?
I’m not sure exactly. I did not take the call myself. It was Missus Nakajima, our maid. She lives with us. She took the call downstairs. But it was just after nine o’clock, I believe.
Did the caller identify himself? Give a name, ma’am?
He did, yes. He said his name was Arima.
Do you know anyone called Arima, ma’am?
Not personally, no. But some time later, after the call, I did remember that my husband had once mentioned a Mister Arima. I can’t remember in what context, but I’m certain he did. And there’s one other thing, Mister Sweeney …
Yes, ma’am. Go on …
Well, yesterday morning, about ten o’clock, I took a call myself from someone who said his name was either Arima or Onodera. In fact, I’m certain he used both names.
And what did he say?
He asked me if my husband had left for work as usual.
And you say this was about ten o’clock, ma’am?
I think so, yes. But there were so many calls yesterday, yesterday morning, Mister Sweeney. All asking the same question: Had my husband left for work as usual? Calls from his office, calls from different colleagues. They kept calling …
Did this man say anything else, ma’am?
No, he just asked if my husband had left for work as usual. That was all. So I said yes, my husband had left by car for his office, at twenty past eight as usual. But then I asked the man’s name as I did not catch it when I first answered the telephone. But I think the name he had said was Arima. And then when I asked him again, I am sure he said Onodera.
Did you recognize his voice, ma’am?
No, Mister Sweeney. I did not.
And later, when this second call came in the evening, did your maid recognize the caller’s voice?
No, said Missus Shimoyama. But you see, for a moment then, after that call, I did believe my husband might be coming home again. I started to hope again. That’s the worst of it.
I’m sorry, ma’am. So very sorry.
I’m just sorry they didn’t tell you, Mister Sweeney.
So am I, ma’am, said Harry Sweeney. So am I.
Tsuneo Shimoyama coughed. Tsuneo Shimoyama said, After that telephone call, the one in the evening, my brother’s secretary and I did search the desk and drawers, looking for any name card or address for either an Arima or an Onodera, but we were unable to find anything.
Harry Sweeney nodded. Harry Sweeney looked down at the table. At the portrait on the table, at the face of Sadanori Shimoyama. The thin smile, the raised eyebrows. The plaintive eyes and the round glasses. Harry Sweeney looked up again. Harry Sweeney asked Missus Shimoyama, Did your husband always wear his glasses, ma’am?
Always, nodded Missus Shimoyama. He couldn’t see without them. Couldn’t see anything at all.
Thank you, ma’am, said Harry Sweeney, starting to get to his feet, saying again, Thank you, ma’am. We’ve taken up too much of your time already. We will leave you now.
Missus Shimoyama looked up from the portrait on the table, from the face of her husband. And Missus Shimoyama asked, Mister Sweeney, when will I be able to see my husband? When will they let him come home?
I’m sorry, said Harry Sweeney. I don’t know. Not precisely. But as soon as they’ve completed certain formalities, I am sure they will then return him to you, ma’am.
Thank you, whispered Missus Shimoyama, turning back to the portrait on the table, staring down at the face of her husband. Her fingers on the frame, her fingers on the glass. Her eyes searching, still pleading, still hoping –
That this was not happening …
That none of this was true.
Harry Sweeney and Susumu Toda followed Tsuneo Shimoyama out of the room. Back down the stairs, back through the people. Still filling the rooms, still filling the hallway. Their eyes still filled with tears, their eyes still filled with accusations. Blaming all Americans, blaming their Occupation.
In the genkan, by the door, Harry Sweeney and Susumu Toda bowed to Tsuneo Shimoyama, Harry Sweeney and Susumu Toda thanked Tsuneo Shimoyama. Then they turned away, then they walked away. From the house of grief, from that house of mourning. Back down the drive, back through the gates. Through the journalists and cameramen, through the neighbors and spectators. Back down the hill, back to their car. And beside their car, standing in the road, Harry Sweeney took off his hat, Harry Sweeney took out his handkerchief. He wiped his face, he wiped his neck. He put away his handkerchief, he took out his cigarettes. He lit a cigarette, he took a pull. And beside their car, standing in the road, Harry Sweeney looked back up the hill, looked back at the house. The house of grief, that house of mourning, the smoke in his eyes, the sting in his eyes. He blinked, turned, dropped and crushed his cigarette. He took out his notebook and pencil. He opened his notebook and wrote down three names and two times. Then he put away his notebook and pencil, and opened the passenger door.
