Night turned to day, cloudy and gray. Harry Sweeney had a hangover, but still Harry Sweeney went to work, with a clean shave and a fresh shirt, pressed pants and polished shoes, up the stairs and down the corridor, flushing the toilet and running the faucets, washing his hands and face again, drying his face and hands again, opening the door, then closing the door, walking across Room 432 of the Public Safety Division, the windows wide and the fans turning, taking his seat at his desk, listening to all the fountain pens scratching, all the typewriter keys banging, the telephones ringing, and a voice saying –
The hell got into you last night, Harry?
Harry Sweeney looked up from his desk, Harry Sweeney smiled at Susumu Toda, and said, Good morning to you, too, Susumu. How you doing this fine new day?
Me? I’m fine, but I was worried about you. The Chief was, too. Going off like that, without a word, disappearing.
I didn’t disappear. I’m right here, aren’t I?
You know what I mean, Harry. I went by the Yaesu Hotel, looking for you. Waited half the night.
You like worrying, you should have been my mother. I just needed some air, clear my head. That’s all.
All night?
Hey, come on! What’s with you?
I just thought maybe …
Maybe what?
Nothing. It doesn’t matter.
Doesn’t matter’s right.
Whatever you say, Harry, said Toda. But the Chief was worried, too, said Willoughby gave you a hard time.
Harry Sweeney smiled, Harry Sweeney laughed: Turns out all we heard about Sir Charles is true. But I’ve had worse, Susumu, believe me. It was nothing I didn’t expect.
You looked pretty cheesed off when you came out of the room. I mean, taking off like that …
It wasn’t Sir Charles. I told you, just needed to clear my head. It’d been a long day. Up at Ayase, then the family. A very long day. Let’s hope today’s a better day, yeah?
What you want to do, Harry?
Where’s Bill? Don’t tell me he’s off again?
No, said Susumu Toda. He’s been in and gone out again. Chief sent him back to Norton Hall, to see what they’ve turned up on these Repatriates’ Blood League letters.
Nodding to himself, taking out his cigarettes, Harry Sweeney said, That reminds me. You know anything about or anyone at Hongō House? They’re CIC, too, right?
You’re kidding, right, said Susumu Toda. Not those guys, no thank you. They’re a law unto themselves. Why?
Harry Sweeney lit his cigarette, inhaled, then exhaled, shook his head, and said, Just something Willoughby said.
Yeah, asked Susumu Toda. Like what?
Harry Sweeney stood up, picked up his hat, and said, Nothing. Forget it. Who you been talking to at MPD HQ?
Hattori, all the good it does me.
Harry Sweeney laughed again: Beggars can’t be choosers, Susumu. You know where he is this fine morning?
No, said Susumu Toda. But I can find out.
They drove north through Ueno and up Avenue Q again, then east at Minowa and across the river, the Sumida River again. The young guy Shin at the wheel this time, Harry Sweeney sat in the back with Susumu Toda, Toda going through the newspapers again: Well, they’ve all gone to town on it, as you’d expect. Only Akahata saying people shouldn’t jump to conclusions, that suicide can’t be ruled out …
They might want to think about changing that line, said Harry Sweeney, looking out of the window, watching factories turn to fields again, getting closer, nearer again. Willoughby’s already talking about shutting them down.
Susumu Toda shrugged, smiled, and said, Be one less paper for me to translate, I guess.
Lucky you, said Harry Sweeney. Go on …
Well, the rest of them have a lot of pages, lot of columns, lot of what we already know: details of the crime scene, bits about the autopsy, the trains, etcetera. But a couple of them report witnesses hearing a “mysterious car” in the vicinity, around that Cursed Crossing, around midnight –
Yeah? That wasn’t in the briefing, was it?
Susumu Toda shook his head: No.
Go on, read it to me then, said Harry Sweeney, turning from the window, turning to Susumu Toda and his papers.
So the Asahi, Mainichi and Yomiuri, they’ve all got interviews with a local fishmonger, a Mister Sakata, who lives in Gotanno Minami-machi, about two hundred yards from where the body was found. He says different things to different papers, but he seems to have heard a car pull up outside his house between midnight and one a.m., or it was turning round, then coming back past his house. According to the Mainichi, the tire marks from a U-turn are still visible outside the man’s house. Despite the rain.
Well, that’ll give us something to chew over with Hattori, said Harry Sweeney. Anything else?
Susumu Toda sighed, nodded, and said, Yeah. There’s a few “I saw him” accounts, too. Both from the department store and in the vicinity of the scene –
At the crime scene? Alive, said Harry Sweeney, staring down at the papers in Toda’s lap. You’re kidding me?
Susumu Toda shook his head: No, Harry.
Jesus Christ, said Harry Sweeney. The fuck are the police doing? They got goddamn journalists doing their fucking jobs. Interviewing witnesses, printing what they say.
Susumu Toda smiled: Well, the Asahi has even got Kuroda Roman, Roman Kuroda on the case.
Who the hell is Roman Kuroda?
Susumu Toda laughed: The mystery writer.
It’s not goddamn funny, Susumu, said Harry Sweeney. Next time, you go fucking explain this bullshit to Willoughby. Explain why journalists and writers are investigating the case while the Japanese police are sat on their asses, telling us goddamn nothing. Why we’re the last to know –
Sir, said Shin. Excuse me, sir …
What is it, said Harry Sweeney. Why we stopped?
Sir, said Shin, gesturing with both hands toward the windshield, toward a line of backed-up cars up ahead –
Mother of God, said Harry Sweeney, staring over the front seat, shaking his head. Pull in and wait here. We’ll get out and walk. Come on, Susumu …
And Harry Sweeney and Susumu Toda got out of the back of their car, putting on their hats and taking out their cigarettes, Harry Sweeney shaking his head, cursing out loud as he surveyed the scene: forty, fifty cars, all backed up, double parked, blocking the road to Ayase station, crowds of people walking back and forward between the cars, back and forward between the station and the so-called Cursed Crossing, some of the people in their Sunday best, with their parasols and umbrellas up, some of them chewing on sticks of grilled chicken, their kids carrying candyfloss, shouting and laughing, running here and there, from food stall to food stall, the hawkers and vendors calling out with their promises of tasty this and tasty that, get your Shimoyama candyfloss here –
You fucking believe this, said Harry Sweeney, pushing between the cars, pushing people out of his way, making his way through the crowds, fighting his way through the throng, knocking a man off a bicycle, a kid against a car, cursing and cursing, over and over, Get the fuck out my way! Move!
Susumu Toda following in his wake, Susumu Toda pleading, Harry, Harry, come on, don’t …
But Harry Sweeney kept on pushing his way, kept on fighting his way until he came to Ayase station, until he saw a uniformed officer, until he took out his PSD badge, until he shoved it in the man’s face and said, The fuck are you doing? I want to see the officer in charge and I want to see him now! And then get these fucking people out of here. This is a goddamn crime scene for Chrissake! Susumu, tell –
Yes, Harry, I’m telling him, I’m telling him, said Susumu Toda, Susumu Toda translating, speaking with the uniformed officer, listening to the uniformed officer, the uniformed officer apologizing and bowing, gesticulating and pointing this way then that way –
What is it? What’s he saying, Susumu?
Susumu Toda nodded to the officer, thanked the officer, then took Harry Sweeney to one side and whispered, Seems there’s been a breakthrough, Harry.
To avoid the crowds, to avoid the throngs, they crossed the tracks at Ayase station, the trains running again, up and down the tracks, back and forth over the scene. Then they crossed the Ayase River by the water gate on the other side of the tracks, heading west through a patchwork of fields, damp and empty, under a curtain of sky, gray and heavy, until they came to the Gotanno Minami-machi police box. There were cars here, were crowds here, but not as many, not so many. They showed their badges and got directions, then they walked beside the embankment of the Tōbu line, turned left, and passed under the metal bridge of the Tōbu line, following the road west until they saw more cars parked up ahead, saw more people standing up ahead, and saw Detective Hattori standing there, too, outside the Suehiro Ryokan, a traditional Japanese inn –
The property was surrounded by a narrow drainage ditch, shielded by a tall wooden fence, the tops of a few trees visible above the fence and the gate, further hiding the shabby, gloomy, two-storied wooden inn within, obscuring this place of shabby, gloomy trysts and assignations –
You got my message then, said Detective Hattori, walking toward Harry Sweeney and Susumu Toda.
No, said Toda. What message?
Really, said Hattori with a shrug and a nod. Soon as I heard, first thing I did was call your office. Like I said I would. Left a message that I’d be here –
Soon as you heard what, asked Harry Sweeney.
Well, it’s a bit embarrassing to say, said Detective Hattori, taking off his hat and scratching his head. But these reporters, they’ve been canvassing the area, interviewing witnesses faster than we can. So this one reporter, from the Mainichi, I think it was, he shows a photograph of President Shimoyama to the wife of the owner, and she’s like: Yeah, the man was here, afternoon of the fifth. Arrived about half one, stopped for about four hours. Makes sense, you know. We got umpteen witnesses now saying they saw President Shimoyama around here that night.
Yeah, said Harry Sweeney. We’ve been reading all about these witnesses. Not in your reports, not in your briefings, in the goddamn newspapers, detective.
I know, I know, said Detective Hattori, nodding his head, scratching his head. What can I say? It’s embarrassing.
It’s not embarrassing, said Harry Sweeney. It’s fucking disgraceful, shameful. A stain on the Japanese police –
Hey, hey, said Detective Hattori, stepping toward Harry Sweeney, staring up at Harry Sweeney. With respect, you give us a free press, this is what you get.
Harry Sweeney stepped toward Detective Hattori, looked down at Detective Hattori: Bullshit. It’s got nothing to do with a free press, and you know it. Basic, elementary police work. That’s what this is about. The preservation and integrity of the crime scene. The allocation of manpower and resources. That’s what I’m talking about.
Yeah, said Detective Hattori, taking a step back, pointing down at his feet. Well, you see these shoes? These were brand new. I ordered them specially, only picked them up the day before this thing broke. Cost me half my salary, they did. Be chump change, peanuts to you, no doubt. But look at them now, they’re ruined. Ruined because they’ve been out to the Shimoyama house, down to the house of Vice President Katayama, then, ever since the body was found, they’ve been here, in the pissing rain, under the beating sun, walking this scene, working this case, until there’s nothing left of them. So with respect, don’t tell me I ain’t been doing my job.
Harry Sweeney shook his head, smiled at Detective Hattori, and said, Well then, you’ve wasted a new pair of shoes, detective, because you doing your job like you say you been doing, that still don’t explain why every goddamn newspaper in Japan has been doing a better job than you.
Look, said Detective Hattori, turning to Susumu Toda. You know me, Toda, I’ve just been doing what I’ve been told to do, going where I’ve been told to go. I don’t decide nothing, I just do what I’m told. He wants to pick a fight, be my guest. But tell him to go pick it with my boss –
I will, said Harry Sweeney. Where is he?
In there, said Detective Hattori, nodding toward the Suehiro Ryokan. Doing his job.
Is that right, said Harry Sweeney. Come on then, lead on. Let’s go see the great Japanese police force at work.