What do you think, Harry, asked Toda.
I think you should go up to Tokyo University. Find out what’s happening with the autopsy. Drop me off on the way.
Drop you off where, Harry?
Lieutenant Colonel Donald E. Channon looked up from his desk. His uniform stained, his face unshaven. His eyes red and ringed in black. He closed the file on his desk. He gestured at the empty chair before his desk: Sit down, Mister Sweeney.
Thank you, sir, said Harry Sweeney.
Colonel Channon put his hands to his face. He rubbed his eyes, shook his head, then said, I still can’t believe it, Mister Sweeney. Jesus Christ. I can’t believe it.
Harry Sweeney nodded.
You been out there, Mister Sweeney? To the place?
Yes, sir. I was there first thing. Have you, sir?
Colonel Channon rubbed his eyes again, shook his head again, and said, No. Not yet. Not sure I will now. No point, not now. So you saw the body, yeah?
Yes, sir. I did.
As bad as they say it was? In the papers?
Yes, sir. It was.
Jesus Christ, Sweeney. The poor man.
Yes, sir.
Where is he now?
The body’s been taken to Tokyo University, sir. For the autopsy. Should be getting the results very soon now, sir.
Well, he didn’t kill himself, Mister Sweeney. I can tell you that. I don’t need to wait for no goddamn autopsy.
You sound very certain, sir?
You bet I am. Like I told you yesterday, Sweeney, I knew the man. I worked with him every goddamn day. The last time I saw him, the night I went to his house, that night I told you about, when I left him, he was in good spirits. But he knew the risks, of course he did. He even said, just as I was leaving, said he would carry out the readjustments at the risk of his own life. That was his exact phrase, Mister Sweeney: even at the risk of his own life. That was the kind of man he was. So he didn’t commit suicide. No goddamn way did he kill himself.
So you believe he was murdered, sir?
You bet I do. Obviously.
Then by whom?
Colonel Channon leaned forward. His elbows on his desk, his fingers locked together. He sighed. He closed his eyes. He swallowed. He opened his eyes again. He stared across his desk at Harry Sweeney. He sighed again, shook his head, then he said, Look, he’d received threats to his life. Not only him, we all have. Katayama. Me, too. Why do you think I wear this goddamn pistol, why you think I only travel in an MP jeep?
So who are these threats coming from, sir?
Who the hell you think they’re coming from, Sweeney? From inside their own damn union, from the goddamn Reds.
You have some specific information, sir? Names? Organizations? Anything? Anything at all?
Course not. They’re always anonymous. But for Chrissake, Sweeney, who else, where else would they be coming from. Jesus Christ. That’s your fucking job!
Actually, sir, with all due respect, it was not my job. But it is now, and any help you can –
Yeah, right, laughed Colonel Channon. I forgot: you were too busy busting gangs, getting your face in the papers. Meanwhile, schmucks like old Shimoyama, schmucks like me, we’re getting death threats, just for doing our goddamn jobs!
I’m sorry about that, sir. But the Japanese police, they knew about these threats, yeah? They know, right?
Sure they do, Sweeney. They stuck a plainclothes guy outside Shimoyama’s house, another in his office, one in his car. Fat fucking lot of good it did the poor bastard.
I don’t believe they did, sir.
Bullshit, they didn’t.
Sir, as far as I’m aware, with all due respect, there was no plainclothes detail assigned to President Shimoyama. Least not yesterday morning, not when he left his house.
Well, you’ll have to go ask them about that, Sweeney. All I know is there was supposed to be. That’s what I was told. There should have been someone.
Yes, sir. I agree. There should have been someone.
Colonel Channon shook his head again. He put his hands out, his palms up. He looked down at the papers on his desk. He sighed again. He stood up. And he said, Jesus Christ. This goddamn country, Sweeney, I tell you. The fuck am I doing here? The fuck any of us are doing here?
Harry Sweeney nodded. He put his pencil back inside his notebook. He stood up and he asked, Just one other thing, sir. You’re certain it was Monday night you went out to the Shimoyama house? You’re sure?