Detective Hattori said nothing, just nodded, then turned and led Harry Sweeney and Susumu Toda over the narrow ditch, under the wooden gate, through the tiny garden and into the genkan of the Suehiro Ryokan, shabby and gloomy. The three men took off their shoes, then stepped up into a dark, narrow hallway and walked down the corridor to a dim, humid room at the back of the inn where Chief Inspector Kanehara, the head of the First Investigative Division, and two other senior officers were sat sipping tea with a stick-thin, middle-aged woman in a somber kimono –
Excuse me, Chief, said Detective Hattori, bowing from his waist, gesturing toward Harry Sweeney and Susumu Toda. But Public Safety Division are here, sir.
In the dim, humid room, Chief Inspector Kanehara turned in his seat, looking toward the entrance, squinting in the weak light, then nodded, smiled, stood up, and said, Of course, of course, I know Police Investigator Sweeney. How are you, Harry? How you doing? It’s been a long time, no?
Yes, sir, said Harry Sweeney. It’s been a while.
Too long, said Chief Inspector Kanehara, then he turned to the stick-thin, middle-aged woman in the somber kimono and said, Would you excuse us, please?
The woman gave a brief nod, got to her feet, then shuffled out of the room, her eyes to the floor as she passed Harry Sweeney and Susumu Toda.
Gentlemen, please, said Chief Inspector Kanehara, sitting back down. Have a seat.
Harry Sweeney and Susumu Toda both thanked Chief Inspector Kanehara and sat down at the chipped, stained table in the center of this dim and humid room.
Well, I trust Detective Hattori has given you a full briefing on recent developments, Harry, said Chief Inspector Kanehara, glancing up at Hattori.
Broad strokes, Chief, said Hattori, nodding in the doorway. They were keen to speak with you, Chief.
Yes, sir, said Harry Sweeney. We – that is, Public Safety – would be very grateful for the latest information, sir.
Of course, Harry, of course, said Chief Inspector Kanehara. I imagine General Willoughby, even the Supreme Commander himself, is taking an interest in this case?
Yes, sir, said Harry Sweeney, nodding. General Willoughby is particularly interested, sir, yes.
Chief Inspector Kanehara nodded, then sighed and said, Well, Harry, things have been moving rapidly, very rapidly indeed. The lady you just saw, her name is Nagashima, she’s the proprietress of this inn. Late yesterday, she came forward to say that she believes President Shimoyama visited here on the afternoon of the fifth. He appeared very tired and was asking for a room in which to sleep for a short time. Initially, she was reluctant, and so she checked with her husband. But because the man we now believe to have been President Shimoyama had the appearance “of being a gentleman,” in her words, she agreed. She then showed the man up to one of the second-floor rooms, where a maid laid out the bedding and served him tea. The man – the man we now have reason to believe was President Shimoyama – stayed until approximately half past five, when he left, paying two hundred yen for the room, with a hundred-yen tip. Naturally, we have questioned Missus Nagashima, the maid, and also the son of Missus Nagashima – it was her son who initially answered the door. All three have accurately described President Shimoyama and the clothing he was wearing on the afternoon of the fifth, even down to the color of his socks. All three have also correctly identified the President from photographs. Of course, as soon as you and I have finished speaking, Harry, we will be taking all three witnesses back to HQ, where we’ll take formal statements.
But your instinct is that she is telling the truth, sir, asked Harry Sweeney. You believe her, sir?
Chief Inspector Kanehara shrugged, smiled, and said, Put it this way, Harry: at this stage I have no reason to doubt her, can see no reason why she would make such a thing up. Furthermore, she is the wife of a former police officer.
I see, said Harry Sweeney, nodding; nodding, then saying, But – and forgive me if I’m mistaken here, sir – but she first spoke with a reporter, before she contacted the police?
No, you’re not mistaken, Harry. That’s true. You see, ever since the body of the President was found at Ayase, a number of journalists have been staying here. As you can imagine, the inn has been rushed off its feet. So last night, while helping the maids to serve dinner, Missus Nagashima happened to see a photograph of President Shimoyama on the front page of a newspaper one of the journalists was reading. Only then did she realize it was the face of the same man who had stayed here on the afternoon of the fifth.
I see, said Harry Sweeney again, nodding again; nodding again, then saying, And I believe a number of other witnesses have come forward, sir, also claiming to have seen President Shimoyama in the area that evening?
In the dim, humid room, at the chipped, stained table, Chief Inspector Kanehara nodded, smiled again, and asked, So you’ve read the witnesses’ statements then, Harry?
Only in the newspapers, I’m afraid, sir, said Harry Sweeney. Unfortunately.
Chief Inspector Kanehara sighed, shook his head, and said, That is most unfortunate, Harry, yes. And I’m sorry. Very sorry indeed, Harry. But may we speak frankly, Harry?
Of course, sir, said Harry Sweeney. Please –
Chief Inspector Kanehara looked across the chipped, stained table at Harry Sweeney, stared through the dim, humid light at Harry Sweeney, and nodded, sucking in the air through his teeth before saying, This need go no further, Harry, should stay within these walls, between us, Harry, but, er – how can I put this? – the initial stages of this investigation, they have not been handled as well as they might have been.
I would agree, sir.
Chief Inspector Kanehara, still looking at Harry Sweeney, still staring at Harry Sweeney, nodded again and said, Of course, I know you know this, Harry. Being a policeman, a detective yourself. That is why I’m speaking frankly with you now, Harry, even though as a ranking officer in the Japanese police force it is an embarrassing, shameful thing to have to admit. Especially, if I may say, and with respect, to an American detective. But you see, Harry, and not to make excuses, nor to pass the buck, but the management of this investigation has not been in my hands, Harry.
I see, sir, said Harry Sweeney.
Yes, Harry, you see because there are three separate crime scenes to cover – the Shimoyama house, the Mitsukoshi department store, and then the tracks at Ayase – I was forced to divide my division, the First Investigation Division, even using both Rooms One and Two, you understand, Harry, between these three separate scenes. That meant Chief Kita had no choice but to enlist the help of the Second Investigative Division, in order to assist in the canvassing of the area around here, specifically around Ayase and Gotanno.
I see, said Harry Sweeney again.
Now I’m sure our colleagues in the Second Investigative Division have many qualities, but the specific nature of the fieldwork required here – canvassing neighbors and locals, taking down witness statements, and so forth – well, to be candid, Harry, it’s not one of their strengths and has proved to be beyond either their capacity or capability.
So just to be clear, sir, said Harry Sweeney, the Second Investigative Division are responsible for interviewing witnesses then, not your division, sir?
They were, Harry, they were. But given their manifest inability to do what was being asked of them, either accurately or efficiently, I asked for them to be withdrawn, and Chief Kita agreed. Therefore, the First Investigative Division are now in complete control of this case. And so rest assured, Harry, we have immediately begun to right some of the initial wrongs created by the Second Investigative Division. Of course, this entails re-canvassing the entire vicinity, re-interviewing all the locals, but this time accurately documenting, then collating all witness statements and so forth.
That’s very welcome news, sir, said Harry Sweeney. But not to jump the gun here, sir, but may I ask what your initial instincts are, sir? About these witnesses, their statements?
Chief Inspector Kanehara sucked in the air through his teeth again, glanced at the other two senior officers, then leaned forward in his seat and said, As I say, we need to re-interview the witnesses in question, but – between you and me, Harry, detective to detective – they seem pretty solid. Two in particular, both local – a Mister Narushima and a Missus Yamazaki, I think – they both saw a man fitting the description of President Shimoyama in the vicinity of the railroad tracks, both saw him between six and seven on the evening of the fifth, which would seem to fit with what Missus Nagashima says, about the man checking out of here around half past five. I mean, you have to remember, Harry, they’re not used to seeing strangers round here, certainly not dressed the way President Shimoyama was. But we’ll make sure you have copies of all the witness statements, Harry, then you can decide for yourself.
That would be very much appreciated, sir, said Harry Sweeney. Thank you, sir.
Chief Inspector Kanehara nodded, smiled, and said, Thank you, Harry, we appreciate your support. Furthermore, we’ll also endeavor to keep you – and I mean you personally, Harry – up to date with all pertinent information, as and when we receive and process it. This should mean neither you nor I will be getting our news from the papers, Harry.
That would be very much appreciated, sir, said Harry Sweeney again, placing one hand on the top of each thigh, then leaning forward in a short bow. Thank you, sir.
Chief Inspector Kanehara shook his head, waving his right hand back and forward across his face: Please, Harry, really; you should not be thanking me. It should have been this way from the beginning. But I’ll personally ensure you have copies of all the statements by the end of today.
We look forward to them, sir, said Harry Sweeney.
Chief Inspector Kanehara leaned forward in his seat again, bowed briefly, then said, But now, if you’ll excuse us, Harry, we need to get Missus Nagashima, her son, and the maid down to Headquarters, to get their statements down.
Of course, sir. Thank you for your time, sir, said Harry Sweeney, standing up at the same time as Chief Inspector Kanehara, the two other men, and Susumu Toda.
I’ll see you again soon, I hope, Harry, said Chief Inspector Kanehara, showing Harry Sweeney and Susumu Toda out into the dark, narrow hallway, then gesturing toward Detective Hattori: And, of course, remember Detective Hattori here; he’s always available if I’m not, Harry.
Day or night, said Detective Hattori, nodding at Harry Sweeney, smiling at Harry Sweeney. Be my guest.
Harry Sweeney stopped, turned in the dark, narrow corridor to look at Detective Hattori, to smile at Detective Hattori and say, That’s very professional of you, detective.
Just doing my job, sir, said Detective Hattori.
Aren’t we all, detective, said Harry Sweeney, then he turned back toward the genkan, stepped into his shoes, and followed Susumu Toda through the tiny garden, under the wooden gate, across the narrow ditch, and out into the street.
What do you think, Harry, asked Susumu Toda, taking out his cigarettes, holding out the pack to Harry Sweeney.
Harry Sweeney shook his head, turning in the street to watch two men getting out of yet another car, the two men taking two suitcases out of the trunk of the car, carrying their suitcases across the narrow ditch, under the wooden gate, disappearing into the shabby, gloomy two-storied inn, that place of shabby, gloomy trysts and assignations –
Harry, asked Susumu Toda again.
Harry Sweeney shook his head again, took out his own cigarettes, and said, I think things just got a whole lot easier for us, Susumu. Or a lot more complicated.
Yeah, but which is it, Harry?
Harry Sweeney lit a cigarette, inhaled, exhaled, then shook his head again, smiled, and said, Dunno, Susumu, dunno. All I do know is we got a long walk back to the car, then a long day ahead of us. Another very long fucking day.