You bet I am, yeah. The Fourth of July. Why?
Just double-checking, sir. I’m sorry.
Well, if you’re all done double-checking, Mister Sweeney, I’ve still got a railroad to run and now a new president to appoint. And you’ve a goddamn murderer to catch.
Again in the shadow of Tokyo station, again in the echoes of the train tracks. In another building, in another office. The headquarters of the National Railways Corporation, the office of Sadanori Shimoyama. The office he shared with his deputy. Before his deputy, before his desk, Harry Sweeney sat down, Harry Sweeney took out his notebook, and Harry Sweeney said, Thank you for seeing me at this time, Mister Katayama.
Yukio Katayama glanced past Harry Sweeney. Over his shoulder, across the room. At the other desk, at the empty chair. Yukio Katayama looked down at his own desk, his hands together on his desk, and nodded. Then he looked back up at Harry Sweeney and asked, You’ve just come from the Chōsen building, from the CTS, Mister Sweeney? So you’ve spoken with Lieutenant Colonel Channon then?
I have, sir. Yes, said Harry Sweeney.
Have you heard anything from the university yet, asked Yukio Katayama. Heard the results of the autopsy yet?
Not yet, sir. No.
I see, said Yukio Katayama. Again he glanced over the shoulder of Harry Sweeney, again he looked at the other desk, at the empty chair. And then he said, slowly said, It’s all my fault, Mister Sweeney. All my responsibility.
Why do you say that, sir?
Because I recommended Shimoyama-kun for the position of Vice Minister for Transport, Mister Sweeney. This was when Shimoyama-kun was the Director of the Tokyo Railways Bureau. And because he accepted the position as Vice Minister, Shimoyama-kun then became the President when we were reorganized as a public corporation, when everybody else withdrew. Today I cannot help but feel that was the first step on the journey to his death. If I had not suggested his name to the Minister for Transport, then none of this would have happened, Mister Sweeney. Shimoyama-kun would still be here.
And what do you think happened, sir?
Yukio Katayama staring at the empty chair again, Yukio Katayama talking to the empty chair now, Yukio Katayama said, slowly said, Ever since you were a child, you loved the railways. You were obsessed by the railways. You were mad about all machines, but you loved locomotives. You adored locomotives more than anything else. You had traveled the world, traveled on all the trains of the world. You had studied them all, and you loved them all …
Yukio Katayama looked away from the empty chair, Yukio Katayama turned back to Harry Sweeney, and Yukio Katayama said, quicker now he said, No matter how much pressure he was under, no matter how fraught his nerves might have been, there is no way a man who loved trains, a man who worked for the railways, no way he would ever use a train as the tool with which to end his life. Never, Mister Sweeney. Never.
So you believe the President was murdered, sir?
Yes, said Yukio Katayama. As soon as I heard Shimoyama-shi’s body had been found, where and how it had been found, I knew he had been murdered. I knew.
Harry Sweeney nodded, then said, Both you and the President had received death threats?
Yes, said Yukio Katayama again. But not only the President and myself; many of our senior directors have. The Colonel too, I believe, Lieutenant Colonel Channon.
And these death threats, they came in the form of letters? Is that correct, sir?
Letters, yes. But also telephone calls. And then, of course, there are the posters that have been put up across the city. I’m sure you’ve seen them, Mister Sweeney?
Harry Sweeney nodded again: I have, sir, yes. Do you have any of these letters to hand, sir?
No, said Yukio Katayama. Not now, not here. We always hand such letters to our own security staff. They then forward them to the police.
Is it correct, sir, that the Metropolitan Police have provided you with extra security? Both here and at your home, and also in your car?
Again Yukio Katayama looked over the shoulder of Harry Sweeney, again he was staring at the empty chair as he said, Well, it was suggested and then discussed, yes. However, I don’t believe Shimoyama-kun accepted the offer.
Did you accept the offer, sir?
Yes, Mister Sweeney. I did accept, yes.
And so why did President Shimoyama decline?
I am not sure.
You didn’t discuss it with him then, at the time?
No, Mister Sweeney. But I believe he did discuss the matter personally with Chief Kita of the Metropolitan Police.