Long day turned to long night, caffeine-stretched under office light. Harry Sweeney requested and got extra bodies from Chief Evans: George, Dan, and Sonoko – two Nisei translators and a local-hire girl who could speak and type English; then Harry Sweeney waited for Bill Betz to come back from Norton Hall, with nothing but promises that intelligence would be shared; waited until Susumu Toda returned from the late-afternoon briefing at MPD HQ, bringing with him copies of all the witness statements to date; waited until the evening editions of the newspapers were in; waited until the rest of Room 432 had left, until the office was empty, until the office was theirs; then Harry Sweeney, Bill Betz, Susumu Toda, and one of the Nisei translators pushed back the desks and the chairs in Room 432 to clear a space; then Harry Sweeney, Bill Betz, Susumu Toda, and one of the Nisei translators went down the corridors of the fourth floor, from room to room, until they had found and brought back three blackboards and a box of chalk to Room 432; then Harry Sweeney, Bill Betz, Susumu Toda, and one of the Nisei translators placed the three blackboards side by side in Room 432; then Harry Sweeney took a piece of chalk from the box and wrote a title in block capitals at the top of each board – THE SHIMOYAMA HOUSE, THE MITSUKOSHI STORE, THE CRIME SCENE; then he drew three vertical lines down the length of each board and one horizontal line across the top of the three vertical lines, creating four columns on each of the boards; then at the top of each column he wrote Date, Time, Name, Location; then Harry Sweeney distributed copies of all the witness statements and newspaper reports to date; he told Susumu Toda to focus on the Shimoyama house and the route to the Mitsukoshi department store; he told Bill Betz and one of the Nisei translators to focus on the Mitsukoshi department store; he and the other Nisei translator would take the lion’s share and focus on the crime scene; he told them to read all of the witness statements and all of the newspaper reports, told them to make lists of dates and times, names, and locations, to list all possible sightings of Sadanori Shimoyama, then to write them in chalk in the columns on the appropriate board; then Harry Sweeney said, Okay. Let’s get to work …
And then they went to work; they worked and they worked, through the evening into the night, reading and translating the statements and the reports, through the night toward the dawn, noting down dates and times, names and locations, listing all possible sightings of Sadanori Shimoyama in chalk in columns on the appropriate board, until the dawn had come and the work was done, in numbers and letters across three boards, white on black, before their eyes –
Red raw and smarting, exhausted, shattered, and dead on their feet, Harry Sweeney, Bill Betz, and Susumu Toda stood before the three boards, the twelve columns, their heads moving back and forth from board to board, their eyes going from left to right, column to column, up and down, then back and forth, over and over, each board, each column –
Maybe it’s because I’m beat, said Bill Betz. But this makes no goddamn sense to me. I mean, we got this guy Ōtsu – he’s the secretary to Eisaku Satō, a member of the Diet, ex-Minister of Transport, friend of Shimoyama; what you’d call a reliable witness – he’s claiming he saw Shimoyama wedged between two men in the back of a car going past the Diet building, heading at speed toward Hirakawa-chō at about eleven o’clock that morning. Meanwhile, around the same time, over at Mitsukoshi, we got shop staff, housewives, and maids all claiming they saw Shimoyama walking round the store, or in the basement, by the entrance, or near the subway, either on his own or talking with three other men. But then, just two hours later, he’s getting off a train at Gotanno, checking into this Suehiro inn and having a nap.
Harry Sweeney shrugged: People make mistakes, Bill.
Yeah, said Bill Betz, counting down the names on THE CRIME SCENE board. Five, six, seven, eight of them? To date, so far. That’s how many folk are claiming to have seen Shimoyama hanging round the tracks that night. So far.
Harry Sweeney shrugged again: It’s early days, Bill.
Yeah, said Bill Betz again. That’s my point, Harry. This is only going to get more screwed up. The more people come forward, the more newspaper reports, the more witness statements. You know that, Harry. You know how it goes.
Harry Sweeney nodded, looking from board to board, from column to column: Yeah? So what you saying, Bill?
I’m saying we should just let them get on with it, said Bill Betz. Not try and do their jobs for them.
Harry Sweeney turned to Bill Betz, laughed, and said, Yeah? You going to go tell Sir Charles that, are you, Bill?
Bill Betz shook his head, smiled at Harry Sweeney, and said, Look, Harry. I’m not trying to pick no fight here. I’m just saying this already looks screwed up. An’ I reckon it’s only going to get more screwed up. I just don’t see why we should be the ones busting our balls trying to unscrew it.
Harry Sweeney turned back to the boards, back to the columns, nodded, and said, I know, Bill, I know.
But hey, Bill, said Susumu Toda, pointing from THE MITSUKOSHI STORE to THE CRIME SCENE board. Maybe it’s not that screwed up? This car reported stolen from outside Mitsukoshi on the morning of the fifth, it’s the same color and size as the one Satō’s secretary saw and then the one seen around Ayase later that night, right?
You mean they’re all big and black, laughed Bill Betz.
You never know, said Susumu Toda. They find that stolen car, get some prints, case might solve itself?
Come on, laughed Bill Betz again. You’re going to abduct the President of the goddamn railroads in broad daylight, then drive around town with him all day in a stolen car? You think that was their plan, do you, Sherlock? Jesus.
Maybe it was spur of the moment, said Susumu Toda. Maybe it wasn’t that well planned?
Most things aren’t, said Harry Sweeney, his head still moving back and forth from board to board, his eyes still going from left to right, column to column, up and down, then back and forth, over and over, each board and each column.
Sir, said one of the Nisei translators, the one who called himself George, coming back from downstairs, another pile of newspapers in his arms. The morning editions are in, sir.
Harry Sweeney looked down at the big pile of newspapers in the man’s arms, looked up at the black rings round his red eyes, all the black rings round all their red eyes, then Harry Sweeney turned back to the boards and the columns, the three boards and twelve columns, with all of their numbers and all of their letters, in white on black –
Come on, Harry, said Bill Betz. You been up all night. You need a break, Harry, we all do.
Harry Sweeney nodded: I know, Bill, I know we do.
That’s all I wanted to hear, Harry, laughed Bill Betz, grabbing his jacket and hat, heading for the door, an exit. Anyone needs me, I’ll be hitting the canteen, then the hay …
Harry Sweeney called out, Hey, Bill –
Yeah, yeah, said Bill Betz, not stopping, not turning back. I know, and you’re welcome, Harry. Don’t mention it.
Harry Sweeney smiled, turned to Susumu Toda, George, Dan, and Sonoko, and said, Same goes for you guys. You should all take a break, too. And thank you.
What time you want us back here, sir, asked Dan, already putting on his jacket, picking up his hat.
Harry Sweeney glanced at his watch, the face still cracked, the hands still stopped, and shrugged: Susumu?
You guys both billeted here, asked Susumu Toda.
No, said George. Over at the Yashima Hotel.
Say one o’clock then, said Susumu Toda, looking at his watch, then back over at Harry Sweeney –
But Harry Sweeney had turned back to the boards and the columns, their numbers and their letters, not answering Susumu Toda, not watching the two Nisei leave.
Sir, excuse me, sir, said Sonoko, standing next to Harry Sweeney in front of the middle board, the MITSUKOSHI board, looking across the columns on the board, then back down at the piece of paper in her hand.
What is it, sweetheart, asked Harry Sweeney.
Well, sir, whispered Sonoko, I don’t mean to get the other man, Mister Bill, in trouble, sir, but I think he forgot this report, sir. Forgot to write it on the board, sir.
Don’t worry, laughed Harry Sweeney. Wouldn’t be the first time, won’t be the last. Let me see –
And Harry Sweeney took the piece of paper from her outstretched hand, looked down at the piece of paper, read the words on the paper, read them twice over, then went over to his desk, through the papers on his desk, all the newspapers on his desk, all the reports on his desk, scattering them this way, scattering them that: Where the fuck is it …
Where the fuck is what, asked Susumu Toda. What you looking for, Harry? What you lost?
That yellow pad, the one I always keep on the desk.
Why, asked Susumu Toda, coming over to the desk, picking up the papers from the floor. What is it?
Harry Sweeney stared down at his desk, shook his head, then reached for his jacket: Screw it. Call the pool and get a car, will you, Susumu. We’re going out …
Sir, excuse me, sir, said Sonoko, standing frozen in the middle of the office, her head bowed, her hands at her side in two tiny balls. Have I done something wrong, sir?
Harry Sweeney picked up his hat, walked over to the girl, gently raised her chin in his hand, looked down at her face, into her eyes, then smiled and said, No, sweetheart. You’ve done something right. Just don’t tell anyone.
In the shade of the Mitsukoshi department store, alongside the doors to its south entrance, Ichirō pulled in and parked up.
Back again, said Toda, getting out of the car.
Harry Sweeney had his door half open, then stopped: Hey, Ichirō? If I told you I was going to be five minutes, but then didn’t come back, how long would you wait?
What do you mean, sir, asked Ichirō, turning in the driver’s seat to look at Harry Sweeney.
I mean, how long would you sit here and wait for me? Before you called someone?
Call who, sir, asked Ichirō.
My office? Or the motor pool?
But what would I say, sir?
So you’d just sit here all day, waiting, would you?
Sir, if I may say, said Ichirō, the driver was just doing his job. Just like we all would, sir.
Harry Sweeney nodded: I see. Thanks.
You’re welcome, sir, said Ichirō, turning in his seat, back to the wheel, to the view through the windshield.
Harry Sweeney got out of the car, crossed the narrow side road, and caught up with Susumu Toda, already standing in front of the south entrance to the store –
What was that about, asked Toda.
Harry Sweeney shook his head: Ichirō would wait all day for us and then some, if we don’t come back.
They all would, said Toda, pointing at the other cars and their drivers, all parked up in a line down the south side of the store. They’re used to it. Used to waiting.
Harry Sweeney nodded, took out his notebook from his jacket pocket, flicked back a few pages, and said, They got a statement from a driver who was parked behind the Shimoyama car that day, right? You read that, yeah?
Yeah, said Toda, taking out a handkerchief, mopping his face, wiping his neck. The guy’s a chauffeur for Nippon Seiyaku. They got an office inside, up on the fourth floor. So he’s a regular here, parked up most days, I guess.
And he’s corroborated what Ōnishi said, saying he saw Shimoyama getting out of his car, walking into the store.
Yeah, said Toda again. Give or take a couple of minutes, here and there. It all matches, yeah.
Harry Sweeney looked down at his notebook again: What about this other car he saw? This Prism 36 which pulled in behind, shortly after? Claims he saw four or five men getting out, following Shimoyama into the store.
It’s only the Nippon Seiyaku chauffeur saw them. And twenty minutes later, he saw them come out again.
They traced the Prism yet?
Not that I’ve heard, said Toda. No.
Harry Sweeney nodded: Okay then, let’s go –
And Harry Sweeney and Susumu Toda walked into the Mitsukoshi department store, through the doors, glass and gold, this time clear and open. Through the same doors Sadanori Shimoyama had walked through. They passed through the Cosmetics section. Through the same Cosmetics section where a nineteen-year-old shop assistant thought she had seen a man fitting the description of Sadanori Shimoyama walking back and forth for a while, before heading toward the north side of the store. They walked through the Miscellaneous Goods section. Through the same Miscellaneous Goods section where a twenty-year-old shop assistant also thought he had seen a man fitting the description of Sadanori Shimoyama walking in the direction of the elevators on the north side of the store. They passed through the Shoe section. Through the same Shoe section where a twenty-one-year-old shop assistant thought she had seen a man fitting the description of Sadanori Shimoyama briefly stop to look at some traditional Japanese sandals in a display case. Then they took Staircase H on the north side of the store, down to the basement and the customer service desk by the doors to the underground passage and the subway. The same customer service desk where a thirty-five-year-old employee – whose job it was to count the number of customers who entered the store from the subway – thought she had seen a man fitting the description of Sadanori Shimoyama leaving the store sometime between ten and ten fifteen, followed out of the store by three other men. She could not be sure if these three men were with the man fitting the description of Sadanori Shimoyama, but she thought these three men were all in their late thirties, and one of them she remembered quite clearly, with his suntanned face, his old black suit and dirty felt hat. Harry Sweeney and Susumu Toda took the short flight of stairs down to the doors, came out of the store into the underground passage, and stopped, standing on an iron plate where the store met the passage. The same iron plate where a number of ladies of differing ages thought they had seen a man fitting the description of Sadanori Shimoyama talking with three other men in low voices at various, conflicting times. One of the ladies described one of these three other men as being around fifty years old and very short, at around four foot nine, with a swarthy, triangular face and gold-framed glasses, wearing a dark striped suit with a white shirt, open at the neck. His shoes were pointed at their tips, she said, and he carried a bag –
Thought the guy looked like a school principal, said Toda, mopping his face, wiping his neck again.