But there were many of these threats, sir?
Yes, Mister Sweeney. Many.
I am sorry, sir, but I have yet to see any of these letters, these threats. So could you give me an example of what kind of things they said, please?
Yukio Katayama nodded, sighed, and then said, That we would be assassinated, that we would meet Heaven’s Justice. If we carried out the proposal to cut personnel numbers.
And these were all anonymous?
Usually anonymous or signed with names such as the Repatriates’ League of Blood. Or something similar.
I see, said Harry Sweeney. Thank you. And in each case, you said you first handed them over to your own security staff. So were your own security staff able to find out anything at all about who might have been sending them?
Yukio Katayama smiled. Yukio Katayama shook his head. And then Yukio Katayama said, Not any names or addresses, no. But I think it’s quite obvious where they were coming from, don’t you, Mister Sweeney?
You mean from within the Railroad Union?
Yes, Mister Sweeney. From within the Railroad Union. Our own union, the union we helped set up and fund, yes.
And so then you believe President Shimoyama was abducted and murdered by members of the National Railroad Workers’ Union, sir? Is that what you’re saying, sir?
Yukio Katayama stared at the empty chair at the other desk, then he looked down at his hands, his hands together on his own desk. He shook his head, then looked back up. He stared at Harry Sweeney, stared at Harry Sweeney for a long time, before he said, Who else could it have been, Mister Sweeney? You have any other suspects, any other ideas?
Under the tracks, among the stalls. Under a canopy, on a bench. No more rooms, no more walls. Interviews or voices. Pushing him, pulling him. This way and that way. Just a bottle, just a glass. In the damp, in the heat. Everything stuck, everything wet. Clinging to him, clawing at him. Harry Sweeney picked up the bottle of beer. Harry Sweeney held the bottle in his hand. The bottle damp, the bottle wet. Clinging, clawing. The noise of the trains, the sound of their wheels. The stall shaking, the bench trembling. Harry Sweeney shaking, Harry Sweeney trembling. He gripped the bottle, he steadied his hand. He held it against his head, he pressed it into his skin. Damp and wet, damp and wet. The bottle and his head, his skin and his eyes. Damp and wet, damp and wet. He closed his eyes, he opened his eyes. Holding the bottle against his head, pressing the bottle into his skin. The noise of the trains, the sound of their wheels. Harry Sweeney shaking, Harry Sweeney trembling. He put down the bottle, the bottle still full. He pushed away the glass, the glass still empty. He looked down at his watch, the face still cracked and the hands still stopped. The noise of the trains, the sound of their wheels. Shaking and trembling, shaking and trembling. Harry Sweeney stood back up. He wiped his face, he wiped his neck. He picked up his hat, he picked up his jacket. He reached into his pocket, he paid the man in cents. The man smiled, the man bowed. Harry Sweeney smiled, Harry Sweeney bowed. Damp and wet, shaking and trembling. Harry Sweeney took out his cigarettes and Harry Sweeney lit a cigarette. He went back down the alley, he turned back round the corner. He turned left, onto Avenue Z. Under the heavy skies, in the gray light. Harry Sweeney walked down the avenue, Harry Sweeney passed the telegraph poles. The posters still on the poles, the words still on the posters. In Japanese, in English: KILL SHIMOYAMA. KILL SHIMOYAMA. KILL. KILL. KILL SHIMOYAMA. On every pole, on every poster. The words, the threats –
KILL, KILL, KILL SHIMOYAMA –
Words and threats, now made good.
Harry Sweeney sweating, Harry Sweeney shivering. In the damp, in the heat. He came to the Hibiya Crossing, he waited at the Hibiya Crossing. In the damp, in the heat. His eyes closing, his eyes opening. The black park and its trees, its shadows and insects. The still moat and its stench, its reflections and specters. The cars braking, the streetcars stopping. Shrill whistles and white gloves. Boots marching, feet moving. Harry Sweeney crossed over Avenue A, Harry Sweeney walked up 1st Street. In the damp, in the heat. His eyes closing, his eyes opening. The palace to his right, the park to his left. Still sweating, still shivering. In the damp, in the heat. Shaking and trembling, shaking and trembling. In the damp and in the heat. Harry Sweeney reached Sakuradamon, Harry Sweeney crossed 1st Street. Closing his eyes, opening his eyes. He walked up toward the Metropolitan Police Department HQ, could see Susumu Toda waiting by the car. Susumu Toda stubbing out a cigarette, Susumu Toda walking toward him: You get my message, Harry? Heard what they’re saying?
Still sweating, still shivering, but not shaking and not trembling, Harry Sweeney lit another cigarette, Harry Sweeney looked at Toda, and Harry Sweeney said, I’ve heard a lot of things today, Susumu. Let’s go …
In the Dai-ichi building, on the fifth floor, half walking, half running, Harry Sweeney and Susumu Toda saw Chief Evans up the corridor, heard his voice down the corridor –
You’re goddamn late again!
I’m sorry, sir, said Harry Sweeney, struggling to breathe, to catch his breath. The MPD briefing just finished.
Well, I hope for your sake it was worth it, said Chief Evans. They’ve been in there a goddamn half-hour already. General Willoughby does not like to be kept waiting.
I know, sir. I’m sorry, Chief.
Save it for the General, said Chief Evans. Just pull yourself together and let’s go –
I’m ready, sir.
Okay then, let’s go, said the Chief, knocking on the door to Room 525, the door to the office of the Assistant Chief of Staff, G-2, FEC & SCAP. Not you, Toda. You wait here.
Yes, sir, said Susumu Toda. Very good, sir.
If we need you, I’ll call you, said Chief Evans, opening the door to Room 525, leading Harry Sweeney inside the office of the Assistant Chief of Staff, announcing to the room, Police Investigator Sweeney, sir. He’s come here directly from the briefing at Metropolitan Police HQ, sir.
One of our very best men, General, said Colonel Pullman, smiling at Harry Sweeney –
Harry Sweeney glancing around the room, trying to take in the room, the men and their faces, the uniforms and their medals, looking now at the man at the head of the table: Major General Charles A. Willoughby, “Sir Charles” himself – born Adolf Karl von Tscheppe und Weidenbach, thus also known as “Baron von Willoughby” – much mocked but never to his face. Mac’s right-hand man, his “loveable fascist,” the Chief of Intelligence had the complete confidence and trust of the Supreme Commander, and thus “carte blanche” to do whatever he wanted, to whomever he chose –
The General looked Harry Sweeney up and down, smiled, and then, his German accent heavy and pronounced despite forty years in the United States Army, he said, I have heard good things about you, Sweeney. Very good things.
Thank you, sir.
But I did not imagine you would look like this, not from the things I had heard. You look like you have been sleeping in the ditch, Sweeney, like you have been digging in the dirt.
Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir. It’s been a long –
Spare us your excuses, Sweeney. Just tell us what you have found. In your ditch, in your dirt.
Yes, sir. The preliminary autopsy ended at seventeen hundred hours, sir, and the initial conclusion is that Sadanori Shimoyama was murdered, sir.
Well, that is good news, said the General. Very good news. Excellent, in fact.
Sir –
The General raised a hand, a finger, stared at Sweeney and then around the table: The murder of this man is a tragedy, of course. But it is an outrage, and we must turn this outrage into an opportunity. Only two days ago, in his speech on the Fourth of July, did not our Supreme Commander warn that Communism was a movement of national and international outlawry? Did he not warn that the Communist will always use assassination and violence to create chaos and unrest? And the very next day is he not proved correct yet again? The brutal assassination of this innocent man demonstrates to the whole of Japan and to the watching world that the nihilism and terrorism of the Communist knows no mercy, that he will stop at nothing in order to bring about his violent revolution! So we must show him no mercy, we must stop at nothing to crush him! We must meet force with force; we must outlaw their party, close down their newspaper, arrest their leaders, and bring the murderers of this poor man to justice, swift, merciless justice! Sweeney –
Yes, sir!
Tell us what steps are being taken, what progress is being made to hunt down the Communist assassins.
Sir, the preliminary autopsy results indicate that Shimoyama had been dead for some time before his body was run over by the train. However, the autopsy will resume tomorrow, when it is hoped that the precise cause of death can then be determined. In the meantime, the police consider this the most important case in recent years and are working all out to solve it. Because they believe that a number of people must have been involved in the murder, both the First and Second Investigative Divisions have been assigned to the case. They are presently canvassing both the areas around the Mitsukoshi department store, where Shimoyama was last seen, and around the crime scene itself. Important clues are expected shortly, sir.