Harry Sweeney laughed: School for pimps maybe.
Like a goddamn sauna down here, said Toda, looking up and down the passageway, watching uniforms and detectives milling about among journalists and photographers, the customers for the store and the commuters for the subway, the busybodies and the rubberneckers.
Harry Sweeney was looking at Toda: You okay, Susumu? You don’t look so good.
I feel like shit, said Toda, wiping his face again. Think I must have got the summer flu or something …
Harry Sweeney nodded: You been up too long, I’m sorry. Take the car back, go catch some zeds.
You sure, Harry?
Yeah, said Harry Sweeney. Go on –
And Harry Sweeney turned and walked off through the uniforms and the detectives, the journalists and the photographers, through the customers and the commuters, the busybodies and the rubberneckers, heading north down the passageway, past the ticket gates for the subway, until he saw the hair salon and the tea shop up ahead, saw the sign up ahead: COFFEE SHOP HONG KONG.
Harry Sweeney took out the piece of paper Sonoko had given him, glanced down, read it over once again, then took out his PSD badge and pushed through the crowds – two deep at the window, queuing up by the door – and into the coffee shop; every seat in the shop taken, the air thick with cigarette smoke, a waiter and waitress rushing back and forth with their trays from the kitchen to the tables –
Excuse me, said a man in his late fifties, standing behind the cash register by the door. But we’re full.
Harry Sweeney held up his PSD badge: Good for you and good for business, yeah, the Shimoyama Case? You the manager?
Yes, said the man, shifting his weight from foot to foot behind the cash register. I’m the manager, Niide.
Harry Sweeney smiled: I can see you’re busy, so I’ll make this brief, but I need to speak with you and your staff.
I see, said the manager. Here?
Harry Sweeney looked around the low-ceilinged room, pointed to a door toward the back: That the kitchen?
Yes, said the manager. But it’s very small.
Harry Sweeney nodded: One at a time, it’ll be fine.
Who first, asked the manager.
Harry Sweeney smiled again: From the top, so you.
The manager nodded, called over the waiter, and told him to mind the cash register. Then he led Harry Sweeney down the aisle, between the tables, toward the back of the shop, the toilets to the right, the kitchen to the left, a telephone, a directory, and an ashtray on a stand between the two doors –
That the only phone in here, asked Harry Sweeney.
Yes, said the manager. You need to use it?
Harry Sweeney shook his head: No.
Okay then, said the manager, with a shrug. In here –
And Harry Sweeney followed the manager into a narrow, windowless, oil-stained strip of a kitchen, where a thin, middle-aged octopus of a man in a stained apron was busy frying onions and meat on a hot plate, stirring a pot of thick curry, while dishing out bowls of miso soup and rice.
This is Goto, the cook, said the manager, with a sigh. You want him to step outside while we talk?
Harry Sweeney shook his head, then asked the cook, You see President Shimoyama in here, did you? The morning of the fifth, when your colleagues say he was here?
No, sir, said the cook, shaking his head, not looking up from his pots and his pans. Don’t see nothing from here, sir.
But you saw him, right, said Harry Sweeney, turning to the manager, asking, With four other men, yeah?
The manager nodded: Like I told the papers, then the police, I think I did, that’s all, sir.
Go on then. Tell me what you told them.
The manager closed his eyes, stroked his cheek, then opened his eyes and said, It was about ten o’clock, I guess. We open at nine thirty, same as Mitsukoshi, but I didn’t get in till then, till ten. When I came in, there were five of them, sitting there, well dressed, you know. In suits. Drinking Japanese tea, not coffee. Had some cakes, I think. Talking.
Describe them to me.
The manager blew out the air from his mouth and shook his head and said, I didn’t really see so well, sir. Two of them were maybe late thirties, the other one older, the one that was maybe President Shimoyama. Other two, I couldn’t say.
How long did they stay?
The manager shook his head again: Kazu-chan, the waitress, yeah? She served them, she’d know better than me.
But you remember them paying, yeah?
The manager shook his head: No, sir. See, they must have settled up at the table, sir. With Kazu-chan.
You still have their bill, right?
The manager shook his head again: No, sir. I had to give it to the police, sir, the Japanese police, sir.
Okay then, you remember anyone else, asked Harry Sweeney. Any of the other customers that morning?
No, sir. Not that day, sir, no.
What about regular customers? You must have some?
The manager nodded: Yeah, we do. But not at that time. Lunchtime is when we get the regulars in, sir.
I see, said Harry Sweeney. Okay.
The manager smiled: You want to speak to Kazu-chan?
Yes, said Harry Sweeney. But the waiter first.
The manager shrugged: I’ll go get him then, if you’re finished with me? I’ll be out front, if that’s okay, sir?
Harry Sweeney nodded, taking out his handkerchief, mopping his face, wiping his neck, watching the cook slicing and dicing, frying and boiling: Pretty hot in here, yeah?
Keeps me slim, laughed the cook.
How about your boss, asked Harry Sweeney. He keep you slim and all, does he? Or is he all right?
Long as we’re busy, laughed the cook again.
Excuse me, said a tall, gaunt man in his mid- to late twenties, in a white shirt with a black bow tie. I’m Kojima, the waiter. You wanted to speak with me, sir?
Harry Sweeney nodded: Yes, and you know why?
About President Shimoyama, sir?
Harry Sweeney nodded again: Yeah. So you were working the morning of the fifth, is that right?
Yes, sir, said the waiter.
And you also saw a man fitting the description of President Shimoyama in here that morning?
No, sir, I didn’t. Not personally.
You didn’t? But you were working here, yeah?
Yes, sir, said the waiter. But at that time, I’m usually in here, in the kitchen. Mister Gotō here, he doesn’t usually start until later, toward lunchtime. So I’m usually in here, sir.
Harry Sweeney nodded: You never come out?
Sometimes, sir, said the waiter. But not that morning, or not that I remember, sir. I was in here, sir.
Harry Sweeney stared at the man – this nervous man, gaunt and tall, touching his bow tie, his collar damp – and Harry Sweeney said, I want you to think very carefully, Mister Kojima. Has anyone – maybe a journalist, maybe a police officer, maybe even Mister Niide, your manager – anyone told you to say or not say anything about the morning of the fifth?
No, sir, said the waiter, shaking his head.
You’re absolutely sure about that?
Yes, sir, said the waiter.
Harry Sweeney nodded, then pointed toward the doorway and said, Okay then, one last question. That telephone out there, did you see anyone using it that morning?
No, sir, said the waiter. Not that I remember, sir.
Harry Sweeney nodded again: Okay then, thank you. Would you ask the waitress to step in here, please?
The waiter nodded, turned to leave the kitchen, then stopped, turned back, and asked, Is Kawada-san in trouble, sir?
Harry Sweeney shook his head: Why would she be?
I don’t know, sir, said the waiter. But she’s a good girl and she works hard, I know that, sir.
Harry Sweeney smiled: You don’t need to worry, son. Just ask her to step in here, please.
The waiter nodded, turned, and went out of the kitchen.
Kojima-kun, he’s sweet on her, said the cook, dishing out another portion of rice and curry onto a plate.
Harry Sweeney mopped his face and wiped his neck again and said, How about the manager? He sweet on her, too?
I guess so, laughed the cook. Customers seem to like her, so she’s good for business. Pretty face and –
Excuse me, sir, you wanted to see me?
Harry Sweeney turned to the doorway, to a twenty-year-old girl in a black dress and white apron, her hands clasped together in front of her apron. Harry Sweeney smiled, nodded, and said, Yes, thank you.
This is about President Shimoyama, I suppose?
Harry Sweeney, still smiling, still nodding, said, But there’s nothing to be afraid of or nervous about. I just want you to tell me in your own words what you told the police, then maybe answer any questions I might have. Okay?
Okay, the waitress nodded. I see. Well then, it was quite soon after we opened, not long after half past nine, when the two gentlemen came in. The man who looked like President Shimoyama, he was wearing a mouse-colored suit with a white shirt. I remember he wasn’t wearing a hat and he had on those glasses, those Harold Lloyd-style frames, they call them. I also remember he had quite distinctive eyebrows. They were thick and sloping downwards; that’s why, when I saw his photograph in the paper, I thought it must’ve been him.
Harry Sweeney nodded: How about the other man?
I don’t remember him so well, I’m sorry, said the waitress. You see, they were sitting at a table near the door, and the man who looked like President Shimoyama, he had his back to the door, so he was facing me as I was coming and going. But the other man, he was facing the door with his back to me, so I didn’t really see him very clearly at all. But I had the impression he was a bit younger, maybe late forties?
But there were just the two of them?
Well, that’s what I thought, she said. But Mister Niide, our manager, when he came in he thought there were more of them. Another three men, I think he said.
Harry Sweeney asked, But you don’t think so?
I can’t be sure, she said. I mean, there were three other men at the next table, just across the aisle. That’s true.
But you’re not sure they were together?
No, she said, shaking her head. I didn’t think they were. I mean, I never saw them speak to each other or anything.
But this other party, these three other men, they came in and left separately then, did they?
I think so, yes, she said. I mean, I’m not sure, but I think they came in after the other two, then left after them, yes.
Harry Sweeney nodded again, smiled again, then asked, So the man you think might have been President Shimoyama and this other man, how did they seem? How were they speaking? Like they were maybe friends?
Not really, no, said the waitress. I mean, the man who looked like President Shimoyama, he hardly spoke at all. He was just sat there listening. Had his hands together, folded on the table. I remember that because when I brought their order over, he had to move his hands so I could put the drinks down. Sort of hunched over, you know? Looked dispirited, really.
“Dispirited” in what way?
You know, worried. Like he was getting bad news.
Harry Sweeney nodded: I see. Did you catch any bits of their conversation, any fragment at all?
Not really, no, said the waitress again. I mean, I couldn’t hear at all what the other man was saying. It was like he was whispering, almost. But President Shimoyama – I mean, the man who looked like him – he was just sort of grunting.
“Grunting”? Like how?
You know, sort of um, um, like that. Um, um.
Harry Sweeney nodded again, said again, I see. And so how long did they stay, the two of them?
Not more than thirty minutes.
And they paid at the table, is that correct?
Yes, said the waitress.
And separately, then, from these other three men, the men on the next table, across the aisle?
Yes, said the waitress again, nodding. That’s why I’m pretty sure they weren’t together.
Harry Sweeney said, Sorry – what did they order?
The man who looked like President Shimoyama and the other man? Er, the other man had Japanese tea, and the man who looked like President Shimoyama, he had a soda.
Harry Sweeney nodded: Did they smoke?