Shortly, said the General. What is shortly, Sweeney? What about now? What about suspects? Arrests?
Sir, according to PSD sources within the MPD, the police are investigating a number of threatening letters which were sent to Shimoyama and also to Premier Yoshida and his cabinet, and to Police Chief Kita and Mister Katayama, the Vice President of the National Railways. The letters were all received on the Fourth of July and were all signed “Repatriates’ Blood League” or “League of Blood.”
Colonel Batty, Colonel Duffy, said the General, turning to look down the table. Have you heard of this, er, Repatriates’ League of Blood?
Colonel Batty shook his head, but Colonel Duffy nodded and said, General, sir, CIC are aware of these letters, and others of a similar nature, but, as yet, have no information about this particular group. According to our own intelligence, they would seem to have had no history prior to the sending of the letters in question. But we are continuing to investigate, sir.
General, sir, said a tall, thin man dressed in a dark, well-cut civilian suit, seated close to the top of the table, close to the General. If I may interject here …
Please, said the General, turning to smile at the man, to smile and say, by all means, Richard, please do.
Hongō are in possession of some information which might be of relevance here, sir.
Very good, said the General. Please, go on …
Well, sir, said the man, glancing down the table at Harry Sweeney, Harry Sweeney standing at the foot of the table. It’s information of a somewhat confidential nature, sir.
The General nodded, looked down the table at Harry Sweeney, stared at Harry Sweeney at the foot of the table, nodded again, then said, You got anything else, Sweeney?
No, sir. Not at this stage, no, sir.
Then you are dismissed, Sweeney.
Yes, sir. Thank you, sir, said Harry Sweeney, turning toward the door, walking toward the exit –
One last thing, Sweeney, said General Willoughby.
Harry Sweeney turned back from the door: Yes, sir?
The next time you come before me, you make sure you are washed and shaved, your clothes are fresh and pressed, and your shoes polished and shined. You may think you are a civilian, Sweeney, but you work for SCAP and you represent the United States of America. Is that understood, Sweeney?
Yes, sir. I am very sorry, sir.
Oh, and Sweeney?
Yes, sir?
That next time, when you are standing before me, all washed and shaved, fresh and pressed, polished and shined, you better be bringing me the names of the assassins of Sadanori Shimoyama. Is that also understood, Sweeney?
Yes, sir. It is, sir.
Then go on, Sweeney. Go fetch!
He did not stop to speak to Susumu Toda, he did not wait outside for Chief Evans. He walked away from Room 525, he walked down the corridor. He did not wait for the elevator, he took the stairs, the ten flights of stairs, down and out of the Daiichi building. Down and out, he walked past the Imperial Hotel, then along the tracks, he walked past the Dai-ichi Hotel and on past the station, Shimbashi station. He walked past the shops and through the market, he walked past the restaurants and through the stalls. He walked and he walked, through a set of double doors and up another flight of stairs, walking and walking, until he was standing before a desk, until he heard Akira Senju say, Look at the state of you, Harry. You look like you’ve been hit by a train – Sorry! How very tactless of me. I’m sorry, Harry. Forgive me, please. Sit down, sit down …
Harry Sweeney sat down, slumped in the chair before that antique rosewood desk in this luxurious modern office at the top of that shiny new building, this Shimbashi Palace.
Twice in twenty-four hours, smiled Akira Senju. This is just like old times, is it not, Harry? Those good old times. So I hope you are bringing me good news, Harry. Just like you used to do, back in the old times, those good old times.
Harry Sweeney said, Good news?
About that little list of names?
Harry Sweeney reached inside his jacket, felt the folded piece of paper, that folded list of names, Formosan names, Korean names, and Harry Sweeney shook his head, shook his head and said, I’m sorry.
You’ve not had the time, said Akira Senju. Of course not, I know. I understand, Harry. No need for apologies, not between friends. Old friends like us, Harry. You take your time, take as long as you need, Harry. But then to what do I owe the pleasure of another visit, Harry? A little drink, perhaps?
Harry Sweeney shook his head again, Harry Sweeney sat forward in his chair and said, Shimoyama …
Of course, of course, said Akira Senju, nodding and smiling at Harry Sweeney. I heard the news. Terrible, terrible business. And I don’t like to say I told you so, Harry, but I told you so; presidents, they do tend to get assassinated.
Harry Sweeney nodded: Yes, so you said. You were quite certain last night. Very certain, in fact.
Well, laughed Akira Senju, I’m no Nostradamus, no Sherlock Holmes. It was inevitable, it was obvious. You only have to walk down any street in the city, read the posters on the walls, on the poles. It’s there in black and white, red and white, in Japanese and English: Kill Shimoyama!
He could have killed himself.
He could have, yes, said Akira Senju, nodding, then smiling and saying, But he didn’t, did he, Harry.
You’ve already heard then?
I have my sources, Harry. You know that.
Harry Sweeney looked across the antique rosewood desk, Harry Sweeney stared at Akira Senju behind the desk, on his throne, in his palace at the top of his empire, and Harry Sweeney said, What else have you heard?
Ah, I see, said Akira Senju, nodding and smiling again at Harry Sweeney. You’re still on the case then?
Yes. Unfortunately.
Unfortunately, indeed, said Akira Senju. This might prove rather distracting for you, Harry. Keep you from doing what it is you do best. From that little list, for example.
Harry Sweeney nodded, Harry Sweeney smiled and said, Exactly. So anything you have heard, any help you can give me in order to bring this matter to an end –
Would be to our mutual benefit, nodded Akira Senju.
Harry Sweeney nodded again, Harry Sweeney said again, Exactly. Last night you mentioned a list of Communists, of Reds? General Willoughby would be very grateful.
You’ve spoken with the General, Harry?
I was just there, in his office.
Akira Senju sat forward in his chair, stared across his antique rosewood desk at Harry Sweeney, and asked, Did you mention my name, Harry? My offer of help?
Not yet, said Harry Sweeney. But I can, I will.
Akira Senju got up from his desk. He walked over to one of the large windows in his luxurious, modern office. He stared out of the window, stared out across his empire, across the city and the night, then still staring out of the window, out across his empire, he nodded and said, Well, well. This could prove to be a most convenient death, could it not, Harry?
Harry Sweeney looked down at his hands, looked down at his wrists, the ends of two clean, dry scars visible beneath the cuffs of his shirt, beneath the straps of his watch, the face of the watch cracked, the hands of the watch stopped.
Akira Senju turned away from the window. He walked across the thick carpet of his luxurious, modern office toward the drinks cabinet. He opened the cabinet. He picked up a bottle of Johnnie Walker Reserve. He poured two large measures into two crystal glasses. He put down the bottle and picked up the glasses. He carried the glasses over to Harry Sweeney, saying, Convenient and fortuitous – that is the word, is it not, Harry?
Harry Sweeney turned to look up at Akira Senju, Akira Senju standing over him, holding out the glass to him –
Fortuitous, said Akira Senju again, smiling now, saying now, So let us drink to convenience and to fortuity, Harry. Just like old times, the good old times, Harry.
In the park, in the dark, among the insects, among the shadows, leaning against a tree, sliding down its bark, falling to the ground, lying in the dirt, Harry Sweeney made a pistol of his hand, Harry Sweeney held the pistol to his head, pulled the trigger but was not dead, he was not dead. In the park and in the dark, among the insects and the shadows, on the ground and in the dirt, Harry Sweeney took the barrel of his pistol, the two fingers of his hand, and Harry Sweeney put them in his mouth, forced them down his throat, down and back into his throat until he retched and he retched, retched and heaved, heaved and vomited, into the dirt and across the ground, among the insects and the shadows, the dark and the park, vomiting and vomiting, whisky and bile, over his fingers and over his hands, down his wrists and over his scars. And when there was no more whisky and no more bile, when he could vomit and heave no more, Harry Sweeney turned onto his side, then onto his back, and Harry Sweeney looked up at the branches, looked up at their leaves, stared up at the sky, stared up at its stars, and Harry Sweeney sobbed and Harry Sweeney screamed –
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.