No, sir, not as far as I remember.
And which of them paid?
I’m sorry, sir, she said. I don’t know. See, when I came back, back from in here, the money was on the table and they’d already left. But it was the other man who’d asked for the bill, so I’m assuming it was him who had paid.
Harry Sweeney nodded again, smiled again, then said, You’re probably right. Now I want you to think carefully, very carefully, and see if you can remember who else was in here that morning. Maybe a little bit before they arrived? Maybe they used the telephone, that one just out there?
Yes, said Kazuko Kawada, the twenty-year-old waitress of the Coffee Shop Hong Kong nodding as she looked Harry Sweeney in the eye, as she said, There was someone, yes. Using the telephone. How did you know?
Harry Sweeney took the stairs up to the street, two at a time. He headed south down Ginza Street, through the lunchtime crowds, over the Nihonbashi Bridge, until he came to the crossroads with Avenue W. He stopped on the corner opposite the Shirokiya department store and took off his jacket. He glanced over his shoulder, then turned to the right, walking west up Avenue W, past the Yashima Hotel, until he came to Gofukubashi. He glanced over his shoulder again, then crossed Avenue W and headed south along 5th Street, past the Yaesu entrance to Tokyo station, until he came to Kajibashi. He put his jacket back on as he waited to cross, took out a cigarette and lit it, then walked west up Avenue Y, under the tracks, until he came to 4th Street. He turned right, crossed the road, and walked along the street until he came to the extended canopy of the Yaesu Hotel. He dropped his cigarette butt into the ashtray by the door, then turned to look back down 4th Street. He saw a man standing on the corner, in the shade of the Chiyoda Bank. He stared down the street at the man. The man turned and disappeared around the corner, back onto Avenue Y. Harry Sweeney took out another cigarette and lit it. He stood under the canopy, smoking the cigarette, watching the corner by the Chiyoda Bank. Harry Sweeney finished his cigarette, dropped it into the ashtray, then went through the doors into the Yaesu Hotel. He crossed the lobby to the elevators, nodded at the boy stood inside number five, and said, Fourth floor, please.
Very good, said the elevator boy.
That’s “very good, sir,” said Harry Sweeney.
Very good, said the elevator boy, not turning around, closing the doors, waiting for a beat to say, sir.
You’re new here, yeah, said Harry Sweeney to the back of the kid’s head, the elevator going up.
Yes, said the elevator boy, with a nod and another beat before he said, sir.
Uniform or no uniform, said Harry Sweeney, you address every man as “sir” and every lady as “ma’am,” okay?
Yes, sir, said the elevator boy, with another nod, as the elevator stopped, as he opened the doors. Fourth floor, sir.
Thank you, said Harry Sweeney, stepping out.
It’s not lucky, you know, sir, said the boy.
Harry Sweeney turned around: What’s not lucky?
The number four, smiled the boy. In Japan, sir.
Harry Sweeney reached up, held open the doors, and stared at the boy as he said, You speak good English, kid. Probably went to a good school. But you got a smart mouth and a bad attitude. Ain’t my fault your country got its ass kicked, ain’t my fault you’re working this elevator here. Ain’t my fault, and it ain’t your fault either, I know that, kid. So let’s lose the smart mouth and bad attitude and just get along. Okay?
Okay, said the elevator boy. Sir.
Harry Sweeney looked at the boy – the privileged face, the resentful eyes – then shook his head, turned, and walked away, down the corridor to the door of his room.
Harry Sweeney took out his key, put it in the lock, turned the key, and opened the door. He slammed the door shut behind him. He crossed the room, drew back the curtains, and sat down on the bed. He took off his shoes, then stood back up. He took off his jacket, his shirt, and his pants. He walked over to the washstand and turned on the faucets. He washed and he shaved. He changed the bandages around his wrists and then his underwear and socks. He found a clean shirt, a dark tie and put them on. He picked up his jacket and pants from the bed and put them back on. He walked back over to the washstand and picked up his watch. Its face cracked, its hands stopped. He put on his watch, over the bandages on his left wrist. He adjusted the cuffs of his shirt and jacket, then straightened his tie. He picked up his hat and his key, opened the door, and stepped out of his room. He closed the door, he locked the door, then walked back along the corridor toward the elevators. He walked past the elevators and took the stairs, the four flights down to the lobby. He walked through the lobby toward –
Mister Sweeney, sir, called out Satō-san from behind the front desk. Excuse me, but you’ve got some mail, sir.
Harry Sweeney turned, smiled, and said, Thanks, Satō-san, I’ll pick it up later. I gotta dash now …
And Harry Sweeney walked out through the doors of the Yaesu Hotel, under the length of its canopy, to a cab sitting on the curb. He stopped to glance down the road, over at the corner of the Chiyoda Bank. He saw a man standing on the corner, in the shade of the bank. He stared down the street at the man, the man just standing there, not moving, looking back in the direction of Harry Sweeney. Harry Sweeney opened the door of the cab, got in the back, closed the door, and said, Seishōji temple, Shiba, please.
They had come in black and in white, in their hundreds and their thousands, to stand in lines and in queues, lines and queues which stretched all the way back to the trees of the park. In black and white, in hundreds and thousands, the lines and the queues, edging forward, slowly, slowly, step by step, hour by hour, under the sun, the afternoon sun, toward the gate, toward the temple. In black and white, in hundreds and thousands, in lines and queues, slowly, slowly, step by step, hour by hour, under the sun, the afternoon sun, to pay their respects and mourn the man, to mourn Sadanori Shimoyama; to mourn him as a public figure, a man they had not known, had only ever read about, maybe only even in his death; or to mourn the private man, their classmate or alumnus, their colleague or their boss, the engineer or bureaucrat, their friend or relative, their cousin or their uncle, their brother or their son, their husband or their father; the public figure or the private man, all had come to mourn Sadanori Shimoyama –
Through the black and white, through the hundreds and thousands, the lines and queues, edging forward, slowly, slowly, step by step, shuffling forward, trying not to push, not to shove, gently and quietly, Harry Sweeney weaved his way among the mourners, up the steps and under the first gate, made of stone and made of wood, slowly, slowly, gently and quietly, Harry Sweeney walked over the gravel and up more steps, then under a second gate, out into the main precinct of the temple, its central pathway lined with baskets of flowers and wreaths on stands, the smell of incense and the sound of sutras, on the air, in the air, the scents and the chants, across the precincts of the temple, over the thousands of mourners, from out of the main hall, the ceremonial hall –
Inside the large hall, in its long shadows, the air thick with clouds of incense, heavy with the drone of the sutras, Harry Sweeney stood at the back, staring over the rows of bowed heads, watching the chief mourners, the bereaved relatives, in their black suits and kimonos, their cleaned and pressed uniforms, all seated in rows to the left and the right of an altar draped in white and decked with flowers, giant wreaths towering on stilts over the altar, over the chief mourners, the bereaved relatives, Harry Sweeney counting the wreaths and the baskets of flowers – the one hundred and sixty-two wreaths and baskets of flowers, from the Emperor and the Prime Minister, from cabinet members and members of the Diet, from the Minister for Transport and from General Headquarters, from Railroad executives and Railroad employees, from the union and its members; but from the back of the hall, from among its long shadows, Harry Sweeney’s eyes kept coming back to the chief mourners, the bereaved relatives and family, to Missus Shimoyama in her black kimono, to her four sons, three still in their school uniforms, pressed and clean; this family bereft and diminished, beneath the tall wreaths, lost among the flowers, the incense, and the chants, beside the altar, before the altar, draped in white cloth, decked with more flowers, with its candles and with its photograph; the single, solitary photograph, framed in black, bordered in black, the formal portrait of a man, a husband and a father, in his best suit and tie, a portrait of Sadanori Shimoyama, the eyes of Sadanori Shimoyama staring sadly, sadly back across the mourners, over their heads and into the shadows, back into the eyes of Harry Sweeney –
Harry Sweeney blinked, rubbed, and wiped his eyes, bowed his head toward the altar, toward the portrait of the man, then turned and gently, quietly edged his way out of the shadows and out of the hall, made his way across the precincts and down its paths, down its steps and under its gates, weaving his way through the hundreds and thousands, the lines and the queues, until he was standing on the street, taking out his pack of cigarettes and –
Well, that’s just grand, said Lieutenant Colonel Donald E. Channon, coming up on the blind side of Harry Sweeney. Not only they got half the goddamn Jap police here on crowd control, we got our own police investigator here, too.
Harry Sweeney put away his pack of cigarettes, took a step back, and asked, Is something wrong, sir?
You goddamn bet your life there is, said Colonel Channon, red in the face, rye on his breath. You think you gonna catch his fucking killers at his funeral, do you, Sweeney?
Harry Sweeney smiled: I think maybe we should find your car, sir. Maybe get you home, sir …
You should find his goddamn fucking killers is what you should do, Sweeney, said Colonel Channon, two fingers prodding into the chest of Harry Sweeney, flicking up his tie. ’Stead of hanging round his funeral like a spare fucking prick.
Harry Sweeney took another step back, stared at Lieutenant Colonel Donald E. Channon, and said, Maybe I thought I’d come take a look for myself at that goddamn nest of vipers you were telling me about, sir.
Hey, hey, now hold on there, Sweeney, said Colonel Channon, shaking his head, wagging his finger. Few kickbacks, bit of pocket-lining is all I meant by that. Didn’t say nothing about fucking murdering no one.
Honor among thieves, think that’s what they call it. That what you mean, sir?
Lieutenant Colonel Donald E. Channon tried to stare at Harry Sweeney, tried to jab his finger at Harry Sweeney, saying, Harp to a harp, fuck you, Sweeney, is what I mean.
Harp to a harp, I think you should go home, sir, said Harry Sweeney, turning away, starting to walk away –
Don’t you fucking turn your back on me, Sweeney, said Colonel Channon, grabbing Harry Sweeney by the arm of his jacket, turning Harry Sweeney back around into his face. Don’t you fucking walk away from me when I’m speaking to you. Not when I ain’t done speaking to you, mister.
Harry Sweeney put his hand on the hand of Colonel Channon, gently, firmly loosening the grip of Colonel Channon round his arm, firmly, slowly removing the fingers of Colonel Channon from the sleeve of his jacket, then slowly, slowly taking a step back as he said, Go on then, please, sir, by all means. If you’ve something more to say, sir?
You bet I’ve got something more to say, said Colonel Channon, nodding to himself, flapping an arm in the direction of the temple, its gate, and its funeral: I say you should go back in there, arrest that goddamn Red bastard, is what I say.
Which goddamn Red bastard is that, sir?
That fucking guy Honda is who.
Honda, sir? I’m sorry, I …
Jesus, Sweeney, laughed Colonel Channon. You at the back of the church, day they was handing out the smarts? Ichizō Honda, Vice Chairman of the fucking union, is who.
And you say he’s here today, sir?
Fucking nerve of the guy, said Colonel Channon, shaking his head, swaying on his feet. You believe it? Like a goddamn skull on a stick, he is, with the greased-back fucking hair, wanting to give his condolences, saying how fucking sorry he is, how much he liked and respected old Shimoyama. Now the man’s fucking dead, in pieces on the goddamn tracks, like he fucking don’t know who did it, goddamn lying son of a bitch, making with the condolences, the blood still fucking wet on his hands, the goddamn murdering Commie son of a bitch. His skinny yellow ass you should be hauling in, Sweeney, that’s what you should be fucking doing, making with the third degree. Give him the old fucking third degree, he’ll soon tell you what you need to know, tell you who fucking did it, you goddamn bet he will, Sweeney.
Harry Sweeney had taken out his notebook, taken out his pencil, had written down the name Ichizo Honda. Harry Sweeney closed his notebook over his pencil, put them back inside his pocket. Then he patted the left side of his jacket and said, Thank you, sir. Sure that’s very useful information, sir.
You bet your fucking life it is, Sweeney, said Colonel Channon. Solves your fucking case for you, is what it does.
Harry Sweeney nodded, then smiled at Lieutenant Colonel Donald E. Channon and said, Thank you, sir, I’m sure you’re right, sir. I’ll just go tie up the loose ends …
Because he had not slept, because he never could, they were stabbing at his skin, they were slicing off his ears, drilling down the holes, poking round with wires, scratching at his skull, scraping along its bone, the birds in the sky, the insects through the air, the kids on the corners, the people on the streets, the boots on the sidewalk, and the tires in the road, marching and turning, pounding and screeching, putting on the brakes, coming to a halt, the voice from a car, calling from its window, Hey, hey, hold up there, detective, will you!
Harry Sweeney stopped in the street, halted his long march back to the office, turned to the car parked up on the curb, turned to see Detective Hattori leaning out of the window on the passenger side, and Harry Sweeney said, What is it?
You’re a hard man to find, detective, said Hattori.
Harry Sweeney looked at Detective Hattori, smiled, and said, Obviously not that hard, detective.
Obviously not that hard, repeated Hattori, laughing. I like that, that’s very good, detective.
What is it, detective? What do you want?
We want to take you for a little ride, said Hattori. If that’s okay with you, detective?
Where and why?
Not far, said Hattori. Just to Headquarters. We got a witness there Chief Inspector Kanehara thinks you should meet. That is, if you would like, detective? If you got the time?
Harry Sweeney nodded: Sure.
Hop in then, detective, said Hattori, smiling. Let’s go.
Harry Sweeney opened the back door of the unmarked police car and climbed in the back. He closed the door and then the car set off, speeding along, silence inside, north up Mita Avenue, then west onto 10th Street, turning north again onto Avenue B, past the Education Ministry and the Finance building, past the Construction Ministry and the Justice Ministry, left again at Sakuradamon, pulling up in front of the Metropolitan Police Headquarters –
Follow me, detective, said Hattori, getting out of the car, lighting a cigarette, leading Harry Sweeney inside the building, through the reception area and up the stairs, down a long corridor of many doors, the doors all closed, down the corridor to the door at its end –
In here, detective, said Hattori, dropping his cigarette into an ashtray of sand, then tapping on the door, then opening the door, showing Harry Sweeney into the room: a small room, a spartan room, a narrow strip of glass along the top of one wall, four chairs, and one table; a thick file on top of the table between the two people sat across from each other – a man and a woman, the man in a uniform, the woman in monpe pantaloons, the man in the uniform getting up from his seat, the woman in the pantaloons looking up at Harry Sweeney and Detective Hattori.
This is Missus Take Yamazaki, said Hattori, pulling out one of the empty chairs from under the table. Have a seat, please, detective, listen to what she has to say.
Harry Sweeney sat down in the chair, nodding at the woman across the table, looking at the woman across the table, her worn-out clothes and her sun-dried skin.
Now there’s nothing to worry about, Take-san, said Hattori, sitting down beside Harry Sweeney, smiling across the table at Take Yamazaki. This foreigner is a detective, he works for GHQ. He’s just come to hear what you told us, that’s all.
I see, said the woman, nodding. I understand.
That’s good, said Hattori, leaning forward in his chair, resting his hands on the file on the table, still smiling at Take Yamazaki. So you just tell him exactly what you told us.
Well, I saw President Shimoyama, didn’t I …
Sorry, said Hattori, stopping the woman, smiling at the woman. From the beginning, please, Take-san.
Okay then, began the woman again. That evening, the fifth, sometime after six o’clock it was, maybe even more like half six, I was coming along the Jōban line tracks. See, I’d been to visit my younger sister and her husband. She lives up Ayase way, and I’m in Gotanno Minami-chō, so quickest way home for me is along the railroad tracks. Bit dangerous, I know; I shouldn’t, but it’s a shortcut. Lot of us use it, see. So I was walking along the tracks, the eastbound tracks, the ones going to Ayase, that way, because that’s a bit safer, see. On the other side, the westbound side, ones heading to Senju, they can come up behind you, can’t they? So I’m heading down the tracks, toward where there’s a bridge, that way, looking up that way, yeah, because you still have to keep your eyes open, case a train come, yeah. So, anyway, I’m looking that way and I see this man, this gentleman, up toward the embankment of the Tōbu line, like around where the bridge is? And he’s at the foot of the embankment, right by the tracks, near where there’s that steel pillar. And I think that’s dangerous, that is, strange and all. What the heck’s he doing there? Bit late to be working in the fields, specially dressed like that. I mean, he’s got on a gray suit, like a businessman wears. But I suppose I must’ve been staring, wondering what he’s doing there, because then he sees me, doesn’t he, sees me staring at him, watching him, and our eyes meet, don’t they? Then quick as you like, he looks away and heads off down the banking, off the tracks and into the field there. Must’ve made him nervous, me staring at him, me watching him. But as I’m coming off the tracks myself, I see him again, don’t I? Crouched down in the field, he was, pulling up weeds.
These weeds, said Detective Hattori, taking an envelope from inside his jacket, opening the envelope over the file on the table, gently shaking out its contents, slowly dropping the contents on top of the file, one by one: five hard, pale-green, oval-shaped seeds. We call them juzudama.
Harry Sweeney leaned forward in his seat, looked down at the top of the file, stared down at the five hard, pale-green, oval-shaped seeds, and said, Job’s tears.
Evidence in any language, said Detective Hattori. That’s what I call it, detective. Evidence …
Harry Sweeney looked up from the five hard, pale-green, oval-shaped seeds, Harry Sweeney turned to Hattori, and asked, Where did you find it, detective?
In the right-hand pocket of the pants of the suit which President Shimoyama was wearing on the night that train hit him, said Hattori. That’s where we found it, detective.
There was a knock, the door opened, and Harry Sweeney glanced up over his shoulder to see Chief Inspector Kanehara standing in the doorway. Harry Sweeney started to get to his feet, but Chief Inspector Kanehara stopped him, saying, Please, Harry, don’t get up.
Good timing, Chief, said Detective Hattori, gesturing at the five seeds. I was just showing Detective Sweeney here the evidence, sharing it with him, like you said, sir.
Chief Inspector Kanehara nodded, glanced at the seeds on the file, then looked at Harry Sweeney and said, So what do you think, Harry? Detective to detective?
Excuse me, Chief, said Hattori. But we hadn’t quite finished. I haven’t told him what me and Sudō-kun found.
Chief Inspector Kanehara nodded again: I see. Well, go on then, Detective Hattori. This is important, Harry.
Yes, said Hattori, scooping the five seeds back inside the envelope, putting the envelope back inside his jacket, then opening the file on the table and taking out a photograph, saying, See, when me and Detective Sudō re-interviewed Missus Yamazaki here – this is up at her house, right – we asked her to show us exactly the place, the exact spot where she saw President Shimoyama pulling the heads off the weeds. So she takes us to the place, shows us the exact spot, and this is what we found there, saw with our very own eyes –
Harry Sweeney leaned over the photograph, the photograph Detective Hattori was tapping with his finger, looked down at the photograph of a patch of wild barley, a clump of Job’s tears, stared down at their stems, their decapitated stems, their heads all gone.
Evidence, said Detective Hattori again. As I’m sure you agree, detective. That’s what’s called evidence.
Harry Sweeney sat back in his chair, glanced across the table at the woman sitting with her head bowed, looking down at her hands, then Harry Sweeney turned to Chief Inspector Kanehara: May I ask this lady a couple of questions, sir?
Chief Inspector Kanehara nodded, smiled, and said, By all means, Harry, please do. That’s why you’re here.
Thank you, sir, said Harry Sweeney, taking out his notebook and pencil, turning back to the woman, and saying, Now, as Detective Hattori said, there’s nothing to worry about, Missus Yamazaki. Just a couple of questions, okay?
Yes, said the woman, nodding. Please.
Harry Sweeney nodded, smiled, and said, Now this man you saw, you said he was wearing a suit?
Yes, said the woman again. It was a gray suit.
What about his hat? What color was that?
Erm, said the woman, looking up at Detective Hattori, then over at Chief Inspector Kanehara, and shaking her head. Erm, I didn’t see no hat. I don’t think he was wearing a hat.
Harry Sweeney nodded again, smiled again, and said, That’s okay. Like I say, there’s nothing to worry about.
I see, said the woman, nodding.
Okay, what about his shirt?
I don’t remember, she said, shaking her head again.
Okay, that’s fine. How about anything else? Do you remember anything else he was wearing?
Yes, said the woman, looking up again at Detective Hattori, over again at Chief Inspector Kanehara and nodding. His shoes. He was wearing these chocolate-colored shoes. Remember them because they looked expensive, they did; not like the sort of shoes you go wearing in the fields, you know?
Harry Sweeney smiled and said, What about his build, his age, his face? You got a good look at him, right?
Yes, said the woman again. I did.
Go on then, can you describe him for me, please?
Well, he looked older than me, about forty-six or forty-seven, I guess. And he was quite tall, taller than average, but I couldn’t tell you how tall, I’m sorry.
That’s fine. Go on …
He was pale, quite white, you know, the skin of his face. Not like he worked outdoors, you know. Kind of round, chubby face, but with a tall nose, you know, prominent.
You think he could have been foreign? Like me?
No, no, she laughed. I don’t mean like that. He was Japanese, definitely Japanese, he was. I know that.
How about his eyes? You said your eyes met?
Black, obviously. Sort of sad.
Was he wearing glasses?
That’s the only thing, she said, looking again at Hattori, over again at Kanehara. Reason I nearly never said nothing. Because I don’t remember he was wearing glasses, and when I saw his picture in the paper like, in all the papers, he’s always wearing glasses, isn’t he? But my husband, he said I better say, go to the police box and say what I’d seen. So I went and I said.
And we’re very glad you did, Take-san, said Hattori. Very glad indeed, aren’t we, Detective Sweeney?
Harry Sweeney nodded, still looking at Missus Yamazaki, still smiling at Missus Yamazaki as he said, Indeed, we are, Missus Yamazaki. Just one last question?
Yes, asked the woman. Please?
After you saw him pulling up the weeds, after you passed him, did you turn around, see what he was doing?
Yes, said the woman. I had a glance, yeah.
And so what was he doing then?
Well, he was just walking off, wasn’t he? Like to the east a bit, sort of absent-minded like, you know?
You didn’t see where he went?
No, she said. I lost sight of him. Never saw him again. Not till I saw his face in the paper, that is. Fright of my life I got, I tell you, sir. Fright of my life.
Harry Sweeney felt a hand on his shoulder, heard Chief Inspector Kanehara whisper in his ear, Harry, I’ve got to go see Chief Kita. But there’s something else. Can we step outside?
Harry Sweeney nodded. He looked across the table, over the photograph on the top of the open file, and smiled and said, Thank you, Missus Yamazaki. You’ve been most helpful.
You’re welcome, said the woman.
Harry Sweeney turned to Hattori, smiled again, and said again, Thank you, too, detective.
Don’t mention it, said Detective Hattori. We’re all just doing our jobs, detective.
I can see that, said Harry Sweeney, getting up from his chair, pushing it back under the table, then he turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.
So what do you think, Harry, asked Chief Inspector Kanehara again. Detective to detective?
Harry Sweeney nodded and said, The evidence of the weeds would seem to corroborate the lady’s statement, sir.
The timing also fits with the statements we’ve got from the Suehiro Ryokan, said Chief Inspector Kanehara. And all the other statements we’ve got from the vicinity, too, all the other sightings. They all seem to match, Harry. It all fits.
Just not with the autopsy, sir.
Harry, Harry, said Chief Inspector Kanehara. You know as well as I do, these scientists, they’re not policemen, let alone detectives. They know their science, but never the scene, not how it is, not like we do, Harry. You know that, know how they are. Especially these Tōdai guys, all books and privilege.
Harry Sweeney nodded again: You might be right, sir. But what you going to do about the Public Prosecutor then? Last I heard, he was still agreeing with those Tōdai guys and their findings, agreeing it was murder, not suicide.
Leave that to me, Harry, said Chief Inspector Kanehara. I’m going to go see the Chief now, ask him to bring in Doctor Nakadate – you remember him, Harry?
Yeah, I remember him.
Good man, solid. He’s worked many cases for us, and not just in the library or the laboratory, you know. In the field and at the scene, listening to us, working with us. He’ll clear all this up for us, Harry, you’ll see. He’ll sort things out.
Harry Sweeney shook his head, sighed, and then said, You mean sort it out as a suicide, sir, yeah?
I’m sorry, Harry, said Chief Inspector Kanehara, nodding. It’s not what you want to hear, I know that.
Harry Sweeney shook his head again: I just want to know what happened, sir. That’s all, sir.
I know, Harry, I know. I meant to say, not what GHQ want to hear. They want to hear we’re arresting members of the union, members of the Communist Party, I know that, Harry.
Harry Sweeney sighed again: I don’t know about all of GHQ, sir. But General Willoughby in particular, yes, sir.
Look, Harry, said Chief Inspector Kanehara. You know me and you know the Japanese police. There’s not a man among us has any love for the Reds, you know that, Harry.
Harry Sweeney nodded: I know that, sir.
But if the evidence ain’t there, Harry, it ain’t there. I wish it was, I really do. Believe me, Harry, believe me. Nothing I’d like more than to be hauling in a bunch of union hotheads, charging some Commie bastards for this …
Harry Sweeney nodded again: I know that, sir.
Particularly now, Harry …
Harry Sweeney looked at Chief Inspector Kanehara, saw him lean in closer, heard him lower his voice as he said, Like I said in there, Harry, there’s something else, and not something you want to be talking about, specially not on the day of the man’s funeral, Harry …
Harry Sweeney waited for Chief Inspector Kanehara to lean in closer still, waited for him to whisper in his ear, then Harry Sweeney stepped back from Chief Inspector Kanehara, stared at Chief Inspector Kanehara, and then Harry Sweeney shook his head and said –
Fuck, said Chief Evans, looking out of the window of his office, staring up at the sky, black and thick, shaking his head again and again. Fuck, fuck, fuck, Harry. Jesus. Fuck, Harry. Fuck.
Yep, Chief, said Harry Sweeney, closing his notebook, putting it back inside his jacket. That’s what I said, sir.
No way it’s just some bullshit rumor then?
Least not the way Chief Inspector Kanehara laid it out, no, sir, said Harry Sweeney. Like I say, he laid it all out pretty good, Chief. The money problems, the sleeping pills, the pressures of the job, and then, if all that ain’t enough …
A goddamn fucking woman, sighed Chief Evans.
Cherchez la femme, as the French say.
This fucking funny to you, is it, Harry, said Chief Evans, turning away from the window, walking over toward Harry Sweeney. You see some fucking cause for levity here, do you? Something I’m fucking missing here?
No, sir, not at all, sir, said Harry Sweeney, his hands up, his hands out. Just saying what the press will say, sir.
You don’t need to be worrying what the fucking press will say, hissed Chief Evans, standing over Harry Sweeney, looking down at Harry Sweeney. You need to be worrying what the goddamn General will say. You’re shitting strawberries and cream, you think he’s gonna buy this crap.
Harry Sweeney shrugged, looked up at Chief Evans, and said, Be honest with you, Chief, all due respect, I could care less what the General says, sir.
That right, is it, said Chief Evans, shaking his head, staring back down at Harry Sweeney. Well, you should goddamn fucking care. You make an enemy of that man, you’ll regret it the rest of your life, I swear. But you get him in your corner, keep him on side, then you’re farting through silk.
Still stinks, sir. Silk or no silk.
Fuck is wrong with you, said the Chief, turning away, walking back to his desk. This ain’t the time to be playing the wise guy, Harry. It ain’t the smart play, not today.
I’m sorry, Chief, said Harry Sweeney, rubbing his eyes, rubbing his cheeks. I ain’t trying to play the wise guy, not with you, sir. But what can I do, can we do? It is what it is, Chief, we can’t change what it is.
I know, said Chief Evans, sitting back down at his desk, rubbing his own eyes, squeezing the bridge of his nose. I know. But you know how it is, too, Harry, this place – this country, this Occupation – it’s snakes and ladders, is what it is, you know that, Harry. Goddamn snakes and fucking ladders.
Harry Sweeney nodded, smiled, and said, Been a while since I seen any ladders, Chief, I know that.
Exactly, said the Chief, looking across his desk at Harry Sweeney, staring across his desk at Harry Sweeney. That’s my point: you play this smart, you play it right, Harry, you sort it out, you make it right – somehow, just any-fucking-how – be a big fucking ladder waiting for you, Harry, I know that. Biggest one you ever fucking saw.
But a ladder to where, sir?
Anywhere you want, Harry. Anywhere you want.
On the dark side of the street, in the shadows from the park, Harry Sweeney opened the car door and climbed in the back.
Sorry to have had to call you at your office like that, Harry-san, said Akira Senju as the car set off, set off fast.
Harry Sweeney shook his head: It was good timing.
That’s what I thought, said Akira Senju, patting the top of Harry Sweeney’s thigh, squeezing the top of Harry Sweeney’s thigh. Thought to myself: This is something Harry should know, something Harry needs to know now.
Harry Sweeney nodded, looking out of the window as the car bore right onto Avenue W, heading east.
Could prove serendipitous, said Akira Senju, still squeezing the top of Harry Sweeney’s thigh, squeezing it tighter. That’s what I thought to myself, Harry, the way I hear the investigation is going. Or not going.
Harry Sweeney nodded again, watching the city fly past, the car speeding through the night, through the night and onto the bridge, the Eitai Bridge, over the bridge and across the river, the Sumida River, across the river, into the darkness.
Very serendipitous, said Akira Senju again, letting go of Harry Sweeney’s thigh, patting the top of Harry Sweeney’s thigh again. Minute I heard they’d found the car, heard where they’d found the car, I thought to myself: This is too good to be true, I must be dreaming, such a stroke of luck. I had to pinch myself, Harry, pinch myself and then call you.
Harry Sweeney gestured with his thumb over his shoulder at the back window of the car, the sound from the road behind them, the two heavy trucks behind them, and Harry Sweeney said, Made some other calls, too.
Precautions, Harry, that’s all, said Akira Senju, still patting the top of Harry Sweeney’s thigh, his eyes staring straight ahead, fixed on the back of his driver’s head, the car slowing down, the convoy pulling up. Just ten minutes from the center of the city, Harry, but it’s a different country.
Across the river, in the darkness, they had stopped and parked up. Akira Senju squeezed the top of Harry Sweeney’s thigh, then opened his door, and Harry Sweeney followed him. Across the river, in the darkness, Harry Sweeney and Akira Senju stood in the headlights of the car and the two trucks and looked across a bridge, over a ditch; the bridge the only bridge, the ditch a moat. They saw the signs on the bridge, they read the words on the signs: NO ENTRY, RESIDENTS ONLY, DEATH TO ALL SPIES. They looked beyond the warnings, they stared over the moat, and they saw an island; the island a fortress, the island fortress of a different country –
Little Pyongyang, Edagawa-chō, Fukagawa, Kōtō Ward: not in the city, not in the river; an island adrift, a world apart. Eight rows of weather-beaten, two-storied clapboard tenements. Their wooden backs hard against the water of the river, its filth and its stench, their shanty fronts closed to the rest of the city, its venom and its violence –
That first building on the corner, on the other side of the bridge, whispered Akira Senju, that’s a tavern, that’s their lookout. They’ve got bells, they’ve got gongs. They’re watching us, Harry, waiting for us to make the first move.
And then in the headlights from the car and the trucks, Akira Senju raised his right hand high above his head, and Harry Sweeney heard men getting out of the trucks, jumping down from the backs of the trucks, and Harry Sweeney saw Akira Senju lower his hand, then step to one side, making a space between them, a space for two men and a youth –
In the headlights from the car and the trucks, Harry Sweeney turned to glance at the youth, and Harry Sweeney saw a Zainichi kid, a Japanese-born Korean youth, his young face bloody and swollen, his old clothes ripped and torn, a rope around his hands, a rope around his neck.
Take out your Public Safety badge, Harry, whispered Akira Senju. Hold it up and follow me …
And Harry Sweeney took out his Public Safety badge, held it up, and followed Akira Senju, past the signs and their warnings – NO ENTRY, RESIDENTS ONLY, DEATH TO ALL SPIES – and onto the bridge –
Before they came to the end of the bridge, before they put a foot on the island, Akira Senju stopped, and Harry Sweeney stopped. Akira Senju and Harry Sweeney looked up at the tavern on the corner, they stared up at this lookout with its bells and its gongs, dark and silent, watching and waiting, and Akira Senju shouted, You know me, you know who I am, and you can see him, that kid over there, you know who he is. You can have him back, back tonight, if you do what I ask, if you let us speak with his brother.
And then on the bridge, before the island, still looking up at the tavern, still staring up at the lookout, Akira Senju and Harry Sweeney waited, and waited, and waited …
Until a door at the side of the tavern opened and two men stepped out of their lookout, both men thickset and armed, one with a machete, the other with a pistol. The machete beckoned to Akira Senju and Harry Sweeney, and Akira Senju and Harry Sweeney stepped off the bridge, stepped onto the island, and approached the machete and pistol –
Bad news for you, said the pistol. He ain’t here.
Akira Senju shrugged: Ain’t bad news for us, but it ain’t so good for his little brother.
That is a shame, yeah, said the pistol, as other men stepped out of the tavern, stepped out of the shadows, other men thickset and armed. But then, what’s one more dead punk when we’ve killed you, the Emperor of Shimbashi?
Akira Senju looked the pistol and machete up and down, then nodded at Harry Sweeney and smiled: Yeah, but what you going to do about him, brave man? You going to kill an American police investigator, are you?
Don’t care about him, said the pistol. He can go running back to GHQ. This is between us, Senju.
Harry Sweeney stepped forward, Harry Sweeney stared at the pistol, and said, Anything happens to him, anything happens to me, General Willoughby will come burn this fucking shithole to the ground with all of you in it. Men, women, and children. Willoughby won’t care.
Akira Senju laughed: Turns out the rumors are true: I’m the man who would not die, the man you cannot kill.
Is that right, said the pistol, stepping toward Harry Sweeney, staring back at Harry Sweeney. I wonder?
Harry Sweeney did not step back, Harry Sweeney did not blink: Well, you can keep on wondering. Or you can find out. Or you can give us the brother. Your choice.
You deaf as well as dumb, Yankee, said the machete. We already told you, the brother ain’t here.
Harry Sweeney did not turn to look at the machete, Harry Sweeney kept staring at the pistol as he said, So?
So what, said the machete.
So where is he then?
We don’t know.
Harry Sweeney stepped back, looked from the pistol to the machete, from the machete to the other men, thickset and armed, and Harry Sweeney said, Someone does.
On this island, in this different country, where the night was still heavy, where the air was still wet, the pistol and the machete and the other men, thickset and armed, they stared at Harry Sweeney and Akira Senju, with hate in their eyes, with hate in their hearts, until the pistol shook his head, until the pistol said, The father’s dead, there’s only their mother.
She’ll do, said Akira Senju.
She’s a mudang, said the pistol. A shamaness.
I don’t give a shit if she’s the reincarnation of your Queen fucking Min, said Akira Senju. Let’s see her!
The machete and the other men laughed as the pistol said, You will give a shit, you’ll soon fucking see –
And the pistol turned and led Akira Senju and Harry Sweeney between the tenements, down the alleyways, the machete and the other men walking behind them, down the alleyways, between the tenements, the air fetid, the air laden – the sound of prayers from some of the houses, the sound of songs from some of the houses; Christian manifestos and Communist hymns, the Lord’s Prayer and the Red Flag – down another alleyway to another tenement, where the pistol tapped on the door, then the pistol opened the door, showing Akira Senju and Harry Sweeney inside the tenement and into a room, saying, These men are here about your sons, Auntie …
In a headband of black, with her hair in a bun, an old woman was kneeling on a mat in the center of the small room, among statues and bowls, a lamp and a saucer, candles and oil, water and food, and a knife, an iron knife, with ribbons attached to its handle, ribbons of red and ribbons of white …
Where’s your eldest son, Auntie, said Akira Senju. Where’s Lee Jung-Hwan?
The woman did not look up at Akira Senju, did not answer Akira Senju. She leaned forward and poured water into one bowl, put kimpche into another, then dried fish and seaweed, then peppers, red peppers, mixing in ash, stirring in salt, pouring the oil and lighting the wicks, flames flickering and smoke rising …
A car was stolen from outside the Mitsukoshi department store on the morning of July fifth, said Harry Sweeney. The car was found earlier today, close to here.
The woman did not look up at Harry Sweeney, did not acknowledge Harry Sweeney. She was bowing and she was muttering …
Mister Senju here is a man of many friends, a man who hears many things, continued Harry Sweeney. He heard your youngest son stole this car from outside Mitsukoshi. He found your youngest son, spoke with your youngest son.
Still the woman did not look up at Harry Sweeney, still she did not acknowledge Harry Sweeney. Muttering, then chanting, she got to her feet and she began to sway, to sway and then dance, dancing and chanting, chanting –
The twelve gates all locked –
Open up! Open up –
Twelve gates –
Open up!
Your youngest son, said Harry Sweeney, he told Mister Senju that he stole the car at the request of his big brother, for Lee Jung-Hwan and his friends.
On this fortress island, in this different country, in the tenement, in her room, amid the flickering flames, among the rising smoke, the woman was still dancing, spinning weightless in her robes, dancing and still chanting –
O great spirits, hear us now –
We who are but beasts –
Our tenuous lives –
Hanging by threads!
We’re not interested in your youngest son, continued Harry Sweeney. He can return to you tonight, come home to you tonight. But we need to speak with Jung-Hwan.
Amid the flickering flames, among the rising smoke, her body was trembling, her eyes were shining – her body and her eyes free from all flesh, free from all bone, from all ground and all ties, the room gone and the ceiling gone, the island and the land gone, gone, she was spinning and swirling, weightless and free, under moons and under suns, stars falling and clouds racing, moons waxing, moons waning, suns rising and suns setting, before the gods, before the spirits, their gates unlocked, their gates open – her eyes shining, her body trembling, she was moving in circles, she was rubbing her hands, together in communion, together in prayer –
O protect us please –
From all demons –
Protect and help us –
Help and save us!
Just tell us where Lee Jung-Hwan is, said Harry Sweeney. Tell us and save your youngest son.
In her circle of flames and smoke, in her circle of statues and bowls, the woman dropped to the floor, the woman picked up a bowl. She drank from the bowl, held the water in her mouth, looked up at Harry Sweeney, stared up at Harry Sweeney, then she spat at Harry Sweeney, she screamed at Harry Sweeney, shrieked:
Shoo, demon –
Shoo!
Just tell us where he is, shouted Harry Sweeney, wiping her spit from his shirt, bending down to look in her eyes, to stare into her eyes and shout again, Tell us where he is!
On the floor, in her circle, the woman reached for the iron knife with its ribbons of red and its ribbons of white, and she picked up the knife, and she held up the knife, and she pointed with the knife, pointed up at Harry Sweeney and hissed, He lives with you, he works for you …
Where, said Harry Sweeney, pushing the knife away from his face, grabbing the woman by her shoulders, her head lolling back, her eyes rolling back, shaking the woman, then gripping her face: Tell me fucking where! Where?
The woman was grinning, the woman was laughing, grinning at Harry Sweeney, laughing at Harry Sweeney, muttering and whispering, He lives with you, he works for you. In the big mansion, in its big grounds …
Fuck this, said Akira Senju, pulling Harry Sweeney off the woman, pushing Harry Sweeney toward the door, throwing him out of the room and into the alleyway. Fuck this!
Told you you’d give a shit, said the pistol, the machete and the other men laughing in the alleyway, between the tenements. You’re not in Shimbashi now, Senju.
Yeah, said Akira Senju, looking at the pistol, staring at the pistol. Well, let’s see if you’re still laughing in twenty-four hours, chonko. That’s how long you got.
For what, said the machete.
You bring me Lee Jung-Hwan, said Akira Senju, not looking at the machete, still staring at the pistol. Bring me big brother, the kid can still walk. But you don’t find him, or we find him first, then the kid is dead. And so are you.
His clothes still stuck to his skin, his hands still shaking, Harry Sweeney drained his glass of Johnnie Walker, his third double Scotch, and Harry Sweeney looked down the bar of the Dai-ichi Hotel, waved the empty glass at Joe the barman, saying, Hurry it up, will you, Joe. Man can die of thirst, you know …
Come on, Harry, said Joe the barman. Whatever it is, whoever she is, this ain’t gonna help, you know that, Harry.
Hey, what are you, Joe, a priest or a barman?
Maybe I’m just being a friend, Harry.
Is that right, Joe, said Harry Sweeney, slapping the top of the bar with one hand, pointing at the bottles behind the bar with the other. Well, maybe I don’t need no more friends, Joe, maybe what I need is just one more drink, Joe, please, Joe …
It’s okay, Joe, said Gloria Wilson, sitting down on the stool beside Harry Sweeney, patting Harry Sweeney on the arm, smiling at Joe the barman. I owe this man a drink, so let’s make it his one for the road, then I’ll see him home, Joe.
Is that right, said Harry Sweeney, turning to look at the young woman with the large eyes and the large nose, her hand on his arm. You gonna take me back to Montana …
Gloria Wilson smiled at Harry Sweeney and said, Sure, Mister Sweeney, if that’s what you want …
How about Muncie, Indiana?
Gloria Wilson laughed: I don’t think you’d care for Muncie, Indiana, Mister Sweeney …
How’d you know what I’d care for, said Harry Sweeney, leaning into Gloria Wilson and her big eyes, as Joe the barman placed their drinks down on the bar.
Gloria Wilson gently turned Harry Sweeney toward the bar and the drinks: You’re right, Mister Sweeney, I don’t. But how about we drink these, then go back to the hotel?
You wanna go back to my hotel with me, said Harry Sweeney, picking up his drink from the bar. You really aren’t like any librarian I ever met, Miss Wilson. You sure …
Mister Sweeney, please, laughed Gloria Wilson. What are you thinking? Your hotel is my hotel, the Yaesu Hotel.
They got out of the cab, they walked under the canopy and through the doors into the lobby of the Yaesu Hotel, Harry Sweeney leaning on Gloria Wilson, Gloria Wilson holding up Harry Sweeney. They crossed the lobby to the elevators, and Gloria Wilson smiled at the boy stood in number five –
Fourth floor, is it, asked the boy. Sir?
And the sixth, please, said Gloria Wilson.
Oh, really, said the elevator boy, not turning around, closing the doors. If you say so, ma’am.
What the hell you mean by that, said Harry Sweeney, trying to free his arm from Gloria Wilson, trying to step toward the boy. Apologize right now, you insolent piece of shit!
I’m sorry, sir, said the boy, still not turning around, the elevator going up. Thought you were both going to the same floor, sir. My mistake, sir.
You apologize to this lady right now, goddamn you, said Harry Sweeney, still trying to free his arm from Gloria Wilson, still trying to step toward the boy –
Gloria Wilson holding back Harry Sweeney, saying, Leave it, Harry, please, Harry …
Very sorry, ma’am, said the boy as the elevator stopped, as he opened the doors. Fourth floor, sir.
Gloria Wilson gently pushed Harry Sweeney out of the doors into the corridor, then she stepped back into the elevator, smiled at Harry Sweeney, and said, Goodnight, Harry.
In the corridor, before the elevator, Harry Sweeney looked at Gloria Wilson and smiled: Goodnight …
Told you it wasn’t a lucky floor, whispered the boy as the elevator doors closed. Bad luck, sir.
Harry Sweeney reached up to try to hold open the doors, but the doors had already shut, the elevator already going up, heading to the sixth floor. Harry Sweeney cursed and shook his head, then turned and walked away from the elevators, down the corridor, his right shoulder banging into the wall on the right, his left shoulder then banging into the wall on the left, until he came to the door of his room. Harry Sweeney found his key, took out his key, dropped his key, picked up his key, stabbed his key at the door, then at the lock, but missed the lock, then found the lock, put the key in the lock, then turned the key and opened the door. He staggered through the door, over two envelopes on the floor in the doorway. He felt the envelopes under his feet, picked up the envelopes from the floor. He stared down at the two envelopes, one posted from America, with his name and the address of the hotel, the other hand-delivered, with just his name and his room number. Harry Sweeney cursed again and tossed the two envelopes back down on the floor in the doorway. He stepped back into the corridor and slammed the door shut. He walked back along the corridor, right shoulder into the right wall, left shoulder into the left wall. He came to the elevators and he pressed the call button. He waited until elevator number five arrived, waited until the doors of elevator number five opened, until the elevator boy smiled and said, Sixth floor, is it, sir?
And then Harry Sweeney reached inside the elevator, grabbed the boy, pulled him out into the corridor, threw him up against the wall of the corridor, and then Harry Sweeney raised his fists and –